Forgotten

The 100th anniversary of the end of WWI just passed. The President of the United States dishonored himself by skipping the ceremonies because it was raining. Here are poems/expressions of unbearable pain and bravery that Trump could never understand. Could never understand even their existence.

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AFTERMATH: March 1919

by Siegfried Sassoon

Have you forgotten yet? . . .
For the world’s events have rumbled on since those gagged days,
Like traffic checked while at the crossing of city-ways:
And the haunted gap in your mind has filled with thoughts that flow

Like clouds in the lit heaven of life; and you’re a man reprieved to go,
Taking your peaceful share of Time, with joy to spare.
But the past is just the same – and War’s a bloody game . . .
Have you forgotten yet? . . .
Look down, and swear by the slain of the War that you’ll never forget.

Do you remember the dark months you held the sector at Mametz –
The nights you watched and wired and dug and piled sandbags on parapets?
Do you remember the rats; the stench
Of corpses rotting in front of the front-line trench –
And dawn coming, dirty-white, and chill with a hopeless rain?
Do you ever stop and ask, “Is it all going to happen again?”

Do you remember that hour of din before the attack –
And the anger, the blind compassion that seized and shook you then
as you peered at the doomed and haggard faces of your men?
Do you remember the stretcher cases lurching back
With dying eyes and lolling heads – those ashen-grey
Masks of the lads who once were keen and kind and gay?

Have you forgotten yet? . . .
Look up, and swear by the green of the spring that you’ll never forget.

Siegfried Sassoon was decorated for bravery in a battle on the Western Front. He “became a focal point for dissent within the armed forces when he made a lone protest against the continuation of the war in his “Soldier’s Declaration” of 1917, culminating in his admission to a military psychiatric hospital…” (Wikipedia)

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Dulce et Decorum Est

by Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And toward our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile incurable sores on innocent tongues,—

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Wilfred Owen was decorated for bravery after voluntarily returning to the War. He was killed on the Western Front a week before the end of the War. He also wrote Anthem for Doomed Youth, Futility, and other powerful poems.

The title Dulce et Decorum Est is taken from the Roman poet Horace and means “it is sweet and honorable…”, followed by pro patria mori, which means “to die for one’s country.” The link below is to someone giving a reading of Dulce et Decorum Est.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qts3K3KznN4

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Notes from the past few months

Notes from the past few months: writing, current events, lunch with David, love letter, women, Henri Nouwen.

Photo: CK, CB, DK at Indian Rock. This is one of Berkeley’s magical places. It’s a 30 minute walk from home, then clamber up 60-70 feet on the rock, then the quiet, friendly voices one hears at this place.

I’ve been caught up in a writing project and the awful news of these days. These are days when principles and morals are under direct attack – as is democracy in America. I’m tuned in to quite a few news sources and I spend a lot of time reading and so on. It’s not an elevating activity!

The writing project is cleaning up and reformatting all my blog posts. There are about 350 posts, all with photos that require work to reformat. I’m making a book for David and one for Jean.

Several times a week I have lunch with David near his new office at UC Berkeley Law. For the past two years we’ve been meeting 3-4 times/week in The City, but now that he’s teaching part-time, we meet in Berkeley. From home I walk up about a block to the 7 bus stop on The Arlington. It’s a 20 minute ride to downtown Berkeley. Then I walk across campus, feeling grateful that I’m having lunch with my son and that I live in this magical university city. Talk about exciting! One of my regular stops is the Life Sciences building where I groove around the halls, absorbing the extravagant energy of this place.

Photo: Vote Peace (note flags at half mast for people murdered in synagogue)

When David and I finish lunch I walk back across campus, always including walking through Sproul Plaza, the birth of the Free

Speech Movement. Today, a man is holding his own peace vigil. Berkeley – Yeah!

A couple of days ago Jean received a beautifully affirming letter from Peter Winslow. It was a love letter to Jean and to her husband, David Leach. What a life!

When you hear the music ringing in your soul,

And the feeling in your heart just grows and grows.

The precious gift of each unrepeatable day.

Jean finished the 4th of a series on women. This one represents women in Bali. The others include Spain, Turkey, and Japan. This is the first of her art works that I’ve been around for from beginning to end. What a life!

Photo above right: Bali woman

I was in Dallas a few days ago. John and I were sitting in the front room where he saw a tattered piece of paper on the desk. “Do you want this?” he asked. Yes, I’ve carried it or had it in front of me for 40 years. It was an integral part of founding and directing hospice; it goes like this:

“When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.”

Henri Nouwen, Out of Solitude: Three Meditations on the Christian Life

Photos above. Left John and “the girls.” Right: Phana and Bella. I helped Phana in the last year of her life. Countless journeys for chemo, other medical things, shopping, intense talks about the end of life, the meaning of life… BUT, here’s the truth of the matter: yes, I helped her, but she helped me at least as much as I helped her. She gave me meaning and purpose when my world had crumbled after Leslie passed away. A young woman dying of cancer; an old man grieving for his beloved wife. What a partnership. What a life!

Lot of death these days. Chuck, Bryce, Miriam. It really is a hard road, daddy-o. Four of the men in the photo of my Bible study group have passed.

Photo left: Bible study;

I’m spending more time working in the garden: the Sungold tomatoes were brilliant, the strawberries were excellent, the herbs keep us in pesto, z’atar, etc., the herb is excellent (especially the Sour Diesel), and the flowers are spectacular. I’ve now ordered 50 bare root strawberry plants to be delivered in early spring.

Photo: Jean in front garden.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s a hard road, there are times, hippie dream

It’s a hard road, daddy-o

Big Sur

The final psychosocial crisis of life is ego integrity vs. despair. Integrity is “the acceptance of one’s one and only life cycle as something that had to be” (Erikson, 1950) and also “a sense of coherence and wholeness” (Erikson, 1982).

Shower under the redwoods and oaks in Big Sur

This final stage may be considered as a process of integrating (or not) one’s life circumstances, experiences, and decisions. The positive outcome of the process is integrity, acceptance, wisdom, and wholeness. The negative outcome is a sense of despair, meaninglessness, or hopelessness

To the preceding I would add the question of how am I living my life right now? Again and always, this is seen in the context of personal challenges and circumstances. Doing the best we can under the circumstances. And here is the thing: it’s not too late!

It matters how

Big Sur

we have lived and how we are living. That’s obvious, but how often have I forgotten the things I always knew?

I’m talking about despair as a life theme or outcome vs. a period or periods of despair.

In the past week three people I knew died and two others are in life-threatening situations. Sadness in their families and among friends, and powerful reminders of the fragility of life and the importance of living well however one might define well.

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At Abiquiu Inn

Related thoughts: we reach a point in life where the inevitability of personal mortality becomes reality vs. an abstract issue, the deaths and other losses begin to pile up, and this question becomes central to the aging experience: how did I live my life? Was my life meaningful?

How did I do in relation to what might have been, i.e., to what extent did I or did I not waste my life given whatever unique challenges existed for me?

(And remember, there are times when doing nothing is something worth doing.)

Generally, people think of this stage of development related to aging, but it also applies to younger people at the end of life, or really, if you think about it, it also applies to significant loss.

Dining room, Big Sur

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Psychosocial stages and crises are based on Erik Erikson’s work. The quotes from Erikson are from McLeod, S. A. (2018). Erik Erikson’s stages of psychosocial development. Retrieved from https://www.simplypsychology.org/Erik-Erikson.html

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There are times

There are times I’ve forgotten

And times I’ll never forget.

At the Agape Clinic about 2006

There are times I’ve known glory,

And times I’ve fallen to the floor in agony.

Times I’ve been kind,

Times when I’ve been cruel.

Times when I’ve stumbled along alone,

And times when I’ve been carried by the love of others.

Big Sur

There are times when I’ve told nothing but the truth,

And times I’ve lied.

Times when I’ve been brave

Times when I’ve been afraid.

Loved.

Hated.

Times for everything under the sun. Mostly love, I think.

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Hippie dream…

Strong dark coffee in the warm bed, making love in the soft morning light.

The view from our sleeping bag, Big Sur

Peaches, cherries, melon, strawberries and yogurt with toast and almond butter for breakfast. Harvesting chamomile flowers from the garden, the flowers drying along with the peppermint, lemon grass, and colas. Sitting on the deck, birds flying by – some above, some at eye level, and some below. The Bay and golden afternoons. Mystic art happening in the house – “Stories about images collected from journeys both physical and spiritual.” Our home has fragrant gardens in front and in back. It has a vibe like CSN&Y’s Our House. We’re in a city full of gardens like I’ve never seen before – a city of flowers. David was here for lunch yesterday. He worked

From the deck

for awhile. Good times! Chris sent a box of cherries from her orchard. I baked four cherry galettes and gave one to our new neighbors. Yes – we’re living a hippie dream and it sure feels fine.

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.

 

Hawks, healing, in the Temple, Siem Reap, the miracle

Father’s Day, 2018 (at The Ritz – oh my)

“And we will not remember that we ever felt the pain.

We shall walk in gardens misty with rain.

And we will never grow so old again.”

Front door, Berkeley

We were sitting on the deck high over the San Francisco Bay, watching a hawk, soaring high above us, and now another, soaring, spiraling in great sweeps in the blue sky, and now a smaller hawk, soaring upward, following one of the larger ones – it’s a flying lesson! Higher! Higher! The young hawk soaring into the blue distance.

“Just then I saw a young hawk, and my soul began to rise” – from Roll Me Away

Jean and I met on OKCupid. Her name on that site was birdsoaringhigh. Life!

We were listening to When the Healing Has Begun and we talked some – realizing that we’re experiencing “our song” differently now, because we’re different – no longer crushed by grief. It’s not that the grief is gone; it’s that we’re both so much better now – seeing the healing process as mostly in the past.

Yet the song resonates so strong within both of us…

“We’re gonna stay out all night long

And in the morning we’re gonna run across the fields.”

It’s been about 10 months since we stayed out all night long – in our tent, in the forest, psychedelic trance music echoing through the woods – and in the morning we did yoga with Kristina and then swam in the cold spring-fed lake. Cannonball!

Precious days and nights overlooking The Bay in our warm bed, grey mornings and now the light breaking through the clouds like in layers and the coffee is strong and good. We’ve learned not to talk too much about the coming day because then we’re there and then and we’d rather be here, now. It’s cool in the bedroom, the temple, here with a shaman princess (seriously). There are always flowers by the bedroom/deck doors, the curtains are three layers of lace, of starry night, of black and white, stirring barely in the soft morning breeze.

Chancellor’s cutting garden

(I was in a guest house in Siem Reap, the town closest to Angkor. I had a fever and I was lying in the bed, barely able to move. Someone was knocking on the door with a quarter – click click click click on and on and on will it ever end click click click and later that day, when David and Jeff got back to the room, I discovered that it was the fan, clicking along driving me insane like some old Indochina colonialist way up river, lost in a jungle fever…)

Will we really never grow so old again? Surely we’ll be sad again, we’ll grieve, we’ll lose our way, we’ll die, but old like before? No. That was like soul loss. Those were the darkest days for both of us. Then arcing across 1700 miles our hearts united. Our life together a magical poem. Knowing, yet again, love is the main thing in life.

 

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.

Vietnam 1967, 2005

Jeff Wiseman, Charles Kemp, 2018

Jeff and I met in Infantry Training Regiment (ITR) in 1965. We went through ITR, weapons school (he was in rockets, I was in machine guns), a holding company at Camp Pendleton, landing force training with the 26th Marines, the sea voyage from Long Beach to the Philippines (Olongapo – hell yes!) and on to Vietnam. In VN we fought together at the DMZ, near Dodge City, and elsewhere in I Corps – life on the edge. After the war we lived together in Dallas and Carson City. Ultimately we went different directions, but stayed connected. In later years we went backpacking and to festivals together. He stayed with me when Leslie died.

It’s been 53 years.

Charles Kemp, Mike Noumov, Jeff Wiseman – Hill 55, at the rear, drunk as lords, 1967

He was visiting me in Dallas a couple days of ago. Hanging out, the usual. We told war stories – checking one another’s memories, filling in the blanks. I was thinking he tells more stories than I, for which I am profoundly grateful. But yeah, I have memories. Like when the rocket hit right beside the tank driver’s head. To me, it looked like a radio exploding. Later, after the fighting stopped, I helped pull the driver’s body up through the hatch. His head had been blown off from his upper teeth up; you could see his bottom teeth in all the blood kind of like looking up at us when we pulled him up out of the tank. I got his .45 to replace the one I’d been issued and then sold.

It had already been pretty horrible, “like Tarawa” some old-timer journalist said close to the edge of battle, and I thought, not really like Tarawa, but Fuckin-A anyway.

My gun. 37 pounds with 200 rounds

It was a 4-5 day battle. Balls to the wall all the way. When we got to what passed for the rear, the tanks circled up and everyone in our infantry company just fell out on the ground, sleeping wherever we hit the deck. In the morning I remember seeing all that was left of 1st squad guns spooned together under one poncho. Three men of the original 10.

I remember one of the guys who had been shot in the chest, lying there on his back, all white from death and no blood left. The round that killed him had punched through the Bible he was carrying in his chest pocket. I remember someone going through his pockets and holding up the Bible, saying something like, “Look at this” and then tossing it to the ground. We were getting hard.

(In 2005, David and Jeff and I went to Hong Kong, Vietnam, Cambodia, and Thailand. For David, it was his first visit to Cambodia, his other homeland. For Jeff and me, it was our first time back to Vietnam since the war. Here is the travel blog for that trip.

We were on the train from Saigon to Danang. It was about an 18 hour ride in our four bunk “soft sleeper.” In the fourth bunk was a Vietnamese woman with

Girl on the train

her 3-4 year old granddaughter. In the green Vietnam morning I was in my top bunk listening to Cat Stevens.

Morning has broken, 

like the first morning

Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird

Praise for the singing

Praise for the morning

Praise for them springing

Fresh from the world.

Someone brought rice porridge with a little meat and onion. Tabasco, I have it! We pass the bottle around. The lady digs the Tabasco. Back in my bunk. The coffee guy comes along the passageway. Café sua da –

Vietnam, near “Dodge City” – in the old days, walking across the beautiful padi was very dangerous.

strong and sweet on ice. Could it be any finer than this?

The green of Vietnam, that intense green, passing by my window…

Praise with elation

Praise every morning

God’s re-creation of the new day.

Tears running down my cheeks. Vietnam, I’ve been loving you too long. “Whole generations of westerners who went out there as soldiers, doctors, planters, journalists … lost their hearts to these lands of the Mekong … they are places that take over a man’s soul” (Jon Swain, one of the last westerners out of Cambodia in 1975).

David and Jeff in Hoi An, 2005

War posts and photos:

https://ckjournal.com/vietnam-1966-67-part-1-landing-force-dmz

https://ckjournal.com/vn-66-67-part-2-hill-55-dodge-city

https://ckjournal.com/vn-66-67-part-3-psyops-and-the-hill-fights

 

 

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.

 

 

 

 

Random writing – lunar eclipse, the way to the back yard, ER, cardiac cath, lion…

Photo from David Prosper in Richmond, California, a mile our two from us.

I write things that never get posted. Here are some things I found in a few files from several months ago.

We got up at 5 in the morning to see the lunar eclipse. Wrapped up in blankets and a sleeping bag on the deck with the moon hanging perfectly far away above the sea and us getting all dewy damp.

————

Back garden from the deck

The mystic way to the back garden lies down a narrow stairway with patterned textiles and warm golden light and a couple of turns and through a workroom – now through a narrow hallway, turn right, then left and down four steps into Jean’s studio with high ceiling, the big work table, the sewing machines, journals, materials and mystic masks on the wall – wolf, goat, crows, spirit animals all – through the door onto the covered back porch, past a chaise on the left and on the right, chairs and two big work tables, and now the back yard.

The back yard is small. A path curves off the back porch/deck. Step down 1 – 2 – 3, with chamomile growing between the steps and mint on either side and the path curving past a low stone wall on the right with the large flax plant and earlier in the year there were tomato and pepper plants, and basil, lettuce, and chard. On the left succulents, day lilies, hydrangeas, a bush with purple flowers, calla lilies, and a stone Buddha statue. There is a bamboo grove and a patio where I’m building two raised bed grow boxes.

————

Streams of consciousness…

The past, running through me alive, beautiful, love not lost love alive and within, reborn, 73 years, death not too far away and how can I lose? Love behind, Love now, Love beyond. Reborn into this!

This endless summer, this endless summer of love.

Jean drove me to the ER at Alta Bates Hospital in Berkeley. I had been short of breath for several days, waiting to go like any other dodgy patient. (I asked myself, what would I say to a friend or patient with sob – go to the ER, of course. So I did.) They took me back right away while Jean waited out front. They took vitals, drew blood, EKG and put me in a room. I went out to the waiting room. “Go home.” “No.” “Go, I’m fine.” “I’ll wait.” But finally she went. CXR, chest CT. Out of cell phone touch.

The past, Love; the now, Love; the beyond, Love. In the room, thinking of Leslie, David, Jean, David, Jean, Leslie, Jean, Leslie, David, life, love. It won’t be, but what if this is the last thing I write? I’ve lived, I’ve loved, I’ve been loved. My epitaph.

And I will never grow so old again. Close to three years ago I was so old. I was dark and dying and now I’m reborn.

The things I will leave.

I imagine when it happens – when I die – I’ll feel a pulse of fear.

Bill, Lisa, Charles, Jean in New Orleans

Finally, they cut me loose, with some abnormal findings and instructions to follow-up. More on that in a moment.

———-

We flew to New Orleans with Bill and Lisa to celebrate Bill’s 70th. In a club in the Treme, sitting in the back (kind of the senior section). Rock & Roll will live forever.

I am happy. It’s 12/1, 2017, 747 pm.

And we’ll walk down the avenue in style,

And we’ll walk down the avenue and we’ll smile,

And we’ll say, “Baby, ain’t it all worthwhile.”

When you hear the music ringing in your soul,

And the feeling in your heart just grows and grows…

———-

The moon was shining bright when we awoke in the alive night. We made love in the dawning light.

————

A page from Remember

Reading Chops WanderWeird’s book, Remember: “I’ll tell you of many things, but the first and most important is that you already know all of this” (one of the hippest things I’ve ever read), and you, Jean already know all of this. I don’t think Chops was trying to tell us anything we don’t already know; he wants to help us Remember.

———–

Three days in New Orleans with Bill and Lisa. We stayed in a 2 bedroom, 2 bath house a block off Magazine Street and a few blocks from St. Charles. Gumbo, fried oysters, hush puppies, beignets, all of that. We went to Frenchman’s Street and had a good time bar-hopping (no drinking, no problem). The second night we (Lisa, that is) tracked down a really good singer (Myschia Lake) we’d heard the first night. Hanging out at Chickie Wah-Wah bar. The third night we went to a bar that Jean had been to a few years ago. There we were in the Bullet Sports Bar in the Treme’ – Rock and roll, black and white, young and old, good and good.

———–

I went to my internist today. At the beginning of the visit I said this to her:

I’m 73. I’ve lived longer than anyone ever in my family – partly because of the way I live and partly by luck.

I was married for 45 years to my high school sweetheart. She passed away almost three years ago. The grief was terrible. “It never occurred to me that you could love someone the same way after he was gone, that I would continue to feel such love and gratitude alongside the terrible sorrow, the grief so heavy that at times I shiver

and moan under the weight of it” (from When Breath Becomes Air). I know about this.

For the past year and a half I’ve been in a relationship with a remarkable woman in Berkeley, so I’m there more than here. I have a ticket to return to California next week. And we have tickets to India in January.

All this to say, I have a strong sense of my mortality and I’m intent on living as well as possible.

The internist responded to my situation and got a hurry

-up echocardiogram scheduled. The echo showed a need for further assessment, specifically a cardiac catheterization.

————–

On Friday morning at 0900, the cardiac clinic called to ask if I was coming to my appointment at 0920. This was the first I’d heard of the appointment. I said I could be there in about 40 minutes, but they were unwilling to do this (to my great irritation) and so scheduled me for an afternoon appointment, which was okay with me. When I got to the appointment, I learned

Leslie in the Circle of Friends

that the doctor’s name was Aslan ___.

About 15 years ago in a wilderness area of Big Bend National Park I had a very close encounter with a mountain lion. I had walked away from my campsite to pee and as I started to unzip, I heard a sound and looked up to see the cougar standing about 40 feet away looking at me with those great golden eyes (later, I paced it off; the animal really was that close). Feeling that I should be cool about the situation, I went ahead and unzipped and urinated, all the while talking to the cougar in what I hoped was a reassuring voice. It sat down and began licking its chest, but still looking at me. I zipped back up and turned and walked away – later to learn that you’re not supposed to turn your back on a mountain lion. This encounter had great significance to me. I

Band playing in the garage next to David’s house.

realized that this was my spirit animal.

And now, a doctor named lion (Aslan) was going to perform a cardiac catheterization on me. Talk about a feeling of confidence and synchronicity – glad I didn’t make it to the earlier appointment!

Jean flew in to be with me through the process. Jean and John and I went to UTSW.

On the day of the procedure they took me into the cath room (not quite an OR, but not your average procedure room, either). Everybody is gowned and

Jean and Kristina in Dallas.

masked and it seems serious. I was looking around wondering if this would be the last thing I saw. Someone asked me if there was any music I’d like to listen to. I said no, whatever the doctor liked was what I wanted. They said, oh, never mind, what do you like? I said I’d been listening to the Ramones, I Wanna be Well. They didn’t think they had any Ramones and then someone said, don’t they have a song called I Wanna be Sedated. So I sang part of Sedated to them – “20-20-24 hours to go, I wanna be sedated. Nothin’ to do, nowhere to go, I wanna be sedated.” We had a good time with that, though I can’t really sing like Joey. Then someone walked up to me and said, “I heard you want to be sedated.” I said, “Oh yeah.” And so she started the versed or fentanyl, whichever goes first. I woke up however long later – all was well – Jean was there – they had not needed to put in a stent. “Oh yeah, I wanna be well.”

Some of G-5 men’s Bible study group at Bryce’s ranch

—————

The endless summer: an endless summer is not something that just happens. It needs intention and focus and a high consciousness (like “I embrace your anger.”), and above all, Love.

—————

John and Sherry gave me a copy of Devotions (Patti Smith), one of a series of books on “Why I Write.” The first paragraph of this book sparked this…

Saturday at the Albany Bulb Landfill full of “outsider art”

When I was about 10 I had a vision of the suffering of the world (embodied in my own small suffering – though it didn’t seem small at the time).

When I was 21, home from the war in Vietnam, I made a commitment to myself to never waste my life (though I believe that nothing is something worth doing – Shpongle). And I had a vision that we all are one and took the bodhisattva vow. What was I to do? Leslie was already doing service. I had a groovy little store, The New Store, where I sold waterbeds, waterbed frames, shelves, tables – the store motto was “The New Store is a Wooden Ship.” Then I saw a way to integrate

At the Bulb

the visions and commitments. I went back to school for a year of prerequisites and then on to nursing school, worked as an RN, then graduate school, then hospice, refugees, education, nurse practitioner, primary care. I started writing in 1984 as a way to expand on the vision – healing the sick, relieving suffering (going back to the bodhisattva vow), working toward one world, and so on. Following are titles (pasted from c.v.) of some of what I wrote:

 

Books: Infectious and Tropical Diseases: A Handbook for Primary Care, Refugee and Immigrant Health, Terminal Illness: A Guide to Nursing Care.

Jean at the Bulb

Book chapters: Promoting Healthy Partnerships with Refugees and Immigrants, Culture and Spiritual Care at the End-of-Life, Spiritual Care in Terminal Illness, Anorexia and Cachexia, Six Stories, Promoting Healthy Partnerships with Refugees and Immigrants, Grief and Loss, Refugee and Immigrant Health, The Baylor Community Care Program, Grief, Refugee Health and Community Nursing, Cambodian Refugee Health Project.

Articles (in peer-reviewed journals such as the American Journal of Hospice and Palliative Care, American Academy of Nurse Practitioners, Cancer Nursing, etc. – with thanks to co-authors): Living as a refugee, Cultural issues in palliative care, Community health nursing: Where we are going and how to get there, Culture and the end of life: Major world religions, Culture and the end of life: Chinese, Infectious diseases of refugees and immigrants: Hookworm, Culture and the end of life: Nigerians, Infectious diseases of refugees and immigrants: Viral hemorrhagic fevers, Culture and the end of life: (Asian) Indian health beliefs and practices related to the end of life, Culture and the end of life: East African cultures-Part II, Sudan, Infectious diseases of refugees and immigrants: Giardiasis, Culture and the end of life: East African cultures-Part I, Somalia, Bioterrorism: Introduction and major agents, Infectious diseases of refugees and immigrants: Filariasis, Infectious diseases of refugees and immigrants: Echinococcosis (hydatid disease), Culture and the end of life: East African cultures-Part I, Sudan, Infectious diseases of refugees and immigrants: Ebola and Marburg hemorrhagic fevers, Infectious diseases of refugees and immigrants: Dengue fever, Infectious diseases of refugees and immigrants: Chagas’ disease, Infectious diseases of refugees and immigrants: Brucellosis, Culture and the end of life: East African cultures-Part I, Somali, Infectious diseases of refugees and immigrants: Ascaraisis, Infectious diseases of refugees and immigrants: Amebiasis, Infectious diseases of refugees and immigrants: Introduction, Culture and the end of life: Hispanic cultures (Mexican-Americans), Culture and the end of life: Cambodians and Laotians, Culture and the end of life: Introduction (to a series), Vietnamese health beliefs and practices related to the end of life, Metastatic spread and common symptoms: Pancreatic, prostate, stomach, and uterine cancers, Metastatic spread and common symptoms: Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, oral cavity, and ovarian cancers, Metastatic spread and common symptoms: Lung cancer, melanoma, and multiple myeloma, Metastatic spread and common symptoms: Renal cancer, leukemia, and hepatic cancer, Metastatic spread and common symptoms: Breast cancer, colorectal cancer, and esophageal cancer, Laotian health care beliefs and practices, Metastatic spread and common symptoms: Introduction, bladder cancer, and brain cancer, Palliative care for respiratory problems in terminal illness, Cancer detection activities coordinated by nursing students in community health, Managing chronic pain in patients with advanced disease and substance-related disorders, Islamic cultures: Health care beliefs and practices, Palliative care for patients with acquired immunodeficiency disorder, Spiritual care in terminal illness: Practical applications, Community health clinical experiences: The primary care setting, Teaching strategies for operationalizing nursing’s agenda for health care reform, Preparing for death: A Christian guide for individuals and families, Health services for refugees in countries of second asylum, Writing successful grant proposals for services to clients, Addressing the needs of underserved populations, Basic counseling skills: the refugee client. Cambodian refugee health care beliefs and practices, The dying process.

Announcing Our Domestic Partnership

Bolinas, California!

The day began in bed with coffee, talking, watching the day break, Mt. Tam, the hummingbirds, the light, the Bay, the bridge (and beyond that, the endless Pacific), the trees, our “bowl of light,” our loving. As always, we were there for a good while. For breakfast, Jean made buckwheat crepes with fruit and maple syrup.

We met David for a nice lunch at a typical Berkeley restaurant (diverse customers, good food, flowers). Then on to Marcia’s garden where we walked around the garden and then sat by the pond and signed Domestic Partnership papers. This is the garden, where two years ago on February 23rd Jean and I connected.

So, with joy, I announce that

Jean Cacicedo and I are domestic partners

One of our main considerations is that we want full access to one another if either of us is in a healthcare situation, as well as other legal considerations. We had exchanged vows about a year ago in a deep night – over the waterfall, for better and worse, in sickness and in health… now we’ll be recognized by California as domestic partners.

Charles, David, Jean day of commitment 2/23/2018

David’s presence was wonderful… his acceptance and love for Jean has been beautiful. We all know what we have and we all work to make it work – to be as beautiful as we can be… thank you David,

A card Jean made -one photo superimposed on another

Jean, Charles B. I love you, Son. You keep on quietly going beyond. Text from DK: “It was an honor being there. Our little family grows as we grow.”

We had dinner at a new restaurant on San Pablo. I was thinking, it wouldn’t be easy to be more romantic than we are much of the time. It was a lovely anniversary dinner, interested up by our small sharing plates were cold, so Jean warmed them by sitting on them. This is, after all, Berkeley.

We entered into a legal partnership primarily for legal reasons, but that night into the next day (and beyond), the significance of what we’d done began to open up within us. A piece of paper doesn’t change hearts, still, it was a big step and I felt and continue to feel the tender commitment brought into focus.

Snow/ice storm in the Snowy Range, Wyoming 2017

The next day (Saturday) we had David and Charles for dinner. First course was champagne and crab, fresh, steamed, served with lemon. Then

grilled chicken with Indonesian marinade; salad with orange, avocado, mint, greens, oil and vinegar; asparagus with horseradish sauce; Acme levain; and for dessert, fresh blueberry galette and peppermint tea. California! I said grace, including an incomplete quote from the apostle Paul: “And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love… the greatest of these is love… love.” Conversation was wide-ranging – life, death, food, ethics, television, books,

Colorado, 2017

travel, and not any talk of Trump. It is a beautiful thing that we all are so connected

with one another. Every day I am consciously grateful for this.