The Grandest Cataract in New England
Posted: September 12, 2024 Filed under: Art & Healing, Portfolio - David's work, What is an Art Farm | Tags: Androscoggin River, Cancer Valley, Edmund Muskie, Hugh Chisholm, Public Art, Restoration, Rumford 2 CommentsRumford Falls, Maine is situated where the Concord, Ellis, and Swift rivers converge into the Androscoggin River, which form the watershed of the Western Maine mountains. At the Falls, called the “the grandest cataract in New England,” the Androscoggin drops a total of 176 feet over a sheer wall of granite.
In our pre-industrial age, indigenous peoples gathered there to hunt, fish and trade furs from the Lakes Region of Maine. In 1882, history forever changed when industrialist Hugh Chisholm grasped the Falls’ potential for the manufacture of paper.
Chisholm first built a railroad, then a mill for his Oxford Paper Company, which grew to become the founding asset of International Paper Company, the corporate behemoth, still active today. A Utopian, he also built planned community housing for the workers in his mills, which housing became a model for the nation. Chisholm hired architects to build great buildings in Rumford, those architects also having designed the Waldorf Astoria in Manhattan, and the Copley Plaza in Boston. At its peak, in the 1930s, Rumford held its own with Manhattan, but today it has fallen deeply into the abyss.
Rumford, and the surrounding River Valley towns of Maine, are known nationally as “Cancer Valley” given the incredibly high rates of cancer among its mill-working inhabitants. Four out of five children are food insecure, while Rumford has the highest special education population in the state of Maine. The opioid crisis has run rampant, and Rumford’s rate of crime is now the highest in Maine.
Rumford Falls is but one, among many cities, ravaged by the flight of capitalist money, ever in pursuit of profit. The New York Times recently reported, “Milwaukee was once known as the ‘machine shop of the world.’ In the 1950s, nearly 60 percent of the city’s adult population worked in manufacturing…. By 2021, Milwaukee had lost more than 80 percent of its manufacturing jobs (barely 5 percent of those that remained were unionized), and it had the second-highest poverty rate of any large American city…. Between 1997 and 2020, more than 90,000 factories closed, partly as a result of NAFTA and similar agreements.”
Last Sunday, I was in Rumford Falls helping on a Public Art project. Although the politics of free trade is vitally important, my work focused upon the power of art, the agency of making, and the process of civic discourse; how does a community rebuild once the rivers of cash flow have dried up?
A real estate developer recently purchased Rumford’s old mill building for the price of $1 USD, and she has received a grant from the Department of Agriculture to put solar panels on top of the mill, and another from the National Parks Foundation “historic preservation” fund with the condition of “community engagement.” The developer promptly called Chris Miller, and asked, “I have the building, and a chain link fence out front. Can you do something of civic engagement?” Chris pondered the problem.
He decided to ask the citizens of Rumford what their desired future might be? Adults declined to respond, but a classroom of 3rd grade students enthusiastically spoke up. Chris’ question was “If you lent your hand, if you had your say, what would Rumford’s future gain? If you wore a hat that said “Civic Leader,” what might Rumford’s future feature? Would you champion a cause, plant more flowers, have a parade or build a tower? Would you open a business to meet a need? Would you captain a brand new industry? Would you start a club or paint a mural? Would you build a park in honor of a hometown hero?”
The 8- and 9-year old students offered fantastical ideas: a skyscraper, an amusement park, an IKEA water park, trains running upside down. Gathering their bold ideas, Chris set them down graphically in the style of a picture postcard, then printed on vinyl adhesive which he affixed to seven 4×8 sheets of 1/2” masonite. My role was minimal, priming and painting the boards and helping Chris hang them upon the chain link fence.
His design links to Rumford’s past, given that Hugh Chisholm made his first fortune printing picture postcards, holding the monopoly contract with the United States Postal Service to print all of the picture postcards sold in United States post offices at the turn of the 19th century. The Rumford Mill produced all those postcards, as it grew into its peak production years.
The children of today very likely could become the leaders of our future. Rumford’s native son, Edmund Muskie, was born there in 1914 and then wrote and championed both the Clean Air Act and the Clean Water Act in the 1970s. His political leanings have been demonized by many industrialists, but one has to wonder how his Rumford childhood shaped his environmental thoughts.
Restoration, it seems, is the work of our times. The task in Rumford is how to build a new economic base, to clean up after decades of toxic waste, and to heal generations of families whose lives have been shaped by the working conditions at the Mill and power plant on the Androscoggin River. Chris’ “picture postcards” are but one very small step, but Rumford’s task of recovery does move forward.















Sea Monsters a/k/a Carousel Cosmos
Posted: September 6, 2024 Filed under: Art & Healing, Child Centered Activities, Gallery - Visual, Portfolio - David's work | Tags: cosmic carousel, new paradigm design workshop 2 Comments
In April 2023 I had the pleasure of making Sea Monsters for a public art display in Portland’s West End. Chris Miller, the polymath maker, received the commission and hired me to help build seven creatures which likely could have lived on Portland’s Peninsula over the past 250-million years, give or take a few millennia, or even “just last Tuesday.”
“Carousel Cosmos” is the official title and the seven creatures are a Polar Bear, Humpback Whale, Saber Toothed Cat, Walrus, Rhyncosaur (an extinct herbivorous Triassic archosauromorph reptile), Dragon, Crenatocetus (an extinct genus of protocetid early whale).
Chris wrote, “They are dragons, lions, bears and sea monsters, the usual suspects in the greatest bedtime stories of all time. They have many names in many languages. They’ve made cameos as constellations that might be older than writing, older than the first cities, or the wheel. Some are mythological, some are just misunderstood. They invite you to explore the cosmos starting right here, on a journey to greater understanding.”
One really must visit the installation, but at the least you can visit them online: http://npdworkshop.com/carousel-cosmos
We built the creatures using a “stack laminate” process just as carousel horses have been built since 1799: layers of 8/4 ash (2” thick) were stacked then glued to create the three-dimensional form, which we then carved and painted. With as many as nine layers per creature, Chris used computer modeling software to draw the final shape, then “deconstruct” it to show the shape of each successive layer.

The son of a carpenter, Chris studied sculpture at the Art Institute of Chicago, and then architecture at MIT. His vision is a unique combination of those three influences.

The word “genius” normally is defined in terms of sheer intellectual horsepower – Newton and Einstein, the commonplace exemplars – but a more insightful meaning is in the derivation of the word, from Latin, which means “guiding spirit.”
For having walked the hallowed halls among the MIT Masters, Chris has retained the childlike wonder of growing up amidst the flora and fauna, woods and water of Fifty Lakes, Crow Wing County, Minnesota. His sterling genius guided him not only to conceive, design and build, but also to write this summary of the Carousel Cosmos:
“This carousel is inspired by kindness, adventure, outer space, bedtime stories, dinosaurs and ice cream. It’s inspired by the Western Promenade’s endless views, spectacular sunsets and contemplative atmosphere. It spins the way that the earth spins when the sun sets, in a place where trolleys used to stop, in a small picturesque city with a school community that speaks more than sixty different languages.”
Lest anyone think my statements are grandiose rather than grounded, I submit this photo as Exhibit A:







Climb aboard! Let’s go for a spin!!
Seedless Champagne Grapes and Suicide
Posted: August 30, 2024 Filed under: Chronicles of a First Time Parent | Tags: mental health, Teen suicide 2 CommentsRecently a friend left home grown blackberries on our porch. To another neighbor, that day, I delivered home grown peaches and wild seedless champagne grapes. Life in South Portland would seem idyllic.
Year-to-date in Sopo there have been zero murders but there have been, to my knowledge, 5 suicides and 1 attempted suicide: 3 were school-aged youths; 2 were parents of children, whom my daughter oversaw as a Rec Camp Counselor; 1 was my daughter’s age-group peer, whose suicide attempt failed.
February: a 19-year old, recent graduate of the local high school, a counselor in the elementary afterschool program, worked his Friday shift, then drove south to Portsmouth, New Hampshire. As Aurora pulled dusk across the sky, in his truck he sat, sent a final text to his family, then reached for his newly purchased shotgun.
April: a boy named Angel, age 16, a straight-A student at the high school, “an independent young man who enjoyed his job at Burger King” rode his bike into the woods. His phone was left on the ground, but kept transmitting via Snapchat’s location app. My daughter, his classmate, was aware of this, as were all her peers, and told us that he had gone missing. A dark night followed, when come morning we learned this young boy had left his bike and phone and taken a rope deeper into the woods.
June: Two children, both age 8, campers at the South Portland Summer Rec Camp had lives ripped by suicide. One girl’s mother committed suicide while another’s uncle took his life.
July: A young boy, age 18, who worked as a Summer Rec Camp Counselor, attempted but failed, to take his life. For one week he was in Maine Medical Hospital.
August: A 14-year old eighth-grade graduate, with “striking blue-green eyes and charming grin [that] made everyone melt,” #6 on the South Portland Little League Majors team, MVP of our All Stars, he took his life. His brothers’, Mother and Father’s lives ripped now asunder.
We gathered this evening at his “celebration of life” where our collective grief and despair mocked the word “celebration.” Social conventions keep not up-to-date with the epidemic in these times.
His classmates, young boys, were well dressed, as though waiting for school pictures, some wore their athletic jerseys. The photos on display were those of a toddler and elementary school student, so brief was his life.
The line was long and snaked around the Funeral Home, hundred’s having turned out in his memory, all of us stunned, grasping for air. Like Dante’s “9 Circles of Hell” we wound closer into the building, then entered the parlor where the pine casket was closed. Deepest into the void, we stood in a cratering emptiness.
We are bereft. There are no words, no answers, so many unanswered questions. Repeatedly now we have come together in these most searing of “celebrations.”
In talking with neighbors, the usual suspects of cause are technology and social media. Statistics support that, but pandora’s box having been opened, we cannot go back again to an earlier easier time. My wife and I, instead, have been talking about emotional intelligence and mental health.
Mental Health America defines Emotional Intelligence as “…the ability to manage both your own emotions and understand the emotions of people around you. There are five key elements to EI: self-awareness, self-regulation, motivation, empathy, and social skills.” This definition seems clear and cogent.
To the CDC, “Mental health includes our emotional, psychological, and social well-being. It affects how we think, feel, and act. It also helps determine how we handle stress, relate to others, and make healthy choices.” To my mind, this definition is vague and leaves me wanting.
The Superintendent of South Portland Schools wrote to me, “in short order we must pivot to broader community work. On the district side, these efforts will be led by our new Director of Mental and Behavioral Health who will start on September 9.”
While standing in line at the celebration, we spoke with Lee Anne Dodge, the soul-affirming Director of SOPO Unite, a high-school based “coalition bringing together all sectors of the community–parents, school staff, police, healthcare, businesses, youth serving organizations, civic organizations and faith based organizations….and promote resilience in our community.” Lee Anne told us that she will meet this week with the CDC to discuss how to broaden their response to community needs.
Andrew Forsthoefel, the Restorative Practices Systems Specialist of Cumberland County, leads a circle of parents meeting to listen and give voice, coming together to navigate these challenging times. I have reached out to him and our dialogue will deepen into the fall.
We the people. For better or worse. Until death do us part.
It is my hope that we can weave a new narrative of outreach and empathy, forming circles of hope, to support and save our children, while this black plague of suicide ravages our communities.
Indeed, now the only way out is through.
Quercus Virginianus
Posted: August 28, 2024 Filed under: Art & Healing, Chronicles of a First Time Parent 1 CommentQuercus Virginianus, the Live Oak tree, is synonymous to the Deep South’s mystique as are Faulkner’s gothic novels. Gothic, indeed, is the architecture of the trees: a circumference up to 35 feet, height up to 70 feet, limbs stretching outward more than 100 feet from the trunk, Spanish Moss tendrils hang to gather nutrients from the wind, rain and sunlight.
A woodworker once told me that in South Carolina a law remains on the books that if two lovers stand beneath a Live Oak tree and exchange vows of their love, then the tree as their witness legally binds the marriage. I cannot prove the fact, but certainly believe its core truth.
Live Oak trees live up to one thousand years. The story is told that in 1771, Étienne de Boré, on his estate which became Audubon Park in New Orleans, planted a Live Oak tree in honor of his bride. At 35 feet in circumference the tree arguably could be closer to 300-years old, known as the “Tree of Life” although officially registered as the Etienne de Boré Oak. Etienne de Boré became the first mayor of New Orleans in 1803.

On 28 August 2004 I travelled to Audubon Park to stand beneath the Tree of Life with a soulful strong woman. In true DIY fashion, we wrote our own vows. A Notary Public friend officiated, his wife served as witness (Louisiana is less liberal than South Carolina, at least in terms of trees’ legal standing). We were short one witness, technically, but a woman in black, a total stranger, silently walked up and touched the tree during our exchange of vows, so legally wed we were 28 August in the Tree of Life cathedral.
My vows spoke of “alchemy and the daily renewal.” The traditional “for better or worse” was a given, as I was then a co-defendant in a lawsuit concerning Trust Asset Management and fiduciary duty in United States Federal Court, Northern District of Illinois. My betrothed stood beside me then, she stands beside me now.
2004: on 30 July I was haled into Federal court, where District Judge Matthew Kennelley “granted in part and denied in part” a Summary Judgment on my behalf. My back was against the wall. On 28 August with backs against the Tree of Life, my fiancé and I exchanged vows, and then rings. Next we went to the drive-through daiquiri stand. Later that night we marched in the Second Line of a mid-season Mardi Gras parade. Viva la life of New Orleans!!
Back in Chicago, by autumn of 2004, the lawsuit was settled. The banker from Lichtenstein went to prison. Our union endures. That alone matters.
Twenty years later, we remain together in the light. We raise two bright beautiful children; our life’s work, to be sure. Ours is a remarkable home amidst a wildly creative community, in a place of exquisite beauty, the rocky coast of Maine, on Gaia, circling the sun. My wife holds our family’s center and some day our childrens’ children may say “My Grandfather married one strong soulful woman.”

When Tears Become Bullets
Posted: August 22, 2024 Filed under: Chronicles of a First Time Parent, consciousness, Permaculture & Home Renovation, What is an Art Farm | Tags: hypermasculinity, jackson katz, the boy code, william pollock 2 CommentsIn 2001, I met and soon moved in with a remarkable young woman, an art therapist, who had worked with young children at Byrd Elementary School at Chicago’s Cabrini Green housing project, as well as in the Robert Taylor Homes and Cook County Hospital. Working with inner-city boys, she was driven to thread the emotional needle, to help them move forward.
In that studio apartment, on her bookshelf, was ”Real Boys” written by William Pollock, PhD about “the myths of boyhood,” how our society shapes boys to become men. I tried repeatedly to crack that cover but could not. It cut too close to my core.
I quote now the four core tenets of what Pollock called “the Boy Code”:
“The sturdy oak: Men should be stoic, stable, and independent. A man never never shows weakness…boys are not to share pain or grieve openly.
Give ‘em hell: This is the stance of some of our sports coaches, of roles played by John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, and Bruce Lee, a stance based on a false self, of extreme daring, bravado, and attraction to violence.
The “big wheel”: This is the imperative men and boys feel to achieve status, dominance, and power. Or, understood another way, the “big wheel refers to the way in which boys and men are taught to avoid shame at all costs, to wear the mask of coolness, to act as though everything is under control….
“No sissy stuff:” Perhaps the most traumatizing and dangerous injunction thrust on boys and men is the literal gender straight jacket that prohibits boys from expressing feelings or urges seen as “feminine” – dependence, warmth, empathy.”
In short, big boys don’t cry. When I was young, my father – who lived to seize the brass ring, to slay the dragon, to climb the mountain, then died young – he repeatedly told me, “David, you can get used to hanging if you have to.” My football coaches always rhymed “no pain, no gain!” I fault neither my Father nor the coaches, as they only passed on what they had been taught. About all this, Pollock cautioned, “when boys cannot cry, their tears become bullets.”
Bullets, of course, can be metaphorical, and but one example would be the Wall Street “Masters of the Universe” among whom “might is right” with finance a zero sum game of domination, power and control. Consider hedge funds buying up the foreclosed housing stock and then raising rents, in the midst of a housing shortage. Or private equity buying medical practices, to maximize profits at the expense of patient care.
The first rule of the Boy Code is that we don’t talk about the Boy Code. I violate masculinity in writing this meditation upon raising a daughter and son in a culture where hypermasculinity is the norm. I speak here not of the male gender but the masculine traits, as taught.
Jackson Katz, a male pioneer in women’s studies, has written a book titled “Man Enough?” about the “Politics of Presidential Masculinity.” Presidential campaigns are described “…as the center stage of an ongoing national debate about manhood, a kind of quadrennial referendum on what type of man—or one day, woman—embodies not only our ideological beliefs, but our very identity as a nation….how fears of appearing weak and vulnerable end up shaping candidates’ actual policy positions…”
I write here neither to praise nor denigrate any candidate. My concern is our culture of dominance. In this time of hypermasculinity, where we demonize “other,” be they immigrants, the extreme right, the “marxist” left, Neo-nazis, ad infinitum, I am compelled to ask what if the problem is not “them” but us? It is so easy to point and blame “them” but infinitely more challenging to say it is our system of beliefs, self-reinforcing, which perpetuate cycles of violence, a culture of dominance rather than compassion.
Jackson Katz gave a TED Talk titled “Violence against women – it’s a men’s issue.” He makes the subtly persuasive point that rational self interest in a patriarchal society becomes a self-reinforcing system of belief; there is no conspiracy but a self interest in maintaining the status quo rather than embracing change. By analogy, Newton’s First Law of Motion here pertains, that a system of domination will persist until it is acted upon by an external force strong enough to bring change. https://www.ted.com/talks/jackson_katz_violence_against_women_it_s_a_men_s_issue?subtitle=en
“It takes a village” becomes my curse. In our home we raise children to value empathy, compassion and emotional intelligence, but the world into which they go – are schooled, coached and policed – there predominates the hypermasculine. How do we raise our children to be compassionate when their peers practice dominance? “Gentle as a dove, wise as a serpent,” comes to mind.
As a child, I would read the Sunday comics seated below my Father, while he devoured the business news. Pogo, the political satire, ran in those comics, with its theme “We have met the enemy, and He is us.” More than fifty years have passed and some demonize the “Deep State” or “them” but I ask, what if Pogo really was right? What then, if we ourselves are the problem?
An honest awareness seems a necessary starting point in a new dialogue.
* * * * * * * * *
Here at an art farm Bacchus has arrived bearing wild seedless Champagne grapes. Jimmy Nardello Italian Frying Peppers are abundant. Tomatoes exceed our capacity to use. Pole beans flower, to attract hummingbirds. Butternut squash grow on the vine. Peaches are ripe for the picking. We bring bushels of produce to the Food Cupboard.










School of Sharks
Posted: August 16, 2024 Filed under: Child Centered Activities, Gallery - Visual, Portfolio - David's work | Tags: ceiling mural, one percent for art, sharks 1 CommentOne year ago, summer of 2023, I worked on painting a ceiling mural at the new South Portland Middle School. Chris Miller, a polymath maker, very good friend and father of two young boys had received a commission and needed help. I gladly answered the call.
His design originally called for a pod of humpback whales in silhouette painted on the ceiling of the school’s central corridor. The Principal held a vote and the students selected “Sharks” as the new school’s mascot, and so a last minute change was called for. Chris complied and the whales became sharks, swimming overhead. http://npdworkshop.com/pod-cosmos
In designing the mural he envisioned the school of sharks swimming in outer space, then he mapped the sharks onto the central corridor ceiling, from the point of view of a fifth grade child, standing at the school’s entrance. His goal was to capture awe and wonder, with distortion a part of the design. The technique he used is called anamorphosis, which he described as follows:
“Anamorphosis is an optical illusion by which an image appears distorted but becomes clear when viewed from a key viewpoint, unique angle or through a particular lens. I want my kids and their classmates to learn to listen to people who have different perspectives and espouse different beliefs. I want them to be curious, open and inquiring- to strive for agreement and consensus through informed discussion.
“The mural’s key image will appear completely clear and undistorted from just one point of view. Someone just under five feet tall would see it, if they stood just inside the corridor with their back to the wall between the two lobby doors. From other viewpoints and as students travel down the length of the corridor, these silhouettes will appear increasingly stretched, and distorted to varying degrees of abstraction.
“The root of the word cosmopolitanism is Cosmos. It’s an ancient Greek concept of the universe as a well-ordered system. It presumes that all things can in theory, be made clear. I want my kids and their classmates to be relentless in search of both questions and answers. I also want them to cultivate a sense of wonder, though childhood, adolescence and into adulthood.”
These ideas carried the day, and Chris was awarded the commission. In Maine the “Percent for Art” law provides for art in public buildings, by setting aside one percent of the construction budget to purchase original works of art for new or renovated buildings receiving state funds. Some may say this is progressive waste, but I say it is arch-conservative, given that art predates agriculture and mark-making on cave ceilings shows that art is at the core of humankind’s quest for meaning. Maine has simply acknowledged same.
The Middle School budget was $69 Million, so art was heavy on the docket. The architects were so taken with his idea that they moved his mural onto the central corridor of the school, where every child every day will pass among the building entrance, the library, cafeteria and gym. Pride of place indeed.
Chris handled the design and layout. I handled the brush. It was a marvelous project with which to be involved. Best of all, how often in life do you get the chance to write to your Mother: “Michelangelo ain’t got nothing on me!! I am painting a ceiling mural in the new SoPo Middle School!!”







Saturday on the Street
Posted: August 9, 2024 Filed under: Art & Healing, Farming off the Farm, Permaculture & Home Renovation, What is an Art Farm | Tags: Norway maples, tree work 3 CommentsIn 1830, in South Portland (known then as Cape Elizabeth) a New England farmhouse was built and its barn completed by 1848. The town’s population was 1,696 people and only six families lived on the street where the farm was located. The farm most certainly had significant acreage.
In 1999, South Portland’s population had grown to 23,324, and the last remaining farmland surrounding this farmhouse was sold off to make a development of six homes. In modern times developers put their road wherever best suits their plan but in 1830 the builders sited the home thoughtfully, based upon the sun’s path; they needed to maximize the solar gain as a heat source. The home’s location then determined where went the developer’s road and the old front yard was paved to put in a street named in honor of the developer’s daughter. The home, which we purchased in 2012, was left with a smaller, but still full sun front yard, enough space to garden and grow food and fruits.
We have felt guided here in creating a healing space. Neighbors have brought wounded birds into our garden, tucking them under the plants, as a place to heal. Young Mothers bring their infants to gaze and we gift them vine ripened tomatoes. We grow less as a matter of sustenance and more as a gift to be given, to be shared.
Saturday on our street was very active. Art work arrived from Chicago, from our dear friend Laurie LeBreton, a sculptor whose work combines handmade paper and mixed media. She explains, “I work to access something beyond our concrete world and to find meaning and comfort as I do so. Recent themes have included healing, refuge and ritual.” If yard placards tend to promote politics, Laurie’s speak to art and healing. We embraced Laurie’s generosity and eagerly put them on our side of the street. https://www.laurielebreton.net/
Also on Saturday, very large gooseneck trailers arrived to unload massive paving equipment, parked on the other side of the street. A dialectic began between the mechanized and the natural. If our “Orwellian” week was a “heavy equipment summer camp,” then this week has been about “massive paving equipment and road grinding at night.” My son was over-the-moon delighted. On Sunday night the City began grinding streets here, and the equipment has moved to several other jobs in town. Nightly we have driven to see them work.
Also on Saturday our work on the invasive Norway Maples continued. Our friend Nate arrived, a journeyman carpenter, master of many trades, and he brought tools for tree work. Nate taught my son how to use a come along, how to sharpen a chain saw, and to use the Phythagorean Theorem to calculate where the tree would fall. My son put on his work boots and got busy.
Norway Maples are not native to America. They were brought here first in 1756, by a nurseryman in Philadelphia, and became popular as an ideal street tree. During the 1970s when the Dutch Elm Disease decimated the urban canopy, the Norway Maples became ever more prominent, but the trees promote a monoculture and grow rapidly, spreading seeds by the wind. They shade out competition. Because they grow fast, their wood grain is long, not tight, and they easily sheer and crack in heavy weather, which has become increasingly more prominent here in Southern Maine.
Two years ago, during a late autumn wind storm, a Norway Maple, with 8” trunk, split and fell onto our swimming pool. Thankfully we were able to repair the pool. Last winter, a much larger Maple, 18” diameter, splintered and fell into the neighbors yard. It leaned precipitously, and my intuition told me not to DIY but to get help.
Nate used the “come along” – a sort of ratchet winch – to direct the tree away from the neighbors yard and to his designated spot. My son worked the come along, tightening the line by cranking to pull the tree down, as Nate cut into the trunk.



It took a village but the tree is felled, and we have firewood for our winter.




Greater Things
Posted: July 26, 2024 Filed under: Art & Healing, consciousness | Tags: consciousness, rational mind, spirituality 2 CommentsAs a child, raised Roman Catholic, I went to church every Sunday, and to confession on the Holy Week high holidays, plus a few times each year. My sins at most then were venial, not mortal, certainly never cardinal, and, as I stammered for words to describe my offense, at my earthly Father’s instruction, I would take to my knee and ask forgiveness for my sins.
As a University student, I read the New Testament in Koine Greek. My interest in the bible is as literature, not as dogma; I do not read the Bible, but it is important to know, if only as the lingua franca among the 2.4 billion Christians of this world.
My Mother quoted Matthew 22:37-38 as the pillar of the faith, which she paraphrased as “Love and you have fulfilled the law.” A fine path, indeed, and I am thankful for that guidance. To my mind, and in my experience, however, John 14:12 speaks to the core:
“Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that believeth on me, the works that I do shall he do also; and greater works than these shall he do; because I go unto my Father.”
Greater works than these?
As a Federalist approaches the law, let us read this sentence literally, as the Founding Father (sic) meant by his own words. Given that the Gospel of John opens “In the beginning was the word…” we do well to begin with the grammar.
Yeshua, the street preacher, spoke either koine (marketplace Greek) or Aramaic; his name is a late form of the Biblical Hebrew “Joshua,” which is spelled Iesous in Greek and Jesus in Latin. The gospels were written in the Koine because that was more popular than Aramaic, thus reaching a wider audience and so approximately 100-years after his death Matthew, Mark, Luke and John wrote Yeshua’s story in Greek, later translated into Latin, known as The Vulgate; in 1522 William Tyndale translated the work into English (for which in 1536 he was strangled and then burned at the stake) but his work informed the translators of the King James Bible, a masterpiece of writing, published in 1611. It is this version from which I here quote.
The street preacher begins with the hortative clause “Verily, verily, I say unto you,” a teacher’s exclamation, for emphasis, to his listeners.
The subject is “he,” the object is “the works,” and “do” is the verb, in the subjunctive mood. Rarely used in contemporary English, the subjunctive is critical here; the indicative mood states facts, certainty, while the subjunctive mood – “shall do” – expresses potential. In other words, the avatar has opened the prospect of free will, the freedom to choose, challenging the listener to what we could do, rather than what we will do.
The sentence has three subordinate clauses, the first of which – “that believeth on me” – expands the subject phrase. “That I do” refines the direct object, while the third – “because I go” – is causative. Grammatical subordination is not necessarily logical subordination; were his going to the Father the sole cause of our salvation, then our acts would be secondary, almost like a “get out of jail free” card. Faith must be active, not passive, and emphasis here is upon doing; the fact of the matter remains the cause is subordinate to the acts, the doings, to the potential of the believer.
“Greater works than these” is an independent clause expanding that which is done – the miracles, from the Latin word miraculum, meaning “object of wonder” – which every parochial school child knows to include (but are not limited to) walking on water, feeding the 5,000, raising Lazarus from the dead.
The sentence is complex, written in hyperbaton, a rhetorical figure that inverts the normal order of words for added emphasis. But if we focus upon the subject, verb and object – like bowling pins lined up for a strike – it makes plain “He that believeth…shall do…the works, and greater works than these.”
Judge next, as an activist might rule from the bench, interpreting the text in a contemporary context. Carl Jung pertains here, and the subordinate clause of causation “because I go unto my Father” must then refer not to an anthropomorphic God, but to the wise old man, the archetypal male of the collective unconscious, a universal archetype of wisdom and insight. Jung believed every male psyche has a female aspect (anima) and every female psyche a male aspect (animus); so then “go unto my Father” is a personification of the wise masculine spirit within the balanced whole of higher consciousness, which is, to my mind, the “Christ” consciousness, the “anointed” one.
As children we learned English grammar. As adults can we learn to expand our consciousness? Who among us shall be so meek as to act upon, rather than merely to believe in, the miracles?
To speak of walking on water, of healing the sick, or raising the dead is to confront the laws of classical physics, to confound the rational mind, to go beyond the prosaic, to enter the realm of poetry.
Hard pressed to imagine such a state of enlightened being, we do well to ponder the words of the God-intoxicated Persian, the poet Hafiz, who wrote, circa 1350, “I Have Learned So Much”:
I
Have
Learned
So much from God
That I can no longer
Call Myself
A Christian, a Hindu, a Muslim,
A Buddhist, a Jew.
The Truth has shared so much of Itself
With me
That I can no longer call myself
A man, a woman, an angel
Or even pure
Soul.
Love has
Befriended Hafiz so completely
It has turned to ash
And freed
Me
Of every concept and image
My mind has ever known.
[NOTE: My grammatical exegesis here has been refined with the help of my dear friend, Bob Ultimo. A classmate in Latin, we read together in the dark dinghy basement of Kresge Hall, Northwestern University 1983-85. He stayed the course, gained a Masters in Latin, taught for many years the Trivium (grammar, dialectic, rhetoric), currently teaches and writes on grammar and writing. A man in his prime, Magister Ultimo is a master of his craft. Given there is “a mysterious link between grammar and the mind” his clarity of verbal construction, keenness of thought, and deft wording are well worth following at writingsmartly.com. Thank you, Bob. Thank you, very much.]
* * * * * * * *
In late July, the fruits ripen and the harvest has begun.










Orwellian
Posted: July 19, 2024 Filed under: Chronicles of a First Time Parent, Farming off the Farm, Permaculture & Home Renovation, What is an Art Farm | Tags: george orwell, homeowners insurance 2 CommentsIn May a satellite flew over our house and took photos. On 11 June we received a notice – with photos above and below – that our homeowners insurance would be cancelled, due to a “safety hazard on your property…[which] increases the chance for injury or damage to your property.” I contacted our broker and inquired whether some “Desk Sergeant” had scanned the photos and made such a call?
The Broker wrote back, “As for a live officer in the back, I would assume it’s more akin to a machine learning/AI algorithm scanning pictures and flagging unusual things, although that is pure speculation on my part. To the best of my knowledge, the only issue is the gravel at the end of the driveway, confirmed. I had to speak with an underwriter at Nationwide yesterday to even ascertain what the problem was.”
We were told we had until 30 August to cure the problem, but in late June we received notice, and were given 22 July as a cease and desist date.
We recently visited family in Western Massachusetts, and standing upon their driveway, we talked about the asphalt. One section is newer, another older, with swales and cracks. “My Homeowner’s Policy has been cancelled” she said, “because of . . . picky stuff like these cracks. The company cited a number of issues, but all of them were picky…” An agent had walked the property looking for issues, which found, then moved her into the high-risk pool, at a substantial cost increase.
In the 10-year period from 2014 to 2023 extreme weather has caused disaster events at a cost of $183 Billion Dollars. The underwriters’ rational self-interest – unlike a good neighbor – argues they cut losses by moving homeowners out of their coverage into the high-risk pool. Gravel at the end of our driveway put us in that category. Caveat emptor.
Thankfully I work in the trades, and our friend Jim has spent decades doing site work, building roads deep in the Maine Woods for loggers. In fact, Jim is both the solution and cause of our problem, having dumped – at my request – the gravel here in our yard, left overs from a tiny house job we did together. We need to expand our driveway, and free material helps.
Time now is of the essence, and given the heavy equipment this is a mere trifle. Jim has arrived and we have removed 9 cubic yards of rubble, 3 cubic yards of tree stumps. We will remove approximately 15 tons of soil, and then move the gravel into that space.
Our soil is infested with knotweed, the highly invasive plant, and very few dumps will take soil with knotweed. I found one yard which will incinerate it, at a very high cost of $145 per ton. I will not be sneaky and lie. So we hauled 4 tons off, and will spread the rest in our side yard, then plant grass seed. A compromise lower cost solution.
We will meet the deadline. We will then give notice we are changing carriers, having improved our coverage at no additional cost. A larger parking area makes sense as my daughter will soon get her driver’s license. My son this week had a summer camp of site work with heavy equipment. So life goes restoring a 200-year old New England farmhouse





































