Quantumly, there are myriad ways of seeing an event. Ah, we say, this is a good thing! Or, as likely, we spot something that becomes for us something worrisome and revealing of a dangerous backyard.
The peanut butter and jam on toasted English with cup of yesterday's coffee reheated, is a good morning's treat. There are no guests, so I don't have to make fresh coffee. My tastes are primitive. Anything is good enough.
In the news, more info about the widening gyre of war. We now publicize, thanks to an incident on a plane landing in Detroit, that we are plying war in Yemen. Like buying donuts at Willow Bake Shop, we drop CIA operatives along with mercenary war-for-hire companies, and keep arms merchants in the dough.
U.S. Widens Terror War to Yemen, a Qaeda Bastion
By ERIC SCHMITT and ROBERT F. WORTH
Published: December 27, 2009
WASHINGTON — In the midst of two unfinished major wars, the United States has quietly opened a third, largely covert front against Al Qaeda in Yemen.
Yemeni protesters staged a demonstration in the southern part of the country on Thursday after a raid against Qaeda militants.
A year ago, the Central Intelligence Agency sent several of its top field operatives with counterterrorism experience to the country, according a former top agency official. At the same time, some of the most secretive Special Operations commandos have begun training Yemeni security forces in counterterrorism tactics, senior military officers said.
The Pentagon is spending more than $70 million over the next 18 months, and using teams of Special Forces, to train and equip Yemeni military, Interior Ministry and coast guard forces, more than doubling previous military aid levels.
As American investigators sought to corroborate the claims of a 23-year-old Nigerian man that Qaeda leaders in Yemen had trained and equipped him to blow up a Detroit-bound Northwest Airlines jet on Christmas Day, the plot casts a spotlight on the Obama administration’s complicated relationship with Yemen.
The country has long been a refuge for jihadists, in part because Yemen’s government welcomed returning Islamist fighters who had fought in Afghanistan during the 1980s. The Yemen port of Aden was the site of the audacious bombing of the American destroyer Cole in October 2000 by Qaeda militants, which killed 17 sailors.
(--from New York Times, http://www.nytimes.com/2009/12/28/world/middleeast/28yemen.html?hpw)
Donuts are considerably less expensive than the $3,888,888.89 a month or $125,448.03 a day to scope out who to kill, kidnap, or turn to the good guys. It is a complicated world, the rationale goes, and we have to fight against simplicity of thought.
Once the human mind goes astray,
Truth, the true pattern of the Tao,
Once the human mind is gathered in,
The true pattern of the Tao is there.
- Hu Juren (1434-1484)
The world, so it seems, is what we make it. We choose what small percentage of any given second or segment we see. We narrate the impressions we receive into a story that fits into our familiar pattern of thought. We place halos around what we call sacred and horns on that which we despise. We are the principle filmmakers of our own personal studios.
And we are frightened by a world of our own making. We blame anything, anyone, for what we see. We grow paranoid and unhappy with the lot we see.
We grow numb, cloistered and claustrophobic, very particular in our opinions and subscribed home front, and we settle in for a long winter's nap.
"And I felt it was a matter of personal integrity not to...interfere with it" -- that's what Dr. Helen Schucman said about the communication of A Course in Miracles through her. "It talked about a system I don’t know anything about, and confused me no end. I’m still cross-eyed."
(--audio, The Voice: A Historical Moment with Helen, http://www.acim.org/Scribing/the_voice.html)
As for me, I remain a kid from a Brooklyn street in Bensonhurst. I know stoop-ball and kick-the-can. I know hoops in P.S.205 Night-center and stickball in the schoolyard. We lived sewer to sewer. It was the measure of football toss, punchball hit, and how far Gary and Dominick's houses were from mine. When Anthony across the street was killed in a truck accident on the BQE something about childhood came to a close. Backyards, once the kingdom of a thousand idles, emptied out and all trace disappeared of someone else's footprints in the snow.
The old neighborhood is reconstructed within me. It is not, as the film-maker said on The Problem of God
, memory. It is the energy that has comprised my very being coming alive again for a visit.
I catch my mind
circling for you with glazed eye--
my lost love hunting
your lost face.
Summer to summer,
the poplars sere
in the glare--
it's a town for the young,
they break themselves against the surf.
No dog knows my smell.
(--from poem by Robert Lowell - "Homecoming"
Now Yemen is my backyard.
Looking out my first-floor window a half-century gone toward the converted barn against the fence to 70th street -- no dog is chained to the link fence, no old man sits in folding chair smoking a White Owl, and no members of a large household come up stairs from basement or down stairs from back porch.
I look out at the Red Sea, the Gulf of Aden, and the Arabian Sea.
It seems a long way from the clinking glass bottles delivered to morning milk box under storm window.
I'd choose to be the milkman at dawn bringing a simple delight. The milk would be pasteurized, a process reducing the number of viable pathogens likely to cause disease and premature death.
How would you choose to see the world?