Zelda Wonders What I Got

I walked through East Texas, round Longview. The pines were high and my shoulders were low, loaded with the weight of all my things. I set them down, guitar, backpack, and my small bag of food. Exhausted, I prepared to lay a while and catch up on much-needed rest and relaxation, when up ambled Zelda.

Zelda's tall with a shaved head, crooked teeth, those still hanging in her gums, others fallen out by some reason I never asked for.

"What're you doing here?" she questioned in the third degree. I sat fiddling with a stick and she didn't trust me.

"Just getting some rest," I replied, polite as I could given her authoritative demanding manner.

"Where you from?"

I hesitated. It's been so long since I've been from somewhere, I couldn't remember. New Orleans? South Dakota? Thackerville? "Tyler," I told her. That's where I'd slept last, anyway.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked again as she glanced among my things, searching for something. "You on drugs?"

"No."

"You got any marijuana?"

"No."

"Mind if I look through your bags? People like to come out here and do drugs."

"Do they? I don't know anything about that. I'm just walking from Tyler and stopped for some rest and relaxation." I unlatched my jug of water from my side and took a sip.

"I'm just curious. I wanna know."

I looked at Zelda, devil in the eyes. "I look so like I do drugs that you gotta look through my stuff?"

She looked at me back, wicked and straight. "You got a reason I shouldn't?"

Such a Good Idea?

I ran Tuesday morning to get to work. I didn't want to take too much time walking there and, I believe is the truer reason why I ran, I wanted to prove to myself that I could still do it. It's been ... how long? Well, there you go. I can't remember the last time I did it, so it was quite some time back.

I hurt. But I know I can still run. And I don't know how far I ran, probably not all that far. Maybe a mile, but I did it. My muscles feel like they've been caught in a cowboy's lasso, that coarse rope squeezing tight around them, rubbing them raw. They'll heal...

I believe

We are all a gift from God and each of us is given the individual gift of praising God for the beautiful, tragic, struggling, rewarding lives we have.

If I'm passionate about one thing it's this: We have the ability of compassion, which ought to be manifested through us daily.

I don't suspect many disagree with this idea, yet, I'm frustrated by titles. "In whose name do you show compassion?" Love is love is love is love, eternally.

Here's An Idea

September 11, 2001, an attempt by maniacs to hurt the United States of America. And the pain went through the citizens, families wept, the nation mourned, and flags waved at the peak of each pole. "We stand united," the nation cried.


Yet, nine years later, debate over Mosques being built around the country, as if Muslims did the damage, rather than fanatics. Maniacs. Let's politely disagree rather than dramatize difference of opinion and reach a mindful conclusion.

And many differences of opinion come to the surface of the Mosque debate. I'll leave it up to you to read (one view) the arguments (another view) and develop your own idea of whether or not it's legal to build or to deny, or if it's a matter of respect or "wisdom" to build two blocks from "Ground Zero." I'll say this much:

1) Absolutely allowed by 1st Amendment rights.
2) Muslims ought not build as a matter of respect.
3) A matter of respect for non-Muslims to acknowledge Muslims did NOT do this damage, but Maniacs.
4) We MUST acknowledge those who fell victim to the Maniacs were, in fact, Christians, Jews, Hindus, people of no faith, AND Muslims.
5) I hold as my opinion that anyone should have a place near "Ground Zero" to hold vigil and mourn those they loved in their own way.

     Let me continue from here with my idea:

This is an idea of COMPASSION, not STRENGTH. RESILIENCE, not ARROGANCE. GROWTH, not FEAR.

Along the perimeter of "Ground Zero," I recommend a community center sponsored by every arm of faith represented in the United States. A Christian Community Center, a Jewish Community Center, a Hindu Community Center, a Buddhist Community Center, and yes, an Islamic Community Center, for THIS IS WHAT THE United States ARE SUPPOSED TO REPRESENT. Unity despite faith. Pride among all faiths. Acknowledgment of all faiths. And, required by all faiths, Compassion.

This site does not need a tall building to show strength as a nation. THIS SITE NEEDS A REPRESENTATION OF THE RIGHTS, LIBERTIES, AND UNITY WE CLAIM AS CITIZENS.

Race

'Get out the way, man!' honks the white girl, waving her hands angry.
He's black.
Taylor and Jenna get nervous.
Beatrice drives on. 'Ugh, so frustrating!'
The black guy turns and shouts back, then gets hit by a car.
                                                                                                                

The cat that led the other behind the bushes
5ifty three minutes later
lays in the cool dewy grass, and looks up for cars
and relaxes as the school boy walks home,
passing him.
The school boy is black.
As, if it matters, the scruffy white guy cuts glances at his potential obstruction of insubordination with loud voice and criminal ways.
They glance at each other. Scruff gives a nervous nod, thinking, 'I'd do it if he was white,' and looks away.
Jack, carrying the book bag, looks away, thinking, 'He thinks I'm black.'

Eyes

Legs crossed with your hand resting beneath the thigh of your upper leg. Your smile is true. Your eyes say how content they feel. Your brow questions them.

I-35

Jake, age 34. His wife left him for herself. Jeffery's 8 years old and visits on the weekends. Jake drives his red truck to see Maya in Saledo for the night. He spent the day in San Antonio surveying land for a chain of coffee shop. It's Thursday night and Jake dances in the drivers seat, tapping his steering wheel with the music. 'Jeffery comes tomorrow!'

Alex, in a Grand Cherokee. His wife sits in the passenger seat looking up Google Maps on her iPhone. It's one in the morning and they should get into Hillsboro soon. 'I swear I thought it was closer than this.'

Rob's whole life is in his car. The pregnant girl beside him.

Picnic rides with all his belongings packed behind him. His friend Bain drives them to Waxahachie to do yard work for Granny. They get pancakes in the morning and fried chicken after the work's done.

Harriet gets pulled over for swerving.

Town Center Bank, built in a circle, went under after 57 years serving Cleyburn. 'You're too expensive right now, Bill,' his friend told the bank owner. 'Damn it, Ric, you know we do what we can. And you know we don't dick you with interest.' 'But I can worry about interest later. I need the money now.' Cleyburn now booms with Steak-n-shake where Gretta, of Gretta's Home Burgers, rings you up after your meal wearing that old-style diner wardrobe and black paper hat; or Hanks old Like New Transmissions, now Cleyburn Ford. Betty's Dresses went under. So did Phil's Collectibles and Sports Shop. 'Hook-Line-and-Sinker went out, too.' Luckily there's the Cleyburn Superstore. No one from Cleyburn owns it, but it's where everyone works now.

Loony Ben

Ben, cooped up after decades on a mountain side because desert winds take your mind. Someone gave him a TV to be drawn as moths to that blue, glowing zapper. I found his wife's ashes in a plastic bag inside a box at the back of the bottom shelf, corner of his garage. So I put her in a terracotta pot where Ben use to sit at sundown and sunrise, which took place on his left and right shoulders.

His fingers explored acrylic paintings, rolling the tips over old oak textures. Ghosts hid his belongings. Otherwise, he'd have flushed them to the septic tank, not emptied in twelve years and I remember the smells permeating from those backed pipes.

Sipping Beam with him, hugging each arm around his five foot frame, twice, with caution. He loved to see us come and loved to see us go. Alone with his thoughts, Ben was taught, quite rightly, that that lady is the weather trapped in a frying pan and three people in his bathtub is exactly how he feels today.

Ben, out there telling Billy Mac how things truly are. His suspicions relieved when he gave away the lock-box to strangers, but friends sent him to the half-way house.