A Virginia UU in King George's War

From Mortars to Meditation

2005-07-18T11:08:00.000-05:00

I wrote this essay last winter as a submission to UU World Magazine, and I offer it here as a "teaser" for my other writing while I was in Iraq. If you want to read more, scroll down and use the Index by Topic links or the Archives. Enjoy.

I spend my first morning at Camp Kalsu (a dusty, desolate outpost of the occupation, south of Baghdad) with one of the “old hands,” a helicopter pilot who shows me around and tells me what to do in case of a mortar attack. “Always hit the deck – that’s the safest place. If the rounds land far away, run for a bunker. If they’re close, stay down until the last impact and then run for a bunker.” He suggests an early lunch, because yesterday the chow hall was attacked at the end of lunchtime.

I feel very exposed and vulnerable as we wait in line outside the chow hall; the thin aluminum building, although surrounded by huge concrete barriers, looks about as sturdy as a beer can. Once we are inside and seated with our food, I find it very awkward to eat while wearing my flak vest, and I keep spilling little bits of rice down the front. I wonder if it’s worth the bother. I ask “what do we do if we start taking fire while we’re in here?” My host replies, “same as outside – hit the deck, get your helmet on, and wait for the stampede out the back door to end. Once it clears out, run for the bunkers.”

This advice is very timely. Less than a minute later, our meal is suddenly interrupted by a series of unbelievably loud explosions - mortar shells falling just outside the chow hall, no more than 10 yards from where we sit. In a few seconds we are all on the floor, except for the sergeant next to me, who still sits on his chair in dazed disbelief. I pull him to the floor and fumble to fasten my helmet strap under my chin. The sound of explosions is deafening as the rounds keep falling.

When the impacts seem to end and the crowd has thinned, we scramble outside and dive into the crowded bunker. I feel hysterical laughter welling up with the release of adrenaline and the knowledge that I am unharmed. Sitting in the bunker, I look at my shaking hands and the faces of strangers around me – some scared, some bored – and wonder if I will ever get used to this.

Mortar attacks (frequent and nerve-wracking, but mercifully short and usually harmless) become part of the scenery here at Kalsu. The biggest challenge is day-to-day life here in this parade of Mondays - a seemingly endless flow of solitary hours, days, weeks, and months – unbroken by weekends or holidays. I work alone as the Night Airboss – a task neither difficult nor interesting - and I am challenged to avoid despair, self-pity, and homesickness. This is much more difficult than my four previous peacetime deployments as a Harrier pilot. To transcend the sameness of my daily existence, I turn to the spiritual practices I have learned since I discovered Unitarian Universalism.

I like to tell people “I’ve been a UU my whole life; I just didn’t know it until I was 35.” My first taste of UU came when my wife dragged me to a service at the Unitarian Universalist Church of the Monterey Peninsula a little over three years ago. I sat in the sanctuary with the minister’s voice flowing over me, watching the trees swaying in the wind, feeling the palpable love and welcome of the congregation. I knew I had found my spiritual home – something I didn’t even know I was seeking.

I soon became a committed member of that community, and the larger one of Unitarian Universalism. I have twice had the good fortune to attend the Pacific Central District Leadership School in Alamo, California – once as a student, and once as a staff assistant. During these weeks, I was introduced to a variety of spiritual practices; among them are two that I bring to my life here in Iraq – Tai Chi water exercises and meditation.

I begin each day with writing, meditation, and Tai Chi. Today, as on so many days, I write about how much I miss my wife and two children, and all of the relationships I have at home. I carry these thoughts into meditation, deepening my understanding of how important these people and our relationships are to me. When the time comes to transition from the peace and joy of meditation to the reality of my present, the mental and physical flow of Tai Chi provides a path. The world within my mind is safe and comfortable, but life only really exists in the present moment, in the real world where I am right now.

This reality includes mortar attacks, often when I’m asleep. I awaken to that gut-wrenching crack-BOOM, as I struggle out of a deep sleep into my flak vest and helmet. Lying curled in a fetal ball on the floor, heart pounding, I recoil with each explosion. I hear the subtle sound of something falling on my tent like a drop of rain. Eventually there is silence.

I step outside, and the present moment holds beauty – fear is now in the past. The sky is blue, the birds sing, and the sun shines. It shines on me, it shines on my tent, and it shines on the jagged piece of shrapnel imbedded in the fabric. In the present moment, fear comes again.

Index - Life in Iraq

2005-06-24T11:59:00.000-05:00

Adios, Kalsu!
Advice
Another Day at the Lion
Beauty
Changes in Latitude, Changes in Attitude
Coasting Toward Christmas
Elegy
Fear
Fear and Joy
The Goat Rodeo
The Kalsu Blues
Lights and Darkness
Monday, 24/7
The Mundane and the Ridiculous
Night Life
Olfactory Observations
On Its Stomach
On Television
Sand Storms, Water Outages, and Other Perils of War
Simple Gifts
Things That Go Boom in the Night
The View from the Tower
A Virtual Tour of Kalsu
Welcome to Al Asad
What’s In a Name
The Whos in the What
Who’s New at Kalsu

Index - Military Life and Culture

2005-06-24T11:58:00.000-05:00

Conversations with Otis
Culture Wars I
Culture Wars II
Homegoing and Homecoming
The Whos in the What
Traveling in the Belly of the Beast
Tribes
UU and the Military

Index - Personal Experience and Philosophy

2005-06-24T11:57:00.000-05:00

A Black Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing
Answering the Mail
Carpe Diem
Circles and Cycles
Coasting Toward Christmas
Confessions of a Vegetarian
Connections
Follow the Calling
Everyday Ministry
Giving Thanks
Home, Happy, and Overwhelmed
The Respirateur
San Diego
Simple Gifts
Talking About Religion
Teach Your Parents Well
UU and the Military
Words
Writing It All Down

Index - Journey of Discovery

2005-06-24T11:56:00.000-05:00

Anger
Being Present
Comfortable with Myself
Everyday Ministry
Fear
Fear and Joy
Great Expectations
The Kalsu Blues
Mindful Communication
Mindful Consumption
Tribes

Index - Arts and Culture

2005-06-24T11:55:00.000-05:00

Books
Darkness
On Television
Who's Waving?

Index - Song Lyrics and Poetry

2005-06-24T11:37:00.000-05:00

American Hero
Beauty
Life's Blood
No Turning Back
Olfactory Observations

ReEntry

2005-04-05T10:45:00.000-05:00

Before leaving Iraq, I thought, wrote, and meditated at length about the process of reentering “normal” life once I came home. On every one of my previous four deployments, I had more or less just picked up where I left off with family, friends, and job. There were some rough spots in the transitions (particularly on my last return, when my son was 2 and we more or less had to start over in our relationship), but for the most part coming home was like putting on comfortable clothing after it’s been altered slightly.

This deployment, however, was completely different from any of the others. In the days leading up to it, and for the first month or so, it seemed like the worst possible thing that could have happened to me and my family. I was rudely reminded that yes indeed I AM still in the Marine Corps, no matter how much I want to close this chapter of my life. As a friend in my congregation put it, “this is what you signed up for.” Well, maybe 17 years ago – but yes, this is my reality.

After about a month in Iraq I realized that my situation, although unpleasant, sometimes frightening, and often lonely and boring, was a rare gift. I will never again have five months (or even five days, perhaps) almost completely to myself to read, write, think, learn, and grow. I decided to take advantage of the gift of solitude, and use the time and space to discern the type of person I want to be, and how I want to live my life; much of what is written in these pages reflects this search.

Part of this discernment was a decision not to just put on the old clothes of my life, but to intentionally and mindfully apply myself to truly live a life where relationships and process come first, and issues and outcomes are not the central focus of my existence. Obviously this change could not happen overnight, so I began planning my reentry.

My plan for reentry was to prioritize my time and energies thus: first, to take care of myself, incorporating the spiritual practices of writing and meditation into my daily routine to form the stable base of my new way of living. Second, I would apply my ideals of relationships over issues within my own family. Finally, I would ease back into life in my congregation and wider community, keeping true to this standard and setting my boundaries accordingly. If only it were so easy.

My first weeks home were sort of like a honeymoon – the kids were well behaved, all was well with my wife, and I enjoyed being welcomed home by those I encountered. I felt like the king of the world, and thought “boy, this is a lot easier than I expected.” Then a few cracks started to appear – I felt familiar old feelings of frustration arise with my family over little household issues, I was overwhelmed by the welcome I received from my congregation, it became obvious our car needed work – and I began to think “wow, this is not as easy as it seemed.”

We went to North Carolina for a week of vacation, and life was grand. The weather was perfect every day, whether it rained or shined, we got along well, did lots of fun things together, and I got to play my guitar and ride singletrack often. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I had put on my “vacation clothes” without considering how it would feel to take them off again.

Reality struck back with a vengeance when we returned from our trip late on a Saturday night, to a house in chaos and two extra people (the woman who has lived here since I left and her niece). After unpacking the car, I retreated to bed with earplugs in, hoping it would all go away.

Of course when I woke up Sunday, life was still there. As the week progressed, I felt like a stranger in my home and congregation, and I wished to be back in my simple, monk-like life in Kalsu. It seemed that the only people who were honestly glad to see me just because I am me were the kids and the dog; everyone else seemed to want or need something from me, whether it was doing the laundry and finances or taking on responsibilities in the congregation. Now I thought “man, this is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.”

And so it has continued – the highs have been very high, and the lows very low. Sometimes I feel like I’m on top of the world, and sometimes I feel like it’s the end of the world. I don’t know how long this difficult process will continue, but if it’s this hard, it must be worthwhile. I can only envision the beautiful new set of clothes I’m weaving as I live this life, one day at a time, just trying to be me.

Home, Happy, and Overwhelmed

2005-03-13T11:42:00.000-05:00

It's been a week since my last post, and what a week that's been. I began my re-entry into the "real world" with a wonderful visit to Monterey, including a hike, a potluck, and three worship services. Thanks to Kate and Karen and everyone else for the loving welcome home. During the hike, the cameras were rolling as I answered questions about my experiences. You can find out more about seeing the streaming video of this "interview" next weekend (18 - 20 March) here.

I got home to Virginia on Tuesday night, to my two sweet children and wife greeting me at the airport. Thanks to a new rule, the TSA allows families of returning military members to greet them at the gate. Remember when that was the norm? It was so great to get off the plane and have my son and daughter run up to me and jump into my arms.

The five days since returning have been wonderful, but almost too much in many ways. There is so much to see and do - and so much freedom - that I feel overloaded at times and just want to hide. I continue to find refuge in writing my daily pages, meditation, and my guitar. One thing I have NOT kept up with is writing for my blog. I wonder if those of you who haven't seen me in California or Virginia might be feeling neglected - if so, my apologies. Please realize that it takes a lot out of me just to function with so much more going on. I have gone from just taking care of myself (and spending nearly all my time alone) to being surrounded by family, dog, and community that wants and needs my engagement and attention.

I plan to "wrap up" this weblog within the next few weeks, whenever I can make the time to write one final post capturing the essence of my personal growth and evolution during this deployment. I hope to keep writing in a new blog - one that will focus on my life with my family and faith community. I will post a link to that once it's up and running.

Thanks to everyone who's taken the time to read and respond. It is very fulfilling to know that my ministry of words has reached so many people in so many diverse ways.

Teach Your Parents Well

2005-03-06T11:41:00.000-05:00

One of the best things about being back from Iraq is being around “normal” people, family, and kids again. On my second day in San Diego, I spent the late afternoon and evening with my cousin and her family, and it was both refreshing and a bit overwhelming. They have delightful twins who are about the same age as my son, and I had a lot of fun playing with them and watching them.

Before I went to their house, I went on a brief hike down a dirt road with a creek next to it. I wanted to go to the Elfin Forest Recreational Preserve, but due to vague directions and recent development, I was unable to find it. Nonetheless, it was very pleasant to be able to take a walk that lasted longer than about 5 minutes, and to see trees and water and grass instead of dirt and concrete. As I often do when walking or hiking, I fantasized about riding my mountain bike down this road, jumping over mud puddles and grinding up the hills.

At one point during my walk I noticed two brown cattails next to the creek, just ready to go to seed. I immediately thought of my son, who loves all things from nature, and picked them with the thought that my cousin’s twins would enjoy them as well. They had never seen such a thing before, and they were very interested. I enjoyed telling them about how cattails grow, and how they can be roasted and eaten somewhat like corn when they are “ripe.”

The fun really started when we went out to the backyard and the twins discovered that these smooth brown cylinders contained fluffy seeds. They started off by plucking at the one that was starting to seed out, and then soon discovered that banging the two of them together produced great floating clouds of fluffy seeds. The only drawback to this technique was that only one of them could do it at a time, which resulted in a bit of competition and arguments about whose turn it was. I pointed out that I had brought one for each, and they quickly realized that banging the cattails on the ground or rocks produced even greater volumes of floating fluff. Even their new puppy got into the fun, chasing and trying to eat the clumps of fluff.

This, of course, was much more fun for all of us than just looking at the cattails – leave it to children to find new and interesting ways to play and enjoy their world. They have a lot to teach us.

The Respirateur

2005-03-04T11:40:00.000-05:00

Sometimes when I meet someone who asks me “what do you do,” I am somewhat at a loss for words. Does she mean what do I do for a living? Does he mean what do I do for fun? Or is it something else? Of course, the context of the question usually provides a clue to the meaning. But maybe I want to interpret the meaning differently than it was intended…

I recently read a book by Robert Fulghum (who has been, among other things, a Unitarian minister) called “It Was On Fire When I Lay Down On It.” I highly recommend this little collection of essays for its humor, insight, and ability to make the reader squirm in discomfort. One story deals with the question posed above.

Fulghum has many answers to this question, because he’s done and been many things. I like his practice of saying different things at different times, depending on who or what he feels like at the moment. He relates one story of a conversation on a plane trip where he tells his seatmate “I’m a nun,” and the comical results of their continuing the conversation as if he were, overheard by the couple in the row behind them.

My favorite answer to this question, however, is from Marcel Duchamp, who would answer “I am a respirateur.” How perfect – I am a breather. After all, breathing is one thing every one of us does, all the time, from the moment of birth to the finality of death. It sounds so mysterious, too – just think of the delicious misunderstandings that are possible with this word. “Hi, what do you do?” “Well, right now I’m a respirateur.” “Oh, really! Where is your restaurant?” or “How many people have you rescued?” I wonder if anyone, in casual conversation, would really notice what I really said and know or ask what the word meant. Of course the possibilities are endless – “I’m a somnambulist.” We spend more time asleep than any single other pursuit, right? “I’m a dreamer – I just wish I could remember more of them.”

What about other roles in our lives? I am a father, son, brother-in-law, son-in-law, cousin, second cousin, nephew, and husband. Things we do for fun and fulfillment? I am a musician, reader, writer, meditator, cyclist, hiker, camper, weightlifter, and movie watcher. Things we are obligated to do? I am a driver, doer-of-laundry, toilet cleaner, dishwasher, plumber, and handyman – but I don’t do windows.

So why do most of us answer the question “what do you do” with what we get paid to do? Why not answer with what we love to do? For a lucky few of us, the answer is the same. My mother, an English teacher for over 40 years, told me once that she was embarrassed to get paid to teach because she loved it so much. Likewise, there were times in my career as a Harrier jet pilot when I couldn’t believe I got paid to do it – and others where I didn’t think I got paid nearly enough. I won’t be surprised if I have the same feeling about professional ministry.

Of all the possible answers to that question, “what do you do,” there is one that is absolutely universal and accurate, no matter one’s personal job or interests – “I am a human.”

Life's Blood

2005-03-03T12:54:00.000-05:00

I hear the rain falling in a symphony of moisture
drip drop splosh tunk plop

I hear my blood coursing past my ears
whoosh whoosh whoosh

I can feel the blood in my body
Does the Earth feel the rain?

It is the Earth’s life blood
Flowing in arteries of river and stream, returning in veins of evaporation
Pumped by a heart of sun and sea

A closed system like my body
When viewed from outside

But from inside the system my perspective is narrow
And it’s easy to forget the rain is only one part

Of something much greater

Like platelets and cells in my blood
Unaware of muscles, bone, and brain

I can’t see the ocean the rain seeks
Hearing only drip drop splosh tunk plop
whoosh whoosh whoosh

Homegoing and Homecoming

2005-03-01T11:38:00.000-05:00

On October 10, 2004, I disembarked from a United Airlines 747 at Kuwait International Airport, arriving in the oppressively hot, dusty, and hazy evening with a general feeling of dread. This dread only intensified during the next day’s C-130 flight from Kuwait to Al Asad, Iraq. We had to wear our helmets and flak vests on this leg, and I pictured running off the back of the airplane, locked and loaded, ready to establish a perimeter and defend the aircraft. The reality, however, was running off the back of the airplane to see a group of Marines playing basketball near where we had parked.

Now it’s March, and I’m sitting in the terminal of Bangor International Airport on a cold, snowy Maine morning, waiting for the final leg of our flight to Miramar to be called. We left Kuwait at about 3 this morning and flew to Shannon, Ireland, where it was startling to see green, green grass and cows. Upon our arrival on the Emerald Isle, most of the 300 Marines on the flight made a beeline for the bar, downing Guiness and Heineken to assuage their 6-month thirsts. Others of us descended upon the duty-free shop, paying too much for souvenirs of a country we only saw from within the terminal.

The sudden change of scenery from the sand, dust, and desolation of Iraq and Kuwait to the green hills of Eyre and the snows of Maine is disconcerting. It was also disconcerting to be applauded and greeted with a chorus of voices murmuring “welcome home” and “thank you” as we entered the main terminal here in Bangor. I have such mixed feelings about our presence in Iraq - and my part in it - that I found the applause and welcoming words touching yet disquieting. Ironically, I would have felt less uncomfortable if we had been met by a crowd of war protesters.

Beginning with the helicopter flight from Kalsu back to Al Asad, this trip back to the U.S. has so far been long but unremarkable. It began on a beautiful night just past the full moon, and Kalsu never looked better than it did disappearing behind us as we flew away. I only spent a little more than a day in Al Asad, tying up loose ends and repacking for the trip home. The journey continued with another sardine-like flight to Kuwait on a C-130; this time, however, my spirits were buoyed rather than sunken as we neared our destination. The 36 hours in Kuwait went quickly, occupied by sleeping, tossing and turning, and several early-morning hours spent reading, writing, meditating, and playing my guitar in the empty chapel. As I played and sang to the empty chairs, I pictured them filled with my friends from two UU congregations.

This last, and longest, part of these travels began in fine military fashion with many hours of hurrying up to wait, then waiting to hurry up. Customs briefing and inspection, moving from place to place, on the buses, off the buses, and more hurry up and wait finally resulted in boarding the MD-11 and departing.

The trip out to Iraq carried a feeling of inevitability – a feeling of inexorably being carried to my fate by the military machine. This trip home, however, has been marked more by the lazy flow of time as the minutes, hours, and days melt away and my return to home and family nears. This too feels inevitable and unavoidable, but the future holds bright promise and excitement, rather than uncertainty and dread. It’s a good feeling, going home.

(Later) Now I’m sitting in a hotel room in San Diego, and in many ways I feel like I never went anywhere. Arriving at Miramar was very depressing at first as all the Marines with families to greet them were hugging and kissing their loved ones. Before long, however, I realized that it was good to be able to turn in my pistol, get blood drawn, and pick up my bags without having little ones hanging on me.

Next stop, Monterey!

Fear and Joy

2005-02-24T11:35:00.000-05:00

This will be my last post from Kalsu, and probably my last post from Iraq. I leave you with this tribute to the cycle of feeling and emotion I’ve experienced in my time here.

on my first day here I met some mortars nice and close
you might say we had lunch together
and they introduced me to Fear

Fear lay with me on the floor amid the noise and confusion
Fear sat with me in the bunker with shaking hands
Fear saw with me the other faces - some scared, some bored
Fear slowly left me as the hours passed into days weeks

months

now life in Iraq is a parade of Mondays
unbroken by weekends or holidays

I dwell on the past that is gone
and pine for the future that is yet to come
living in the present moment is elusive
but that is where I seek Joy

Joy sits with me in meditation
Joy inspires a ministry of words
Joy hides in the beauty of moon, stars, and sun

just waiting to be noticed

crack-BOOM!
it’s the mortars again

they’ve come when I’m asleep
struggling out of a dream world of somewhere else
into the real world of my flak vest and helmet

curled in a fetal ball on the floor
I hear a single drop of steel rain
explosively born, it flies without wings

Fear comes again

when the mortars are gone
Fear leaves with them
time starts again as if they had never come

wide awake, I step outside and enjoy the afternoon
the sky is blue, the birds sing, and the sun is shining

on the piece of shrapnel half buried in the roof of my tent

Lights and Darkness

2005-02-21T11:33:00.000-05:00

Walking around Kalsu in the dark can be both exciting and painful. I’ve run into concrete barricades, stepped into deep mud puddles, and most recently bruised my leg on a protruding part of a generator. Having a light helps prevent mishaps such as these.

Of course, being on a military camp, there are rules about everything, even the color of a person’s light. In this case, white lights are forbidden. The official reason for this is “light discipline” – the idea that by not displaying white light at night, the “enemy” will be less likely to know where we are. This makes no sense to me in our circumstances – this FOB has been in the same place for almost a year, so it’s pretty obvious where we are. The only legitimate reason I can think of for not using white lights is to avoid blinding vehicle drivers, who are presumably wearing night vision goggles.

The prohibition on white lights results in a spectrum of colors, the most popular being red, green, and blue. There is also a wide variety of types of lights in use, whatever the color. There is the standard L-shaped military-issue flashlight, which comes with a red lens, but is heavy and goes through D batteries at an alarming rate. Many people use “mini-MAG” lights, small flashlights run off AA batteries. This is my backup light, and I used a marker to color the lens of mine orange, just to be different. My primary light is a blue “pinch light,” a small light that clips onto my belt loop. It has two switches: on one side, a pressure switch that is only on when squeezed (hence the name); and on the other, a sliding switch for continuous operation. I think this is the light of choice for most people, as it is small, lightweight, and its halogen bulb is relatively bright. Mine is getting rather dim because no battery lasts forever.

My favorite light here, however, is that of the moon. In the last few nights, the lunar cycle has come to the point where the ground (and all unfortunate obstacles) is bathed in silvery light, and walking around at night is a joy rather than a chore. I love being outside in the moonlight, and it’s one of my favorite things about being on the night shift.

Recently, due to a change in my work schedule, I’ve begun going to MIDRATS (midnight rations), which is lunch for us night owls. The last two nights I’ve particularly enjoyed the walk from the Airboss tent over to the chowhall, mainly because part of it is a narrow path that goes down into a little gully and across a small wooden bridge. This “singletrack” evokes strong memories of - and a longing for - riding my mountain bike on such a moonlit night.

Riding moonlit singletrack, without other lights, has been one of my favorite activities for years, and has become a sort of spiritual practice. I first discovered this joy in southern Arizona, riding out in the desert under a clear winter desert sky and the illumination of a brilliant full moon. I continued to enjoy it in California, where there was the added thrill and challenge of riding in and out of shadows cast by small oak trees and bushes. Unfortunately, so far in Virginia I have not done much moonlit riding, because the trees are so dense that it is too dark to see the trail, even under a full moon.

In those circumstances, I certainly appreciate having a light; it makes riding singletrack at night possible no matter the moon cycle or how thick the trees. Night riding makes even the most familiar trails new and exciting, and provides a very different view of nature. From the eerily glowing green and gold eyes of deer reflecting my headlamp, to the tiny flashes of spider’s eyes on the trail, there’s a whole different world out there at night. It’s a world that begs me to slow down and pay more attention, rather than trying to climb the next hill as fast as possible.

Another thought that crosses my mind as I walk that moonlit path to eat is that next month during the moon cycle, I won’t have to fantasize about riding my bike. Next month, I’ll be home, and I can ride at night whenever I want to, moon or no moon, and I can use whatever color light I want.

Adios, Kalsu!

2005-02-17T11:32:00.000-05:00

It’s amazing how quickly things change around here. Just last week I was feeling very depressed because I thought I would be sitting here in Kalsu until the bitter end, but now suddenly the future has changed again. Now I should be leaving within a few days - to spend my last week in Iraq at Al Asad, a large airbase west of Baghdad in Al Anbar Province. Unless “the word” changes again, of course!

The biggest irony of this new turn of events is that I had adjusted to the idea of staying here, and had concluded that it’s not such a bad thing. For one, the chaos of new people moving in here is pretty much over, so things are settling down. The gym has been quiet and almost deserted the last few times I’ve gone, and I haven’t had to stand in line for a meal yet. For another, it’s quiet here, in the sense of being “away from the flagpole.”

Of course there are advantages in returning to Al Asad. It is a much bigger base, and much safer, which means I can get out and walk around without having to wear a flak vest and helmet all the time. There is a “real” PX, not that I’m going to buy anything this late in the game. They also have a post office, so I can mail some things home rather than having to pack them. I will be living in an actual building rather than a dusty, drafty tent; from what I hear there is actual plumbing, too! The biggest “plus,” other than being away from mortar attacks, is just the mental uplift of a change of scenery; the sense of making the first step on the long journey home to my family.

On the other hand, Al Asad is likely to be crowded as the new crew begins pouring in. I have heard stories of 30-minute waits for meals, crowded facilities, and little or no hot water. I will take it as I find it, realizing that it won’t be forever.

As I prepare to leave this place that’s been my home for the last few months, I see still more changes now that the Army has taken over. Although I have no idea how they do their “real” job of patrolling and working with Iraqi security forces, I have been very impressed with the way they have been running the FOB.

Most noticeable is the chowhall. Although the food is the same (as well as the workers who prepare it), it seems better in quality and variety than it had been. Instead of menus and notices haphazardly taped to the wall, there is now a wood-and-Plexiglas notice board. Humorously, they call the new chowhall “the basement” and the original one “upstairs” (there is about 3’ difference in height between the two).

The last time it rained, we had some mud, of course. Whereas the Marines just slogged through it and complained, the soldiers quickly lay down a “sidewalk” network of flattened HESCO containers around the airfield. Good thinking.

In between where I sleep and where I work there is a parking and storage lot. When the Marines were leaving, they had vehicles and shipping containers in there, and the lot was “secured” with engineer tape (white tape similar to “crime scene” tape, but stronger). Of course people just ducked under it to cut through on the way to and from the airfield (myself included). Now, however, there are concrete barriers and concertina wire surrounding this lot. The first night I encountered this, I grumbled about having to walk all the way around it (a detour of maybe 50 meters), but was impressed how they had really secured the lot. The next morning, the light of day revealed the final touch – they had left a “people gate” in the wire, so a person COULD cut through rather than walking around on the road!

Finally, yesterday I noticed flyers popping up around the FOB advertising “Tent-ernet, wireless Internet access in your tent for $25 a month.” That’s less than I pay for DSL at home! What a great concept.

Of course these observations beg the question “why couldn’t the Marines work like that?” There are several reasons, I think. First of all, the logistical “tail” in the Army is much, much larger (compared to the size of the operational “teeth”) than for the Marines. Having a lot more people to run concertina wire, set up wireless networks, and put up notice boards makes a difference. Of course they just got here, so they are going to spend their money on improvements. The Marines did too – but when they arrived, this was all dirt and ruined buildings, and they had to build it up from scratch.

Another factor – perhaps the most telling one – is that the Marines who were here are full-time, active duty members. The soldiers here, however, are National Guardsmen - part-timers who might think more like civilians than soldiers – and their commitment to comfort and common sense is probably higher than among the “professional” military. I think this is a good thing.

Confessions of a Vegetarian

2005-02-14T11:30:00.000-05:00

As last Thanksgiving Day approached, I was faced with a dilemma: would I eat turkey or not? Tempting thoughts of succulent, juicy slices of turkey (and the promise of triptophane-induced satiation) were hard to ignore. Given my short history of not eating meat, it was very appealing to just make an exception.

Last July I met a young man named Alex, who inspired me with his dedication to living his values, among them not eating animals. I had been leaning toward vegetarianism for a while, so I decided to try it for a week. I had already stopped eating beef several years ago, after reading Fast Food Nation and because I just no longer enjoyed the taste. For the next few years I ate chicken, fish, and seafood, and occasionally pork. I found it very easy to eat vegetarian for a week, but when presented with the choice of delicious fish at a restaurant, I became a “vegequarian,” eating fish and seafood but not meat. And so I was, until November.

I sat down to my daily pages on Thanksgiving Day with several questions on my mind: why don’t I eat meat? Is it consistent to eat fish and seafood, but not meat? Does that even matter? Should I eat (will I eat) turkey today? That of course was the real question. Ultimately I did eat some turkey that day. Although I enjoyed it while eating, I regretted it afterward, and that was the last animal flesh I’ve eaten. Here are my reasons for continuing my practice of vegetarianism.

One obvious reason not to eat meat is health. Red meat can have lots of saturated fat, and along with chicken and pork, potentially contains hormones and antibiotics from factory farming. There is also the risk that meat carries pathogens resulting from mass production slaughter and packing. Some fish, such as tuna, concentrate toxins like mercury. However, meat and fish are excellent sources of complete proteins, and it is possible to buy organically produced meat, which is less likely to contain hormones or antibiotics.

Eating a vegetarian diet, or “lower on the food chain,” is also more earth-friendly than the alternative. The practice of using grain to feed beef cattle, for example, wastes a perfectly good human food on fattening animals. The feed grain itself is typically produced using environmentally unfriendly fertilizers, petroleum, and insecticides. Most meat is produced by corporate “factory farms” that produce concentrated animal waste streams, damaging both air and water quality. While this method is prevalent in cattle, hog and chicken operations, there is also an increasing trend toward “factory fishing,” polluting coastal waters. Furthermore, overfishing has depleted the world’s stocks of many species, and escaped hatchery fish compete with wild ones for shrinking habitat and food supplies.

The morality of eating animals is a much more subjective and personal issue. Simply put, I don’t want to be part of the process of killing other animals for food when there is adequate nourishment available from plants. Although it is very natural to kill and eat other animals – humans have been doing so throughout our evolution - unlike other carnivores, we are self-aware and capable of having a conscience about killing.

Finally, my food choices also have a political and ethical component - I choose not to be part of the corporate takeover of the food supply. Factory farms keep animals in inhumane living conditions, and force them to grow and mature unnaturally fast with hormones and chemicals. Giant slaughterhouses, among the most dangerous and under regulated workplaces in the country, place both our food supply and the workers at risk. Workers in the industrial food machine are underpaid, often work without benefits, and are typically unable to organize.

My choice is presently not to eat animal flesh, but there may come a time in the future when I change my mind about this practice. If that moment comes, I hope it will be an intentional, mindful act, preceded by consideration and meditation. I would want to be mindful of the source of the meat, and honor the animals who gave their lives to feed me.

I want to acknowledge my vegetarianism (and this post) as a personal choice, not a judgment of those who choose to eat meat. As in all things, each individual must follow the dictates of her conscience and intellect. Perhaps these words will inspire mindfulness in your eating, and maybe even provide a little food for thought.

The Kalsu Blues

2005-02-11T11:28:00.000-05:00

My emotional life here at Camp Kalsu is a cycle of ups and downs, highs and lows, repeating with a discernable rhythm. The “highs” come when I am able to live in the moment, notice and appreciate the beauty around me, and be fully engaged in what I’m doing. The lows come when I dwell on the things about this place that I don’t like, when I long to go home, and when I fall prey to my own expectations.

In the last few days, I’ve cursed the smell of burning garbage rather than appreciating the clear crystal beauty of the night sky. I’ve lamented the infernal symphony of outgoing artillery, machine gun fire, and helicopter noise that wakes me, rather than being thankful for a comfortable bed. I’ve been frustrated with the monotony of eating the same rice, vegetables, and fruit for every meal, rather than glad there is hot food. I am mired in pessimism and hatred for this place, rather than feeling joy at being alive.

The high tide of the recent weeks has ebbed as the excitement of the UU Blog Awards drifts into the past, and the monotony of this parade of Mondays reestablishes itself. My final plunge into the Blues came when I found out I’ll be here at Kalsu longer than I had expected. It was painful to think that instead of going back to Al Asad next week for some more of the “good life,” away from the tedium and strain of living in two square kilometers of mud and mortars, I’ll probably stay here for the rest of my time in Iraq.

Of course things could be much worse. Just this evening I talked with some soldiers who had just arrived, and was commiserating with one of them who had the “Kalsu Krud,” the chest and head cold that helped make the first five weeks of my time here miserable. I realized that although I’m leaving this place within the month, they are here for a YEAR! I really feel for them, and for their families. I am truly thankful that my time here has been relatively short.

My unfulfilled expectation of leaving soon is the problem, of course. One of the main reasons I have dedicated myself to living in the present moment, accepting life as it is rather than as I wish it were, is to counter the uncertainty of my departure from Kalsu. Then one day, I’m given the key to Pandora’s Box – a date I am supposed to leave! Try as I might, I could not resist setting my sights (and my heart) on that day, and counting down the days to my departure. Now that is gone, and I suffer the inevitable disappointment of living by my expectations rather than accepting life as it comes.

An interesting aspect of being “down” is that it gives meaning to being “up.” If I were in the same mood all the time, whether I called it “good” or “bad,” life would be awfully tedious. I like this idea of complementary states, whether they are emotional – good/bad, happy/sad, love/hate – or physical – light/dark, hot/cold, hard/soft. Neither state can exist without the other and have any meaning.

This process of dichotomizing can be taken to extremes by declaring the choice to be either/or. That is, believing a thing, person, or idea must be one at the expense of being the other. This gives rise to simplistic rhetoric such as “we’re going to destroy evil in the world” and “if you’re not with us, you’re against us.” If we are good and we destroy all evil, how can we be good any more? Such a binary, “black and white” view of the world disdains shades of gray - the balance and blending of the two extremes.

This idea of complementary pairs of balanced and interdependent states is a central tenet of Taoist philosophy: yin and yang. Within each is the seed of the other, and together they form a whole. As Lao Tzu says in the Tao te Ching, “the myriad creatures carry upon their backs the yin and embrace in their arms the yang, and are the blending of the generative forces of the two.” Life is both/and, not either/or.

Any state can be divided again and again – for example, within the yin of “hot” there are the yin and yang of “very hot” and “warm.” Taken far enough, this process results in a continuum, rather than a stark series of either/or choices. Bend the continuum into a circle, and “before and after follow each other” – have you ever felt like ice cold water was burning hot?

And so I have come full circle, from joy to despair and back to joy – so this is the end of The Kalsu Blues.

Until next time…

Olfactory Observations

2005-02-08T11:28:00.000-05:00

The wind wafts burning garbage when it blows from east to west;
West to east brings onion rings, which I like less than best.

From north or south, east or west, so too when no wind blows;
Dust and smoke of cigarettes wreak havoc with my nose.

But when it rains, I must admit, each cleansing shower brings;
The fragrance of clean desert, clouds, and grateful growing things.

Alas this rain brings mud for days, and oftentimes methinks;
No matter how it smells today, sometimes Kalsu JUST STINKS!

Writing it all Down

2005-02-05T11:26:00.000-05:00

I recently read in another blog words likening the creation of a blog post to writing a sermon. In my limited experience, the process of writing both posts and sermons ranges from easy and fast to difficult and slow. No two posts (or sermons) come together quite the same way, and the experience of writing and refining them can also be quite different depending on the topic.

My posts come together through several different processes. First there are the “immediate” posts, where something I see or experience sparks an idea, I sit down and start typing, and 30 minutes later, I have a post I’m ready to share with the world. These posts are like a nicely wrapped surprise gift, and of course they are just as rare. Most of my posts come from a process of “seasoning,” where I gather thoughts and conclusions from an experience, ongoing conversation, or meditation, and over the space of days or weeks translate those experiences into words. The third category is the “set aside” post. It begins with a hot idea and a title; a flash of inspiration that results only in staring at a blinking cursor, tentatively typing and deleting opening lines, and finally capitulation. Such a post finds a home in the “Ideas” folder, where it might languish for days or weeks (yes, even months!) before being rescued and written.

A glance into the Ideas Folder reveals many titles, including “Bearing Witness,” “Freedom,” “Hope,” “Depression,” “God Is,” and “Talking About Politics,” all patiently waiting for content. The oldest of these goes back to last November; the most recent was born today. Like little seeds waiting in a jar, nobody knows which one will be nurtured, grow, and blossom - and be harvested into the “Posted” folder. What fruit will they bear, I wonder?

Sometimes I have an idea that just won’t go away, but I can’t come up with a page of prose about it. For example, I wrote the poem “Beauty” to express how I feel about being able to see the beauty of Nature around me despite the ugliness of this place and the war. It still needs some work, but it was fun to see it just come together on its own. I have never been a poet before, so it is one of many new experiences and practices I’m exploring.

Writing for the weblog is actually only a small part of all the writing I do. I begin each day by writing 3 pages of longhand, simply writing whatever comes to my mind, even if it is “I can’t think of anything to write” over and over. I’ve only gotten to that point once or twice – usually I write song lyrics if I can’t think of anything else! I got the idea of Morning Pages from my wife, who is a big fan of the book The Artist’s Way, where she learned about them.

The whole point of these “daily pages,” as I call them (I write them in the evening, actually) is just to write! I see it as flushing the crud out of my brain to release the creativity behind it. It seems to work, and sometimes I find myself writing passages that are actually insightful and meaningful. I call these sentences and paragraphs “nuggets” - tidbits panned from the silt being flushed from my mind by the act of writing. Often I carry these thoughts and ideas into meditation, a two-step process that has been the genesis of more than one post. If nothing else, this writing helps me get going mentally for the night ahead.

My third writing practice is a journal where I record my day-to-day routine. This helps me remember what I’m doing, and at the end of every week I go back and review how my mood changed from day to day, what I noticed around me, and how I reacted to it. Journaling is a practice I have engaged in other times during my life, but never before with the dedication and regularity I have here. I hope I am able to continue to make it, and all of my writing, part of my life when I return home.

The sermon analogy is apposite to my post-writing, especially in light of this being a “ministry of words.” I also find this process akin to creating a work of art, playing a song, or composing a photograph. I draw from experiences in my past, current observations, emotions and ideas, and express a part of myself in words rather than paint, notes, or emulsion. Sometimes I get lucky - everything just clicks, and I produce a post that has “it.” Just like the rest of life, “it” is more about the process than the outcome.

Everyday Ministry

2005-02-02T11:24:00.000-05:00

One facet of my journey in UU has been reclaiming words such as “religion,” “God,” “church,” and “worship” on my own terms, without the negative connotations from my youth and young adulthood. “Ministry” is another word I have reclaimed, because I have realized that it describes much more than the work of professional ministers. Anyone can practice ministry by taking the time to share her stories, giving heartfelt advice, or just by living his values.

During the past few months, I have come to view this weblog as a ministry. My original intent was to keep a sort of “online journal,” so I could keep my friends and family informed about what I was doing and experiencing. Before long, however, I realized that it might get boring, and that it would be much more meaningful for me to share the WAY I’m living my life, focusing more on what I am thinking and feeling and learning than just the day-to-day routine of my mundane existence. Looking back on everything I’ve written so far, I think I have created a picture not just of WHAT I have experienced during this deployment, but also of HOW I have experienced it. I also think this deeper sharing has been more meaningful for my readers than a dry recitation of my daily activities.

I first began thinking of writing as a ministry when a friend in California wrote me about my post “Fear,” saying

…this morning, when I was effectively immobilized by that fear of uncertainty,
was your very welcome "sermon" coming from a place of more dire threats than I'm
facing. I've already done a couple of simple but scary things I needed to do but
thought I probably wouldn't this morning. So, you are doing effective ministry
at a great distance and it is appreciated…

In the following months, I received similar comments about several of my other posts, usually from other UUs with whom my thoughts and philosophies resonated. To borrow a word from UU minister and poet Ric Masten, I developed a growing “cybergation.”

After posting “Who’s New in Kalsu” last weekend, I began receiving e-mails from an unexpected group: friends and families of Mississippi National Guardsmen who are either here or on their way here. It seems that other than my writing, there is very little information about FOB Kalsu available on the web. I have corresponded with a woman whose twin sons had to leave their studies for a year in the desert, a man whose brother is on his way here as a captain of artillery, a woman who finds she must deal with her own fear during her fiancé’s absence, and an expectant mother whose husband will be in Iraq when she gives birth to their first child.

All of these people have one thing in common: they want to know more about what their loved ones will be experiencing here at Kalsu. I am truly honored to be able to provide them with at least a glimpse, from my very narrow perspective, of life here in this tiny corner of Iraq. I hope that my words and images give them comfort as they are able to put a mental picture to what their husbands, brothers, fiancés, and friends are experiencing.

To paraphrase two of my favorite UU ministers, the only real requirement for ministry is to live an authentic life. For that ministry to truly be effective, it is also necessary to share that life with others. The foundation of my ministry is the theoretically simple, yet practically challenging, practice of living my life in congruence with my values. Finding the courage and faith to intentionally and mindfully open my life, telling my story with its ups and downs, being vulnerable and human, makes it whole. Mine is a ministry of words, enriching my life and hopefully in some way touching everyone who shares it.

Beauty

2005-01-30T11:23:00.000-05:00

I just can’t escape it
It’s all around me

No matter where I look I find some

Step outside – my, look at those stars!
And the moon. Sigh.

Even on the ground I see
Sparkling like little spider’s eyes in my headlamp
Tiny bits of mica? Gold? Who knows what

Morning clouds suffused in a salmon glow on one side
And clothed in soft gray shadows on the other
Against a background of the deepest blue imaginable

Flowing away from the sun
Like the long pleats of a fan
Gently held in a lady’s hand

American Hero (adapted from John Lennon's "Working Class Hero")

2005-01-26T12:56:00.000-05:00

You drive around town in your new SUV
Put a flag in the window and think you are free
But we are slaves to oil as far as I can see
An American hero is something to be (x2)

Thousands of hours of your life it will steal
It tells you what to buy what to think and how to feel
Till you can’t hardly tell what’s TV and what’s real
An American hero is something to be (x2)

“Be very afraid” they will keep telling you
The terrorists are coming but there’s nothing we can do
Except to keep shopping and wear red, white, and blue
An American hero is something to be (x2)

You walk into a church and they teach you their creed
For salvation they say their faith is all you need
Never mind how you live in your word and in your deed
An American hero is something to be (x2)

Republican, Democrat, it’s all the same
Just politicians playing in the big money game
They call it democracy I call it a shame
An American hero is something to be (x2)

No risk to themselves so they send us off to war
Each day we are killing and dying some more
But they get to choose what we’re fighting for
An American hero is something to be (x2)

Imagine how different our lives could all be
Living in peace in a world community
Just open your heart and your mind and you’ll see
An American hero is something to be
An American hero is what you could be

If you want to be a hero then just follow me
If you want to be a hero then set yourself free

No Turning Back

2005-01-25T12:55:00.000-05:00

If I had really wanted to go,
I could have volunteered, don’t you know.
But now there’s no turning back,
I’m on my way to Iraq. Ohhh…

Left my life left my home,
Feeling so sad and alone.
Knew it right from the start,
To say “goodbye” would break my heart. Ohhh…

I didn’t want to come here,
And leave my family so dear.
Still there’s no turning back,
I’m here in the sands of Iraq -

But I’m still part of the team,
Still claim the title “Marine.”
With my brothers in arms,
Together we’ll come to no harm. Ohhh…

This day soon will be past,
Forever it will not last.
Many tomorrows will come,
And soon there will be only one –

One more day left to go,
I’m gonna leave soon don’t you know.

Now that my time is through,
And I’ve come back home to you.
I will not turn my back,
On those who are still in Iraq.

Who's New at Kalsu

2005-01-23T11:22:00.000-05:00

Even in a place where every day is Monday, some things do change. Of course there are the cycles of light and dark, the waxing and waning of the moon, hot water and no hot water, rice and no rice… But real change is also in the air - there are some new faces here lately.

On a recent morning as I was walking back to my tent after eating breakfast, I stopped to admire the sunrise. There were dozens of puffy clouds, suffused in a salmon glow on the east, and clothed in soft grey shadow on the west. They seemed to be streaming from the sun, which was rising redly from the morning haze. All this, against a background of deepest blue, made me stop and look. As I was standing there gaping at the sky, two civilians (who I had noticed are living in the transient tent opposite mine) came up and started teasing me about not being able to find my tent. “I know I left it here somewhere – let’s see, it’s big and green…” After laughing at their joke and agreeing about the beauty of the sunrise, we made our introductions. These two men, David and Tom, work for CBS on the television news program “60 Minutes.” Tom, a producer, and David, a cameraman, are here doing a story about Colonel Johnson, the Commanding Officer of the Marine Expeditionary Unit here at FOB Kalsu. Dan Rather is coming out this weekend to do the main interview. The others in the crew (that I know of) are Manny, the sound man, and Kirk, the “fixer.” He is a print journalist whose years of military experience help smooth the way for the whole team’s interactions with the Marines.

It was of course interesting to learn that little old Kalsu would be in the media spotlight, but it was also interesting just to talk to these journalists. Both of them have been here to Iraq half a dozen times or so, and have likely seen more of the country, and more of the war and occupation, than I have. We talked a little bit about the book I had recently read, “War Is a Force That Gives Us Meaning,” by Pulitzer-prize winning journalist (and UU) Chris Hedges. David had read it (or at least heard of it), but Tom had not, and David agreed about the “narcotic of war” that keeps people coming back for more. Tom was not so sure, and didn’t really say why he was here for the sixth time. Perhaps he just sees it as part of his job.

In a later conversation, David told me about his experience flying in a Huey helicopter on a counter-IED patrol, which he says got a little bit exciting. The door gunner noticed some Iraqis “throwing things on the road, and the crew went into full anti-IED mode.” He didn’t elaborate much about that, other than to say the pilot was banking the helicopter up on its side, with his side down. I think he got a little more excitement than he bargained for.

Some other new faces around here belong to Army National Guard soldiers from Mississippi. They have been trickling in here over the past few weeks, and I’m seeing more and more of them in the chowhall and gym, and fewer and fewer Marines. It’s easy to tell Marines and soldiers apart: we Marines have our own “special” design of camouflage utilities, called Marine Pattern (MARPAT) “digital” desert cammies, while the soldiers wear the standard “chocolate chip” desert cammies. Even in the gym we dress differently – Marines wear “green on green” and the Army wears “gray on black.”

There are many cultural differences between the Marine Corps and the Army as well. One night while taking a shower, I was trying to explain our water conserving shower technique - known to sailors and Marines as a “Navy shower” – whereby one gets wet, turns off the water, lathers up, then turns the water back on to rinse off. Of course the soldiers don’t know about “Navy showers,” but they do know about “field showers.” Aha. It’s just a matter of finding the right terminology.

And then there’s Hoo-ah. I don’t know its origin, but it’s the Army’s all-purpose word for “yes,” “outstanding,” “I agree,” and “I’m so motivated I don’t know what to say!” During my conversation about saving water in the showers, the soldier used Hoo-ah more than any other word. At least he was being agreeable.Of course Marines are much more eloquent than that. We have our own language for many things, and much of it is borrowed from the Navy. We swab the deck, not mop the floor. We secure the hatch, not shut the door. And no Marine would ever say “hoo-ah” to indicate agreement, enthusiasm, or motivation. No, as in those other cases, we have our own terminology, whose origin is similarly obscure - Marines say “OOH-RAH.”

UU and the Military

2005-01-19T11:19:00.000-05:00

We, the member congregations of the Unitarian Universalist Association, covenant to affirm and promote: Acceptance of one another and encouragement to spiritual growth in our congregations.

- Third Principle of
Unitarian Universalism

In the summer of 2003 I attended the Pacific Coast District (of the UUA) Leadership School in Alamo, California. It was a fantastic experience, during which I learned a lot about myself and relating to others in a cooperative, collaborative setting. I also began to see another side of the challenge of being a military UU.

Early on in the week-long school, I met a woman who was quite enthralled that I was a Marine. She was so taken with it, in fact, that she started referring to me as “the Marine” whenever she saw me. This began to really bother me, as I did not want to be “labeled” for my military career, but met and known as another human, UU, and student.

That night during Closing Circle, I requested that people not identify me by my career, anymore than they identified Tom as “the doctor” or Julie as “the body shop owner.” Afterwards, one of the other students came up to me and said “I think it’s funny that you had to ‘come out’ as a Marine, but in this crowd, my being a gay man is totally accepted and unremarkable.” He was right – it was funny. At the same time, however, it is also revealing of the inherent prejudices and opinions of many UUs.

I have found that a lot of older UUs – typically those who lived through and participated in the peace movement in the 1960’s and 1970’s - initially tend to be less accepting of me when they find out I’m in the military. Just as I am a black sheep as one of the very few UUs in the Marine Corps (less than 100 out of 178,000), I also often feel the same way as one of only about 500 active duty military members among 100,000 or so UUs.

Thankfully, I have never encountered any outright hostility from other UUs because of my military affiliation, but there have been some uncomfortable moments when I can see the “barriers of stereotype” come up between me and a person who has just learned I’m a Marine. Others’ reactions in such a situation typically vary from mild surprise to incredulity, and there are always questions about when and why I became a Marine, how long I’ve been a UU, and how that affects and is affected by my identity as a UU.

In particular, I can remember three specific times when I’ve met another UU who discovered that the person I am when she got to know me did not match her stereotyped preconception of who I would be as a Marine. One was a woman in my first congregation who is now a very dear friend, the second was a member of my Covenant Group at General Assembly (GA), and the third was the Starr King seminarian I wrote about in a previous post, “Words.” In all three cases, once these ladies were able to put aside their preconceptions about my attitudes, beliefs, and values, we were able to connect as humans and individuals sharing UU community, and it was enriching on both sides.

Being a military UU is not easy. I have been engaged in an ongoing search for reconciliation between my values and my profession since I became serious about Unitarian Universalism about three years ago. Think of the issues surrounding UUs and the military as two sides of a coin. On one side lies the internal challenge of personal reconciliation and integration – call it “the UU in the military”. On the other side of this coin is the closely related, external institutional challenge of how military UUs are perceived and accepted in our congregations, or “the military in UU.”

If our UU congregations are to be truly welcoming and accepting spiritual homes for all comers, then we as a movement should examine how we deal with military UUs. Do our congregations welcome military members? Are our congregants aware of the challenges facing military UUs? Are we willing to support our military members in their search for reconciliation of values and profession as well as a personal search for truth and meaning?

I have been fortunate to belong to two congregations with a tradition of military-affiliated members. Neither congregation has many active duty members, but both of them enfold many retired or former service men and women and DOD civilian employees. This tradition has set the stage for my acceptance by both congregations. From my brief experiences with other congregations and many conversations on the topic, however, I am concerned that this level of acceptance is uncommon, and in general awareness of military UU issues is low.

Fortunately I am not alone! At GA last summer, I was very fortunate to meet and bond with a small group of fellow military-affiliated UUs: Nancy, a Navy spouse, like me called to UU ministry; Ann, a DOD employee I know from my first congregation; and Dave, a Marine reservist who is going back to school. Ann had the tremendous idea of creating a GA program about these issues, and with a little bit of hard work, we are making her dream a reality for GA 2005. Our program will bring an active duty member, a UU chaplain, a UU military spouse, and a UU DOD civilian together as a panel to share their stories from both sides of the coin of UU and the military.

This GA program is just a starting point for other military UU’s to join in the conversation, and an outreach opportunity to increase the general level of awareness of military members in our congregations. In keeping with the ideal of using education to combat oppression, we see this effort as a first step toward full acceptance of all military UUs as individuals within our congregations.

Words

2005-01-17T11:17:00.000-05:00

The other day I was working out at the gym, grinding away on an elliptical trainer. On the machine next to me was a female soldier, whose steady stream of foul language caused me to cringe internally. I am accustomed to being around men who swear all the time, but for some reason (perhaps a cultural expectation of how a “lady” ought to behave?), this woman’s words really got my attention. I was reminded that although they may “just be words,” their careless or unmindful use can cause unintended offense, pain, and suffering.

This episode reminded me of when my wife was pregnant with our son, while I was a flight instructor in a Navy jet training squadron. In anticipation of the birth of our first child, I had decided to stop swearing so much. I wanted to reverse the effects of having been in the military for my entire adult life. This personal effort to clean up my own language made me very aware of how the people around me talked, and I noticed that there was one other instructor pilot in particular who used the “f word” very frequently. I have to give him credit for creativity, for he was able to employ this Anglo-Saxon monosyllable (with minor variations) as a noun, verb, adjective, and adverb. One day he was briefing and leading a flight I was also part of, and during his brief I started counting how many times he used this word. I had to quit at 50, because it was so frequent and so distracting that I wasn’t paying attention to the brief!

Over seven years later, I am still struggling to limit the presence of these crude words in my vocabulary. I have been reminded on several occasions that “little pitchers have big ears.” When my son was about 18 months old, I was walking along a street in Old Town Yuma, Arizona with him on my shoulders. We were approaching a “glorietta” or traffic circle, and the only traffic on the street was a truck traveling parallel to us. When the driver reached the circle, he should have gone around it clockwise to make his left turn; however, presumably because there was no other traffic, he cut across directly to the left. Observing this, I commented under my breath, “nice job, jackass.” At which point my dear little son shouted at the top of his lungs, in his clear, piping voice, “jackass, jackass!” As if that weren’t bad enough, the driver’s window was down and as his head snapped our way in astonishment, all I could do was wave and grin sheepishly.

As a Plebe at the Naval Academy, I was required to memorize the 24 verses of the “Laws of the Navy.” The second half of the 17th verse reads:

They prosper who burn in the morning,
The letters they wrote overnight.

The modern equivalent of this admonition is to leave outgoing e-mail in the “Drafts” folder for a few hours or days after writing, and then carefully consider the words used and their effect on the reader prior to clicking the “Send” button. Modern communication technology now allows us to offend, inflame, and hurt each other almost instantaneously – even from halfway around the planet.

I experienced this (on the receiving end) recently, when I received an e-mail from a first-year seminarian at Starr King School for the Ministry, the UU seminary in Berkeley. After having been given the URL for my weblog by a mutual friend, she had read some of my posts and written me with some questions. She wondered how a person could believe in “UU values,” such as the inherent worth and dignity of every person, and still be in the military, whose ultimate purpose is killing. This is an excellent question, one that I have pondered almost ceaselessly for the last three years!

The main thing that struck me about this message was her use of language. I found her approach confrontational when she asked me to “justify my career as part of an organization whose purpose is killing” and labeled me a “career militarist.” To her credit, she realized that I might take her approach to be rude or provoking, and apologized in advance if I took it that way. Perhaps this was one of those messages that should have stayed in the Drafts folder for a while.
I read her e-mail several times, trying to keep an open mind. I decided that although my initial reaction was to take offense, my mindful response would be to lift up the effect of her choice of words, and to ask her for more information about her background and perspective so I could mindfully choose my words to answer her questions. This give and take has resulted in a very enjoyable dialogue, and introduced me to a wonderful new friend.

From swearing soldiers and sailors to swearing toddlers, from Plebe rates to e-mail, lessons in mindful communication are everywhere. All we need to do is pay attention.

Anger

2005-01-12T11:16:00.000-05:00

Anger is like a fire - it can smolder for days, weeks, or years, and then suddenly burst forth with heat and fury, leaving chaos and destruction in its wake. Like fire, anger can also be controlled and extinguished before it causes damage. It’s up to me to be the fireman.

I have experienced a lot of anger in recent weeks. Much of it has centered on sleep - seven days out of ten of interrupted sleep left me tired, cranky, and lingering on the edge of another cold. It is a vicious cycle – I don’t get enough sleep, so I am angry, but because I’m angry, I have a hard time sleeping.

I have been angry with my tentmate Bob. I have been frustrated in trying to communicate with him and angry with his lack of consideration. I have wished to live somewhere else despite the fact that we interact for less than an hour a day. I have let my irritation at some of his personal habits grow into anger at him as a person.

I have also experienced anger at my overall situation. I was very frustrated to be in Iraq during the holidays rather than at home with my family and friends. I am angry that we are still embroiled in a violent occupation of this country with no end in sight. I am very tired of smelling burning garbage, cigarette smoke, and onion rings so much of the time. I long to use a normal toilet rather than a porta-john. I want to sleep in a comfortable bed in a snug house instead of in a drafty tent.

It is important to me to take responsibility for this anger. I need to “own” it – acknowledge that it is mine – for then I can deal with it. I try to be mindful in expressing my anger, using the expression “I am angry about ____” rather than “____ made me angry.” It is MY emotion and I am the one feeling the anger. To some degree I have control of my emotions, so in effect I make a choice to be angry with a person or a situation. Once I take responsibility for my anger, I can accept it and express it, rather than denying or suppressing it.

Suppressed anger can cause all sorts of problems, such as ulcers, chronic sickness, and depression. It can flare up without warning and hurt the ones I love. My suppressed anger typically comes out when I am frustrated by minor things. For example, the computer is a wonderful invention, but it can turn grumpiness into raging anger in a matter of seconds. I curse and swear at this vile machine, Microsoft, Dell, and Bill Gates. Oddly this seldom makes me feel better. However, it is a good impetus to look for the REAL cause of my anger.

The most destructive kind of anger is suppressed anger toward another person. Left to fester, it can lead to unmindful speech, rash acts, regret and sorrow, and more anger. It is very easy to jump from frustration with another person’s behavior or actions to anger and ill will toward the person herself. If I become frustrated or angry with something another person does, I need to separate the person’s actions from the person, own my anger at the actions, accept it, express it, and then let it go.

There are many root causes of anger. Three that I see in my life are frustrated or conflicting personal interests, feelings of impotence or lack of control, and unrealized expectations. When anger arises, I want to identify and respond to its cause rather than blindly react to its symptoms. What are my interests that were frustrated or blocked? How do I reconcile them with the situation? What are the circumstances that make me feel out of control? Is there anything about the situation I can control? What were my expectations that were not met? Can I let go of outcomes and expectations and concentrate on process?

Although unpleasant, anger is part of my continuum of emotions, so I must be able to accept it and find its positive outlet. Feeling angry is normal and natural, but it is very important to express it healthily. I find myself writing page after page about my angers and frustrations, and “venting” to my friends. One day, however, I was so angry about being awakened by explosions and not being able to go back to sleep that I couldn’t even write about it – I just had to DO something! I found great relief in the gym, tiring my body so that the anger was not so all-consuming. I was able to accept the anger, meditate on it, and let it go.

Will I get angry again? Of course – I’m human. But if I try to live mindfully, I can learn to own my anger, accept it, express it, and let it go. I can choose not to let my anger consume my life, inflame my emotions, and poison my relationships. I can live in the present, leaving anger’s control of me in the past.

Who's Waving?

2005-01-09T11:15:00.000-05:00

The following poem was originally published as “From the Shore” by poet, UU Minister, and prostate cancer warrior Ric Masten. I was reintroduced to this work in an article in UU World Magazine. To me it evokes the human condition and the perils of unmindful communication.

I ain’t waving babe, I’m drowning
going down in a cold lonely sea
I ain’t waving babe, I’m drowning
so babe quit waving at me

I ain’t waving babe I’m crying
I’m crying, oh why can’t you see?
I ain’t fooling babe, I ain’t fooling
so babe quit fooling with me

this ain’t singing babe, it’s screaming
I’m screaming that I’m gonna drown
and you’re smiling babe, and you’re waving
just like you don’t hear a sound

I ain’t waving babe, I’m drowning
going right down in front of you
and you’re waving babe, you keep waving
hey babe, are you drowning too?

oh

Ric Masten, from Let It Be a Dance: Words and One-Liners
© 2004, Ric Masten and Carmel Publishing

Mindful Consumption

2005-01-05T11:13:00.000-05:00

Aware of the suffering caused by unmindful consumption, I vow to cultivate good health, both physical and mental, for myself, my family, and my society, by practicing mindful eating, drinking, and consuming. I vow to ingest only items that preserve peace, well-being, and joy in my body, in my consciousness, and in the collective body and consciousness of my family and society.

-The Fifth Precept (excerpt)
from “The Blooming of a Lotus”
by Thich Naht Hanh

Ours is a culture of wide-screen televisions, fast-food restaurants, big box stores, SUVs, shopping malls, and enormous houses, all fueled by the non-stop assault of advertising. The message from business and government is buy! buy! buy! More! more! more! Cars, houses, and our appetites grow larger by the year, while we lose all sense of the true cost and consequences of our unsustainable level of consumption. How much is enough? When is it too much? The practice of mindful consumption can help restore awareness and balance between needs and wants, and provide an escape from our unhealthy culture of consumerism.

I try to practice mindful consumption by being intentional about the things I eat, drink, and buy, and maintaining an awareness of their origins and path to my door. For example, where were my new shoes made? Were they produced by sweatshop labor? Were they produced using sustainable materials? Did their production create unnecessary pollution? Does my purchase of these shoes preserve “peace, well-being, and joy…in the collective body and consciousness of…society?” I can ask these questions about anything I consume.

Unfortunately, our advertising-driven consumer culture encourages impulse purchasing and brand loyalty rather than responsible consumption. It can be very difficult to discern the origins of the clothes I wear, the food I eat, and the toys my children play with. I may be able to see from the label that something is “Made in China,” but how do I know about the working conditions in the factory? How do I even begin to find out? Mindful consumption of consumer goods can be very challenging.

Some ways to practice mindful consumption is to do without, use what I have more efficiently, or purchase goods that I know are made locally and/or sustainably. I can ask myself if I really need a new pair of shoes. Perhaps I can take my old ones to the local cobbler and have them resoled. Do I really need to drive my car to work every day? Maybe I can carpool with a coworker, take public transportation, or ride my bike two or three times a week.

Mindful consumption of food is a bit easier, and it can begin with joining a local organic cooperative or shopping at a local farmers’ market. It is also possible to find organic and natural foods in most grocery stores, but they might have been transported long distances (which consumes oil and causes pollution) rather than being locally produced. When buying meat, chicken or fish, I can insist on free-range, humanely raised animals free of antibiotics and hormones. I can refuse to support factory farming and its cruelty and pollution.

Mindful consumption is a concept whose timeliness cannot be overstated. Our economy, society, and our very way of life are based on a capitalist model of every-increasing consumption that is unsustainable even if it were capped at its present level. Americans comprise 5% of the world’s population, yet consume about a quarter of its resources. Something is going to give - the situation will become critical within the next 50 years, if not sooner. My grandchildren will live in a completely different world – either one in which the human race has wisely chosen a new path toward sustainability and long-term health of the planet, or one in which famine, scarcity, and environmental disaster are commonplace. By practicing mindful consumption today, we can leave the legacy of a brighter tomorrow for our children.

Carpe Diem

2005-01-02T11:12:00.000-05:00

In the movie “Dead Poets Society,” Robin Williams’ character advises his students to “seize the day and suck the marrow out of life.” I have thought back to a week in September and have been very glad I did just that.

The week before Labor Day, both of our children were out of school and camp, and I knew my wife would need some relief if they were around the house all day every day. I decided to take a few days off during the week so we could do fun family stuff.

On Monday we went to the Baltimore Aquarium, which is a wonderful place. Our son is particularly interested in animals and nature, so he loved it. Our little daughter enjoyed herself too. The highlight of the visit was seeing the Dolphin Show, especially the part where the dolphin leaps about ten feet out of the water. They are truly amazing creatures. We finished the day with tours of a lightship and a submarine and then a pizza dinner, waiting for traffic to subside for the trip home.

The next day I took the kids camping to give Mom some much needed kid-free solo time. We had a delightful time – we went hiking, played in a meadow, and rode our bikes around the campground. Actually my son and I rode our bikes, and my daughter rode in her “buggy” behind me. We had fun snuggling and drinking cocoa by the campfire, and slept all cozy together in our big sleeping bag.

On Wednesday, after going home and unpacking the van, we decided to take advantage of the weekday and the weather to go to the water park. Once again it was just Dad and the kids, and we had an excellent time. My son was chafing a bit because I had to be with little sister all the time, but once we found the little kids’ area she was safe and happy and I could give him more attention.

I was supposed to go back to work on Thursday, but instead I decided to take my son to the water park by himself so he could have my undivided attention. I called my office and extended my leave by a day, and once again we were off to the water park. We had a wonderful time together, going down the slides, playing on the “big toys,” and swimming and roughhousing like we couldn’t when little sister was there. It was a very, very enjoyable day, and a wonderful end to my vacation at home.

This account might seem mundane and ordinary, but it was one of the best weeks of my life – taking a vacation from my daily routine without really going anywhere, and devoting myself entirely to my family. In fact, when I found out shortly thereafter that I was being sent to Iraq, one of my first thoughts was “I am so glad I took that time off to go camping with the kids.” My fond memories of that week have helped sustain me during my time here, and given me much food for pleasant anticipation of the fun we will have together as a family when I get home.

Seize the day – live in the present. You never know when your life will be turned upside down, so live your life with your loved ones now. Someday you will need those experiences and memories to keep you afloat.

Mindful Communication

2004-12-30T11:09:00.000-05:00

Aware of the suffering caused by unmindful speech and the inability to listen to others, I vow to cultivate loving speech and deep listening in order to bring joy and happiness to others and relieve others of their suffering.

-The Fourth Precept (excerpt)
from “The Blooming of a Lotus”
by Thich Naht Hanh

The Five Precepts of Buddhism embody a framework for moral and joyful living through mindfulness, cultivating meaningful relationships with Self and the world, and finding a path to enlightenment. Mindful communication – loving speech and deep listening - is the essence of the Fourth Precept, and it is a key ingredient in the recipe for meaningful relationships.

When practicing loving speech, I consider my words before I speak them, choosing them carefully so as to bring joy and happiness to the listener rather than grief or pain. I speak even an unpleasant or uncomfortable truth in terms that help the listener to grow and learn, rather than those that belittle or discourage her. I separate my feelings from my message, and avoid speaking rashly in anger or frustration. Sometimes I say nothing at all, when nothing will do.

The other half of mindful communication, deep listening, is one of the most important - yet least practiced - elements of meaningful human relationships. When I should be listening to the other person, my attention might be distracted by the TV, computer screen, newspaper, or thoughts of the past and plans for the future. Deep listening begins with focusing totally on the speaker, acknowledging that his every word is vitally important to my understanding of the message. Deep listening grows from truly being present with the other person, putting aside the past and future and concentrating on the presence of the other person with the totality of my senses.

Once I am paying attention to the speaker, I can begin to practice the next stage of deep listening. During a typical (unmindful) conversation, I am mentally planning my reply or counter-argument, rather than truly listening to the other person’s words. This prevents me from really hearing what the other has to say. Deep listening, however, comes from just listening – carefully considering the meaning and nuance of the speech without immediately judging or replying to it. Once the speaker has finished, I can reflect on her message and then formulate my mindful reply. When you and I simultaneously practice mindful speech and deep listening, we communicate effectively. An interesting side effect of deep listening is that interruption becomes nearly impossible!

When I was young, my father taught me a lesson in mindful communication when he explained to me the difference between reacting and responding. “Reacting,” he said, “is when you say the first thing that comes into your mind, without thinking about what I’ve just said. You are focused on your own emotions or argument, and probably didn’t really hear me. Responding, however, is when you stop to think about what I said, and reply calmly, without becoming emotional.”

Words of wisdom! Think about it – a typical conversation (particularly a “discussion” or debate) consists of two people reacting to each other’s words and emotions, never really taking time to think about what they are saying or hearing, often talking past each other. A mindful conversation, however, consists of respectful speech, deliberate consideration and reflection, and calm response.

Mindful communication is an easy concept – just pay attention, listen, and respond; repeat as necessary. Of course it is very difficult in practice, both because it means unlearning a lifetime of unmindful habits and because it takes two to communicate! Mindful communication is much more likely to occur when both parties to the conversation are intentional about their desire to achieve it. It can be very frustrating to try to communicate with someone who is oblivious to his own unmindfulness.

The best way to achieve mindful communication is to practice it whenever possible. Try this: the next time you are having a conversation, put down the paper, sit up straight, look the other person in the eye, and LISTEN! Don’t reply until she is finished speaking, and then choose your words carefully. Don’t feel obligated to answer right away – reflect on the message before responding. If the other person interrupts you, just stop talking. Wait until he finishes, then ask politely if you may speak. Most people will begin to realize about now that there is something different about this conversation. Mindfulness will follow, even if by accident.

Advice

2004-12-29T11:04:00.000-05:00

A Virtual Tour of Kalsu

2004-12-24T10:55:00.000-05:00

Camp Kalsu is not a very big place. You can see all of it from the airfield control tower, as well as much of the surrounding area. It would take less than half an hour on foot to see everything that’s here.

From my very limited perspective, there are three basic parts to the FOB – the airfield, the living and support areas, and everything else. The airfield is primitive yet effective considering our only traffic is helicopters. The tower controllers, refuelers, and A/DACG (passenger and cargo managers) are adept at getting flights in and out with minimum delay. On a busy day (or night), it’s like a well choreographed dance of arrival, unloading and loading, refueling, and departure.

The Living Support Area (LSA) technically consists only of the tents where we live and our shower facilities. The tents are arrayed like little houses on little streets, complete with alleyways and “house numbers.” There are no street signs, however, so you need to know where you’re going. There are actually several “neighborhoods” in our “town.” Mine is called “A.”

There are numerous shower trailers located throughout the LSA. Most of them are open to anyone, but there are several for women only, and one for male officers and staff non-commissioned officers (SNCOs, the senior enlisted Marines). The officer/SNCO shower tends to be the cleanest one I’ve been in, and recently the water has been hot and plentiful, which was not always the case.

Giant concrete barriers divide the LSA “neighborhoods” and surround the shower trailers and chow hall, ostensibly protecting us from indirect fire (IDF) attacks. There are actually two sizes of these barriers – big (Texas barriers) and bigger (Alaska barriers). Most tents are surrounded by “Hesco” barriers – basically big wire and felt tubs that are filled with dirt. Once again this is to protect us from IDF.

The rest of the services include a laundry facility where we can drop off our dirty clothes for 24-hour turnaround, the “Internet Café” tent with computers and IP phones, the gym, the “Iraqi Mart,” the PX, the chapel, the MWR tent, the chow hall, and the barbershop. The Internet Café and gym are both very popular, and are both open 24 hours a day. They are much less crowded in the middle of the night than they are at the “peak” times of early morning and early evening.

I have only been in the Iraqi mart once (to take a picture for the blog!) and the PX only rarely. At the former, local Iraqis are permitted to come on the FOB to sell bootleg DVDs, imitation Persian rugs, and fake Rolexes. It is much more popular than the PX, where you can find underwear the wrong size (S and XXXL), “legal” (and expensive) DVDs, and toiletries.

The chapel is one of the nicer tent structures on the FOB. It actually consists of one large tent and two smaller ones attached like arms of a cross, in cathedral style. I found it ironic that the sign in the front calls it an “All Faiths Chapel,” while the cross at the altar made me wonder if the sign shouldn’t read “All (Christian) Faiths Chapel. To their credit, there were (Arabic) copies of the Q’uran on the “tract rack,” along with many varieties of the Bible and other Christian literature.

The chow hall, as I’ve mentioned, is not too bad. I live primarily on rice, beans, and vegetables, with the occasional foray into the world of potatoes. They are building a new and improved facility next door, so I hear.

The barbershop is, like almost everything else here, housed in a tent. It is run by two Iraqis who actually do a pretty darn good job cutting hair. At any rate, they’re much better than the young Marine who sheared me at Al Asad back in October! Going to the barbershop can be very frustrating, however, for those who work at night. The posted hours are 8 AM – 4 PM, which for me is like having it open from 10 PM to 6 AM – right when I’m sleeping! This is compounded by the fact that the barbers show up when they please, seldom before 9 and usually around 10. I have managed by getting up early and hoping there’s not much of a line.

“Everything else” on the FOB consists of the places I have no reason to visit in my daily (nightly?) life. It includes the MEU headquarters area, the medical area (although I went there once when I was sick), the Army area, the Iraqi National Guard area, the Regional Detention Facility (RDF), and the small-arms range. I’ve never seen the small-arms range, but I get to hear it, usually while I’m trying to sleep.

Coasting Toward Christmas

2004-12-23T10:53:00.000-05:00

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas – not a white Christmas, but festive nonetheless. All around the FOB, trees, tinsel, and lights are appearing. The chow hall is well decorated and every day the artificial tree in its entryway has inched toward being fully decorated, first with tinsel, then with ribbons and ornaments, and finally with lights.

The Christmas spirit is a bit sparse in my workspace, limited so far to three little stockings, a couple of Christmassy stuffed animals, and a very small tree. Other shops, however, are going all out. The Marines from the Communications detachment, who keep our phones, radios, and computers working, have outdone themselves with lights, tinsel, and ornaments. Over by maintenance control there is an inflatable Christmas tree with snowmen.

Christmas means different things to different people. I have always associated it with family and friends, traveling, and making music. In my youth it meant playing in a brass ensemble for Christmas Eve service at the Community Church, spending a leisurely day opening presents with my parents, skiing, shoveling snow, and ice skating. As a Naval Academy midshipman, it meant a chance to escape Annapolis for a couple of weeks, see friends and family, and take a break from the books.

As a parent, Christmas means struggling with what to tell my children about Santa. It means watching the joy on their wonderful faces when they open their presents, and seeing them play with their cousins. It means singing Christmas carols with my wife’s family. It means doing my best to resist the rampant commercialization of the holiday and avoid the cultural imperative to “shop ‘til you drop.” It means finding time alone on a bike to escape the oppressive busyness of the season.

I am ambivalent about Christmas largely because I am skeptical of Christian mythology. It seems that in today’s polarized political-religious climate, many people who claim to be Christians celebrate the birth, death, and resurrection stories without paying much heed to the teachings and ministry of Jesus. Personally, I am much more interested in his life as a nonviolent yet radical person, speaking truth to power and bearing witness to the suffering in his world, than in the mystical aspects attributed to his birth and death. I view the divinity attributed to Jesus as another manifestation of an ancient human archetype of the man-god redeemer. This model appears in many cultures and religious traditions, embodied in the likes of Zoroaster, Osiris/Horus, and Dionysus. The archetype represents human desires for a connection with the divine, life after death, and ultimate salvation.

I find spiritual meaning in this season by celebrating the Solstice – a time of personal rebirth and renewal, a time for letting go of old ways of being that are no longer useful, and a time for welcoming progress and growth into our lives. My favorite Solstice memory is from two years ago: watching the sun rise out of the Pacific from a beach in Kauai, while my two beautiful children played in the sand and honu (sea turtles) bobbed in the surf. It was simple yet extraordinary, and much more meaningful and memorable than trees or tinsel and presents.

Celebrate the season – whether it is the birth of Jesus, the miracle of Hanukkah, the return of the sun, or some other aspect of Winter – celebrate and be joyful with family and friends. After the holidays, continue to welcome the peace and love of the season into your life, all the year round.

Circles and Cycles

2004-12-21T10:52:00.000-05:00

silverlight
lays
shadows down
bright
sky above
soft
on
the ground

all
is peaceful
all
is clear
things
far away
seem
very near

moon
so brilliant
moon
so bright
shares
with earth
her
silverlight

Once again I am able to walk around at night without my flashlight, thanks to the waxing moon. I have become very aware of the moon’s cycle here, and of the circularity and cycles of life and the Universe.

I have long been enthralled by the moon, especially when it is bright enough to see by. There is something magical about being out in the moonlight – the bright disc in the sky, the gentle silver light all around, the soft shadows on the ground. Last month at about this point in the moon cycle, I sat outside every night before work just enjoying the moonlight. One of those nights inspired me to write the poem at the beginning of the post, probably the first one I’ve written as an adult!

Being up and about at night now, I try to remember to stop and look at the stars when I do get outside. I particularly enjoy watching Orion’s progress across the night sky, starting in the east in early evening and finally disappearing in the west towards sunrise. Likewise the Big Dipper catches my attention, usually after midnight when it is high overhead. It is fascinating to think that the stars, which within our tiny lifetimes seem fixed and steady, are actually moving through space with the expansion of the Universe.

I only see the sun for a little bit each morning between getting off shift about sunrise and going to sleep an hour or so later. I spend most of that time outside reading, except when it is raining. It is both relaxing and invigorating to sit in the sunlight and cold, crisp air. By the time I stir from my tent in the evening, the sun has usually set.

Seeing these daily and monthly cycles of sun, stars, and moon brings to mind a novel by Hal Borland called When the Legends Die, about a Ute boy who is raised in the traditional way in southern Colorado. When his parents die, he is forced to live on a reservation and learn the “new ways;” after initially resisting this change, he adapts and goes through a journey of self-discovery as a rodeo bronc rider. In the first part of the book, his mother sings him a song about the circularity of things – the Earth, the lodge in which they live, a little boy’s arm, the sun, and the seasons. This idea of circularity has always appealed to me, perhaps because a circle has no beginning and no end.

As the Winter Solstice fast approaches, we mark another cycle of the years with a season of renewed hope, as the dark recedes and we herald the return of the light. Celebrating the (re)birth of the Sun (Son) has a place in human spirituality throughout all ages and cultures, from Zoroaster to Jesus, Yule to Kwanzaa, and Saturnalia to Christmas.

If you can, go outside this evening and watch the sun set and the moon as it sails high in the darkening sky. Consider the cycles of the moon and sun, and honor the Solstice as marking another trip of the earth around the sun and another year of seasons. Reflect how our lives mirror the cycles of the earth and sky, and how this common heritage binds all humanity as one great family.

Books

2004-12-18T10:52:00.000-05:00

I love to read. One of the greatest boons of my time in Iraq has been having lots of time for it. Reading is a great activity - it passes the time, it’s enjoyable, it can be educational, and when reading a novel, I can be somewhere else for a while.

A good novel is as inviting as a cool blue pool on a hot summer’s day. Especially here, it is delightful to slip into the depths of a well-crafted story, emerging only when necessary and feeling a sense of loss when the last page comes and it’s time to climb back into reality.

I have always enjoyed re-reading novels, something that some people might find boring or a waste of time. I find it relaxing and enjoyable, like walking along a familiar path. Each new reading can bring a new message, a new interpretation. At different times in my life, some books have spoken to me in different ways. Other books seem to hold the same meaning every time.

Reading a new novel by a familiar author is also great fun, unless it’s a dud. It’s like walking on a new path in some familiar woods, one which might meander near or cross other favorite paths, or perhaps branch off from an old favorite.

I have recently undertaken a reading project that promises to be both enjoyable and educational. A friend in Virginia has started a book club utilizing Susan Wise Bauer’s book The Well Educated Mind. This book holds the promise of a classical self-education from reading literature using the classical trivium method. The trivium comprises three stages of learning: grammar (understanding), logic (analysis), and rhetoric (evaluation). Reading with this method promises to enhance a person’s understanding and recollection of books, as well as promoting critical thinking and reasoning.

Reading a book at the grammar stage is not much different from what most of us do – just finishing the book is the important thing. Using the trivium method, however, this first reading is accompanied by brief note-taking, summarizing each chapter, and coming up with one’s own titles for the chapters and the book, which summarize the basic ideas of the book. Reading at the logic stage allows the reader to go back to the book and her notes, reexamine questions that arose during the grammar stage reading, and analyze how well the book accomplishes its goals. At the rhetoric stage, the reader discusses the book with others and evaluates how it made him feel, and what he thinks about it.

The greatest thing about this book club I’ve joined is that it’s virtual as well as actual – I can participate from here as well as when I return to Virginia! Thank you Kate. I am looking forward to this new way of approaching books and reading, and to the sharing the joy of learning with others.

Answering the Mail

2004-12-14T10:50:00.000-05:00

In the two and a half months since I began this weblog, I’ve received a lot of mail. Believe it or not, one response was actually in the form of a card from some friends in Monterey! I thought that was refreshing. Most of it, of course, has been electronic.

The people who have responded to my weblog fall into three basic categories: people I know and told about the weblog; strangers who found about it from someone I know; and strangers who happened upon it through a third party or by accident. About 2/3 of the mail I’ve received comes from people in the first category, most of the rest is from the second, and a handful comes from the third.

There are several people who have been writing me periodically all along to comment on specific posts or just to express their general support. They all fall into the first category. There have been many others who have written once, typically in response to a particular post. Most of these people are from the first two categories. Some folks from the third category have written me saying they found my site while searching for information on Iraq. Some others from that category found my site linked on philocrites.com, the weblog of the senior editor of UU World magazine.

I’ve heard from some very interesting people in the second and third categories – two people whose children are Marines, many UUs in California who belong to congregations where I have friends, a UU from Iowa, a UCC seminarian from Missouri, and a man from Milwaukee who has turned into a regular correspondent. The number in this category grows quickly as awareness of this weblog makes its way around the World Wide Web.

The tone of these responses has been overwhelmingly positive. Most of them express support for me, my family, and other servicemembers and their families. Some have been in gratitude for the effect a particular post had on their lives. One I particularly appreciated was from a UU friend in San Jose, who told me that my post “Fear” helped him get through a difficult day. Another one, from a stranger in the Bay Area, appreciated the lessons from “Great Expectations” about letting go of expectations and living in the present. One of my regular correspondents in Monterey always writes when something I’ve posted resonates with her life. My new friend from Milwaukee wrote asking for guidance about the spiritual meaning of this war.

Along with all the support and positive feedback I’ve received about this weblog, I did get one critical response. This e-mail was from a woman whose son is a Marine, and she perceived that I was writing negative things about my fellow Marines. Her letter really got my attention, and I scrutinized everything I had posted up to that point. I found some unflattering comments about the Marine Corps and its cultural and behavioral norms, but nothing negative about the individuals I have served with here or anywhere else. On the contrary, I found many instances of praise and appreciation for my fellow Marines. In my reply, I asked her to point out a specific example of something I wrote that offended her, but she never wrote me again. I still wonder what post in particular led her to write.

I have answered all of the mail I have received, and I’ll continue to do so. I enjoy getting mail (electronic or otherwise) and feedback about this weblog. Do you want to hear more about Camp Kalsu? More about Iraq? More about the Marine Corps? More about my philosophy, theology, and spiritual journey? I am open to suggestions, and I hope to hear from YOU soon!

Elegy

2004-12-11T10:50:00.000-05:00

A young Marine recently died in a hospital in Germany. In the big picture, he’s just another of the over 1200 Americans and uncounted thousands of Iraqis who have died here in the last year and a half, but he was different; I actually knew and worked with this Marine. His name was Kyle.

Kyle was a very good Marine. He was good at his job, well thought of by everyone who knew him, and was easy to like. He even looked like a poster-perfect Marine. Kyle worked in the control tower here at the FOB, so I saw him or talked to him on the radio nearly every day. I wouldn’t say we were friends or even well-acquainted, but his death feels like a personal loss.

Kyle was wounded a couple of weeks ago during a mortar attack. He had just gotten off shift and was talking on the phone in our “Internet café.” He was sitting at the end of the row of phones, right next to where one of the mortar rounds landed. I don’t know if he was wearing his helmet, but he probably did have his flak vest on. Most of his injuries were from shrapnel to the head and lower body. A total of fifteen Marines, soldiers, and civilians were wounded, and thirteen of them (including Kyle) were evacuated to Baghdad. As soon as he was stable, Kyle was flown to Germany.

It is ironic that the majority of the casualties we’ve suffered from indirect fire (IDF) during my brief time here all resulted from that one lucky mortar round. I’m glad they can’t aim or life would be much more difficult here. The vast majority of attacks blow up only dirt.

Once I knew Kyle was in Germany, I was much less concerned about him. I had confidence in the medical profession and faith that his path would be one of full recovery and resumption of a normal life away from here. It was not to be so. Modern medicine and surgery might have been healing Kyle from his wounds, but it was an ancient illness that killed him - pneumonia.

Whatever your belief about death and its aftermath, please take some time to reflect on the life of this person you never knew. Reflect how the life of someone you know and love, or even your own life, can be cut short without warning. Live your life so that when that final moment comes, you can look back and say you really lived every moment of it.

Comfortable With Myself

2004-12-10T10:48:00.000-05:00

Soon after meditating one recent evening, I had an “aha” moment - another realization of a seemingly obvious and simple life lesson that is really not so simple in practice. I realized that in large part, how I relate to other people and different situations depends on how I feel about myself at the time. How I live my life depends on how comfortable I am with myself.

This realization came about after I had meditated on my relationship with Bob, my boss/tentmate/coworker. I have recently become very frustrated with some of his personal traits and behaviors, and I have been looking inward to see if that frustration is perhaps a reflection of those same traits and behaviors in me. I decided to use the state of mindfulness that comes during meditation to help me toward discernment. I found much more than I expected.

During this meditation, I was able to let go of my frustration about Bob and his annoying behaviors and commit myself to practicing their “positive shadows.” For example, instead of being frustrated by his continually interrupting me, I can commit myself to attentively listening whenever he is talking. It’s “values judo” - although I cannot change the behavior of another person, I can control my reaction to that behavior and turn it into something positive. This meditation left me in a state of peace and contentment, feeling very comfortable in my mind and body.

As I transitioned mentally from the safe and pleasant realm of meditation into the uncertain reality of daily life, I realized that being comfortable with myself leads to accepting the actions of others and avoiding frustration. Being comfortable with myself allows me to be confident in any situation.

Unfortunately, being comfortable with myself is easier said than done, much like letting go of outcomes and expectations or being present. It’s another side of the same multi-faceted coin, and at the root of the other two: if I am comfortable with myself, I am much more likely to be able to live in the present moment; to focus on living my life as it is right now rather than dwelling on my expectations of the future; and to make relationships more important than issues.

My self-comfort also depends on how closely my perception of “who I am” matches my ideal of “who I think I ought to be.” The closer the two, the more comfortable I am with myself. However, when I base my image of “who I ought to be” on what other people expect rather than my own values, discomfort grows. When I let go of my concern with “what other people think” and focus on living my values, then I am comfortable with myself.

As I explore this idea of being comfortable with myself, I am reminded of wisdom I’ve learned from two UU ministers I respect very much: the ultimate requirement for effective ministry is to live an authentic life. Living an authentic life means accepting and celebrating my humanity and fallibility. It means facing the challenges of life rather than turning away. It means taking chances in my relationships with other people. It means having lots of questions as well as a few answers. Most of all, it means living every moment of an ordinary life in an extraordinary manner, rather than looking back after a lifetime of excitement and accomplishment, wondering “what did any of it mean?”

When I am comfortable with myself, I am living each extraordinary moment of an ordinary but authentic life.

Being Present

2004-12-07T10:44:00.000-05:00

Breathing in, I dwell in the present moment.
Breathing out, I know it is a wonderful moment.

-Thich Naht Hanh, “The Blooming of a Lotus”

One of the most difficult things about this deployment (at least during my five weeks at Camp Kalsu) has been keeping a positive attitude and avoiding the pitfalls of despair, self-pity, and homesickness. It can be very challenging to stay upbeat when you spend most of your time alone, every day is just the same as all the others, and there are no weekends or holidays. Some days, it’s nearly impossible to smile.

On every one of my four previous deployments, I was a member of a unit with which I identified and had many comrades with whom I had many shared experiences. I interacted with many other people throughout the work day and off-duty, and my day-to-day routine was sufficiently varied so as not to become tedious. Plus there were these fabulous things called WEEKENDS! Weekends meant long bike trips exploring Okinawa, trips to the beach, cross-country flights to Korea, having fun at the club, and being able to sleep in.

The ultimate thing everyone looks forward to during a deployment, of course, is going home. This deployment is different from my previous ones in that I really don’t know when I’ll be leaving. I could be here for 2 more months or 5 more months, but there’s no way to tell right now. Even without a solid return date, I still spend hours imagining all the great things we have planned as a family next summer. I fondly remember how nice it is to have weekends and holidays for travel and relaxation. These visions are comforting and enjoyable, but there’s nothing better than having a “target” date for going home.

Having nothing concrete to look forward to (in the sense of counting down the days left or knowing I have a weekend coming), I try mightily to just live my life here, now, the way it is, and appreciate and enjoy it for what it is. I call this “being present.” As part of my effort to live life the way it is, rather than dwell on the future or the past, I have begun meditating. As a guide to help me establish this practice, I am using a wonderful book called “The Blooming of a Lotus,” by Vietnamese Buddhist monk Thich Naht Hanh. As he puts it,

By dwelling in the present moment, we put an end to attachments to the past and
anxieties about the future. Life is only available in the present. We need to
return to this moment to be in touch with life as it really is. To know that we
are alive, that we can be in contact with all the wonders within us and around
us, this is truly a miracle. We need only to open our eyes and to listen
carefully to enjoy life’s richness.

The message of being present seems simple and obvious, but like many lessons that are truly important and valuable, it is much harder to put into practice than just to read or talk about. Over the past two weeks, I have had great difficulty finding joy in the present as I have suffered a stubborn chest cold that just goes on and on. My focus has become almost exclusively on getting every minute of sleep I can. I have done no exercise, which has taken away one of my most valuable stress outlets and morale boosters. This physical illness has taken a mental and spiritual toll, as I began to wonder if I would ever feel any better.

The practice of meditation seems to have helped – I suppose I’ve been getting high on mindfulness rather than endorphins. My health has begun improving, and today is the first day in a long time that I said to myself “hey, I don’t feel so crummy today.” I have begun to enjoy eating again. I once again take time to admire the stars in the cold night sky. Dwelling in the present moment, I breathe in. Enjoying the present moment, I breathe out. I live.

What's in a Name

2004-12-03T10:43:00.000-05:00

Insurgents. Terrorists. Occupiers. Mujahadeen. Freedom Fighters. The Resistance. Liberators. Guerillas. Who is which? Are some of them good? Some bad? Are they similar at all?

The label used depends upon the point of view, and the words used by the media to describe fighting between “us” and “them” depend greatly upon who’s doing the fighting. Thom Engelhardt has written an excellent article comparing the media coverage of the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, fighting between Russia and Chechnya, and the current fighting in Iraq.

An Iraqi who hates the American occupation and supports or sympathizes with those fighting to end it might call them “freedom fighters” or “the resistance.” An Iraqi who is tired of the ongoing violence and sees the kidnappings and executions as a perversion of Islam might describe the perpetrators as “terrorists.” The American government and news media have settled upon the relatively neutral term “insurgents.” I think using the terms “mujahadeen,” literally meaning struggler, or “guerilla,” meaning little war, also have merit. Within the military, these fighters are officially known as “AIF” (Anti-Iraqi Forces).

Think back to the 1980’s and Afghanistan, when the U.S. financed and equipped Muslim militants (there’s another term!) in their effort to overcome the Soviet occupation. They were popularly known as mujahadeen, and President Reagan called them “freedom fighters,” although their tactics would be described today as “terrorist.” Of course one of their leaders, Osama bin Laden, would eventually become the poster boy for Muslim “terrorism.”

Remember the Chechen “rebels?” How do you suppose the Russian government labeled them? Terrorists, of course, and worse. From the Chechen (and Western) perspective, the fighting was about overcoming an occupation.

The treatment of the more powerful occupying forces in these three circumstances has also been quite different. Our government and media had nothing but criticism (rightfully so) for the Soviets in their invasion and occupation of Afghanistan, and we supported the Mujahadeen with arms, money, and training.

The treatment of Russia’s actions in Chechnya is a little more complicated, as it has changed over time. Prior to the “global war on terror,” (GWOT) the government and media condemned the extreme tactics (such as leveling the town of Grozny in 2000) of the Russian military. Now that Russia is a partner in our so-called GWOT, however, many previously questionable actions and tactics are somehow now justified as part of this international “war.” The conflict hasn’t changed, but the terminology certainly has.

The U.S. government “spin” and corporate media coverage of our current occupation of Iraq has been generally positive. I think the administration would like to view its actions as “liberation” rather than “occupation,” and in one sense that is true; we did “liberate” the Iraqi people from the brutal regime of Saddam Hussein. Unfortunately, we have not done much to liberate them from hunger, disease, crime, torture, destruction of their homes and property, and soldiers kicking in their doors in the wee hours of the night to take their men away.

Follow the Calling

2004-11-30T10:39:00.000-05:00

This post is inspired by a sermon called “No Small Callings,” given at BRUU by my minister, friend, mentor, and future colleague Rev. Nancy McDonald.

Until I became a UU and started hanging around ministers, RE teachers, board members, and other unsavory characters, I’d never thought much about what it meant to have a “calling,” or to be “called” to do something. Gradually I became aware of people using the term “calling” to describe the aspiration, nay the compulsion to become a minister. I have also heard this compulsion described as a “longing” or a “grinding.” I never really understood it until it first crept, and then burst, into my life.

I first considered the possibility of a second career in ministry when I noticed that many of the things my good friend and minister Forrest did in his work – teaching, leading, and taking care of people - were exactly what I’d enjoyed most in my military career. I asked Forrest about life as a minister, and I’ll never forget what I heard him say: “Ministry is a great career, but it’s really hard. If you can do something else, do it.”

By the time a year had passed, I had become much more involved as a UU, and the idea of ministry came to me more and more frequently. It was helped along by people in my congregation who would ask if I had considered becoming a minister. I think they could see something in me that I wasn’t quite ready to articulate.

I took a big step on this new path when I first expressed my calling out loud. At UU Leadership School, when people in my class asked me what I would do after my military career, I had been telling them my “stock answer,” that I planned to retire in Monterey and teach. My calling revealed itself when at breakfast one day Claire, the Dean of the school, asked me quite innocently “so, what are you going to do after the military?”

I was a bit taken aback when “I want to be a minister” came out of my mouth! As I lived with the idea, however, it felt right, if not totally comfortable. It felt strange telling my family and friends of my new plans. If someone had told me even two years before that I would be actively involved in RELIGION and regularly attend a CHURCH, much less want to become a MINISTER, I would have laughed out loud!

This was the summer we moved to Virginia, so our lives were in transition anyway as we drove across the country to live in a very different place. Once we were settled in our new home and adjusting to our new lives, reality set in. The slight discomfort I had felt about my new plans turned to doubt and fear (of the unknown, of course). How would I pay for seminary? What would be the impact on our children? Could we live on a minister’s salary? I let myself focus on my fearful expectations of the outcome of taking this path.

I let this doubt persuade me to take an easier, more practical road to a second career, and I started doctoral work at George Mason University two nights a week. I figured I’d finish my degree in time to retire, move to Monterey, and teach. Once the kids were grown, sometime in the distant future, then I would revisit this desire, this call, to be a minister. But of course the call wouldn’t wait for me, and soon a little voice was whispering, “you don’t want to be a professor; you really want to be a minister.”

The following summer I spent two weeks in California, first at a conference in Monterey, then attending the General Assembly (GA) of the Unitarian Universalist Association (UUA) in Long Beach. Throughout this trip, I met many new friends and ran into lots of old ones. The more people I told of my plans to get my doctorate, teach, and then pursue ministry later in life, the more it sounded like someone else’s story. I began to realize I really did want to be a minister as soon as possible.

During the course of GA, I met several people who were working in various parts of central or northern California and commuting to Starr King School for the Ministry, the UU seminary in Berkeley I plan to attend. By the time I left California, I had a new plan: I would still get my doctorate and move to Monterey, but I would teach part time while commuting to Starr King.

On the flight back to Virginia, however, I had an epiphany. I realized that although my new plan was economically practical, it would prolong the road to ministry and be very challenging to my family life. I didn’t relish the thought of commuting over two hours each way to class, when I was already rapidly tiring of my 45 minute commute to GMU.

What hit me physically, mentally, and emotionally on that airplane was the realization that what I truly wanted to do, what I must do, was to follow this call with one hundred percent of my being: to move to Berkeley, go to Starr King full time, and live my life as a seminarian, a husband, and a father. With the love and support of my family, it will work.

By letting go of fear, expectation, and outcome, I was able to finally hear what Forrest had really told me about ministry that day two years before: “if you can do something else, do it.” I can’t.

The View from the Tower

2004-11-28T10:35:00.000-05:00

Camp Kalsu, my home for the foreseeable future, is very small (less than 2km square), but there is a lot going on. It can all be seen from the airfield control tower.

Kalsu is located south of Baghdad along the major north-south highway from Basra. All night long American convoys travel this route, convoys composed of Humvees, trucks, and tractor trailers. During the day, the traffic is mainly Iraqis. Marines from the 24th Marine Expeditionary Unit (MEU) here at Kalsu man traffic checkpoints on this highway. It is a thankless job for those on the checkpoints, for they are shot at and confront IEDs on a daily basis.

Besides US forces, this base is home to several Iraqi security elements, mainly police and National Guard, being trained by a U.S. Army MP company. Given the level of infiltration of the security forces by insurgents, often when I see a group of them I wonder where their loyalties lie. Some of the Iraqi units participate in security operations with our Marines, and from what I’ve heard they can be quite helpful in identifying insurgents trying to blend in with the local populace. This includes several former members of the security forces.

Kalsu is also home to a detention facility temporarily housing detainees captured during MEU operations in the area. From what I hear they are treated well, eating and living much the same as we do. Periodically they are transferred to Abu Ghraib prison for interrogation.

For the past few weeks, we have hosted some British soldiers from the Black Watch regiment. They operate their helicopters out of here in support of their troops in nearby FOB Dogwood. It is interesting having them around, with their distinctive uniforms, equipment, and accents.

The part of the FOB where I work, of course, is the airfield. It is essentially a large flat area covered in gravel and surrounded by dirt berms (much like the rest of the FOB); it is home to part of the MEU’s Air Combat Element. There are several U.S. attack helicopters permanently based here, as well as the British Army and RAF "hellies." Our helos have permanent parking spots, and there is a road "runway" for the British and transient aircraft. The transient aircraft are helicopters that transport people and cargo among all of the FOBS and main bases. Our airfield is too small for fixed-wing aircraft, although a Harrier could land here in a pinch. Once.

Besides the parking areas for the helicopters, the rest of the airfield consists of aviation support activities. There are fuel bladders and fueling points, a very small "passenger terminal" known as the A/DACG (not even the Marines who work there know what the acronym means!), a Ready Room tent for the resident pilots, maintenance and administrative tents, lots of generators and vehicles, and, of course, the control tower.

The tower is the highest point on the FOB, and from it one can see everything there is to see at Camp Kalsu. From the highway on one side, to the detention facility on the other; from the MEU command post to the living areas to the trash dump, it’s all laid out below. Kalsu’s small size belies the large impact of the Marines, soldiers, and Iraqi security forces who live here. It is a microcosm of the entire country, where relatively few American troops have a disproportionately large effect on the infrastructure and populace.

Giving Thanks

2004-11-24T10:25:00.000-05:00

As Thanksgiving approaches, I am struck by how much I have to be thankful for. Being deployed helps me appreciate things I took for granted at home now that I don't have them, such as seeing my family every day. I regret every missed opportunity to spend time with my wife and children. I am recommitted to making my relationships with them the number one priority in my life.

There are other things I miss and appreciate, like riding singletrack, sitting in the hot tub, going for a walk in the woods with fall leaves crunching underfoot, sitting on the deck watching the birds and playing my guitar, playing with the dog, going to church, and going to the movies!

That's not to say that there isn't a lot to be thankful for here; there are many things I appreciate every day. First and foremost is having such an excellent connection with the outside world. When I started this weblog, I had no idea if I would actually be able to keep it up to the degree I have. It is truly a gift to have Internet connectivity and e-mail here pretty much any time I want it. I have also been able to call home at least once a week, and often two or three times. It is surreal being able to talk to my kids while I'm half a world away and in a war zone. I called my mom last week and she was quite taken aback - "I've never spoken to someone overseas before!" she said. The world is truly a small place in this respect.

I am very thankful for the living conditions here. It is nice to have hot showers (most of the time), clean clothes, and be well fed four times a day if I want it. Although I'm living in a tent, it is dry and has heat and air conditioning, and I sleep on a real bed with a comfortable pillow. That's a lot better than many people in the United States, not to mention the rest of the world, have it.

Most of all I am thankful for the many relationships I have with wonderful people all around the world. Closest to my heart, although furthest away physically, are my wife, son, and daughter. They are truly the focus of my life and give it meaning and joy. I also very much appreciate the rest of my relatives and my extended UU family. Thank you for being a part of my life and allowing me to be part of yours.

If I could have one wish, it would be that wherever you are this holiday season, rejoice in being with your loved ones, family, and friends. Don't take your relationships for granted – show the people in your life you love them and they are important to you, for tomorrow may be too late.

Monday, 24/7

2004-11-23T10:20:00.000-05:00

There is a saying here at FOB Kalsu: every day is Monday, and only the date changes. When you never have any days off, and the routine is the same every day, it might as well be so.

I typically get up between 3:30 and 4:30 in the afternoon, spend an hour or so writing and doing spiritual practices, then head to the gym. The gym is in a large tent, and is surprisingly well equipped for where we are. I typically ride the stationary bike or use the elliptical trainer for 30-45 minutes, and some days for an hour. I then lift weights for 20-30 minutes and call it good.

When I’m lucky, I have a nice hot shower after working out, but sometimes it’s a cold shower or, worst case, a water bottle shower. See my previous post "Simple Gifts." After getting dressed, it’s off to eat.

The best thing about my evening meal is I get to have dessert for "breakfast." Dessert is one of the best things about the chowhall here - there is almost always pie or cake, and there’s always ice cream. Most days there are healthier alternatives too, such as fruit salad and jello. One of my favorite desserts is fruit salad with ice cream on it.

The rest of the meal is not always great, but I never go hungry. This chowhall is definitely geared toward the carnivore; there are always two meat choices, and only rarely is one of them fish or seafood. I was lucky the last two days to have gotten shrimp and fish nuggets. Typically I have rice, noodles or potatoes, vegetables, and a salad. I eat a lot of beans when they have them for some protein. Eating as a "vegequarian" was much easier at Al Asad.

After dinner I either go to the "internet café" and have an online chat with my wife, or back to my tent to write in my journal, read, and relax. The last few days I have been sitting out in the beautiful moonlight, enjoying the cold crisp night air and the peaceful feeling of watching the waxing moon.

My work "day" starts at 9 PM, and I spend about the first hour getting a feel for what’s happened during the day, and if there are any changes to the night’s schedule. The helicopters that are based here, as well as the other ones that come and go, typically do most of their flying at night (it’s safer then).

I usually spend the next hour catching up on e-mail and internet news, and dealing with the comings and goings of aircraft. Depending on how busy things are, I might put in a movie at this point. Somewhere in there I eat "lunch," typically an energy bar and some fruit. I haven’t been to "mid-rats" at the chowhall yet – I have no desire to eat dinner twice.

Things are usually very quiet by 3 or 4 AM, and this is when I break out my guitar. I really enjoy having so much time to work on my playing, which will be dramatically improved when I get home. If nobody else is around I’ll even sing a little bit.

By 5 or 6, things pick up a little bit and there are reports to write, the next day’s schedule to put on the whiteboard, and a final check of the news. I wrap things up by 7, when my relief comes on. There are two people on the day shift, so I convinced my boss to shorten my hours. The 12 hour shift was about more than I could take mentally. This current routine suits me fine.

After breakfast, typically cereal, a hard-boiled egg, and toast, it’s back to my tent to read and relax outside in the sun if it’s pleasant. So far this has been about my favorite time of day, but with the waxing moon and clear nights I’m not so quick to claim that. I am in bed by 8 or 8:30, have a good day’s sleep, then it starts all over again!

See an article about Camp Kalsu and the 24th MEU.

Great Expectations

2004-11-19T10:17:00.000-05:00

When I was 17, I attended a month-long wilderness survival course in southern Utah. It was a very intense experience where I learned a lot about my limitations and how far I could push them. I also learned a lot about expectations.

One of the leaders, a man in his early 20’s named John, told me something one day that I’ll never forget. We were resting at the end of a long day of hiking, thinking we were almost ready to stop for the night, when he said “saddle up, we have a lot of miles left to go.” I was angry and frustrated, because I had really expected to be finished soon, and I could just taste the lentils and rice I knew we would be having for dinner.

What John later said about the situation was “don’t live by your expectations.” Don’t let your desire for a specific outcome leave you frustrated and angry when that outcome is not realized. Be flexible enough to accept what comes to you after you have planned and hoped and worked for something else. I have spent the last 20 years trying to make this idea part of how I live my life.

“Don’t live by your expectations.” This advice is congruent with something I learned more recently at UU Leadership School, which is “let go of outcomes.” To let go of the outcome of a situation, focus on process and relationships over goal achievement. Allow how you go about your tasks and how you relate with others to be more important than your accomplishments.

Of course, like all important life lessons, learning to let go of expectations and outcomes is much easier said than done. We are programmed from birth to look toward the future, set goals, and make plans. Letting go becomes a wonderful Taoist paradox: you must make plans and set goals in order to live your life, yet at the same time have no expectations about the outcome.

The essence of letting go of expectations and outcomes is to let go of their power over how you live your life and how you relate with other people. It requires intention and focus, and a commitment to live life as a continuum of experience rather than as a series of accomplishments. Letting go of expectations and outcomes requires putting other people and your relationships with them ahead of the issues between you. It is always hard work. Some days it is nearly impossible.

I believe that living an intentional life, rich in experiences and relationships, can lead to happiness, peace, and enlightenment. The rare periods in my life when I have opened myself to just living, without striving to force every situation into a desired outcome, have been the times when I have made the greatest strides of self-understanding and been happiest. Usually these “moments of clarity” came on the heels of some great disappointment, out of the crushed expectations of an outcome that did not come out my way.

In typical human fashion, though, I always once again make my plans and develop my expectations, forgetting to live my life rather than focus on the next accomplishment. Life always catches up, so the next disappointment reminds me to stop living by my expectations, and the cycle begins again. The ever-flowing Tao is always there, careless of whether I choose to ride its currents, strive against it, or get out and walk.

In my current situation, it is particularly difficult for me to let go of expectations and outcomes. Obviously I am very focused on one outcome: getting home safely to my family. “Letting go” of this outcome means transcending the daily tedium, disappointments, and frustrations to glean the essence of my experiences. It means holding my beloved community of family and friends in my heart and head, while simultaneously honoring and developing the relationships I have with the people I know here. It means living my life here and now. It is hard work. Some days it is nearly impossible.

Things That Go Boom in the Night

2004-11-18T10:12:00.000-05:00

Life here at Kamp Kalsu is settling into a banal routine. Being confined to a patch of dirt that’s about 2 kilometers square, doing the same thing seven days a week, will do that. Given the alternative, however, boring is good.

During my first visit here last month things got very exciting (see my post “Fear”), but there has been no more of that since I moved here, with the exception of one rather unremarkable rocket attack. I like rockets better than mortars – at least you can hear them coming. It’s sort of a “whooooooosh – BOOM!” This latest attack occurred in late afternoon, while I was sleeping, and I was on the deck and in my flak vest before I knew what I was doing, and I was in the bunker before I really woke up. The rockets impacted pretty far from my tent, so it was not very eventful.

Because there is a war going on around us, there are explosions and loud noises from time to time, often unexplained. When these occur at night, when I’m on duty, people typically freeze, wait to hear if there are more than one, and then ask one another “what was that?” Occasionally the command post will call and tell us what it was, but usually it’s a mystery.

The most threatening sound is that of incoming indirect fire, of course. It is unmistakable for its volume, and in the case of rockets, the sound of its passage overhead. Then there are the IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices) which sometimes explode on the main road just to the east of us. An IED is an artillery shell, bomb, or other explosive rigged to explode when a vehicle or a convoy passes by. A VBIED is a Vehicle-Borne IED, and an SVBIED is a Suicide VBIED, more commonly known as car bombs. Unfortunately IED, VBIED, and SVBIED attacks are very common, and they account for the majority of our casualties in this area of operations.

The sound of an IED is distinctive, because it’s usually a BIG sound, but not loud – kind of like thunder in the distance. Occasionally it’s close enough to sound like incoming, but there is usually only one explosion. Sometimes the EOD (Explosive Ordnance Disposal) Marines “blow in place” an IED that has been discovered along the road, or maybe several of them at one time. This can be very loud. Theoretically we are notified when these “planned detonations” will be occurring, but often there is no notice and it’s as much of a surprise as an IED or incoming explosion.

Camp Kalsu has its own indirect fire weapons, and occasionally we send out some rounds of our own. The sound of this “outgoing” fire is fairly distinctive, and we are supposed to be notified of it ahead of time. That seems to be the exception, however.

The final type of noise we hear is gunfire, sometimes in conjunction with one of the other explosions. This might occur when a convoy gets hit by an IED on the nearby road, or when the Marines in the guard towers feel threatened.

A most disconcerting incident occurred recently, when we had what is known as a “negligent discharge.” In this particular case, an Army soldier coming back from patrol did not properly clear his vehicle-mounted grenade launcher, and he accidentally shot a 40mm grenade across the camp. It impacted very near a guard tower, precipitating a phantom gun battle between the guards in the tower and their imagined enemy. Thankfully nobody got hurt except a speed limit sign, which nobody liked anyway.

On Television

2004-11-17T10:09:00.000-05:00

In a 1961 speech to the National Association of Broadcasters, FCC Chairman Newton Minnow decried the "vast wasteland" of television programming. He gave notice to the network leadership of his vision of regulating the industry focused on placing the public interest above all others. Compare that to the attitude of the current FCC Chairman, Michael Powell, whose main idea of "regulating" the industry is to remove obstacles to consolidation, and then trust the corporations to police themselves. What we have now is a nearly INFINITE wasteland, controlled by fewer and fewer corporate entities, operated with NO regard for the public interest. Most television programming, including news, is "infotainment" carefully packaged to deliver advertising to its viewers.

I never watch commercial television at home. Since I’ve been in Iraq, however, I’ve been exposed to a lot of TV news, and I don’t like what I see. I’ve noticed a pattern, where one story becomes "it" for several days, with around-the-clock repetition, until it is eclipsed by the next big event. To illustrate this, consider what I’ve seen on CNN International over about the last ten days.

Last weekend, it was "all Fallujah, all the time." This was understandable, as despite President Bush’s claim last May, the upcoming battle would be "major combat." Every report I saw in the days leading up to the assault portrayed it as a military and political necessity, an inevitable step required to stabilize the country. I didn’t hear a peep about the possibility that assaulting this small city might be a strategic mistake or a humanitarian disaster.

As the week and the assault progressed, the television cheerleading continued, and I was reminded of the coverage of the 2003 invasion of Iraq. Embedded reporters gave dramatic accounts of firefights, aerial bombardment, and artillery attacks, of insurgents captured and killed, of weapons caches found and destroyed. Exciting stuff - the display of American military might was truly amazing. It was an orderly attack, running very smoothly, almost as if made for TV.

Other news crept in – a sick and dying Arafat, a guilty verdict in the Peterson case, resignations from the Bush administration. But the central story was always Fallujah, and how well things were going there for "our side."

While observing the overwhelmingly positive portrayal of fighting, killing, and dying on TV and in the mainstream corporate media, I also saw stories of a different battle unfolding in the alternative and independent media. This battle featured children bleeding to death from shrapnel wounds because they were afraid to leave their houses to get care. In this battle, the civilian population cowered in what was left of their houses, afraid to stay because of the bombs, afraid to leave because of the snipers. Some stories were not credible, such as reports of A-10 jets "raining cluster bombs on the streets" (cluster bombs, which have a very high dud rate, would not be used in a confined area where friendly troops are fighting). But was this falsehood "enemy propaganda," or was it the hysterical mistake of a terrified innocent person? Which story was true, the antiseptic version seen on TV where only combatants die (but never on camera), or the more graphic and horrifying one in the alternative press? Where was the balance? Why didn’t the TV news show both sides of the story?

As a medium, television is unparalleled in its reach and influence, and it can create or perpetuate public perceptions which may be inaccurate. Most Americans get their news from the major corporate television networks, which in the last decade have gone to great lengths to portray American military actions in a positive light. On TV news, war is usually portrayed as glamorous, noble, and stirring - like an adventure movie, where Americans are always the heroes. Maybe if war were portrayed more accurately – as a dirty, terrifying, and cruel undertaking, where real people just like you and I kill others and are killed, then it wouldn’t be so appealing. Unfortunately, you have to dig deep and winnow a lot of chaff to find that kind of reporting.

The latest development in the Battle of Fallujah is the apparent killing by a U.S. Marine of a wounded, unarmed insurgent, caught on video by an embedded reporter. This is certainly newsworthy, but the way it has been portrayed on TV is illustrative of the excesses of the medium. The clip of the incident was played over and over all night and day long, interspersed with "analysis" by various talking heads. Now this one incident has become "the story," and will occupy center stage until something more dramatic occurs. It is shocking yet fascinating, and playing this clip over and over will doubtless sell lots of advertising.

Television programs exist only to get viewers to watch the commercials. If the programs aren’t entertaining, advertising revenues decline. Television news is primarily entertainment. Turn off the TV, read some alternative or independent news sources, and liberate your mind and your life.

There are no pictures for this post, but here is a timely and relevant article.

Simple Gifts

2004-11-13T09:59:00.000-05:00

Often we take the simplest things for granted, things that have a disproportionately large affect on our happiness and well-being. Take personal cleanliness, for example.

When living in and around dirt, sand, and dust, there is no finer feeling than having a hot shower and a clean set of clothes to put on. It puts a new light on the day, and brightens your outlook immediately.

Out here there is no wallowing in the luxury of a "Hollywood shower," to which most people are accustomed, where the water runs and runs and runs until you’re finished. When water is scarce, however, we take "Navy showers." A Navy shower consists of getting wet, turning off the water, soaping up, then rinsing off as quickly as possible. It uses probably 20% of the water that a Hollywood shower does. Actually, it’s not so bad, and when there’s no hot water, there is less of an incentive to leave the water running. It’s still not the same, though.

Sometimes there’s not even the luxury of a Navy shower. All of our non-drinking water comes from a ROWPU (Reverse Osmosis Water Purification Unit) system, which purifies water taken from a local source (I’m not sure what that is – perhaps the Euphrates?). This removes most of the "bad" stuff from the water, and although it is not potable, it is useable for washing.
Unfortunately the ROWPUs have a finite capacity that doesn’t always keep up with demand, so occasionally when you turn on the taps, nothing comes out.

The first time I encountered this I was hot and sweaty from working out, and the empty tap was a big disappointment. I returned to my tent and had a "baby-wipe" bath, which was adequate but unfulfilling. Even clean clothes don’t make up for not being able to bathe. That whole night I was a bit grumpy and out of sorts, and I think it had a lot to do with not being clean.

The next morning there still was no water, so I tried the other alternative: the "water-bottle shower." Ironically, although there is a shortage of ROWPU water, bottled water is abundant. I had been told that 4 1.5 liter bottles were needed for a "shower." For my first attempt at a water-bottle shower I tried to be frugal, using two bottles. Not quite enough – I ended up wiping soap off with my towel. That wasn’t very comfortable either. The next day, still no water; I use three bottles this time – getting better, but still not quite there. I guess "they" were right – four bottles it is.

One very inconvenient aspect of a water-bottle shower is carrying all that water, plus flak and helmet, towel and toiletries, to the shower. This evening I was really prepared – I got out my pack, loaded it with four bottles of water, my towel, clean clothes, and toiletries, and off I went. Of course...running water! Yay! It made my day to be able to shave and shower normally. Maybe tomorrow there will actually be HOT water!

Like a hot shower, it is easy to take relationships for granted. Every day we wallow in the "Hollywood shower" of our relationship with parents, wife, husband, partner, children, friends, etc. For some, a busy life can be like a "Navy shower," short little bursts of loving relationship in between the phone calls, e-mails, commuting, and meetings. Sometimes the water is shut off – permanently by death or divorce, or temporarily by moving or deployment. When that water’s gone, you realize how precious it was and wonder, "how could I have taken that for granted?"
This deployment has been an eye-opener for me about how much my wife, children, and UU community mean to me. I hold them in my heart and head, indulging in the water bottle shower of the connection by phone and e-mail. I’m looking forward to not just a shower, but a long, hot bath when I get home.

You never know when the water will go out, so cherish those hot showers while you have them.

Darkness

2004-11-11T09:54:00.000-05:00

A friend from California sent me this poem, thinking it reflected the "metaphorical and literal darkness" of my situation. Well said – I agree. Enjoy.

We grow accustomed to the Dark--

When light is put away--

As when the neighbor holds the Lamp

To witness her Goodbye--

A Moment--we uncertain step

For newness of the night--

Then-- fit our Vision to the Dark

And meet the Road--erect--

And so of larger--Darknesses--

Those evenings of the Brain--

When not a moon disclose a sign--

Or Star--come out--within--

The Bravest--grope a little--

And sometimes hit a Tree

Directly in the Forehead--

But as they learn to see--

Either the Darkness alters--

Or something in the sight

Adjusts itself to Midnight--

And Life steps almost straight.

Emily Dickinson

Connections

2004-11-10T09:52:00.000-05:00

About the hardest aspect of this deployment has been the separation from my family and my UU community. It was much more difficult to leave on such short notice than having had months to prepare, as for my previous deployments.

In one respect, however, it was easier to leave my wife this time than the others. Usually, with all that time to dwell on the fact of leaving and stress out about it, my wife and I would go through a lot of pre-separation tension, as if we were trying to make it desirable to be separated! This time, however, it all happened so fast that we barely had time to process it and make the basic preparations for my absence. Before I knew it I was packed and saying goodbye at the airport, and we never had time to argue! Small blessing.

I have continued to feel a very strong connection to home and the people I love and miss since being here. First of all, the wonders of modern technology allow almost constant communication. One of the highlights of this trip has been being able to call my little daughter on her third birthday, the day after I arrived in Iraq. Hearing her sweet voice was such a treat, and it is every time. It is somewhat surreal to be able to write e-mails and call home from the middle of a war zone – I can only imagine what it’s like for the Marines who go on patrol then get to come back here, eat a hot meal, and call home!

Something else that helps me feel connected is the set of "talismans" I carry. There are five things I keep in my pockets all the time; special things I’ve borrowed that I must return when I get home. They are no small comfort to me, and every time I touch one of them I am reminded of the wonderful strength of my relationships.

This process started at the BRUU Pagan Circle Mabon (autumn equinox) feast, when a friend suggested, or rather insisted, that I take something from the garden’s medicine wheel, to be returned when I came home. Honestly, at first I did that just to humor her, but the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea, and the more right it felt. I found a nice stone, small enough to fit in my pocket, smooth as glass like a worry stone. When I touch it I see Tom’s wonderful garden and the smiling faces of my BRUU community.

Soon I decided I should have something special from each of my children. I asked my son to pick something out for me, but he was a little reluctant. I found the perfect thing, though – a small rubber lizard that he called a "crop lizard" when he was very small. He willingly agreed to let me have Lizard, so long as I bring him back. He rides in my pocket, raising eyebrows when he comes out to look around. Not to be outdone, my daughter gave me a little stuffed puppy dog, saying "here, daddy, you take my puppy." Ironically, it’s a toy I brought home to her from a trip last summer. Puppy has a nice home to himself in my cargo pocket.

I didn’t think to ask my wife for anything, but she provided a crystal we had found during a very special camping trip many years ago. It too is perfect. The final talisman I carry is a yellow Lance Armstrong "liveStrong" bracelet loaned to me by my cousin. She had gotten it from her sister, so it has extra special meaning. It is a reminder to be strong – to live my values and bear witness – every day. I can return it to my cousin when I pass through California on my way home.

It might seem silly to carry these objects rather than pictures, but they represent a very real and tangible connection between me and my loved ones at home. Imagine a long, stretchy rubber band, subtly yet insistently tugging me back through these months, until at last I return the talismans (and myself) to their rightful places, restoring the balance that has been disturbed.

Talking About Religion

2004-11-09T09:50:00.000-05:00

As I mentioned in a previous post, Hooch, my boss and roommate here, is a devout Catholic. As I thought about what it would be like to work closely with him, I realized that I have really never had a theological discussion with anyone who’s not UU! My attitude used to be that religion and spirituality are personal, private matters that weren’t necessarily open for discussion – you know the old saw about religion and politics.

In the last few years, however, my religious and political views have expanded, to say the least. I have enjoyed theological discussions with other UUs, usually because we have similar philosophies, but always because we operate within the same framework of respect for each others’ personal beliefs and affirmation of the primacy of relationship over creed. I wondered, then, what would it be like to have an open religious discussion with a religious conservative? Would it even be possible? Last night I had the opportunity to find out.

It all started yesterday because Hooch had hung a crucifix in our common work space. He also displays a crucifix in our tent, which doesn’t bother me a bit, but I found it very inappropriate to have that symbol in our "office," which is anything but private. I asked him to take it down, and to consider how he might feel if I were to hang a pentacle on the wall, for example. I expected this to draw a strong reaction, but it didn’t! He said that wouldn’t bother him personally, but he could see how it might offend someone (as might his symbol), and he took down the crucifix.

This exchange was the beginning of a very interesting conversation about religion, which I am sure will be continued. He was curious, as might be expected, about Unitarian Universalism. He asked "are all UUs agnostic? How could you be otherwise and be UU?" That was a perfect opening for me to tell him about the individual UUs I’ve met who practice Christianity, Buddhism, Atheism, and Wicca. He could see the Christianity and Buddhism, but was a bit skeptical about the others.

Of course he asked me about my theology, so I told him I currently practice "Spiritual Humanist Taoist Paganism," which of course led to a discussion of what that meant, and some explanations of Taoism and Paganism. I should have just called it "Panentheism" and been done with it. I thought his next question was very astute: "How many other UUs have the same beliefs?" Of course I was happy to say "I don’t know, probably none!"

Our discussion then turned to what he conceived as a competition among religious beliefs. For example, to believe as a Muslim does that Jesus was a prophet, but not the Son of God, Messiah, and Lord, is heresy to a Catholic. Likewise, a fundamentalist Muslim declaims the infidel unbeliever. His thesis was that if there is Absolute Truth (he thinks there is), then there can be only one right answer. If Christianity is "right," then Islam is "wrong," and vice versa. To illustrate this concept, he used the example of a green car. Even if you call it blue, it’s still green, because there is Absolute Truth about colors. It can’t be green and blue at the same time.

But who defines the colors? I argued that in my opinion, humans have created all religions in order to express the inexpressible essential nature of the universe, which can be called God, Allah, Yahweh, Buddha, Goddess, Tao... If there is Absolute Truth, then it must surely be the same for the entire Universe (UNI = one!). You can call it green, and I can call it blue; what if it’s really purple?

Night Life

2004-11-08T09:49:00.000-05:00

Here at Kalsu I am the Assistant Airboss, which means I work the night shift (the Airboss, a LtCol, works during the day). It’s been a long time since I’ve consistently been up late at night (much less all night), and I have found a mix of the interesting and different, along with the lonely, tedious and boring.

Although I am now gainfully employed (as opposed to my previous life of leisure), I am far from busy. Being the airboss is not very taxing, especially at night; in the course of my 12-hour shift, I’ll have about an hour or two of actual work. The rest of the time is spent waiting for things to happen or trying to be proactive about things that are coming up. I try to fill the waiting time with reading, web surfing, journaling, writing posts, and practicing my guitar. So far I have had trouble concentrating on reading and writing thanks to the fatigue of adjusting to this new schedule.

So what takes up the 2 hours of actual work? I am essentially a central coordinator and information manager for the air operations at the FOB. I coordinate and facilitate the air support provided to the ground units by our aircraft, and function as an extension of the Marine Aircraft Wing’s Tactical Air Command Center. I spend a fair amount of time on the phone and computer communicating with various people and agencies here and throughout the area.

In becoming a night owl, I’ve realized just how dark it can be here at Kalsu. There are no streetlights, vehicle lights, or white lights of any kind. There is starlight and occasionally moonlight, but when cloudy it is pitch black. As I walk along, people come and go like ghosts. It’s actually more attractive, not being able to see the mud, vehicles, and barriers. Unfortunately it’s also easier to step in puddles, wander off the road, and run into things. With "light discipline" in effect, a small colored light is OK, and is usually enough to keep me out of trouble. Coming out of a brightly lighted tent or chow hall, however, leaves me without any dark adaptation, and thus pretty blind for a few minutes. I have some scratches and bruises from running into things, and when it was raining I stepped into a calf-deep puddle.

An interesting side effect of the eyes’ decreased nighttime acuity is the brain’s compensation with other senses, such as hearing. Sounds seem to be magnified at night, and I’ve noticed some noises I hadn’t heard during the day. For one, the A/C unit in the Internet Café tent makes a periodic squeaking noise that sounds uncannily like a field full of spring peepers! At first I thought there were actually some frogs brought forth by the recent rains. I was somewhat disappointed to realize it was not – my son would be very interested to hear about frogs in the desert. The other sound I’ve noticed is a repetitive clanking noise like a blacksmith’s hammering. I’m not sure what it is – perhaps a pump or engine of some kind.

Even the food is backwards at night - I eat dinner for breakfast (Saturday it was lobster tail) and breakfast for dinner. Lunch, if I want it, is called "mid-rats" (midnight rations), and it's usually the same food as dinner.

One aspect of this job I hadn’t anticipated was the loneliness. There is really nobody else around most of the night. I would have thought that as a lifelong introvert I would appreciate all the solitude, but what do you know – I’m lonely! Maybe I’m not such an introvert any more...

The Whos in the What

2004-11-06T09:45:00.000-05:00

One of the most rewarding aspects of this experience has been the great variety of people I’ve met. I have had conversations with Marines of all ranks and occupational specialties, who hail from all around the country. Some of them are glad to be here, some are not, but all of them want to “get the job done” (whatever that means to them) and go home. Amen.

I’ve already mentioned Otis, one of my early roommates, to whom I felt some kinship in many ways. So far, he is the only other person I’ve met and talked to who is not a fervent Bush supporter (but there must be others here; remember the porta-john graffiti?). Unfortunately, he has long since departed for his FOB and I’ve only heard from him once via e-mail.

Chuckles was my roommate during most of my stay at Al Asad. He is a father of three children, a dedicated Marine officer, and a quiet sleeper (most of the time). He is also a passed-over major, but he’s been a “charter member of the Order of the Golden Oak Leaf” for a few more years than I. Interestingly, he seems not at all put out to be here, although he is set to retire next summer.

Chuckles and I have had many conversations walking to and from chow or the PX. His outlook is generally what I would call “mainstream Marine,” which means he is pro-Bush, a hunter, and a sports fan. However, he is religiously open-minded, having grown up in a Catholic family and being married to a Jewish woman. His professed religion is “troutism.” This reminded me of a friend (named Jim) who claimed to belong to the “Church of Jim.”

Here at Kalsu, my co-worker/boss/roommate is a reservist whose callsign is Hooch, a self-described “devout conservative Catholic somewhat to the right of Attila the Hun.” When he found out I am a UU, his comment was “so why do Unitarians go to church, anyway?” He is also very funny and gregarious, and the longer I know him the better I like him. He has six children, with one on the way, and seems very devoted to his family. It should be an interesting experience living and working with him.

I have also met many folks whose names I don’t remember, like the two enlisted reservists from Southern California who are in the security battalion. They left their jobs at Sam’s Club and Staples to spend 6 to 8 hours in every 24 up in a guard tower, locked and loaded, ready to repel “the enemy.” I am glad they are there. One evening I ate dinner with two young captains who are excited to be flying helicopters in combat on their first deployment. I met some young Marines from the Wing Band, who are here guarding the HQ area. They will be playing at the Marine Corps Birthday celebration next week. I heard two of them practicing their trumpets, and stopped to chat. Here at Kalsu I have talked to some Marines who go out in the surrounding towns on foot patrols, and man checkpoints on a nearby highway. They tell me that most of the locals are afraid of the insurgents and glad we are here.

The military may be a “what,” but it’s full of “whos,” each one unique and important.

Changes in Latitude, Changes in Attitude

2004-11-04T09:38:00.000-05:00

After nearly three weeks of living large and staying busy with nothing at Al Asad, here I am at FOB Kalsu, presumably my home for the remainder of my deployment.

Kalsu is south of Al Asad, so it’s a bit warmer. Thankfully we are entering the cooler part of the year, so it’s not a huge change. The “attitude” here, however, is very different! Al Asad felt a lot like a base in the US, like 29 Palms or Yuma, but certainly not much like a war zone. Here, however, it definitely feels like we’re at war.

For one thing, as I wrote about in my previous post “Fear,” we get shot at. Not all the time, or even every day, but often enough to keep us on our toes. The “incoming” is indirect fire, or IDF, typically mortars or rockets. The threat of IDF leads to the difference in attitude.

Now I walk around with my flak jacket and helmet all the time. They feel much more comfortable (and comforting?) since my one experience with rounds landing nearby. Besides wearing helmet and flak, it is nice to be able to take cover from IDF, so there are concrete and sandbag bunkers spread throughout the FOB. As I go about my business, I am always on the lookout for the nearest one. I don’t want to waste my time deciding which way to go – I just want to go. In addition to the bunkers, there are concrete barricades just about everywhere you look. We have “Texas” barriers (big) and “Alaska” barriers (bigger).

The amenities here are a little less grand than Al Asad, but still a lot better than I expected to find in Iraq. There is no store or movie theater, but just about everything else. The showers are actually nicer, and there are more of them. Water seems to be in short supply, however. I now live in a tent rather than a “tin can,” which is a mixed blessing; I have more room, but a little less privacy. The chow hall is smaller, but the food seems about the same.

And then there’s the mud. It started raining the night we arrived, and by the time it was done two days later, it’s a sticky mess here. This is industrial strength mud, the kind that sticks to the bottom of your boots 4” thick when you squish through it. It is amazing how quickly the “moon dust” turned into “gumbo mud.”

Learn more about FOB Kalsu.

Election Day

2004-11-02T09:37:00.000-05:00

“Never underestimate the power of a few committed people to change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”

-Margaret Mead

Happy Election Day! No matter who you vote for, please vote. Democracy is not a spectator sport.

As you go to the polls, remember that the government has great power (and a great responsibility, in my opinion) to do good in the world. Regardless of who wins the election, it is up to people of conscience to hold our elected leaders accountable for the actions they take in our names.

A Black Sheep in Wolves' Clothing

2004-10-30T08:33:00.000-05:00

One of my most vivid childhood memories is of sitting with my father at a campground near Kearney, Nebraska, and asking him “why am I so different?” I don’t recall his answer.

This feeling of being different, of not being one of the crowd, has been a common theme throughout my life in the military. I have never been of the “ooh-rah, kill, kill, blood makes the grass grow” mindset, and frankly I’m very thankful that all the bombs I dropped as a Harrier pilot were on practice targets and not other people. This, if nothing else, sets me apart from my peers (or at least my perception of my peers).

In late 2001, three things happened that fundamentally changed my self-awareness, my view of the world, and my attitude toward my career as a Marine. The first event was the terrorist attacks of September 11. I was appalled, shocked, and saddened by this carnage, but at the same time I was encouraged by the worldwide outpouring of support and sympathy: “we are all Americans now.” I had high hopes that our national response would be reasoned, careful, and proportionate. It seemed to me we had an historic opportunity to create a new paradigm of global cooperation and unity, or that we should at least try not to squander this newfound goodwill. The last few years have shown otherwise.

A month after 9/11, my daughter was born. It seemed like an act of faith to bring this fragile new life into the world, not that we had any choice by then. What kind of world were my children to grow up in? What was I doing to make it a better place for them, and for all children? It was a scary time to be a parent, but my wife and I committed ourselves to raising our children with love and joy rather than with fear and hatred.

The seminal occurrence in this trio of events was when I walked through the doors of a Unitarian Universalist sanctuary for the first time. It was like coming home - I had finally found something I didn’t even know I was searching for. By the simple step (but a leap for me) of going to church, I began a journey of self-discovery. I reawakened a spirituality and social conscience that had been lying quietly inside me as I cruised, unpondering, through the years. I didn’t know it at the time, but walking through those doors would totally change the trajectory of my life.

During this period of growth and change, I was a student at the Naval Postgraduate School (NPS). Although of course I spent time in class and studying, I had lots of time for my family, my congregation, and myself. It was a tremendous opportunity to devote myself to my own personal spiritual growth and my expanding role as a father, and to learn how to be part of a community of faith. I also read and learned, developing a new perspective on history, politics, and war.

As I grew more fully into awareness of myself and a different understanding of my military legacy, I began to seriously question my life and career as a Marine. What on earth drove me to go to the Naval Academy and become a Marine jet pilot? Why did I stick with it for so long? How could I reconcile my evolving values and beliefs with my military profession?

This internal questioning intensified into the spring of 2003, to the point where I seriously explored applying for Conscientious Objector (CO) status. I decided not to for several reasons. It is a long process that the military has made intentionally difficult, especially for officers. It could have also made life difficult for my family, and if I were discharged, I would have served over 15 years with nothing to show for it. Finally, even being given CO status wouldn’t keep me from being deployed in a “noncombatant” role, which in the Marine Corps only means someone whose primary role is not as a “trigger puller.” The reality of Marines in occupied Iraq, of course, is that everyone is a potential combatant.

In the end, after much deliberation, I decided that the best case outcome of applying for CO status was not worth the risk of the worst case. I found an uneasy equilibrium between the two aspects of my life - my values and my profession – and hoped for the best. I figured that given my current situation (graduate school followed by a 3-year payback tour at Headquarters Marine Corps), it was unlikely that I would be deployed, and the best thing for my family would be to avoid the uncertainties of the CO application process and outcome.

Obviously I figured wrong, and here I am, a black sheep in wolves’ clothing.

On Its Stomach

2004-10-28T08:24:00.000-05:00

Napoleon reportedly started the rumor that “an army marches on its stomach.” That is certainly true of the Marine Corps; food and eating are a central part of life here at Al Asad.

The chow hall experience is a unique blend of fast food, all-you-can-eat buffet, and fine dining. Every meal starts with standing in line – of course, this IS the military. But one has to decide WHICH line – the “main line” or the “snack line.” The snack line, sometimes called the “speed line,” is the fast food line, offering hamburgers, hot dogs, pizza, chicken wings, picnic fare, sandwiches, and the like. It is fairly popular, both because most of the Marines here are under 21, and because the snack line is usually shorter than the main line. But there’s a secret: the main line actually feeds two serving lines, so it moves twice as fast as the “speed line!”

Upon entering the “main line” side of the chow hall, one encounters a person I call the “maitre d’ chow hall.” This person is typically a Third Country National (TCN in military parlance), someone who is neither American nor Iraqi, hired by KBR. The maitre d’ directs diners to one of the two serving lines, presumably the one that is shorter.

After a short time in the second line, the diner picks up a tray and plastic utensils, then is offered a choice of meat, rice and/or potatoes, and vegetables. The servers occasionally know what “just a little bit” means, but typically I end up with more than I want. Surprisingly, I have been able to eat vegequarian (fish and seafood but no meat; if it has feet, I don’t eat) pretty well here. There’s always tuna fish.

There is a salad bar with green salad fixings, various pasta salads, and sometimes fruit; then comes the ever-popular dessert section. There are almost always cookies, usually cake or pie, and lately ice cream (strawberry, vanilla, and chocolate) every night. Drinks consist of boxed juice and milk, canned soda, water, and coffee.

We sit and eat cafeteria style, and because we’re Americans, there are six TV’s on at all times, usually with sports or news. My roommate Chuck is typically my dining partner, and we always sit so he can see at least one screen. The presence of TV is one of the least appealing aspects of mealtime.

Upon finishing, the now sated diner takes her or his tray outside, where all refuse is dumped in trash cans. No recycling or composting here – out to the dump to be burned for our trash.

The good: crab legs, ice cream, chocolate cake.
The bad: roasted garlic mashed potatoes.
The ugly: soup, and anything from the speed line.

Reportedly, there is a Taco Bell franchise opening at the PX soon (really, I saw the sign!). Maybe that will take some of the pressure off the chow hall and the lines will be shorter.

Culture Wars, Part II

2004-10-28T08:15:00.000-05:00

Hopefully it is obvious that my comments about Marine Corps culture are generalities, and don’t apply to EVERY single Marine I know; as in any organization, there is a wide spectrum of individuals. I am trying to compare and contrast the most obvious large-scale, cultural differences between the Marine Corps and Unitarian Universalism.

Marine Corps culture is bursting with machismo – what else do you expect when a bunch of men (and very few women) are living in close quarters, carrying guns around, and “keeping the world safe for democracy?” Not to mention flying and maintaining airplanes, shooting big guns (artillery), driving around in tanks and armored vehicles, and kicking in doors and capturing “bad guys.” No room for sissies here. Don’t even think about expressing support for John Kerry or any Democrat, questioning the wisdom of President Bush and the “war on terra,” or wondering if we’re doing the right thing here in Iraq. At least not in public – in private, you might find some surprisingly thoughtful and sensitive people.

There are also some genuinely humorous aspects of this culture, especially in Marine Aviation. Take callsigns, for example. Every aviator has a callsign, or nickname, which is typically related to an aspect of his or her physiognomy or personality, a personal blunder or embarrassment, or just a play on the person’s name. For example, the short pilot from Idaho called “Spud.” The overly anal person who researches every purchase for weeks is called “Nader.” The pilot with the large nose is known as “Beak” or “Rhino.” Someone who cannot speak intelligibly on the radio is called “Mumbles.” The pilot who runs a jet off the runway into the dirt: “Baja.” It goes on and on. Woe betide the aviator who tries to select his own callsign (usually a cool one like “Maverick” or “Shooter”) – you can be sure he’ll soon be called something like “Gelding” or “Pea.” It’s funny, but it can be mean-spirited.

I have been away from the Marine Corps culture for years now, and it was a bit of a shock initially to be thrust back into it. I have never felt totally a part of this culture, and now it is interesting to be in it but not totally of it, aware of the difference, and intentional in how I relate to it. My personal growth in the last few years has given me a humble appreciation of other people and my relationships with them, and I am amazed and heartened by how much I like and admire the Marines with whom I am serving. I think many of them are misguided and misinformed about the world, and my worldview is totally different from that of the majority. But they are so wonderfully human, so dedicated to each other and the mission, that I cannot help but love them. My ministry here is to bear witness and live my values. Perhaps I can be a little bit of oil in the machine.

Fear

2004-10-27T08:16:00.000-05:00

We’ve got nothing to fear but fear itself –
Not pain not failure not fatal tragedy
Not the faulty units in this mad machinery
Not the broken contacts in emotional chemistry

Lyrics by Rush, from “The Weapon – Part II of Fear.” Franklin Delano Roosevelt used words to those in the first line in his first inaugural address, during the depths of the Great Depression in 1933. But what is fear?

In the last few weeks I’ve experienced a recurring cycle of anxiety that goes like this: It starts as a vague, nameless dread. Then it builds to a constriction in the throat, a hollow feeling in the stomach, and a feeling of fatigue. It is hard to think, sit still, or concentrate. Eventually it goes away, often very abruptly, leaving a feeling of giddy relief and uncontrollable, inappropriate mirth. The root of this anxiety, this fear, is the uncertainty of facing an unknown situation.

We say we “fear” many things: death, pain, suffering, solitude, and separation from loved ones. I think we fear the unknown aspects of these situations, rather than the situations themselves. Take death, for example: everyone knows she or he will eventually die, but nobody really knows what death is. Thus there is no fear of death; there is a fear of the uncertainty of death. Many people find solace from this fear in religious assurances of eternal life with God, Jesus, or Allah, or of being reborn in a new body. Some take the view that death leads to nothing, or to endless sleep. Of course for those who REALLY want something to be afraid of, there are the eternal fires of Hell. UUs need not apply.

Any imagined situation causing fear becomes real and present when it is experienced, and then it can be dealt with. When the imagined situation becomes reality, the original fear can be overcome. Any remaining fear is of uncertainty about the future. In an extreme situation, this becomes cyclic, with each successive round of uncertainty resulting in a lower level of anxiety.

For example, when I first found out I was being sent to Iraq, I was overcome by anxiety and disbelief – this was my worst possible nightmare. By the time I left home, with the knowledge that I would be in San Diego for a while, much of the initial uncertainty was gone; I was in the “it’s just another deployment; I’ll do my time and come home” mindset. As my departure from California approached, the anxiety returned. What would Iraq be like? Would I be scared? Would there be constant danger? Upon arrival here, the reality was honestly pretty mundane, compared to what I had imagined.

The latest stage of this cycle has been anxiety about going to a FOB where there were reportedly more frequent indirect fire attacks. Was it really more dangerous? What would I do if I were wounded? What would it be like during a mortar attack? During my recent FOB visit, I got an answer to the third question sooner than I expected.

I had spent the morning with a young helicopter pilot who was showing us around, briefing us on the area, and telling us what to do in case of an indirect fire attack. “Always hit the deck – that’s the safest place. If the rounds are far away, run for a bunker. If they’re close, stay down until the last impact and then run for a bunker.” We went to lunch early because the previous day, the chow hall had been attacked at the end of the lunch hour.

We stood in line; me feeling very exposed, and then once we got our food we sat down to eat. It’s a little awkward eating with a flak jacket on, but that’s the way it goes. As I started to eat, it occurred to me to ask “so, what do we do if we start taking fire in here?” The good captain replied “same as outside – hit the deck, get your helmet on, and wait for the stampede out the back door to end. Once it clears out, we run for the bunkers.” OK, sounds reasonable.

Less than a minute later I got to practice this procedure, because BOOM BOOM, the mortar shells started landing pretty close to where we were sitting. I have a vivid memory of everyone around me diving to the deck like stringless marionettes, and then I was fumbling to get my helmet strap fastened as the rounds kept falling. There seemed to be a lull in the impacts, so we scrambled outside and dived into the crowded bunkers. I felt like laughing hysterically with the release of adrenaline and the knowledge that I was OK. At that moment I finally felt like I was in a war zone. My helmet and flak never felt so comfortable.

There were casualties, but no fatalities. One of the tents belonging to some pilots took a hit, messing up their stuff pretty well. It could have been worse. There are lots of Marines and soldiers who go through this, and more, on a daily basis.

Now that I know what a mortar attack is like, most of my anxiety is gone. I know what to expect, what to do, and how to stay as safe as possible. Having let go of the fear, I can be open to truly experiencing everything else that happens without being ruled by uncertainty and anxiety about the outcome.

There are three common themes to the resolution of my fears in these cycles of anxiety: first, the reality is never as bad as the imagined unknown. The fear is all in me! Second, in each iteration of the cycle, my level of uncertainty about the situation (and thus the amount of fear about it) declined. Finally, I did not go through any of this alone. In every case, there were at least a couple of other people going through the same thing, and we drew strength from each other.

There is nothing to fear but the fear of facing the unknown alone. Overcome uncertainty with knowledge and community, let go of the fear, and you free yourself to live your life intentionally and with joy.

The Goat Rodeo

2004-10-24T08:14:00.000-05:00

Perhaps you’ve heard of a Goat Rope? Imagine a Goat Rope of epic proportions – now you have a Goat Rodeo. That’s what it can be like traveling around these parts.

I recently made a trip out to the FOB where I’ll eventually be working. Our flight out of Al Asad was to be by helicopter, at night, as most passenger flights are (for safety reasons). We showed up at the passenger terminal at the appointed time, and we weren’t on “the list.” Oh, wait; yes, we were listed as cargo. Now that that’s straightened out, we go to “the Phoenix C-Hut” to wait for the helo. The Phoenix C-Hut is a long plywood structure with a phoenix painted over the door. After waiting until about 30 minutes after our flight was due to leave, our names are called and we load our gear on a Humvee and proceed out to the flightline. We stop, and dutifully unload our gear. “You’re not getting out here,” says the sergeant driving the Humvee, so back in goes our gear. We wait a while, and then drive out to the helicopters sitting nearby, rotors turning. Once again, we unload our gear and get out, and the driver and the crew chief have a short conversation shouted over the rotor noise. Oops, not our flight! Back in the Humvee, back to the Phoenix C-Hut. We wait some more. Finally we get back in the Humvee (our gear stayed there this time) and proceed back to the flightline, where we sit. And sit. And sit. Finally, we go to the helos (another pair) sitting there, and unload again. Another conversation with the crew chief ensues. Yay! It’s our flight! On we go, and off we go to the FOB.

Coming back from the FOB was similarly eventful. To begin with, our original flight gets cancelled due to a big dust storm at Al Asad. We have to wait until the next night. We make a stop at an intermediate airport and it turns out the helo we are on has some mechanical problems, so we get out with all our gear, stand around for 15 minutes, and get on another helo. We take off, immediately turn around, and land right where we just took off. What’s going on? Now the other helo in the flight has a blown tire and they have to fix that, which takes about 45 minutes. Back on the helo, and off we go...to land at another part of the same airport! And sit, and sit and sit, until finally we load some cargo and off we go. In short order, we’re back here at Al Asad, two hours late, and all the goats are back in the pen. Until next time.

Culture Wars, Part I

2004-10-23T08:13:00.000-05:00

One of the biggest changes in my life since beginning this adventure has been an abrupt reintroduction to Marine Corps culture. This is distinctly different from UU culture, which is essentially socially liberal and humanistic. At the core of UU culture is a respect and tolerance, if not acceptance, of other people and their diversity. Marine Corps culture is primarily about mission accomplishment and taking care of those who wear the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor.

Although the Marine Corps pays lip service to respectful treatment of all others, it is common to hear Marines mock or belittle those who are not like “us.” Outright homophobia is common. Being religious = being Christian. Politics? Republican, of course. The norm of behavior and expressed opinion is generally white, heterosexual male, middle class, Christian, conservative, and nationalistic. Most Marines would never question the premise that we as Americans have the right to do whatever we like here in Iraq, because we are the world’s only remaining superpower. This xenophobia is expressed, perhaps unconsciously, in the derogatory term “haji” used by many to describe Iraqis or other Middle Easterners. This word comes from the same place of intolerance and dehumanization as the labels “Jap,” “Kraut,” “Gook,” and “Red” from past conflicts. A crucial step in defining the “enemy” is to make him “the other” – something less than human. These labels, combined with our willful ignorance of other cultures, contribute to this process.

Despite the intolerance for the “other,” there is a strong sense of community among Marines. There has to be, given the life-or-death consequences of unit cohesion in combat. A tremendous bond develops among people who share danger and risk on a daily basis. The strength of the Marine is the Corps, and the strength of the Corps is the Marine.

This bond, this camaraderie, this team spirit, is reflected in an obsession with sports, competition, and sports analogies. “Let’s keep our eye on the ball and accomplish the mission.” “That was a varsity move, Maverick.” “Put your game face on and get to it.” “We really hit a home run with that mission.” This obsession is no mystery – violent team sports are a form of mock combat, which has been around for centuries. Boxing evokes "single warrior combat" - and we have the Friday Night Fights Here. Combat and violent sports draw on the same energy and feed the same desires. It’s a two-way street, reflecting a violent national culture, and perhaps a violent human nature.

The Mundane and the Ridiculous

2004-10-21T15:00:00.000-05:00

It has occurred to me that very little of what I have been writing has been of the mundane, day-to-day activities I’m involved in, so I thought I would dedicate a brief post to that.
I don’t have a job, per se, because I’m just waiting around to head out to my FOB. Despite that, I’ve managed to stay busy, and can honestly say I haven’t been at all bored since I’ve been here. How do I pass the time?

First of all, there’s sleeping. This is a great activity to pass the time, and as I learned during a previous shipboard deployment, if you sleep 12 hours a day, the float’s only half as long! I have been getting at least 8 hours a night, with an afternoon nap most days.

Next, food: a popular shipboard routine is to “sleep ‘til you’re hungry and eat ‘til you’re tired.” I’m not quite there yet, but working on it. Mealtime here at Al Asad usually involves a walk; at least it does if you want to eat at the chow hall. It’s about a 15 minute walk each way, plus 5 – 10 minutes standing in line, and 30 minutes to an hour to eat (depending on the quality of the conversation), and you can see that this takes up a lot of time. I’ve only been eating lunch on days when I was already in the part of the base near the chow hall, because the walk is not very pleasant in the heat of the day.

Phone calls, computer work, and the Internet can take up hours if you work it right. I typically write my posts in my “can” on my laptop, offline (as I’m doing now), then when I get the chance, plug in to the Internet connection in the computer room (“Internet Café” as they call it) and upload the post and pictures. Add time for surfing alternative news sites, writing e-mail, and calling home, and a few more hours are gone.

Although there are many bikes around, I have not had the urge to get one. It would be a bit of hassle due to my short stay here, and the walking is fine. I have ridden the “bike to nowhere” several times (stationary exercise bike in the gym), which gives me an opportunity to read some of the magazines I brought with me, besides exercise. Speaking of bikes, the only helmets I’ve seen around are on a shelf in the PX, which doesn’t do anybody’s skull much good.

One of the highlights of my day (besides eating and sleeping) is the hour or so when I break out my guitar and learn new chords, work on songs from the book “Rise Up Singing,” and try to teach myself how to fingerpick. Guitar playing has become a spiritual practice and an emotional release, and I don’t feel like a day is complete without it.

Of course there is about an hour a day dedicated to personal hygiene – shaving, showering, and other activities. I even got a haircut today! As you can see from the picture, I won’t need another one for quite some time.

Wow, writing this post has made me tired. I think I’d better take a nap until it cools off a bit. TTFN!

Another Day at the Lion

2004-10-18T14:51:00.000-05:00

Saturday: Today I walked around the base. A lot. I got a ride up to the flight line, and visited my old squadron. There were only 4 people there I knew – it made me feel like an old has-been. After my visit, I walked back down to the main part of the base.

As I walked around, I wondered what it must have been like as an Iraqi pilot, say about 2 or 3 years ago. I wonder if there was so much trash all around, and the buildings in such disrepair. Or was it well kept, with grass on all the areas which are just sand now? There are sprinklers in some of the sandy areas, and I’ve heard that it was all grassy at one point. Just like in Yuma, you can grow anything in sand if you water and fertilize it enough.

During my walking tour I also saw lots of “wall art” – paintings and murals that I thought were interesting – as well as an old Soviet antiaircraft gun.

I read an article today about a recent poll indicating that military personnel had a more favorable view of President Bush than the general public. This is not surprising, given that 1) most military folks are on the conservative side – Republicans outnumber Democrats 2 to 1, 2) Fox News, the unofficial mouthpiece and war cheerleader of the RNC and the Bush Administration, is the network of choice in many military offices (including here), and 3) most people don’t pay attention to or honestly think about what’s going on, and their beliefs are shaped by what they hear from the hardliners around them and on TV (mostly conservative). Still, even given these advantages, Bush’s favorable rating was only about 70%.

The poll also indicated that service members have a rosier perception of the economy than the general public – easy to do when you have great job security with the “war on terror.” I know I’ve never really worried about the economy for personal reasons. If a poll were taken of military members who got out, the results might be different.

Monday: Today I had the opportunity for a driving tour of the “outer” parts of the base, away from the area where I’ve been able to walk around. I got to see the old dump, with MiG-25 and tracked vehicle carcasses, and the new dump, where they burn all those plastic bottles. Also on the agenda were some of the interesting hangers built into cliffsides. All and all it was a fascinating tour. The fellow giving the tour told me this base was built in the 1980’s, bombed during Desert Storm, and subjected to “deferred maintenance” in the 1990’s due to the less than stellar performance of the Iraqi Air Force in the 1991 war. In fact, this was not even an active base in last year’s war, so it was not targeted. The present dilapidation is mostly due to neglect, not war.

This is a huge base, with lots of facilities. I will be surprised if we ever totally pull out of here – I have read that the Bush administration’s goal is to have permanent bases in Iraq, and this is some prime real estate. Some “white man’s burden,” eh? In case you wondered, Al Asad means “the lion” in Arabic.

Conversations With Otis

2004-10-16T14:49:00.000-05:00

I have been very fortunate during my time here to have made a friend with whom I have much in common: we are both twice passed over majors who were sent here involuntarily (yes, some people volunteer to come here); we have been Marine for almost exactly the same amount of time and have been promoted (and passed over) on exactly the same dates; we have many common friends and acquaintances; and we both enjoy complaining about being here and the Marine Corps in general. As someone once said, “a Marine’s not happy unless he’s complaining.”

In my personal spiritual evolution over the past few years, I have come to realize how important the sharing of personal stories is both to our understanding of ourselves and our appreciation of other people. My friend Otis and I have had many very enjoyable conversations walking to and from the chow hall or waiting for “the word” over the past few days. In telling my stories to him, I gain insight and understanding of myself, relive past experiences (both positive and negative), and see these experiences and my reactions to them in new ways. In listening to his stories, I vicariously share his experiences, wonder how I would have reacted in the same situations, and gain appreciation and understanding of who he is on a deeper level.

One thing we talked about which I found very thought-provoking and useful was his story of the Marine Corps as a “what,” not a “who.” The Corps is a machine, a clockwork device made of chains, pulleys, gears, and cogs, grinding along its way. It is designed to operate efficiently and effectively, but due to its flawed inputs (fallible humans) it is often wasteful and ineffective.

Another characteristic of the Marine Corps “machine” is its Cookie Cutter Nature. Cookie Cutter Nature operates on the rule that all Marines of the same grade, time in service, specialty, etc., are the same, and can be used interchangeably as inputs to the machine. Obviously this is not so; humans are all different, regardless of how similar their experiences and backgrounds. Ker-chunk. The cogs grind along, sometimes effectively, sometimes not. Ker-chunk. The machine tries to cut out identical cookies from different batches of dough, often with predictably poor results.

Occasionally, someone will reach down into the machine and pluck another out of the cogs before disaster strikes. This is called “effective leadership.” Personal commitment and caring for fellow humans are at its core. It is rare.

Sand Storms, Water Outages, and Other Perils of War

2004-10-15T14:46:00.000-05:00

The past two days have seen a sand storm, a water outage, and an ineffective rocket attack (just when I said we hadn’t been attacked). Life goes on here in the Wild West.
Yes, it’s wild here, and it’s definitely Marlboro country, so I’m just glad that smoking is prohibited inside and within 50 feet of buildings. Everyone walks around “packing heat,” and I wonder if there have been any incidents resulting from such a well-armed society. Maybe the gun advocates are right – if everyone had guns, there would be less gun violence. I doubt it. This is a controlled situation with well-trained people who respect their weapons. Another interesting thing is a widespread disregard of stop signs, particularly among the non-American workers. It would be a shame to be run over by the porta-john sucker, so you better look carefully before crossing the intersection!

The sand storm blew up rather quickly, first noticeable as an indistinct brown cloud in the sky, then quickly filling the air. A person could taste and smell the dust, even inside, as it got thicker. The light faded from the sky, and I was reminded of accounts I’ve read of dust storms during the Great Depression that turned day into night. It wasn’t quite that bad, and it didn’t last very long.

Speaking of stuff in the air, I’ve observed two things since being “in country” that have made me think about the environmental impacts of our presence here. Much has been made of the effects of unexploded ordnance, depleted uranium, and burning oil wells, but there are some smaller scale effects too. First of all, we go through hundreds if not thousands of plastic bottles of water every day. I bet not one of them is recycled, and many of them may be burned, releasing toxic chemicals into the air. A lot of them end up on the ground, stuck under concertina wire, or in the porta-johns. Not a pretty sight. Whatever’s left over surely goes into a landfill, to sit for thousands of years. Do plastic bottles ever decompose? Second, there are lots of diesel trucks and generators, sending up a constant stream of particulate-laden exhaust. This surely contributes to making this an unhealthy place to live. Who knows what other lovely things are in the air and soil? Maybe I should start wearing a respirator, especially during sandstorms.

Yesterday evening (soon after I took a shower, thankfully) I heard that the showers had been secured due to a water shortage/outage. I also heard that “the enemy” had actually destroyed part of the water pipeline serving the base, but I don’t know if that’s true or not. What I do know is that there are a bunch of STINKY Marines running around now, with temps in the 90’s and a whole lotta sweatin’ goin’ on. Yuck. We are pretty spoiled – one of my new friends related a story about some helicopter pilots in Vietnam who had so little water that when it rained, they would run outside naked with a bar of soap and lather up! At least all of our technological advancement has made life better in some ways, and not just made us more efficient at killing each other.

Today’s other bit of excitement was a (hardly noticeable) rocket attack, the only evidence of which I saw was a cloud of brownish smoke floating in the air. I didn’t hear any explosions so I’m not sure what really happened. I’m not too eager to see a rocket or mortar attack up close. Keep your fingers crossed.

Welcome To Al Asad, Where John Kerry is a Popular Guy (updated)

2004-10-14T14:25:00.000-05:00

Alas, I am not staying here in the desert paradise, but I'm heading out to a FOB within the next week. In true Marine Corps fashion, it is not the one to which I had planned on going. The good news is that it should only be for two or three months. I will give more details about that in a subsequent post. I should have many of the same amenities there, the most important of which is an Internet connection!

Thanks to everyone who is visiting this site (38 hits since yesterday!) and especially those who respond. I answer each and every e-mail I get, so don't be afraid to write! Just be patient as it may take me a while due to uncontrollable circumstances.

*** Original Post 10/13 ***

“Kerry 4 Prez” - “You idiot! We’d have four more years of a Communist for president, just like Clinton” - “He’s a coward” - “No he’s a veteran just like us”

This is one example of the “dialogue” I’ve seen written in several of the porta-johns here in Iraq, but more on that later!

Compared to Camp Victory in Kuwait, Al Asad Air Base, Iraq is a veritable paradise. I am currently living in “Tin Can City,” a cluster of small trailer-like buildings called “cans,” each of which houses two people. I am in a “double wide” with three other majors. I have a lot in common in many respects with one of them, and I hope to develop a close relationship. We all get along great and it’s been fun to have some camaraderie without too much “oohrah.” None of us really wants to be here, but we’re making the best of it.

The amenities here are pretty good, considering we’re in a combat zone. There are 6 "comfort trailers" nearby with hot showers and toilets (unfortunately these are not operational), and porta-johns everywhere. There is a large chow hall that serves good food three times a day, including fairly fresh fruit and vegetables. Most of the prepared food (sodas, chips, bottled water, etc.) comes from Kuwait or Saudi Arabia, but it’s good. The chow hall is contractor run, presumably by Kellogg Brown and Root (KBR, a subsidiary of Halliburton, awarded many no-bid contracts), and employs people who are not Americans but not Iraquis. I am curious what nationality they are – before coming here, I had read about KBR hiring Pakistanis and Indians to work here rather than locals, which caused a big flap.

There is also an exchange (store), a movie theater, and a “local market” where Iraquis sell local stuff, presumably. I have yet to visit that. There are also 2 or 3 gyms and a swimming pool! The pool is being repaired and will supposedly be operational soon. That is good news (if I stay here) because I hate running and don’t have my bike.

It would be good to stay here, and there is a chance that I will. I may still be sent out to a Forward Operating Base (FOB); I should find out where I’m going this evening.

About those porta-johns! I have never seen political commentary in one before, but there are several I’ve visited that have “vote John Kerry” and “Bush is a misleader” type graffiti. It’s reassuring to see that not everyone here is a right-wing zealot. After seeing the signs on the soda machines in California, I wasn’t sure (see previous post, “Traveling in the Belly of the Beast”).

Traveling in the Belly of the Beast

2004-10-12T14:23:00.000-05:00

Like most military evolutions, flying from California to Kuwait had its share of foibles and frustrations. Overall, however, it was not bad. It started at 2 AM Saturday, with a muster at the armory to draw weapons and load our bags. This was followed by a 2 hour bus ride to March AFB in Riverside, where we waited for our 11 AM flight. Once we checked in and were manifested on the flight, we were restricted to the hangar for the next four hours. It was crowded and loud, but there was lots of food and drink graciously provided by volunteers from the area.

While waiting here my feeling of being swept along in some larger current of events intensified, along with the sense of being swallowed by this monstrous beast on its way to war. There were numerous posters depicting 9/11 and our invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq, and belittling any questioning or protest of these actions. The soda machines in particular were covered with these things. There were no posters expressing any other viewpoints (not surprising). It was a display of single-minded determination, and an unwavering, unquestioning boosterism for our actions. I found it a bit distressing.

I have to say that the 15 hours or so of flying that took us to Kuwait were very pleasant. We flew on a United Airlines 747, and I was fortunate enough to ride in business class. The comfortable seats reclined nearly all the way, there were actual usable pillows, and the food was plentiful and tasty. If only commercial air travel were always like that. We flew from Riverside to Frankfurt, Germany (a 10 hour flight), then after an hour or so on the ground we flew to Kuwait (5 hours).

The crews on both flights were very attentive, and made much of our mission and their pride and support of what we’re doing. When we got back on the plane in Frankfurt, the second crew had decorated the cabin in red, white, and blue crepe paper, a flag, and red and blue stars with “motivational” sayings on them such as “Freedom...Made in America” and “Be safe and Good Hunting.” Wow. This hyper-patriotic display made me think about the “military-industrial complex” Eisenhower warned about, which I would call the “military-corporate complex” these days. I wonder how much the taxpayers are spending on these charter flights? Does this count toward the total cost of the war? It certainly doesn’t hurt United Airlines.

Once we arrived in Kuwait, the fun ended and the tedium began. In our first six hours on the ground, all we had accomplished was a 1.5 hour bus ride, watching a 20-minute Welcome to the War video, and two bathroom breaks. The rest of the time was spent sitting on the bus, getting off the bus, getting back on the bus, and wondering what on earth we were doing. Finally we got the “word” – we would be spending the night here at “Camp Victory” in Kuwait, and proceeding to Iraq on Monday. After much stumbling around in the dark trying to find our luggage (imagine hundreds of identical green seabags lying in the dirt and hundreds of sailors and Marines trying to find their own luggage) we got settled in our (thankfully air-conditioned) tent and were done for the day. After a shower, I finally got to bed about 11 PM Sunday night, local time.

Next stop: Al Asad Air Base, Iraq.

Tribes

2004-10-06T14:23:00.000-05:00

Lately I have been thinking about a movie I saw years ago called “Tribes,” with Jan Michael Vincent as a flower child who is a Marine recruit. It is set at the San Diego Marine Corps Recruit Depot, and the premise is that the DI (Darren McGavin) and the flower child belong to different “tribes,” but are brought together by recruit training.

Well, I’m not exactly a flower child, and I’m definitely not a recruit, but I can identify with belonging to different tribes, or cultures. For most of my adult life, I’ve been in the Marine Corps and identified with that culture as “mine.” When asked who I was, I would say “I’m a Marine officer.” Being a Marine defined who I was in many respects. In the last few years, however, since finding UU, I have grown out of the Marine Corps culture; my identity is much richer, fuller, and diverse, and not so defined by what I do for a living. I now define myself by how I live my life – as a father, husband, and UU. My UU community (BRUU, UUCMP, and many others) is my “tribe.” I have taken to saying that the Marine Corps is just a job that puts food on the table.

But it’s really much more – I’ve been suddenly reminded that I’m still part of the Marine Corps tribe! During two years of graduate school and a year working behind a desk, it was easy to lose the cultural mindset of being a Marine 24/7. It was easy to think “I’m not going to be deployed.” Well, now I have been, and it’s taken a while to process what’s happening. Now more than ever, I have to reconcile my two tribes, these two aspects of my life, into one whole, healthy, integrated identity. In many ways this whole experience is valuable to me – rather than just plodding along, living day to day with internal conflict between whom I am and what I do, I am forced to become integrated as a person. It’s going to be an interesting journey.

San Diego

2004-10-04T14:22:00.000-05:00

I have been in San Diego now for three full days. I spent Friday drawing gear and getting some information about where I might be going and what I might be doing. Friday night I got to pay a visit to the Balboa Naval Hospital!

Why did I go to the hospital, you ask? Well, last Monday or Tuesday I had some back pain, and on Wednesday I went to Cynthia’s chiropractor and got adjusted. Twice. It didn’t do any good. My ribs hurt too, so I was not a happy camper. This contributed to the discomfort of my flight, as it was difficult to find a comfortable position.

Thursday night (actually early Friday morning), as I got ready for bed I noticed some red bumps on my side, right where my ribs hurt. Hmmm. Coincidence? I looked at my back in the mirror, and...more red bumps! On Friday I talked to Cynthia on the phone and described my situation, and she said “you have shingles!” The doctor took one look at my back and said “she’s right!” So I got some painkiller and anti-viral medication and was on my way. If you don’t know about shingles, see the end of this post.

By this time I was in a lot of pain, and I was glad to have the Motrin. It seemed to help a bit, but I was still very uncomfortable and I had a hard time sleeping Friday night. Saturday was miserable – I felt awful, I hurt, and I was sad to be away from my family. I spent the day moping around my hotel room, feeling sorry for myself.

What a difference a day makes! On Sunday, I decided that I wasn’t going to let myself be down all day again. I started the day by reading and doing some e-mails poolside (gotta love a laptop and high-speed wireless Internet), then joined a friend (whom I met at GA) for worship at the First UU Church of San Diego. Just before entering the sanctuary, I saw another new friend from GA, so we all sat together. I really enjoyed the service – it was full of music and the sermon was terrific. The message was about bearing witness to the joy and suffering in the world – first to let go of our learned responses of ignoring the suffering of others, second to bear witness to them, and third, to heal ourselves and the world. Powerful and moving stuff.

Following the service, I drove up to Carlsbad and enjoyed visiting with a friend from Yuma, then we went for a mountain bike ride. I decided that I wasn’t going to let pain get in the way of my enjoying myself, and you know, I didn’t hurt the whole time. Next I was off to my cousin’s house nearby, where I enjoyed playing guitar with her husband and computer games with their 6 year old twins. It was great to have a “guitar fix” and a “kid fix” all in one package.
Speaking of guitars, today I picked up my new toy: a “Go Guitar,” hand made right here in SD just for me. It is small and light but sounds terrific, and will be a mental and spiritual outlet for me once I get to Iraq.

I was supposed to leave on Wednesday, but the flight was cancelled, so now it looks like Saturday. We shall see! In the meantime, I have a guitar, a borrowed mountain bike, nearby pool and beach, and perfect SoCal weather, so it’s my own fault if I don’t enjoy myself until I leave.

Shingles is a "reactivation" of the same virus that caused chicken pox when I was a kid (as far as I know, the fact that our kids just got over it is a coincidence). When someone has chicken pox, the virus (varicella herpes zoster) doesn't die or go away, it just goes dormant and hangs out on nerve roots somewhere in the body. When the person gets older and her/his immune system is weaker, the virus can be reactivated. This can also be caused by HIV, cancer, or EXTREME PSYCHOLOGICAL STRESS. Hmmm, wonder why I got it. Anyway, the reactivated virus travels down to the nerve endings and results in excruciating pain and a chicken-pox like skin rash.

On My Way

2004-10-02T14:20:00.000-05:00

All the preparations were done - finances and files organized, lists of things to be done made, shots received, orders in hand - off to the airport. Four hours before my flight left - plenty of time to go through my inbox and reply to all the e-mails that have been sitting there for days, weeks, months. Lots of time to think about what's coming, wonder what it will be like, and hope the time passes quickly.

The flights were long and uncomfortable, as flights tend to be, but I was able to sleep on the second one for almost 3 hours. I arrived in San Diego late at night, waited seemingly forever for the rental car shuttle, and eventually made it to bed about 2 AM.

Feeling the Love

2004-09-27T14:19:00.000-05:00

After yesterday's sendoff from BRUU during the service, at the Mabon feast, and at Katy's party in the afternoon, I am feeling very loved and supported in this adventure. Besides my UU family at home, I have received positive energy from others around the country in the form of prayers, blessings, good thoughts, and even spellwork from some Wiccans in CA! I appreciate it all and want you to know it means a lot to me and my family.