Bell Jar Studies

1.

Oh, to study the shape of sound!

To draw out tone for so long that
time seems suspended!
To conduct tone, like gold,
into ever more fine strands,
pulling, weaving, interleaving
—achieving
no less exquisite tone
in the cadential silence
that relieves the beautiful strain
by ever so gentle retreat.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Meetings

Paper worn,
sheets so old
there's no rustle left in them,
more like felt under her fingers,
or softer yet,
like the worn cheek
of a beloved old friend.

Settling the pages,
making them comfortable,
she arranged herself,
just close enough
to see the signs and symbols,
and on them meditate.

Cradling the instrument
within her warm embrace,
she took a long, deep breath,
filling her being with its sweetness.

Fixing her gaze
on those worn pages—
old friends, revisited often;
“the rules of engagement,”
she had once heard;
an apt description,
the thought occurred
—she drew the bow,
forward over the strings.

Then she leaned back,
closed her eyes,
and let the bow find the strings,
the way that they would do,
just now.

Inner ear to mind,
mind to thought,
idea to quill,
quill to manuscript,
symbols dot paper,
shapes greet the eye,
horsehair strokes steel,
steel vibrates wood,
wood sings,
space hums,
body rejoices,
soul soars.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Flower

From ice,
wind blows,
swirls clouds,
forms snow,
then rain,
to crack
hard ground.

Sky smiles,
shoots rise,
bud grows;
sun-kissed
flow'ring
shows truth:
whole world.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

This poem revealed itself to me as I read Chapter 59 of Dōgen's Shōbōgenzō

Fluidity

Simply allowing time
to roll through my fingers
would not as finely
sieve all being
as the pouring of self
through the soul journey
expresses the fluidity
of eternity’s song.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

The Gift of Conversation

When was the last time you had a great conversation?

An hour ago? A few days ago? Last week? Last month? Or, is not lately more accurate?

How can it be that we live close to family, friends and neighbors, but seem to have a paucity time for companionable contact? Can we be that busy? Do we allow ourselves to be so overwhelmed and over-scheduled by endless lists of duties and activities that we put off until never our friendships?

Well, I confess. Yes, I have allowed myself to be overwhelmed and over-scheduled. The lists of tasks that managed to go undone, despite all of my efforts and planning, grow like weeds on my bureau and desk. Everything takes so much longer than it would if I didn’t get phone calls, emails, or strangers coming to the door. I think to myself, if I just don’t answer the phone, I’ll be able to get out the door and go for a walk; but that seldom, if ever, happens.

Now that I have made my confession, perhaps you have one to make to yourself. Be honest.

Don’t you crave real talk with a real person?

Yesterday, I was fortunate to have a couple of friends drop by. We live all of six blocks from each other, but it has been months since we sat down for a nice cup of tea.

So starved for conversation, were we three, that we fairly tripped over one another. There is so much to say, and we were only too aware that there is little time for giving voice to our thoughts, innermost or outermost. Too many thoughts leave trails that the mind will follow and fix upon. One person will say something to change the direction of the conversation, and who knows if we will return to the place where we have been. Talks like these are uncharted territory; they need to be explored if we are to find that oasis of refreshment and mind expansion that lurks in the shadow of the soulful bond of friendship. Book titles, connections to other people, recipes, philosophies, histories and music become focal point of all our talk and meeting, bringing more to the shared experience than we could have imagined.

We did not nearly have enough time to catch up before my friends had to leave.

And then, there was that list of things that needed to have gotten done in that precious hour and a half, staring me in the face.

Well, who knows any of that will ever get done!

I wouldn’t trade a full day full of accomplishment for that slim, yet cherished, hour of talk with dear friends.

Would you?

A Quiet Revolution

At sometime clipped,

by studied hand or wind,
winter-shorn branches,
in defiance of rain and cold,
stick out shoots and buds
like saucy little red tongues.

A green fringe soon arrives,
to dawn and then to crest,
with a hint of passion’s hue
blushing from unfurling tips;
daily, yet unhurried, arrives
some new, impish posture.

From ever entwining green,
flower buds arise, carelessly
insinuating most contrary beauty,
here,—within our noise and need—
even here,—from our crumbling rubble—
staging a popular dissent.

Wherever a war-mad world
breeds destruction and death,
a counter-insurgency rises,
peacefully demonstrating,
affirming life’s supremacy,
in brightly arrayed revolt.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Education Electronic, Like the Dissolution of Monasteries

There is much discussion about how to “save” education costs by making more classes and degrees available online. Advocates, such as Minnesota Gov. Tim Pawlenty, have been aggressively pushing this notion. One claim is that it is cheaper and more interesting for students to learn online, than to have to drag into a lecture hall and listen to some stodgy professor drone on. Students would have more access to education in an online setting, and it the education would be of a higher quality.

How interesting.

The US Department of Education even released a study claiming that higher education students studied online “performed better” than students who physically attend classes. Never mind that the Community College Research Center later found the analysis to be flawed, due to an improper selection of student populations used in the assessment, the USDE study is cited all over the place as evidence that online education is better. The CCRC study did not find in the USDE study any evidence to support the notion that students learn better in an online environment. In fact, the CCRC study found that students were more likely to withdraw from an online course than from one offered in a  traditional classroom setting.

How interesting.

In Britain, meanwhile, Lord Browne et al put out a report, last October, with the windy title “Securing a Sustainable Future for Higher Education: An Independent Review of Higher Education Funding and Student Finance.” Stefan Collini reviewed this document for the London Review of Books November 2010 edition. Collini is disturbed by many assertions in this so-called independent review. I quote from the article:

Essentially, Browne is contending that we should no longer think of higher education as a provision of the public good… Instead, we should think of it as a lightly regulated market in which consumer demand, in the form of student choice, is sovereign in determining what is offered by service providers (i.e., universities)… Britain’s universities, it is proposed, should henceforth be operated in accordance with the tenets of perfect competition theory.”

How interesting.

There is a lot to be said about all of the above. There are many pages to read of reports. But here is what I will say, in short, on all of this:

The gutting of higher education is underway. The rhetoric is hot and furious, and coming mostly from people who either benefited from publicly funded education or who are independently wealthy or who are capitalists on the prowl for the next drill down site.

Education costs money. Does it cost less money to attend class online? Well, that depends on whether you are getting the class through a for-profit “university” or a state funded institution. University of Phoenix has probably set the bar in for-profit education, and we are now seeing the idea spread like an infection.

Do you have a computer? Do you have internet access? All of these things cost money. When I attended university, I did not have a computer. I read books; I listened to lectures; I wrote papers. Amazingly, none of this happened with a computer! I paid for music lessons, books, paper, pens and pencils, as well as student and course fees. Today, you cannot even attend college classes without a computer. Why is that? Because it is “so much easier to do the work with computer access.” Well, that is as may be, but I have a friend who is a college professor; she spends most of her office time battling with her own computer set-up because the network is constantly down. If it is a time saver, it is an expensive one, not to mention a troubleshooting time suck.

Choice, do you like choice? Do you know what you want? If you are an 18 year old college bound youth, do you have any idea what you want to do with your life? HA! "Consumer driven education" has got to be the wackiest capitalist myth ever! The brains of most undergraduates have not fully developed to the point where critical thinking is possible, and most people need to be taught how to think critically through a course in the Philosophy or Psychology Departments.

Quality education, how is it to be determined or regulated? Can one teach Socratic Dialogue by email? Biology Labs from home? Does one learn better without benefit of group discussion or even the barest human contact?

The gutting of higher education could be compared to Henry VIII’s dissolution of the monasteries, which, under the cover of Reformation, slid a great deal of wealth into a relatively small number of undeserving pockets, but did not benefit the average person one whit.

Look for more noise about choices in education. Expect fees to skyrocket. Expect your education "service provider" to be raking in a lot of money, but don't expect that you will be able closely examine who might be teaching your internet courses or that you will be able to "critically assess" whether your class is doing to do you any good. 

This feigned concern about how best to "deliver" education is not about providing a lasting cultural gift or benefiting society; this is about greed and it is about money. Once the universities (indeed, all bastions of public education) are dismantled, and once the unions are broken, drill down begins and the great divide continues. Those who can afford to will pay, because there will be no other choice. As for the rest of us…

Well, now, that should be interesting.

//

http://childmyths.blogspot.com/2009/04/critical-thinking-and-mastery-of-child_2194.html

http://www.independent.gov.uk/browne-report

http://www.insidehighered.com/news/2010/06/17/pawlenty

http://www.insidehighered.com/news/2010/07/16/online

http://www.lrb.co.uk/v32/n21/stefan-collini/brownes-gamble

Big Money Peddling Mediocrity: Arts in the 21st Century

Today, a friend alerted me to an article in the Huffington Post, which is now a puppet of AOL, entitled, "What Is Wrong With The Arts?" I read it and chuckled to myself. The author, Michael Kaiser (who is the President of the Kennedy Center), laments that there is just not enough inventiveness in the serious arts scene. There is more inventiveness, he says, in popular culture.

I say: We get what we pay for. Period.

We are not paying for inventiveness--that is one of the primary reasons that we are left with what people will broadcast on YouTube, for free. Jaron Lanier said as much in his searing manifesto, "You Are Not A Gadget." Lanier's slant on this is that the Internet has not produced jobs for artists. He is correct. Those of us who live in and for the arts are all freelancers, these days--with an unsought emphasis on free. We, the artistically inclined, all pay a higher price for living our lives for the individual stake we hold in the arts.

The larger performing arts concerns are not taking risks, in these low flying days of staving off bankruptcy. Boards and investors are more interested in running a business than perpetuating culture.  Philanthropists are dying off at an alarming rate, and they are not being replaced by the next generation. The universities in the United States and Britain are being turned into corporate money machines that soon will no longer offer liberal arts, of any sort. Fancy that.

The big money concerns in music and film keep as busy as possible with rehashes and remakes. This is less true for dance, but not by much. And even less so for fine arts, where artists have always been starving. But, big money hammers us with sameness, festooned with special effects, or "reality" programming that is not any sort of art at all. Cute animal shows, idiotic home videos, pack-rats, and the like, with hosts that vapidly react to the subject matter they are paid to peddle. The message is loud and clear: we don't like deep art; deep art doesn't sell.

Someone on the inside, like Kaiser, knows only too well how all this works. He worries, in his article, that his facile comments will anger the arts community (does he mean artists or boards of arts organizations?), but artists aren't the people to whom his message needs to be broadcast--and he should know better. Have some backbone, man! You are blaming the wrong people. Look to the suits that hold the purse strings, not the poor artists, who would dearly love the opportunity (and funding) for their own work (to which you won't give the time of day) to find a wider audience. If you want an artistic renaissance, you must become a patron ($$$$!) to the arts, and look for art where it is happening, not within your boardroom. If you want to promote culture, you need to stop thinking like a business.

Small groups and individuals are doing what they always have done: keeping the flame of creativity and excellence alive, even while going in the red. Small groups and individuals are the risk-takers in the arts; they have nothing to lose.

As I said in a previous entry, if you want to free the arts to be inventive, deep, ground-breaking and engaging, you need to PAY! If you pay only for the same-old-same-old, that is your problem, and we the ticket buying public are sure to get bored. Bored, bored, bored. What a surprise! So, we will go home and strike up our garage band, because we know we can do better.

The geniuses are all peddling their wares in the streets. Soon, that is where all true art will reside. More's the pity.

//

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/michael-kaiser/what-is-wrong-with-the-ar_b_822757.html

Renewal

Can we wash away the darkness
of our long winter’s night?

Fitful sleep cannot shut out
the sounds of blowing wind
and flowing water.

These dream-works quicken clarity
toward an apprehension
that serenity is close at hand.

Dawn must give birth to new day;
new life will be revealed in its light.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Dedication

Water in a glass,
no mean libation,
but a broken music
out of your sight,
though fluid evidence
of an equal love.

Between now
and any next moment,
I breathe a sigh
into the pool of being,
searching for address
and for blessing.

As a chant,
as a song of my soul,
Love and Gratitude
well up and out,
quenching the waters.

Thus and simply charged,
I raise this glass,
our small cup of life,
a dedication.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Increasing Facelessness in the Facebook Generation

More and more of our customer service needs are being addressed by circuitous automated phone message jungles or internet queries that can either be in the form of live texting or email exchange. We hear that soon there will be no actual people collecting tolls on toll bridges. There are fewer and fewer local offices where one can pay local utility bills. Many cities and towns no longer have a local department for the handing of fees for fines or citations; these are being funneled to distant addresses.

What does this mean?

In “the age of connectedness and connectivity” we are losing contact with actual people. This does indicate that machines are doing more of our work for us. This also indicates that there are less jobs available to be filled by the living and breathing. But, more importantly, there is less human interaction now, and what we have of that becomes more and more fractured and lacking in the personal and personalities that make life interesting. 


Finding simple information becomes a frustrating, Kafkaesque nightmare, in which one must repeat the same question over and over again to different people who answer the phone, or in which one loops through the automated message system, only to get dumped out at the other end, without ever finding the option that meets the need. Clearly, the world of the Frequently Asked & Answered Questions is a limited world of shallow concerns, the very least that providers are willing to be responsible for; any concerns beyond the FAQ, no matter how real, clearly is beyond the average human ability to solve, and therefore must remain unaddressed—for to address the concern not covered by FAQ means taking responsibility for having knowledge pertaining to unique situations. In a self-help, self-service world, nothing is unique, many real flaws and problems are not acknowledged, and we are expected to live our own lives and solve our own problems, whether help is available or not, whether we can pay for it or not.

The scripts for orderly human communication have been thrown away and they are not being replaced. The internet revolution is training us all to scream into the vastness of the universe, without expected to be answered or even heard. Eventually, no one will ask questions, because they will know it to be a colossal waste of time. Or, question asking will become the newest reality TV, where we all be voyeurs while some human becomes inhuman because s/he has been shut away from real human interaction. If such a thing ever comes to pass, will we laugh? Will we cry? What will we do?

The fabric of society has been unraveling for some little time, now, and the yarn is now bunched up in a gigantic, un-biodegradable heap. Institutions and departments and offices and businesses talk past each other, if they talk at all, developing irrational territorial practices that do not fit together, and passing blame when things, systems and people do not work or work well. We call these instances “cognitive dissonance” and we call them “dysfunctional” and we call them “disorganization”, but whatever we call it, and however much we roll our eyes and complain, here we are: it is upon us and we have to live with them all and their inevitable, frequently insoluable, consequences.

Recently, while dining at a restaurant with my family, I witnessed another family and child dining in an atmosphere devoid of interaction. [I have seen it before, and I know I’ll be seeing more of it.] After ordering the meal, each parent completely ignored the child, being entirely engrossed in something displayed on individual smart phones. When the food came, I felt sure that the gizmos would be put away, but I was wrong. The parents silently shoveled the food into their mouths while staring at, and interacting with, the screens of their phones. The child was left to play with her food, humming to herself.

I wondered to myself how children are supposed to learn conversation and etiquette, or indeed any methods of social give-and-take, when their parents, if they possess the knowledge of these things, do not pass the legacy on.

Our “smart phones”, I propose, are making us all “dumb people.” We “connect” only on the basis of the most shallow aspects of vox populi. We answer the rings of our phones while dining out, even though the technology is designed to collect messages for us. We react and overreact to text messaging, because it doesn’t carry the nuance of voice or enough depth to provide context or meaning.

We have technology, but we do not have to understand it. We believe that owning and using it gives us status and power. In reality, technology has made us slaves to aspects of human existence that do not promote beauty, culture, meaning or understanding, but that offer instead frustration, ubiquity and anonymity.

Orwell’s “Big Brother” was a single face of totalitarianism; our modern computer technology is a bit more frightening, in that it offers us whatever face we want to see, so long as we don’t expect it to speak to us, teach us, inspire us or help us to cope with an increasingly dysfunctional existence. Our gizmos draw us into complete and utter self-absorption and they suck our brains into an oblivion every bit as devastating as drug addiction.

If we become aware that we need an intervention, to be freed from the addiction, there is no one to call for help, there are no responsible parties, there is no liability, and we laugh it off, saying “no harm, no foul”.  But it is foul, and we are being harmed in ways we cannot begin to understand.

This, as I see it,  is the great existential crisis of the current generation.

At Storm Eye

Whirling winds, like loud voices,

writhe in circular emotions;

seemingly at war with one another,

they call and draw forth clouds
from far off lakes and oceans.

Rushing waves, ringing, raging,

roar in circular courses,

overtaking what lies in the way,

from here to the far horizon,
flooding with its forces.

Sacred storm blows and flows, 

driving madness round about the way,

but your wave and mine can meet;

joining within the calm storm eye may,

challenge violence to stand down.

Joining hands in friendship,

once rogue waves form a unity;
together stronger than any storm,
our choice forms a harmonious purity

that must drive stormy madness away.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Weed Patch

Fall seeds brought color to a waning year;
rains helped greenery linger through Winter;
Spring now shines on a tangled flourish of weeds.

Taller and more robust, seem they,
than all the truer plants,
as if to boldly take over the world.

Truth is, they have served the sweeter plants,
as a cover to hold in the nourishing water,
a canopy against any exceptional heat from the sun.

Pulled at the roots, they soon shall be,
to dry in the sun and be turned to mulch,
while the flowers drink water and light.

For weeds,
life is short,
but full.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Boundaries

I never wanted to be contained or apart,
but the fences, walls and ceilings went up anyway.

The meta-message to me: this is love;
these enclosures are yours, deal with them.

But the sound of my song finds flight,
I can hear it on the wind and in the light.

My body is weary, weary of climbing the walls,
climbing walls that do not belong to me.

I cannot get over into that garden
where once I stood and thought I felt the sun.

But I have only slowly come to realize:
the only true garden is where I am Now.

The gates to that other place are closed;
there is no going back, only forward.

The love that sought to box me lies entombed;
Wistfully, my wings exercise freedom of flight again.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

The Answer Girl

I am now, and have always been, a magnet for queries and questions. Why? I'm not sure I know. But it is the truth. I can stand in the middle of a room, minding my own business, and someone will enter the room, then make a beeline for me.

"Do you know...?"
      "Where is...?"
          "Can you tell me...?"
               "Who do I...?"

Just the other day, as I arrived with my children at the beach, I spied a woman who was walking up and down, looking intently at her cell phone. She looked up long enough to spot me, then made the (seemingly) inevitable beeline for me.

"Do you know anyone who has bipolar disorder?" Given the setting, I was really thrown by the question.

"No," I lied, smiling, and she walked away, resuming her examination of whatever text information was on her cell phone display. The truth is, I do know people who are bipolar and have read a lot about the disorder. For some reason, I did not want to engage in a discussion on this topic with a stranger at the beach. Moments later, I was glad that I hadn't, because one of my kids was having a problem, and I needed to address that.

I have always wondered why people come to me with their questions. I am rather shy (though, if you knew me well, you would not think so). I enjoy a good conversation, but might not have the courage to start one, if in the company of strangers.

When I was a young teen, there was nothing more embarrassing for me than to have people ask me questions, as if I would know the answers. There were always adults around who looked, to me, as if they would know. Why ask me, rather than them?

And the kids at school were always asking me about the homework, or what the loudspeaker announcement had been, or what the teacher had just said.

When I was young professional musician, colleagues would turn to me, asking "what page are we on?" or "what did she say" or "what are we supposed to be doing" or just plain "huh?" Half the time, these folks were asking me for answers to questions that were actually being answered in that moment that they were asking me the question, which meant (much to my consternation) that I was missing that information, as well as they.

"Where am I supposed to go?"
      "What is happening?"
            "What time is it?"
                   "What do I do next?"

Well, yes, many... okay, most times I did (and do) have the answers to the questions. It is not as if I was unwilling to provide answers. I just don't usually feel as if I am the most qualified person around to be "the answer person". Sometimes the people who are actually in charge are standing right nearby.

One particularly embarrassing moment occurred when I was talking with a singing colleague at a performance venue, before a pre-concert warmup. He and I had arrived earlier than our other performer friends, and we were just shooting the breeze. Then, the director of the group came up, and we were exchanging pleasantries, when all at once a gentleman came up to me and asked, "where do you want this microphone and these music stands?"

I felt instantly awkward. I could feel my face going pink. The director, after all, was standing right next to me, looking older, more wise, and in charge. I sucked up my embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, I don't know. But here, let me introduce you to the director of our group--he can tell you everything."

I later related this story to a friend of mine. She was merrily chuckling to herself, as I told my tale, throwing up my hands and finally asking her, "why ME?!"

"Because," she said, "you know."

"What?!"

"You know," she repeated, "you have the answers, and the universe knows it. If you don't have the answer, you know who does. Everyone can see this on your face!"

I thought she was crazy.

"You think I'm crazy, don't you? That is exactly what I mean."

"That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard."

She laughed. "You think of yourself as shy. You hold yourself back. You let others take the lead. But when people look at you, they see competence, they see a leader, they see that you hold the answers to their questions, and--more importantly--they see someone they are not afraid to approach with a question that might be embarrassing for them to ask."

"You are describing a kiosk."

"NO! I am describing you, who stand on the bridge that divides confusion from clarity! The universe has chosen you for this role. Accept it. Take it seriously! The people who approach you need you!"

That gave me something to think about. I had never considered this possibility. I later realized that my friend's insight had allowed me to cross my bridge, rather than merely stand on it.

Now, years later, the questions continue to come, and most of the time, I fulfill this small duty. I have thought a lot about that bridge between confusion and clarity. I continue to wonder how it can be possible that I ever stand on this bridge, when I feel myself to frequent the shores of confusion. But I have, more or less, accepted the observation of my friend as a truth that I must embrace.

I also have the sense, the apprehension, that most (if not all) individuals probably spend some little time on just such a bridge, helping others to cross. And that this is why there are so many of us--we must all help someone to cross, and reciprocally allow someone to help us, when we have need.

I try to do this small service whenever asked, but sometimes I forget. (Forgive me, lady on the beach--I hope you found the answer to your question!)

And I pray that, in those moments when I am confounded, I will be able to find the right person to lead me from the shore of confusion across some mind-worn and heart-warmed bridge to that other shore.

Discussions About Life

It had been such a beautiful day! Warm, Spring-like, gorgeous!

It was late in the afternoon. My daughter suddenly wanted to go to the beach, even for just a short time. My son did not want to go to the beach.

At their age, it is either all or none. I decided that we should go; the sun would soon be setting, we wouldn't be gone long.

So, off we went.

We are extremely fortunate to live within a mile of a lovely beach and bird sanctuary. Because of the fantastic weather, the beach was crowded with people of all ages, and birds, of many different feathers, were floating, flying and walking around the area. Couldn't have asked for a more perfect setting.

My son, however, was moping. At first, he didn't want to play with his sister, and then he did want to play with her, but she wouldn't play the way he wanted to... (sigh) One of those moments every parent has to deal with. I usually try to deal with it by casting my mind back to my own childhood, sifting through the memory banks for similar experiences.

He finally came over and sat by me, arms crossed, with a cloudy look on his face.

"What's wrong?" I asked (already knowing).

"She won't let me play with her," he said.

"Really?"

"Well, she will, but only if we play the way she wants to," came his answer.

"Hmmm..." Meanwhile, the memory banks were flicking images through my brain, and I was winding up to formulate some sort of response to his difficulty, hopefully a response that might be useful.

"You know, when I was a child, I was serious, just like you are. The difference between you and me is that you talk more about what is going on with you. I didn't talk, thinking I had to handle everything on my own," I paused, to see if he was listening.

"You do have to handle your experience on your own; I cannot change your experience for you, to make things happen the way that you think you want them to happen." I swept my arm around at the fabulous view and the people enjoying it. "Here we are in this beautiful place, in this beautiful moment, and you are choosing to be miserable."

"I know that it is disappointing when things don't go your way. Most days in life are like that, honestly. I can think of few days in my life when things have gone perfectly or the way that I wanted." He cut a glance at me, considering this with some skepticism.

"I think the secret to getting along through life must lie in letting go of the need to control circumstances that, let's face it, really can't be controlled, and by taking time to look at what is actually happening around us. If we can do that, it may be possible to find the beauty that just is, not a moment that we manufacture or manipulate, but one that is just there and includes us. Do you see?"

He was thinking about what I said.

"I think that if you spend more time finding and being within the beauty of things the way they are, you will feel less need to control them. There are so many people in the world who spend all their waking moments trying to make things happen and in continual frustration over not being able to control everything and every person around them. Ultimately, I think this is a waste of good living time, when you could be appreciating that you are part of this beautiful and remarkable place and moment. This beautiful moment is yours, if you can see it, hear it, taste it, touch it. bathe in it."

He looked out over the water. The sun was making a glorious red slide down behind the San Francisco skyline.

"There, see? We can go home now--this was only a quick outing anyway. Let's go home and make dinner."

He was watching the colors change along the horizon. He seemed more relaxed. But, I wondered, had he been able to digest what I had said? I don't know. But it seemed to me like he was thinking about it.

"Why don't you go get your sister, and then we'll go."

"Okay, mom." He ran over to where his sister was drawing pictures in the sand and splashing around.

Looking after him, watching them both, and remembering my own years of frustration and seriousness (then and now), I wondered if what had I said would help, or not.

If there is one thing I know, it is this: as a parent, I cannot mitigate my children's experiences--they must experience what they will experience.

Experience is the great teacher, but only if we are willing to be pliant and infinitely flexible students. Experience is the reason for life, though perhaps life's meaning is beyond experience, as meaning implies a synthesis that can only be derived from a culmination of all experiences.

I thought about what I had said to him. I wondered if I were modeling, in our home life, any of what I had suggested. If so, was it enough to be a good model?

And then I wondered if I could remember what I had said long enough to write it down, to be a wisdom that I, too, could quietly consider.

Jury Duty; It's A Service

Just this week, I completed my first actual jury service, as an alternate juror for a civil suit. While I have been summoned annually, I have never been entered into a jury, until this year. I found the experience to be highly educational and really felt good about being part of a small group of people, assigned the task of sorting out problems between two parties.

For years, whenever I mentioned receiving a summons, friends, coworkers and colleagues would say, "can't you get out of it?" I have frequently thought this a rather cavalier attitude toward a minor role that is meant to help our judicial system and our fellow citizens. Yes, I know that the summons can come at inconvenient times in one's life, but surely not every occasion is inconvenient, is it? It seems as if avoidance is the regular attitude toward this very necessary public service. And, yes, it is a public service--the public serves!

I have to say that I found the entire process very interesting. The judge and her attendant, clerk and court reporter were extremely efficient. The judge, in particular, was engaging and strove to give the pool of jurors the information they needed, in order to do their job with confidence, in as clear and engaging a manner as possible. My experience turned around the notions one has had from watching crime/courtroom drama, over the years. The most vivid actor, based on this, my single experience, is the judge, not the attorneys. The judge must command the courtroom, certainly, but also exhibit interest and care, with regard to jurors, counsel and witnesses.

I sat in the assigned courtroom for four days of voir dire, as one after another juror was dismissed. Mine was the last name called. After questioning, I was not kicked loose, but retained to be one of two alternates for this case. It was sometimes appalling, hearing the responses some people had to questions of counsel. Some of the answers seemed truly calculated toward a goal of "getting off the jury."

I have to say, I believe in public service. I believe that we are here in such vast numbers to help each other. I know that jury service can be a hardship for some working people, but the one thing I can say is that jury service is very interesting. It is in no way a waste of time. Being out of work, right now, I actually went into jury cattle call hoping that I would end up in a courtroom.

The only complaint I could possibly register about my experience is that it took so long to get through the security check line at the single entrance. In these days of downsizing and budget crises, there is great demand for security, but no one wants to pay people to do it! The Superior Court building that I was assigned to had multiple entrances, but everyone had to go through one set of doors, regardless of whether you were going for traffic tickets, jury assignment or litigation.

The case to which I was assigned was convoluted, having to do with a small business (internet café) in breach of an undisclosed exclusive use agreement another business (fast food sandwich shop) had with the landlord of the mixed use business park, of which each building had a separate zone definition. It did not help that the city where the business was located did not have designations for restaurants of any kind, categorizing them all as "retail sales".

Essential questions in this case were of these varieties: What constitutes a "sandwich"; What constitutes a "restaurant"; What, if any, are the differences between a "restaurant" and a "fast food restaurant" and a "café"; Are landlords obligated to disclose zoning issues and exclusive use agreements to businesses planning to lease their space; If the city does not demand that a new business request a special use permit when plans are submitted that clearly show a use not compatible with the defined zone for the space, can the city later come back and shut down the business for failing to conform to the zoning ordinances; should a plaintiff receive damages for lost profits or even emotional trauma?

I have the impression that many of the people who automatically want to "get out of jury duty" have a basic distrust of the process. Some people may not believe that jurors unversed in the law should be allowed to make decisions about awarding damages.

I can report that the jurors in this case were from a varied demographic. The questions they (and I asked) of some witnesses were really excellent. (Did you know that you, as a jury member, might have the opportunity to ask questions of a witness?) The judge was really excellent, guiding the jury through the legal points, guiding witnesses, fielding objections and motions and sidebars of counsel. There were some really exciting moments, during testimony. We had a hostile witness or two. We had extra counsel, showing up to support a witness, trying to make an objection. We had attorneys telling us that a sandwich is sometimes not a sandwich, a café is not really a restaurant (especially if the zoning says it can't be), a kitchen is not a place where food would necessarily be prepared. We were presented interesting "red herrings" by both sides. We jurors were could not talk about the case amongst ourselves until deliberations, and we did not, even though there themes hanging in the air during breaks. You could look into the eyes of fellow jurors and know that they were thinking exactly what you were thinking about what had happened in the courtroom just before the break.

Finally, after all of the testimony had been given, the jury was given preliminary instructions from the judge, heard final statements of the attorneys, then the alternates were cut loose (unless someone had a heart attack or an auto accident), before the judge issued final instructions to the jury. At that point, I left. My fellow alternate and I felt confident that the twelve jurors would come to a reasonable verdict. We did not know if we would ever know the outcome. (sigh) I figured out in my mind what I felt was a reasonable outcome.

Several days later, I was surprised to receive a call from the clerk at the courthouse! She thanked me for my service and reported to me what the verdict was, and that there had been damages awarded, and what they were. "You are free for another year, and thanks again," I could hear her smiling as she said it. The decision had not been cut and dried... they struggled. The judge had to send them back twice because there were not enough people agreeing with some of the decisions.

I had read the other jurors correctly; their decision was very close to the one I would have made, and there were reasonable damages awarded, in the way that I would have. I believe that justice was done in that case, and that a jury of twelve average people were able to be impartial, fair and honest to both plaintiff and defense.

The system does work, if you let it work, and if you, when you are called, add yourself to the mix by serving. If you should ever be in a situation where you find yourself in a courtroom, I recommend the following: have faith in yourself, have faith in your attorneys, have faith in the process, have faith in the judge, and most of all, have faith in your fellow citizens who have been called to serve you in the due process system.

Reality

Materialism:

products are petted,
becoming self-referential fetishes
for our admiration,
critique &
worship.

Compassion:
heart opens out
ever more outwardly mobile
in the exploration
of life &
of love.

A middle way:
experience of form and spirit,
accepted as inherent
to every journey
—moderately lived,
appropriately embraced.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

The Swallow

Out of the New Moon,
the Sun is a fire reborn
to dance amid gossamer rain,
peach blossom petals
floating on the wings of any
merry breeze.

Freed at last
of winter’s stone,
from the mountain heights
my waters rage with joy,
plunging to meet life,
to drench and then
be quenched in the melody
of my songbird.

But where is she?

The spray from my falls
finds her cypress perch vacant,
her flowered dells empty,
her feathered flights but a memory.

I, who cannot contain myself,
constantly revisit our meeting-place
with what conscious focus I can muster,
to find a sign, a message, a trace of you.

At last, the winds have pity:
with a gentle flourish,
a single feather is dislodged
from its cypress home
to drift in my swirling wake.

As I cherish this jewel
along the length and breath
of my flowing soul,
the winds play on the pine branches
the echo of your song.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Our Song

Where my voice meets

the ethernety of vibration,
while yet in my flesh,
I know you;
You lift me up
so that I might find you
singing there also,
and I know this has been so
from the start of time
unto my conscious now
and even out to where no edge
may plunge beyond knowing.

In the song,
the song of we, of us and all,
there is no need of body
to support the tones
as they weave
and interleave;

Our exchange
leaves traces
of conversation,
like fingerprints,
across the wilderness
of uncreated potential,
where, were I able,
I might read them and,
when I return
to body awareness
from floating
in our ocean of sound,
I might read them,
and remember
unadorned truth,
then walk in that beauty,
in that spiritual reality,
here

--so difficult
within the inertia
of this state,
where fixity of mind,
either completely rigid
or utterly fragmented,
stymies fluidity—

Walk here,
as easily as in our song,
and its surrender
of music into music
unto the eternity
where we are one,
braided tones,
all of the song,
in the song,
and that music
is the peace
that never ends.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Unexpected Rains II

The clouds had indeed come swiftly,
full and wet and black they were,
strewing tears of agony and grief;
it was truly a solemn occasion,
and they knew, better than I,
who and what had been lost.

My own tears now follow theirs,
and our comingled sorrows
soothe a world road-weary
of the march of pain and death.

This journey never ends,
‘tis true as true can be,
but this path we have washed together
shall be rendered clean by our service,
and will be lined with early flowers.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen