Through the Market Place

 Yesterday, Tyler and I went to the Protest/May Day Celebration in Oakland, just off the BART Fruitvale station. It was young, loud, and wildly diverse. We walked through the market area, greeted people, signed petitions for support of issues like public transportation and schools, joined in some chants, and even stopped at a Native American restaurant for tea and appetizers. The restaurant, Wahpepa's Kitchen, is committed to traditional Native cooking and local ingredients, and seemed appropriate for the day committed to not supporting corporate businesses.     

 At the other end of the market, we came across a circle of people dressed in a variety of feathers and beaded costumes. One woman was holding a container with burning incense, and she walked among the costumed people in the circle. We paused to see what would happen. The dancers eventually spread out in a large circle, resulting in the gathered crowd being pushed back as far as possible. The drums commenced, a conch shell was sounded, and it often was in the dance, and the rattles rattled, and the dance began.  

The dance was lively and very focused, and the costumes were colorful. Yet, the dance was not really joyful, in the way I understand joy. I think the dance was both a protest and also a determined prayer. One of the dancers was dressed differently from the rest: Her face was masked and she wore a camouflage jacket. On the back of the jacket was the message, "Chinga La Migra". Yes, it is an obscenity, but these are obscene times. 

 

As I reflect on the day, I find myself thinking about all the young and earnest faces I saw. They are inheriting a hurting world, so it is no wonder they protest, speak loudly and bluntly. I  think we owe it to them and the world to join in this chorus. 

    

Most of the photographs I took of the dance are simply not very good. If you are on Facebook, I suggest that you go to Tyler's page. He took some beautiful pictures. 

    

      

The Path of Peace

 I found this poem in my draft queue. I do not remember the dream, and I am grateful that it is being revealed now. The image is from November, 2025. It reminds me that at times the path of peace will include tears. 

Last night I dreamt 

that a friend and I 

went together to the funeral 

of someone her father knew. 

I knew neither her father nor his friend.

When we arrived at the chapel 

we found  that in order 

to enter, we needed to pass 

through a garden of 

many paths and levels. 

Any confusion we were feeling

eventually dissolved, and 

we simply walked, 

along one of the many paths leading 

along streams of flowers, shrubs, and trees.

When we arrived at the chapel door 

we found that we each carried 

a perfect blossom.  

We took our seats in the stillness,  

each holding a flower,

as the service began for 

a man who released his hold 

on this life to lead us 

on a journey of peace.     

     

     

What About Albuquerque?

 On March 26, Tyler and I left Gallup, NM and went on to Zuni and El Morro. As I have mentioned, all were memorable places.  While we hoped to camp at El Morro, the small campground was full, so we decided to drive on to Albuquerque, which was about 2 hours away. While we were on the road, I called and reserved a room for four nights. When we arrived, I happily popped out of the truck and went in to register us. I took my place in the short line. 

The person at the front desk appeared to be efficient; she obviously knew her job. However, as I watched, I realized that she was not really interacting with the guests. She knew what she needed to say: "Fill this out and sign and the bottom. We will need your license plate number and your credit card number". She never really looked at the guests while doing what needed to be done. It was around 5:00 p.m. or so, a time when travelers and out of town workers are often tired and want only to settle in their room. For some, this interaction might be enough.         

When it was my turn, she realized she had not pulled our reservations. I told her that I was not surprised, I made the reservation only about an hour or so ago. She, on the other hand, expressed much surprise. Talking more to herself than to me, she replied, "But I always have things ready." 

I, however, am at the stage of life when efficiency has pretty much lost its luster. I smiled and said, "What beautiful earrings you are wearing." On each ear she wore a large blue circular disc surrounded by beads. She stopped and looked at me. She then touched one of her earrings, a movement that many of who wear earrings often do when someone notices what we have on. Maybe I am not alone in needing to touch them to actually remember what I am wearing. She then added, "I am an Indigenous beader. I usually sit here and bead." I would have liked to have learned more, but there were weary people waiting behind me. I thanked her for her help and her beautiful work. This time, she smiled. The next day I saw her again. She was holding her beading project close to her face and was working with much attention. As I needed nothing from the front desk, I chose not to interrupt her. I did not see her again.

This interaction set the tone for my trip to Albuquerque. Tyler and I had come for one reason: to see if we believed that we could live there. For me, that meant talking to people. It was a wonderful experience. I even talked to the wind. On our first full day there, the wind came through, stirring up a sandstorm. Tyler made just one comment: "You have got to be kidding." I laughed, and said, "Hello Wind. I remember you from my childhood. I see you have come to welcome us." I grew up in West Texas where one is often greeted by wind and dust.     

Yet, it seems that even in an arid land, lilacs grow. The scent was so enticing, as the people, the art, the food, also proved to be. More to follow.      

  

    

 image: Lilacs growing in Old Town Albuquerque 

Sanctuary

 When we camp, we almost never have access to water, so we bring our own. We have a tank that Tyler has mounted on the inside wall of the camper, and it holds close to ten gallons. The tank is connected to a hose and a pump, giving us fairly easy access. Nonetheless, when camping, especially in an arid land, we don't want to be frivolous with our water use. That has been our practice, regardless of where we camp. 

On March 31, we found a campsite tucked in among some sycamore trees that were growing close to the Gila River. The next morning before we left, I told Tyler I wanted to wash my face and hands. He turned on the pump and poured some water into my cupped palms. After I washed, I did the same for him. That moment of holding the water in my hands and pouring water into his felt both sacred and humbling.  

Two days before when we were preparing to leave Albuquerque, we bought water at a local market to replenish our tank. Tyler undertook this transfer in the parking lot of our hotel.  

We stayed four nights in this Best Western hotel. The hotel was pretty standard, but our room was on the third floor and there were two trees growing right outside our window. Their location meant that our window was at leaf level. Every morning we would wake to birdsong and green leaves. It was as if the trees themselves were singing the day into existence.  

When the tank was full, we had  about half a gallon of water left over. I took the container over to the trees and gave them both a drink, and thanked them for their presence. They had given sanctuary to the birds and to us. Trees in an arid land are allies indeed. May we learn to be as well.     

  

"I will travel pathways of connection,

for you have expanded my heart."   

Psalm 119:32

Psalms, Ancient Songs for these Times 

Rabbi Yael Levy      

              

    

  

Zuni

 The drive from Gallup to the Zuni Pueblo is short - less than an hour along a two lane highway. When we arrived we stopped at the cultural center to get our bearings, and really to show our respect. The woman there was friendly and helpful. We opted to not take a tour, so she showed us where we could go, and where we could not. She reminded us  to  not take any photographs which I would not have done anyway. She suggested that we simply drive just a little further on, and  stop at some local galleries. And so we did, parking in front of  the first gallery we came to. However, we were surprised to  learn that it, and the second gallery, were closed. We walked a little further on, and found an open sign. We were welcomed in.

Here we found ourselves not in a gallery, but a shop where raw materials, including turquoise, were sold. For as long as I have known him, Tyler has been interested in jewelry and jewelry making, so he was quite intrigued. There we met an amiable fellow, I shall call him Ben (not his real name), who seemed to be delighted to have someone to talk to, and talk he did. He told us several times that he would buy his materials from no where else. The woman behind the counter, I believe she was the owner, reminded him with no humor that he had not brought her any of his dragonflies in a long time. Ben never really responded to her comments, keeping instead to what was really a friendly  monologue.     

I mentioned to the owner that I was surprised to discover that the two galleries we walked by were closed. She rather off-handedly replied,

 “They are from Pakistan. Who knows what hours they keep, but the  shop down the street is open.” I do wish I had pursued that conversation a little further, for I was surprised to hear about the Pakistani shopkeepers, but I got distracted by a stack of magazines residing on her counter: the “New Mexico, Special Collector’s Edition” dated February, 1995. It was an issue dedicated to turquoise. She said I was  welcome to take a copy.  We thanked her for her hospitality, and walked out the door.

Tyler and Ben both walked a little ahead of me. Ben kept talking, treating Tyler like an old friend. The gallery was indeed open. There, Ben found other people to talk to, and I found  a lovely bracelet to  replace the Zuni bracelet I bought decades ago. That bracelet eventually lost all its very small inlaid stones.  

As I paid for my purchases (I also bought a wooden salt cellar decorated with hummingbirds in black, blue, and red),  the woman behind the counter spotted the magazine. I told her  it was from just down the street. She was so intrigued, I suggested that she take the copy, and I would stop by the shop and pick up another copy. I did find myself wondering just how much the owners talked to one another. 

After picking up the second copy of the magazine, we then returned to the truck.  The woman at the materials’ shop wanted to know who received the first copy and I explained and thanked her for her generosity.  

We then took a drive down the dirt road that was the street. We knew we were not welcome to go into the area that I think of as the heart of the pueblo. We could do that only if we took the tour, and that certainly made sense to us. As I peruse the New Mexico magazine, I am reminded of the challenges of holding in balance traditional ways, with the influx of money that travelers, settlers, and developers bring.  This has been the case ever since the Spanish, who were more interested in finding wealth rather than balance, first arrived.   

I will digress here, as I just came across an ad in the February 1995 issue of the “New Mexico” magazine that mentions a cookbook, The Best from New Mexico Kitchens. I have that cookbook. It was sent to me many years ago by my mother’s best friend, Arlene Hart. I remember her with love. Her laughter and her books were such a beacon for me in some lonely times.  She wrote in her very intentional handwriting the following inscription on the first page: 

“To Sue Ann Donaldson from Arlene Hart 

Many happy hours

‘slaving  over a hot stove’

To feed your friends ‘Tex-Mex.’”    

   

Arlene was a fine cook, and while there probably were days when she may not have been in the mood to be in the kitchen, preferring instead to sit and read, I don’t think she really thought of herself as a slave. I hope not, anyway.  I must have asked my mother for a recipe for green chili sauce because Arelene highlighted the titles of the following recipes:  green chili sauce, tame green chili sauce,  and salsa. I am smiling.  Arlene always cooked by a recipe; my mother almost never did. That was a source of much laughter between the two of them.     

    

On our way out of Zuni on our way to El Morro and then Albuquerque, we stopped and filled up the truck with gas. Our hope was that at least some of the money would stay in the pueblo, if nothing else to help pay for the salary of the young man who worked there.       

     

Since I have no photographs of Zuni, I am attaching a photograph that was taken at the beautiful Red Rock Canyon State Park, Cantil, CA which is outside of  California City.  I love this image of Tyler, gazing ever further on.   

        

      

Gallup, New Mexico

 When we arrived in Gallup, NM, most of the galleries were already closed. We did find one that was open, and we spent some time there viewing the large collection of jewelry. The person helping us was not American Indian but rather Middle Eastern, and was probably the owner. He  was knowledgeable about the various artists, and appreciative of their work, and we spent some time there.

We had already decided to not try to camp that night, and I asked if he had a hotel recommendation because Gallup has a daunting number of  hotels and motels. He replied that he felt any of them would be fine, but suggested that we at least stop and have a drink at the historic Hotel El Rancho. We did just that, and found ourselves settling in after a long day of driving.

Because I have little to no interest in Western movies or Route 66 lore, I did not expect to like the hotel as much as I did. However, the staff was friendly, and the food and margaritas were tasty, and the family owned hotel was very well maintained.  It opened in 1937, and catered to those working in the film industry, particularly those who were filming Westerns in the area. On the walls are movie posters of by-gone stars such as John Wayne or Errol Flynn. Just about every photograph was of someone dressed in Western garb, often on a horse, with a gun in hand. I found the images unnerving, especially since so many of the staff were Navajo or maybe Zuni or Hopi. However, inertia set in, and we stayed.  Our room was small, but so well kept that I left the last of my cash as a tip for the cleaning staff.  The rooms were named for movie stars. Our room was the Joseph Cotten room, although there was a disclaimer that he probably never stayed at the hotel.

The next morning as I was packing some items into the truck, I was approached by a polite and smiling man. I could not tell you if he was young or old, but I do not believe he was Anglo.  He said that he would not get paid until Monday, and was short of cash. Could  I help him?  Just to let him know I was not insensitive to his situation, I responded that I had to decline because I had already given away my money as a tip for the cleaning staff. He smiled again, nodded his head, and quietly walked away.  Whether he was a well-practiced charlatan, or someone truly in need, or both, I will never know, but the exchange was friendly. This was the only time on the trip when I was ever approached for money, although in  Albuquerque we did see one fairly disheveled man eating a slice of pizza while holding a sign announcing his homeless state.  Also on this trip we saw very little graffiti, and I don’t recall seeing anyone muttering to themselves or yelling and raising their fists at something or someone unseen by those around him. I also don’t remember seeing any political advertisements. Perhaps I am simply revealing my selective memory.    

 

The sign above the entrance to the hotel reads, "Charm of  Yesterday, Convenience of Tomorrow".

From Gallup, we went on to Zuni. I had already written about that experience before, but alas, I accidently but permanently deleted that file, and will need to start over. Thank you for helping  me remember.   

 

            

  

Desert Colors

 "May I trust in the Unfolding Mystery and meet it well.

May I dwell in the land and be nourished by its faith." 

Psalm  37:3  Psalms, Ancient Songs for These Times

Rabbi Yael Levy          

     

 Rabbi Yael has published her book of psalms and I am delighted. It is as beautiful a book as I knew it would be. 

   

These times are certainly testing us. Yet, more importantly, they are strengthening us. Let us set our intentions and continue to love. 

      

       

    

     

image:  Red Rock Canyon State Park, Cantil, CA, April 2026  

  

El Morro

 

Looking at my photographs of El Morro National Monument in New Mexico, I realize that I never did get a definitive picture.  There is the view of El Morro itself (Spanish for “Headlands”). However, El Morro is large and my IPhone is small, so I found it not easy to photograph. From the top there is the beautiful view of Morro Valley. There is also the view of the historic pueblo that sits at the top and is in the process of being refurbished. There is the pool of water at the foot of El Morro which is why it became a stopping place for first the ancient ones who scratched their petroglyphs, and then the Spaniards, who added their elaborate signatures.  As you  can see from the attached photograph, the site is protected to maintain the historical integrity so one cannot really get too close. 

  On a trip decades ago, Tyler and I stopped at El Morro, and we wanted to return to both Zuni and El Morro again. On this trip we walked the path to the top and saw the pueblo and kiva. We then walked the lower path to view the petroglyphs and inscriptions. We talked about trying to spend the night  in the small campground there, but the sites are first come, first served, and they were all taken. The campsite is probably an excellent place to camp and view stars on a clear night.  El Morro is just off of the two lane Hwy 53, so I think the nighttime would be quiet. However, the ultimate quest of our trip was to visit Albuquerque to determine if we might want to live there, and it seemed time to begin that part of the journey, about a two hour drive.

I am having some difficulty gathering my thoughts about our trip. This morning I wrote about visiting Zuni on our way to El Morro and Albuquerque, but I accidently, but nonetheless permanently deleted the file.  I will try again tomorrow. I think I am having some trouble simply settling into being home again, partly because I retired from professional ministry days before we left on this trip.  I have much to process.

Yes, we fell in love with Albuquerque and New Mexico. At times, I have found myself wistfully remembering when I moved from Texas to California. I was 20 something when I  packed everything in my red VW, and off I drove with $200 in my  wallet. This is obviously a different time of my life. As intimidating as a move is, we  are fortunate to have a house to get ready to sell. This will take some time. Hopefully, the economy or the world won’t completely collapse in the meantime. However, just to be on the safe side, I will hold in reserve $200 cash to help get us out of town. For now, I am reading Paul Coelho’s The Alchemist to remind myself to not be afraid to dream.

More to follow! If you want to see the images, please go to my Facebook Page or send me an email to sayarbrough@gmail.com. They are large files.   

 

“As he mused about these things, he realized that he had to choose between thinking of himself as the poor victim of a thief and as an adventurer in quest of his treasure.”  

Paul Coelho, The Alchemist, A Fable About Following Your Dream, p.44 

 

“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

Jesus as quoted in Matthew 6:21  

           

               

 

Prayers and Prophecy

 "Everyone has a place in the mosaic of peace." 

Pope Leo in today's Vigil for Peace   

      

            

"The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad; 

the desert shall rejoice and blossom like the crocus; 

it shall blossom abundantly

and rejoice with joy and singing."     

Isaiah 35:1-2      

        

image:  Ocotillo,  Kingman, AZ, April 2026

Dreaming of There

 In the dream I am walking

through a desert.

I am seeing rocks on the ground

with the word "There" carved 

in their stone. 

I believe I am following 

the path of an artist.  

There are others with me.  

I wonder about these stones,

where they might be leading 

me.  

We arrive at a hotel 

and we sleep.

It is strange to dream

of falling asleep while sleeping. 

It is not easy to wake up 

while believing I am still

in the dream.   

I stand and look out the window.   

It takes a few moments 

to realize that I am 

not there, I am here,

still in the dream,

still trying to listen to 

the guidance of an artist 

who speaks through carved stones.

How can I tell when 

I am on my way to there?   

Perhaps I am already gone.     

   

say, April 2026    

  

       

  

image: Petroglyph National Monument, Western Trail NW, Albuquerque, March 2026

  

  

 

Tunnel Vision

 We are indeed home. I never expected my travel recollections would begin with this image, but when I spotted it on a cafe wall, I laughed out loud.

 

 On our journey home, we drove the beautiful State Hwy 155 to postpone getting on Hwy 5 as long as possible (Tyler is proving to be a great path finder!) At one point we noticed  a sign for a cafe and market. I remarked that a cup of coffee and a bite to eat sounded good, so we pulled into the parking lot and went in. On the wall of the cafe were several advertisement posters from bygone years and this poster caught my eye.
After we ate and drank some of what was possibly the worst tasting coffee I ever have had, we walked back to the truck. There we were approached by a thin, straight-spined woman who had the appearance of one who worked outdoors for many years. I believe she was older than I, but not by much.
She asked me about our truck, and I explained some of its finer points, including the fact that we appreciate its smaller size. She responded in what I might call a rural accent and lamented that gas prices would probably continue to rise so a smaller truck is probably a good idea. She then added, "I believe we voted in the wrong man. I hope someone better comes along." Trying hard to avoid any snarkiness, I added that I hope he leaves sooner than later, and we said our good-byes.
As we continued our journey through that beautiful verdant land of rolling hills, I realized that we were probably traveling through DT country. In rural countries, higher gas and diesel prices are serious. Ranchers, and certainly farmers as well  have animals to feed and transport, and equipment to maintain. I felt that woman's disappointment and wondered if she would ever vote for a Democrat. I also again wondered if our current color coded two party system has resulted in so much polarization that all of us risk not listening and thinking clearly as we cast our votes.  
Yes, there are indeed some tunnels that lead us astray. May all of us have the courage to simply turn around and explore a new direction.    

       

    

Our trip was filled with wondrous sights, delicious foods, some new jewelry, and many good conversations. I will begin sharing some of my photographs and musings in the next few days. I also plan on exploring using Substack for my writing.  If you have any thoughts or insights you would like to share about this idea, please let me know! 

    

    

First Day of Retirement

 

As I pondered the wisteria, 

an older gentleman stopped to talk. 

He wanted to know what plant it was, 

and I told him what I knew. 

He asked about the color, and added 

 that he did not think it was purple.  

We gazed upon it together.

"What color do you think it is?" I asked. 

"Lavender," he responded, and then added,

"I must tell my sister about this color. 

She is 80 - a ceramic artist."   

I encouraged him to smell, 

for the scent was quite beautiful and within reach.

As we said our good-byes, 

 I noticed that his smiling wrinkled face,

 framed with faded reddish-blonde hair, 

reminded me of an aging sunflower.

I like to think of him  

 happily planning a visit with his sister 

to tell her of a color he discovered

 on a brightly lit Monday afternoon.  

    

     

     

image: San Leandro, March 16, 2026

The Invitation

 Earlier this week I was working on the PowerPoint slides for this Sunday. PowerPoint has never been a strength of mine, and now that the arthritis in my hands is really making itself known, I find the cutting, pasting, and moving between screens difficult and frustrating. Our church office manager has kindly taken over this task, but she has been out of state visiting her father.  For two weeks I have been PowerPoint wrangling. 

As I was trying to stay composed as I was working on the slide for the hymn "Spirit Song" and the beginning words, "O let the Son of God enfold you with his Spirit and his love," I was singing them to help me keep track of where I was. An email came in, and in a moment of distraction, I paused to read it. I found the contents surprisingly rude, which of course just heightened my frustration. My already dwindling composure dissolved into an unpleasant mess.  I opted to not answer the email, but tried to return to my task and my singing, although my mood was certainly not light filled.  

 I soon realized that I was not singing the words as written, but rather "O let the love of God unfold you in his love". I paused, and then my wadded up origami heart heard the invitation to unfurl. The sun was shining, and I decided to walk away from the work and go outside.   

In the front garden is a beautiful ceanothus that I think is about three years old. I was stunned to see that it was in full bloom, and there must have been at least a hundred bees, buth honey and bumblebees, and maybe others darting from blossom to blossom. I have no idea how one would count bees in motion, so I will simply say that the activity level was so high it was audible. I, too, took in the warm, glimmering sunlight and gave thanks to God and to the young woman who helps with tending to the garden. A neighbor stopped by and we talked about neighborly things. She then went on her way, and I returned to my task with a much clearer heart and mind. It was a blessing to find a healing sanctuary in our own front yard, and it was a blessing to hear an invitation and to be present enough to say yes with gratitude.

   

The attached photograph reveals just one of the many pollen-ladened bees at work that day. Let us all plant for life. Bees need it, and so do we.

      

       

Presence of Everything

 "Silence is not the absence of something but the presence of everything.”*  
 James Crews quoting the acoustic ecologist, Gordon Hempton, "who has spent his life listening to and recording the world’s natural soundscapes."        

   
For the past couple of weeks, my faith community and I have been exploring some of the ancient names of God. I am, of course, hindered as always by my lack of knowledge of biblical Hebrew, but fortunately there are others in the world who have shared some of their knowledge. El Shaddai is currently one of my favorite names. It feels so alive  and is such a joy to say.  It makes me yearn to view God's realm from a mountaintop, stretch out my arms, and speak the name as loudly as I can, from the tip of my toes to the end of my fingers and beyond.  In other words, an embrace.  And then I would bow and even maybe even kneel. Then I just might dance.  
However, this morning while I am still in my pajamas, I read James Crews' newsletter for this month, and in it he mentions Gordon Hempton. Years ago I watched a documentary about Hempton and his quest of recording the sounds of nature around the world.  Even then he said that it was becoming difficult to find places untouched by the sound of human activity. I found the film beautiful, and I shall try to seek out some of his work again. This morning I read that at one point Mr. Hempton lost much of his hearing and the doctors said nothing could be done. According to what I read, he simply sat with the silence, and eventually (I do not know how long) his hearing returned.  There is indeed healing to be found in silence.
This morning as I sat in silence, I heard a bird begin to sing. I was stunned into that silence when I read that a group of billionaires just awarded our president with a trophy inscribed with "the undisputed champion of beautiful, clean coal.”*  After spending a couple of weeks weeping as I watched the Buddhist Monks' Walk for Peace unfold on Facebook, the contrast seemed tacky and almost laughable if it wasn't so sad and awful. Unfortunately, these billionaires, with their puppet president in tow, are determined to bring back coal production, and that is certainly far from humourous.  I am reminded of Hayao Miyazaki's beautifully animated film, "Princess Mononoke" which I also have not seen in years.  In the film, nature and humans struggle with the difficulties of trying to live next to "Iron Town".  Like all of Miyazaki's work, it is well worth watching again, and fortunately, I think it is still available on Netflix.  
The Presence of Everything is a fine name for God. As I rummaged through the internet, I came across part of a transcript by Krista Tippet of the On Being Project: " He [Gordon Hempton] defines real quiet as presence — not an absence of sound, but an absence of noise. The Earth as Gordon Hempton knows it is a 'solar-powered jukebox.'”*  "On Being" is still in existence, and I have just subscribed.   

Friends if you can, please step outside sometime today, breathe deeply, and give thanks for our glorious earth that should not be treated as a toxic production site for the ultra-wealthy. You have just seen a glance as to how I plan on spending the next few years. I will continue to write, and will, to the best of my ability, continue to look around and be a voice for this sacred planet. Our earth is more than a jukebox. Let us come together and share the threads we are following. We are being woven into a garment that is stronger than we know.   

*"The Weekly Pause", James Crews, February 13, 2026    
*"Letter from an American", Heather Cox Richardson, February 12, 2026

*https://onbeing.org    

   

         

     

 
Image was taken from the Garchen Buddhist Institute, outside of Chino Valley, AZ a few years ago. I believe this is a view of the Santa Maria Mountains.

 

Finding the Path, Learning the Way

 "The will in us to exact vengeance, which is escalatory by definition, comes down to nothing less than a drive towards death. We know cooperation and peace are how humans can survive but we more often choose the death-row exit strategies of revenge and war. The statement 'We have to fight back and protect ourselves so war is justified' is the same as 'There is no alternative to revenge.' These statements sound like war and revenge are the only plans we humans can think up. Yet we have ingenuity. We are certainly not myopic; we have gigantic vision. We are not primitive; we are better than that. We are not one-trick ponies; we are virtuosos.  We can widen the range of our moral imagination and moral courage." 

Introduction to Sweeter than Revenge, Overcoming Your Payback Mind, David Richo

 

On December 13, 2025 I attended a workshop led by author and teacher, David Richo. This workshop centered around his most recent book mentioned above. I do not know how often he has been making an annual trek to San Damiano in Danville to lead a workshop, but this was my third time to attend one of his events there. I was at first a little torn about attending just because of the timing. Looking back at my calendar, I see that December 13 was in the middle of Advent - a very good time, I learned, to explore the prevalence of revenge. Yes, even in myself. However, mostly I decided to attend because David Richo is not a young man, nor am I a young woman. There can be no assumptions made about next year being a better time. And I love his work.    

Our nation is being led by a man who spends an inordinate amount of time seeking control, one-uppance, violence, and revenge. Yes, his vision is myopic and self-focused. It is also frightening, embarrassing, and lethal. Our nation is better than what we are doling out to the world and to ourselves. However, in contrast, there is a group of Buddhist monks who have undertaken a long Peace Walk from Ft. Worth, TX to Washington D.C. They are about halfway through their journey. Yet, just to finish is, I do not believe, the goal, despite the weariness they are probably experiencing. Their goal is reached every day as people come out to witness the monks and their journey. Some come to support and give encouragement, some to express gratitude. Maybe some come because they have never witnessed a group of monks quietly walking single file through their town. Regardless, the monks are reminding us that we, too, can be people of peace. We can make our own lives a walk dedicated to peace. Not hoarding all the goodies for the benefit of a few. Not revenge when we do not get our way. Not hate, not death, but peace. The peace that happens when people try to understand and honor one another's journey.  

 The attached photograph was taken a few days ago. It is, of course, not mine, but is from the fb page, "Walk for Peace".  In both the man in the motorized chair and in the monk, I see Buddha. I see Jesus. I see no boundaries, only a deep love. I see hope for us all.  

  

       

A Lesson from a Sea Bird (Thank you, God)

 

While walking on the beach

I saw two gulls on this rock.

One was standing and casting

 its vision out over the sea.  

The other seemed to settle down

 as if to nest.  

No, that cannot be, I thought. 

This is a terrible place to raise a family. 

Too exposed, too cold,  

just too downright uncomfortable. 

If the egg actually hatched, 

how would the chick survive?

Sometimes they don't, I know, 

but if she was going to nest, 

why would she not go to the comfy trees 

that were just behind us, where a neighborly 

turkey vulture was waiting patiently

for the beach visitors to clear 

before feasting on an expired 

and well seasoned mola fish 

that had washed ashore.

That is a whole other mystery.

 I  took a picture of the gull,

a photograph that will not improve

one little bit my reputation

 as a photographer, 

 and we walked on.  

However, she has stayed 

in my mind and hopefully 

on that rock if that is really 

what she wants to do.

I have learned that gulls do indeed 

prefer to nest out in the open 

on rocks and exposed high ledges and such.  

 I think about her 

and wonder if she is ok,

and goodness, what about 

all this rain?  

Couldn't we build her a tasteful little gull hideaway?  

Okay, okay, I know

 they like to live life out in the open, 

But I swear if I knew someone 

in that small beach town 

I would call them and ask 

if  they could check on her, 

maybe I could even pay 

someone to keep watch,

 but then again 

this beach town has some

rather wealthy people 

who probably do not need my

two cents worth, and anyway 

there are a lot of gulls along the coast 

(I almost wrote our coast, 

but that seems presumptuous,

even tacky) so they seem

to have worked things out

and probably would prefer 

just to be left alone to tend 

to their own gull business.     

 

So  Holy One, you who care 

for the whole ocean as if it is yours, 

which, of course it is, thank you. 

I know we humans have kind of

made a mess of things but we 

do keep trying to stand upright 

and walk on our own two feet, 

just like we have been taught, 

and to use our brains 

for some good purpose. 

I would appreciate 

your tending 

to this gull and her beloved 

because now I have learned 

that gulls mate for life,

not hiding under some small tacky tent, 

but under your wide blue sky,

 and if left to themselves, 

can live a pretty long time.  

Holy One, I am grateful,

which is a nice way to 

start this year.  

I want this poem 

to have a happy ending, 

but I will never know.  

I do know you tend to things

in your own way which 

is usually a mystery to us; 

we are just not that far along 

that we can even understand 

that your happy ending 

just might be different enough

from anything we can conjure up 

just to keep ourselves comfortable

and death free.   

I will say, 

because I cannot help myself, 

that I really liked that

 turkey vulture, and I hope it was able 

to dine in peace on the mola fish

which looks to be a curious

creature, alive or deceased.  

What a neighborhood, Holy One.

What a blessing just to see a glimpse of it 

as we walked by.       

                

 

 image:  Stinson Beach, December 2025