Field Trip for my World Religions Class

Lord Ganesh and Other Faces of God

            After years of ignoring the divine in my life, I am again a devout member of the church I grew up in.  Other than this particular religion, I have not explored other ways of answering the unanswerable, so visiting another sacred space was a huge step out of my comfort zone.  I worried about what to wear, hairstyle, and frankly, I worried about being brave enough to actually show up.  I finally dragged an old friend with me, and I am so glad I did.

            The Sri Ganesha Temple in South Jordan is a small, square building that is easy to overlook in the shadow of the huge, tall Mormon temples in the valley.  Once the road to the temple curves toward the building, the cone makes it obvious which building is sacred.  Strings of colored lights seem out of place to one raised in this predominately Christian society—what are Christmas lights doing on a Hindu temple?  The lights add to the visual appeal of the temple, which is important to devotees of Brahma.

            Immediately inside the temple is space for the earthly activity and government of the religion.  An office, a bulletin board, signs directing visitors where to store shoes all speak to the physical necessities of keeping any group of people organized.  Religions all have some form of government, as religions are full of mortal, imperfect people.  Perhaps humans need physical governance now but will overcome the need for formal organizational structure when enlightenment is reached.

            The temple itself is ornately decorated, colorful, almost overwhelmingly cluttered with visual stimuli.  Red, gold, flowers, statues, paintings—everywhere the eyes fall, there is something to capture the attention.  Icons are surrounded by offerings of all sorts, including money and candy. 

            The smell of incense is pervasive, clinging to clothes and hair even after leaving the temple.  To an American woman, accustomed to smelling nothing but cleaning products and filtered air, the strong scent can feel overpowering.  It is not unpleasant, however, and definitely strengthens the impression that this is a holy space, set apart from the regular world.

            The shrine of Lord Ganesh is set apart by stairs and walls.  The regular folk among the devotees do not enter or touch the shrine.  The priest has been trained and taught and is now worthy to enter the shrine, making offerings and chanting to the Lord in behalf of the followers.  The chanting in an unknown language, along with ringing bells, fills the ears. 

            At the feet of Lord Ganesh are bowls of fruit and nuts, given as an offering to God.  These offerings may be given to devotees by the priest, allowing them to taste the food intended to persuade the Lord to treat the humans favorably.

            Fire is also offered to Lord Ganesh, and the priest then offers a plate of fire to devotees wishing a blessing.  They pass their hands through the heat of the flame, then cup hands over the face or head, bringing the heat toward the body and allowing the smoke to rise carrying messages to God.

            Everything in the temple and the service is designed to engage the senses and focus the mind.  Sight, smell, sound, taste, and touch are all drawn to God, aiding in focusing the mind and leaving the outside world behind.  Keeping all five senses busy helps prevent wandering minds and daydreaming.

            This is opposite my own religion, where distractions are removed as much as possible, keeping the surrounding space calm and bland so as to allow the congregants to focus their minds on God.  Two distinctly opposing methods have the same goal—to focus the mind and bring thoughts to God.  The differences are more similar than I had thought.

            I was fascinated to learn the Buddha was a Hindu.  In fact, the Buddha is a manifestation of the Hindu God.  Disparate religions arising from the same root or stemming from other religions is not unusual to me.  Christians, Jews, and Muslims all look to Father Abraham as a presiding leader in their religions.  Why not Hindis and Buddhists looking to the same gurus in their religions?

            I am intrigued by the sacred spaces of religions not my own.  I am interested to explore the means of focusing thoughts in further field trips, and perhaps finding more similarities to than differences from my own beliefs.

People Control vs. Gun Control

Recently, there was a terrible tragedy where a young man went on a shooting rampage and injured or killed many in Arizona, including a public servant and a little girl.  Several years ago, someone walked onto a college campus and opened fire on students.  Innocent people have been hurt in high schools, main highways, homes, malls, even churches.  Every time something like this happens, there is an increase in discussion on the 2^nd Amendment of the United States Constitution.  Gun control laws and the right to bear arms becomes a major topic of conversation among citizens on both sides and the middle.

In these discussions someone inevitably says, “Guns don’t kill people.  People kill people,” or some variation thereof.  Blaming the gun for the crime has been compared to blaming the pencil for the misspelling.  It is true that guns rarely shoot without human input (and responsible gun owners unload or lock their guns to make tragic accidents significantly less likely).  In all of the mass shootings that make the news, the gun was held and discharged by a person.  So this argument does hold some merit.

I propose that, instead of tightening or increasing gun control laws, we tighten people control laws.  It is wrong to shoot people in cold blood.  Assassination attempts, hostage taking, and armed robbery are illegal and unethical and immoral.  I believe that if a person has a history of poor judgment, he should not be allowed to own a gun.

A person with uncontrolled mental illness, drug or alcohol addiction, past history of violent behavior, or other indicators of bad judgment or poor impulse control should not be allowed to buy guns.  It’s ridiculous that a young person with obvious instability and lack of self control should be able to buy a gun.  That person must be controlled by keeping deadly weapons out of his hands. 

Does this sound very much like gun control advocacy?  You bet it does.  Your right to bear arms must be rescinded if you show through your behavior that you are likely to use a gun irresponsibly.  If, on the other hand, you have shown good judgment, responsible thinking, and ethical behavior, you may own all the guns you like.  You may even carry them under your jacket everywhere you go.

Except in my home.  Your license to carry ends at my door.  If you are not an on-duty police officer called to aid in my home, leave your gun outside. 

Have you?

I love to travel.  I travel all over the world, and to worlds never seen before, all the time.

 I sat in a red tent with my mothers and aunts.  I wasn’t old enough, wasn’t ready, but I was the favorite, and the youngest, and I got to do anything I wanted.

I joined a circus and met the woman of my dreams.  I rode the circus train, saw the burlesque dancers grow old and ungraceful, and bonded with an elephant who only spoke Polish.

I rode a white Companion, linked to his mind until he died in a battle to save my life.  I travelled with him around the country, settling arguments and guarding the borders.  I met men who live in trees and bond with birds of prey.  I raised the finest horses in the world, the envy of Kings and Knights in all countries.

I caused a flood in the Plaza hotel in New York City.  I let the bath water overflow from the penthouse suite for so long that the ballroom became a Vienna ball, complete with canals.  I ordered a raisin from room service for my pet turtle, Skipperdee. 

I caught crawfish and crabs in the swamplands of Louisiana.  I know what a raw oyster tastes like.  I survived a tragedy, my marriage suffered, I triumphed, and I grew old with my spouse.

I learned to write a secret language of women.  My best friend and I wrote letters to each other on a fan.  Our feet were broken and healed.  I lived in a tiny house with my family until my father arranged my marriage. 

I lived at a boarding school where I met my two best friends and learned to use the talent I was born with.  I felt the burning evil of a scar I don’t remember receiving.  I defeated Evil itself, and came away with a clearer view of virtue and vice.

My parents died of cholera and left me orphaned.  When a soldier found me alone in my house, I went to live with my uncle in a house with a hundred rooms and a mysterious secret.

I went rock climbing and when a boulder fell on my hand, I was trapped for days until I severed my own hand to get free.  I had a prosthetic hand made with a climbing hook, and I still climb canyons all over the world.

I took over my grandmother’s shoe company.  I designed shoes, sewed them by hand, and sold them to an exclusive (and wealthy) clientele. 

I crossed the ocean in wooden boats designed to survive being submerged, flipped upside down, and windblown.  I saw by glowing rocks in the dark hull of my tiny boat until I reached the other coast.

I was forced to leave my husband and become a servant of the Commander’s wife.  My duty was to bear her children.  My rights as a person were rescinded—I was denied even the right to read and write.  But I survived, and came through without losing my sense of self.

I built a thriving cattle ranch in the Arizona Territory after losing my first husband to another woman.  My second husband was killed in a war.  I kept my ranch, working it with my sons and hired hands, and watched it grow and prosper along with my children.

I met bonobos who knew American Sign Language the day before their home was bombed.  I lost them, found them, and helped rescue them.  I left them in a preserve designed to keep them healthy and happy while they helped humans understand genetics and sociology from another perspective.

I sat with a dying professor every week, learning about life and philosophy, talking about politics, right vs. wrong, and faith in god.

I lost a daughter in a car accident while her sister was fighting cancer.

I witnessed a murder and retained an attorney before I turned ten.  I was key in the court case to prove guilt and take a bad man out of society.

I gave up Christmas, choosing to ignore the trappings and trimmings, to forget the stress and busy-ness.  And then, just before Christmas, I realized I needed it, and my entire neighborhood rallied together to see that I would not miss Christmas.

I ran as a coyote across the Pacific Northwest.  My roommate works and plays after dark, and sleeps like the dead while the sun is up.  My mate leads his band of supernatural beings, and they protect each other and me.

I travelled in a ship powered by a human mind, and played chess with the most intellectually advanced person I’ve ever met.

I flew on the back of a dragon.  I bonded with tiny, winged lizards who flew around my head.  I listened to the greatest singer in the world sing and tell stories until his voice gave out, then listened to him again the next night.

I watched the rice grow in China, and I watched it die.  My family played and worked alongside me, and we loved our quiet life until the great famine.  We left for the city, and weren’t truly happy until we returned to our quiet home near the rice paddy.

Have you picked cotton?  Broken a gorgeous young colt?  Seen a baby come into the world?  Met someone who grew up on Mars?  Listened to the stories of Scheherazade?  If you haven’t, you should.  “These things are fun, and fun is good.” Dr. Seuss

Please . . .

            Everyone laughs about it.  Jokes, comedy routines, entire books are based on it.  But deep in our hearts, we find it disconcerting, unsettling, even scary.  We laugh because we don’t know how to fix it.  Something lurks in the recesses, and we can’t see it clearly enough to identify it.

            Of course I’m talking about the difference between men and women.  Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus, and all that stuff.  We communicate differently.  We react differently.  We’re socialized to be different, and genetically we’re different.  The question is, what do we do about it?

            Let’s start with us, ladies.  We have a reputation for thinking men should read our minds.  “I’m fine,” means “I’m furious.”  “Go ahead,” means “I’ll be pissed if you go.”  Or my personal pet peeve, “If you don’t know why I’m mad, I’m certainly not going to tell you.”  How on earth do we expect to be understood if we use language like this?  Of course they don’t get it right.  I don’t understand, and I am a woman.  No wonder men are gun shy.

            The first night I spent with my husband, Kerry, I found out how really gun shy men can be.  I’m not 19 anymore, I’ve had four babies, my body does not work as efficiently as it used to, which means I had to get up to pee in the middle of the night.  As I was leaving, Kerry woke up and said, “I’m sorry.”  What?  Sorry that I have to pee?  I was totally confused.  “What are you sorry for?”  “You’re leaving.  You must be mad,” he said.  Poor man.  He could think of no reason I should leave the room other than that I was mad, and was apologizing simply because he thought it was the right thing to do.  I said, “I’m going to the bathroom, then I’m going to go smack every woman who mistreated you and let you think that way, then I’ll be right back.  No worries.”  He was so relieved he was sound asleep again by the time I got back into bed. 

            It’s ridiculous that men would truly not know when we’re upset, so assume we’re upset all the time.  Here’s a challenge: next time you’re unhappy, or you want something, or you prefer that he not do whatever-it-is with the guys, just say so.  Don’t get all mad, don’t yell, don’t cry.  State your thoughts or wishes in simple, clear language with no tricks or games.  My guess is it’ll work like a charm.  He’ll know exactly what you want and how you feel, and can respond more appropriately since he doesn’t have to guess.  Try it!  You might like what happens!

            This works especially well for things like, “Tell me you love me,” and “I want you to send me flowers.”  I use these sentences all the time, and I invariably get what I ask for.  It doesn’t mean less just because I asked for it.  He wants me to be happy, and loves to know exactly what will please me at that moment.  Spontaneous romance is great—romance because he knows it will make me happy (because I told him) is just as great.

            Gentlemen, you’re not off the hook.  You have a brain and a heart.  We expect you to use them.  If you are prone to forget important dates and appointments, program them into your fancy iphone or similar gadget.  Or just write them on the calendar.  There’s simply no excuse for forgetting stuff like that with all the technology available.  (Come on.  You’re reading this online.  You obviously have access to some fabulous technology.)  If you aren’t sure how to commemorate special occasions, use the simple formula “Something soft, something sparkly, something smelly.”  (Pashmina, emeralds, and roses, for example)

            And for heaven’s sake, stop using the excuse, “I’m a guy.  I can’t help it.”  Yes, you can help it.  You are not forced by your Y chromosome to have bad manners, ogle innocent passersby, or use foul language.  Your hormones are not in control, forcing you to buy offensive magazines or sit on the couch instead of doing dishes.  Real men let their brains control their bodies, not the other way around.

            Learn real communication, where you actually say what you mean.  It may take some practice, but eventually you will learn to believe each other, and life gets so much easier after that.

The Once-ler's Tale

            In a far away land, where Truffula Trees once grew in abundance, the Once-ler lives a hermit’s life.  For a small fee he will whisper his story into a curious ear.  He will tell about the once great Truffula forest.  He will describe the Lorax, who spoke for the trees.  He will confess his part in the destruction of the environment and explain why there are no Truffula Trees anymore.  Dr. Seuss’ classic poem The Lorax pleads for conservation and protection of natural resources, cleverly reaching out to children in verse and illustration, teaching by parable.

            The moon shines in the first illustrations showing a desolate, empty land where very little grows.  This is a land bereft of trees, water, and any living creatures.  Legend has it that long ago the Lorax stood here in defense of the environment for as long as possible.  The narrator introduces the Once-ler, who knows the legend and will share it.  The Once-ler never appears in the illustrations, giving him the mysterious quality of the monster under the bed or Santa Claus.

            The Once-ler first establishes his credibility.  He saw the destruction of the Truffula forest, and can give an eyewitness account of the true story.  He demands a small fee before he will tell his story—fifteen cents, a nail and the shell of a great-great-great-grandfather snail.  Charging for the tale ensures that only those ready to listen and inclined to believe will hear the tale.  The Once-ler calls by Whisper-ma-Phone, forcing the listener to pay close attention to hear the Once-ler’s voice.

            The Once-ler’s story is a first person account of the great Truffula Trees.  He describes a time when the pond was full and the clouds were clean, implying that neither of those things are true any longer.  The illustrations add to the descriptions of the forest, showing colorful trees and fantastical creatures in a landscape any child would want to visit.  Vaguely humanoid Barbaloots play under the trees, happy and carefree.  The story and illustrations appeal to a child’s natural desire for ready snacks, bright colors, and supervision-free play. 

            Thneeds require soft, fluffy material like the Truffula tufts, and the Once-ler calls in his family to open a Thneed factory.  After the first tree falls, the Lorax appears to speak for the trees.  The Lorax looks at the Thneed and declares no one will ever want to buy such a thing, but a customer quickly proves the Lorax wrong.  Sputtering with rage, the Lorax pleads with the Once-ler to spare the Truffula Trees.  As the forest falls to the Thneed factory the Lorax appears repeatedly, showing the Once-ler the habitat destruction and air and water pollution caused by his factory.  Pollution causes certain damage; the results are empirically obvious.  The illustrations also tug on the tender emotions of children, showing sad faces and slumped shoulders as Barbaloots, birds and fish leave the area in search of healthier environments.

            When the last Truffula Tree falls the Lorax departs, leaving one word on a stone, “UNLESS.”  The Once-ler finally understands what has been destroyed and sits in his home with boarded up windows, worrying about how to right his great wrong.  As he whispers his story the meaning of the word becomes clear. “UNLESS someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better.  It’s not.”  The Once-ler whispers to a little boy, the only human in the book and someone children can relate to.  The Once-ler passes the last Truffula Seed to the boy, asking him to plant and care for the seed.  The child has the task of replacing the Truffula forest one tree at a time.

            Dr. Seuss’ audience of children has the power to change the world.  They may inherit a world full of problems and ugliness.  The Lorax gives them hope and suggests one possible solution to the problem of deforestation and habitat destruction.  In logic and emotion a child can understand and in the authoritative voice of the Once-ler, Dr. Seuss stresses the importance of preserving the natural world and taking care of the resources we have, even if it means factories must cease production of Thneeds.

Unsung Heroes

            When Joseph learned Mary was pregnant before they were married, he could have publically humiliated her.  He could have called for her death.  He could have had her cast out, ostracized, sent away in disgrace.  His kind heart, however, didn’t even consider these options.  He decided instead to quietly send her home to her father, calling off the wedding without any accompanying cruelty.  Then an angel came and gave Joseph his daunting assignment.  Imagine being asked to raise the Son of God.  Joseph was charged with teaching and guiding the boy to become the man who would save the world.  Joseph worried about young Jesus when He was three days late coming home—He stayed to teach in the temple, but Joseph didn’t know that.  Joseph taught him a trade, taught him to work hard and follow the law, and Jesus did grow to accomplish all He was sent to do.  Joseph should be commended for his service in behalf of all mankind.

            Mary’s parents are never mentioned in the New Testament.  They raised a young girl ready and willing to understand the angel who came to assign her great task.  Mary listened carefully to what the angel told her, then declared herself willing to take on whatever God wanted her to do, “Behold the handmaid of the Lord.”  Mary’s parents had reason to be proud of their teenage daughter.

            The shepherds in the field were the first to hear of the birth of Jesus.  These men knew of the prophecies and understood the scriptures, and immediately understood the import of the announcement.  They left their flocks and went to worship the Savior.  The shepherds were willing to risk their sheep and their jobs for a more important thing.  Nothing is said about what happened while the sheep were unsupervised, but I hope God watched over them and kept them safe until the shepherds returned.

            I love Christmas.  I love the trimmings and trappings, the shopping and singing, the decorations and donations to the red buckets.  I love all the chaos, I love having a house full of family and wrapping paper.  Most especially, I love the Savior.  I am grateful for His life and example, His teaching, His atoning sacrifice, and His continued love and concern for me.  “Thanks be to God for his unspeakable gift.”

Learning Off the Syllabus

            I went back to school full time this fall.  I studied hard, joined study groups, did my homework, did extra reading, and basically was a model student.  I learned lots; I learned a LOT that was not on any syllabus.

            Take extreme measures never to take another 1000 level class.  Not that the classes aren’t good, but the teenagers drive me crazy.  “What if I can’t come for the final?”  I cannot believe I actually heard that question, asked seriously, of a professor.  Then she threw a fit when he told her she’d fail if she didn’t take the final.  “You didn’t tell me I had to do a works cited page.”  Oh, come one.  Everyone requires a works cited page, for everything you ever write.  Welcome to college, Kid.  “It’s my opinion.  I don’t need to do any research or cite any sources.”  It is an opinion paper, and you are welcome to any opinion you can support with properly documented sources.  Different kid, but again, welcome to college.  Note to self: schedule classes with classmates who have a semester or two under their belts, not with these idiots.

            If you hear sirens in the middle of class, it means, “Someone’s dying.”  Muttered by a professor in the middle of a mathematical proof, this is hilarious.  Other gems from Cesar: “This will help you the rest of your life—well, the rest of your life in math.”  “Choose numbers that make your life easier.”  (This has applications for everything else in life, too.  Choose things that make life easier.)  “I speak two languages, Portuguese and Spanish,” spoken in perfect, fluent English.  Apparently English doesn’t count.  By far, this was the most fun I’ve ever had in a math class.

            Do your works cited page as you do your research.  I repeat, DO YOUR WORKS CITED PAGE AS YOU DO YOUR RESEARCH.  A midnight internet search for the publisher of that obscure article and the author of that one book (you know, that one) is not a fun way to spend an evening.  Save yourself the trouble.  And while we’re on the subject of citing work, www.knightcite.com is a gift from the MLA gods to students and researchers everywhere.

            Even if it is help I am uniquely qualified to give, offering help to adults who don’t request help is offensive.

            Aging brains do not learn as quickly or as efficiently as young brains.  I study a lot harder than my classmates to learn the same material.

            I learned how to sign, “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that” with sarcasm dripping from every movement and oozing from every facial expression.  Thank you, Melissa.  I also learned to tell a joke in ASL, and the expression equivalent to “Oh, give it up already.”

            I need a new laptop.  I need a small, light laptop that doesn’t weigh more than two pounds.

            I learned to ride the bus without having to talk to anyone.  I learned where to find recent novels in the college library.  I learned where to buy a croissant, a bandaid, or a diet coke.  I learned to carry multiple extra pens, and that pens invariably run out of ink in math class.  I learned that from a professor’s perspective, doodling looks very much like note taking.

            Mostly, I learned that college is fun, in spite of the work, the idiots, and the heavy, heavy books.