Interviewed on both the Tavis Smiley and Jim Lehrer's News Hour, Isabelle Allende responded to questions about her writing process for her newest book about the historical Haiti: Island Beneath the Sea. On Smiley's show, she spoke of the four years she researched Haitian history. She also mentioned that she always begins a new book on January 8th, the date she began her first novel, The House of Spirits. But, she emphasized she can't begin until her main character shows up.
To understand what she means by "showing up," we have to turn to the News Hour. Allende amazed Jeffrey Brown with two comments: "Women are more interesting than men [to write about]." Opening and then closing his mouth, Brown smiled as he said, "I won't go there." But Allende totally rocked Brown back in his chair when she said, "My character must [arrive] for me to begin writing. I dreamed the main character in Island Beneath the Sea, her entire story." Most of us are familiar with J. K. Rowling's inspiration while traveling on a train--the entire Harry Potter story come to her at once. We may also remember Alice Walker's tribute to her characters in The Color Purple: "Thanks for coming."
Anne Patchett's The Magician's Assistant depends in good part on the Dreamtime to connect the living with the dead. Readers learn true magic occurs through the interaction between the realm of spirit and the third dimension, so difficult at times to live in. For the truly creative writers of our day, Allende's comment about needing her character to "arrive" appears not such a surprise as it was for the New Hour's interviewer.
From Allende and other writers, we can learn about creative process, which is sorely needed at this time in the Gulf oil spill--not just technology. As a nation, perhaps the entire world, we ought to be turning to the spiritual realm that infuses much modern writing. If we really want to stop the spill and clean the waters, why haven't we en masse appealed to Spirit with a unified, non-denominational day of prayer--leaving how the spill's resolution may occur to Spirit, which may inspire us with new, workable solutions? Instead, we're waiting for drilling of interceptor wells and other technology that will possibly take until August and beyond.
In both interviews, Allende alluded to Pablo Neruda's influence on her writing career. Allende became a novelist rather than continuing her journalistic career based on Neruda's advice. He told her that she was making up the journalism and should switch to fiction, which he believed she wrote quite well. It's an amusing anecdote and perhaps clarifies what should happen on Fox News--though I don't see that Fox is in any way influenced by positive spiritual assitance--having its name changed to Fox Fictions.
Politics aside, Allende clearly began her recenlty published book well before the earthquake. We all can benefit from better understanding Haiti, its history, and its people in order to appreciate the Haitian's admirable resilience in facing true hardship. Maybe we can stop minimizing Haitians as stereotypes and begin to appreciate them as the real people they are through reading Allende's historical novel infused by Haitian spirit.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
Puja Magic
In a puja we honor ourselves archetypal beings by pouring water over murtis (usually metal figures or perhaps a Siva lingham) and throwing rice during the chanting of names or letting rice we've held slip from our hands onto the deity's murti after the priest has finished chanting that diety's sacred names. When we kneel, we kneel to our Selves, mirrored by the deity. As we toss rice or hold it during the chanting, we are asking that the archetypal energies and qualities of that puja's sacred being enter into and develop within us.
Recently, I attended a puja in Beaverton at the Gayatri Temple, where Namadeva and Satyabama, priest and priestess as well as old friends from the Theosophical Society's Far Horizons in the Sierra Nevada, lead pujas. This particular puja was lengthy and somewhat vague in that just whom was being addressed wasn't clear to me. However, as I watched Namadeva chant, my attention popped. On the altar between Namadeva and Satybama, I perceived a seated, three-foot tall (and almost as wide) Kalki/Maitreya, presented as a featureless, pale pearl grey, fat Buddha. He's the happy Buddha who will eventually appear, probably in India, to restore the dharma. You've seen him in figurines, large and small, sometimes with a pack on a stick, sometimes holding his hands over his head, the hands either empty or holding little balls. I've also seen him pictured with a rainbow hovering over his empty hands, making his--and by implication our--realized Buddha-self The Hidden Pot of Gold.
If you really want to see what I saw, find Kalki/Maitreya on the Internet. Imagine that fat, smiling Buddha without his features, his body entirely pearl-grey, and you'll preceive what I saw. A silvery, seated, meditating Buddha.
During the puja the ringing bells may pull us into altered states; the chanted names call in the named archetypal energies. What we may see, feel or hear, provides each individual worshipper answers for his or her own personal growth and path.
Another time I experienced an automatic soul retrieval. I believe that particular puja was for Ganesha. In any case, I had been speaking unawares with a being at some level. Coming out of my trance inwardly, I was rather petulantly saying, "If you want me to do this work, you'll return to me that priest I once was." Whether that was a good request or not, I got what I asked for. The head and shoulders of a rather handsome, dark, bearded, East Indian male in a red beehive cap appeared and rotated clockwise before he disappeared from my inner screen. It seems "the priest I once was" is back, and I'm supposed to do "this work."
While not all pujas "deliver" such dramatic effects, I enjoy the time shared with friends singing, praying, and in fellowship. We conclude socially with snacks and conversation. The puja reminds me of Native American sweat lodges, which may constitute (in brief) my next blog. Like the puja bell, stay tuned.
Recently, I attended a puja in Beaverton at the Gayatri Temple, where Namadeva and Satyabama, priest and priestess as well as old friends from the Theosophical Society's Far Horizons in the Sierra Nevada, lead pujas. This particular puja was lengthy and somewhat vague in that just whom was being addressed wasn't clear to me. However, as I watched Namadeva chant, my attention popped. On the altar between Namadeva and Satybama, I perceived a seated, three-foot tall (and almost as wide) Kalki/Maitreya, presented as a featureless, pale pearl grey, fat Buddha. He's the happy Buddha who will eventually appear, probably in India, to restore the dharma. You've seen him in figurines, large and small, sometimes with a pack on a stick, sometimes holding his hands over his head, the hands either empty or holding little balls. I've also seen him pictured with a rainbow hovering over his empty hands, making his--and by implication our--realized Buddha-self The Hidden Pot of Gold.
If you really want to see what I saw, find Kalki/Maitreya on the Internet. Imagine that fat, smiling Buddha without his features, his body entirely pearl-grey, and you'll preceive what I saw. A silvery, seated, meditating Buddha.
During the puja the ringing bells may pull us into altered states; the chanted names call in the named archetypal energies. What we may see, feel or hear, provides each individual worshipper answers for his or her own personal growth and path.
Another time I experienced an automatic soul retrieval. I believe that particular puja was for Ganesha. In any case, I had been speaking unawares with a being at some level. Coming out of my trance inwardly, I was rather petulantly saying, "If you want me to do this work, you'll return to me that priest I once was." Whether that was a good request or not, I got what I asked for. The head and shoulders of a rather handsome, dark, bearded, East Indian male in a red beehive cap appeared and rotated clockwise before he disappeared from my inner screen. It seems "the priest I once was" is back, and I'm supposed to do "this work."
While not all pujas "deliver" such dramatic effects, I enjoy the time shared with friends singing, praying, and in fellowship. We conclude socially with snacks and conversation. The puja reminds me of Native American sweat lodges, which may constitute (in brief) my next blog. Like the puja bell, stay tuned.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Book Review: Gentlemen and Players--by Joanne Harris
Readers who liked Chocolate, Holy Fools, or Five Quarters of the Orange are probably already Joanne Harris fans and will be drawn to Gentlemen and Players (2006). This thriller breaks new ground and shows a gifted writer at her best as she presents the modern world microscopically with its range of human foibles and systems explored through St. Oswald's Grammar School for Boys.
Alternating narration between Roy Straightly and the mysterious child/monster who declares in the opening sentence, "...murder is no big deal..." carries this thriller across the roofs of St. Oswald's Grammar School for Boys to the Guy Fawks Day bonfire with entertaining twists and turns. Readers remain mystified as to the identity of St. Oswald's nemesis and may give a gasp when that nemesis is revealed.
Although I initially thought of not completing the book, the psychological exploration of what it means to be a teacher kept me reading, along with the intriguing and varied voices that Harris develops to tell the story. Harris says in an essay at the back of the book that she taught French for 15 years, thirteen of which were in a boys' school much like St. Oswalds, and loved it:
"It's hard enough to give up on the continuous soap opera that constitutes life in a
school, harder still to lose the sense of community and the feeling of being involved in
something more important than my own little life's concerns."
Unlike Straightly, a teacher of Classics as his name suggests, Harris recognizes the potential for psychological scars which teachers may cause, and this thematic element of the plot provides another compelling component for us, as former students and parents and teachers.
The night I read the section set on St. Oswald's rooftops, my feet were sweating. I'm terrified of heights, and the description of the boys' rooftop adventure kept me on the edge of vertigo. The climax of that scene leads naturally to the issue that propels the book to its conclusion.
Harris employs dramatic irony throughout as each narrator weaves elements of the back story while providing his take on what is happening or about to happen and why. Harris is far too gifted a writer not to provide necessary clues along the way so that, along with the large number of characters, we have much to keep in mind. Avid Chess players may find added structural clues since Chess provides the motif for each of the book's major sections as well as some names and nicknames: Knight, Bishop, Queenie. We must pay attention to names and everything else. At some point, we realize that Harris is having a ball writing her thriller, at least as much enjoyment as we're having reading it.
Reading a story based in British culture and Classics may require readers to check the "Reader's Companion" at the back of the book. It provides helpful amplification of Latin quotations and commentary on cultural phrases, including the title.
Gentlemen and Players will remain on my shelf for rereading. I look forward to reading it both for Harris' craft and what I missed by hurriedly reading the opening sections. Besides, I grew to like Roy Straightly, and I empathize with the "monster" for a sensibility desensitized by a broken family, an alcoholic father, and a not-much-better than Dickensonian educational system.
Both the British and U.S. educational systems unfortunately remain based in the factory models of the Industrial Revolution, whose outcomes threaten us all today. Thus, Gentlemen and Players explores integral cultural themes which need to be addressed if we are to survive a world which is as imbalanced as St. Oswalds becomes.
Alternating narration between Roy Straightly and the mysterious child/monster who declares in the opening sentence, "...murder is no big deal..." carries this thriller across the roofs of St. Oswald's Grammar School for Boys to the Guy Fawks Day bonfire with entertaining twists and turns. Readers remain mystified as to the identity of St. Oswald's nemesis and may give a gasp when that nemesis is revealed.
Although I initially thought of not completing the book, the psychological exploration of what it means to be a teacher kept me reading, along with the intriguing and varied voices that Harris develops to tell the story. Harris says in an essay at the back of the book that she taught French for 15 years, thirteen of which were in a boys' school much like St. Oswalds, and loved it:
"It's hard enough to give up on the continuous soap opera that constitutes life in a
school, harder still to lose the sense of community and the feeling of being involved in
something more important than my own little life's concerns."
Unlike Straightly, a teacher of Classics as his name suggests, Harris recognizes the potential for psychological scars which teachers may cause, and this thematic element of the plot provides another compelling component for us, as former students and parents and teachers.
The night I read the section set on St. Oswald's rooftops, my feet were sweating. I'm terrified of heights, and the description of the boys' rooftop adventure kept me on the edge of vertigo. The climax of that scene leads naturally to the issue that propels the book to its conclusion.
Harris employs dramatic irony throughout as each narrator weaves elements of the back story while providing his take on what is happening or about to happen and why. Harris is far too gifted a writer not to provide necessary clues along the way so that, along with the large number of characters, we have much to keep in mind. Avid Chess players may find added structural clues since Chess provides the motif for each of the book's major sections as well as some names and nicknames: Knight, Bishop, Queenie. We must pay attention to names and everything else. At some point, we realize that Harris is having a ball writing her thriller, at least as much enjoyment as we're having reading it.
Reading a story based in British culture and Classics may require readers to check the "Reader's Companion" at the back of the book. It provides helpful amplification of Latin quotations and commentary on cultural phrases, including the title.
Gentlemen and Players will remain on my shelf for rereading. I look forward to reading it both for Harris' craft and what I missed by hurriedly reading the opening sections. Besides, I grew to like Roy Straightly, and I empathize with the "monster" for a sensibility desensitized by a broken family, an alcoholic father, and a not-much-better than Dickensonian educational system.
Both the British and U.S. educational systems unfortunately remain based in the factory models of the Industrial Revolution, whose outcomes threaten us all today. Thus, Gentlemen and Players explores integral cultural themes which need to be addressed if we are to survive a world which is as imbalanced as St. Oswalds becomes.
Monday, May 24, 2010
White Raven
Blondie's taffy curls sport a striped
grosgrain bow astride a topknot.
She winks.
Her chipmunk cheeks swell
creating slitted eyes
above her "say pickles" smile.
Aged three, she poses atop a bail of hay,
hands on hips, flirting,
dressed in a 40s ruffled pinafore.
Now, grown to motherhood, she
sits beneath lush green oak and alder shade,
gazing on a rushing silver stream.
The mother recalls an oak-shaded room
by a still river. The question comes:
"You have something in your hand?"
"Yes, a curved, beaked oval of ivory
with a small, burned eye."
But, there are no elephants in Alaska;
her logical mind emits a sigh.
Then, through L.A. smog
and traffic jams along The 110,
she exits, plies past Hispanics leaving
Sunday mass on Mother's Day.
Up a steep hill, hoping
her car manages the climb,
she seeks shade for parking
outside the Southwest Museum.
Its store delights her inner child,
which revels in silver, turquoise and coral,
books, drums, art--the Tree of Life in a Navajo rug.
Overhearing a clerk who speaks
of carvings, a special Northwest display,
she peers over shoulders, realizes, requests a closer
view of the ivory necklace.
So tightly strung they twist,
alternating oval abalone and round
ivory beads descend
to a curved, oval, ivory charm.
It fits exactly in her right hand;
an abalone eye--
the only variance from her vision--
winks an ocean of plausibility.
On its back a sticker intones one word--Raven,
bird of magic, sun-seeker, lightbringer,
Mercury between two worlds--
half a scrying pair. Urim or Thummim?
A walrus' ivory tusk carved
by Patty Fawn--elephants, indeed.
If her child is to lead,
it must be through
Raven's magic hole,
the single spiritual eye.
So much contained
in White Raven's watery, winking eye.
Time-warp to Blondie's teasing smile:
Your child shall lead you.
grosgrain bow astride a topknot.
She winks.
Her chipmunk cheeks swell
creating slitted eyes
above her "say pickles" smile.
Aged three, she poses atop a bail of hay,
hands on hips, flirting,
dressed in a 40s ruffled pinafore.
Now, grown to motherhood, she
sits beneath lush green oak and alder shade,
gazing on a rushing silver stream.
The mother recalls an oak-shaded room
by a still river. The question comes:
"You have something in your hand?"
"Yes, a curved, beaked oval of ivory
with a small, burned eye."
But, there are no elephants in Alaska;
her logical mind emits a sigh.
Then, through L.A. smog
and traffic jams along The 110,
she exits, plies past Hispanics leaving
Sunday mass on Mother's Day.
Up a steep hill, hoping
her car manages the climb,
she seeks shade for parking
outside the Southwest Museum.
Its store delights her inner child,
which revels in silver, turquoise and coral,
books, drums, art--the Tree of Life in a Navajo rug.
Overhearing a clerk who speaks
of carvings, a special Northwest display,
she peers over shoulders, realizes, requests a closer
view of the ivory necklace.
So tightly strung they twist,
alternating oval abalone and round
ivory beads descend
to a curved, oval, ivory charm.
It fits exactly in her right hand;
an abalone eye--
the only variance from her vision--
winks an ocean of plausibility.
On its back a sticker intones one word--Raven,
bird of magic, sun-seeker, lightbringer,
Mercury between two worlds--
half a scrying pair. Urim or Thummim?
A walrus' ivory tusk carved
by Patty Fawn--elephants, indeed.
If her child is to lead,
it must be through
Raven's magic hole,
the single spiritual eye.
So much contained
in White Raven's watery, winking eye.
Time-warp to Blondie's teasing smile:
Your child shall lead you.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
The Lost Summer of Louisa May Alcott--by Kelly O'Connor McNees
I wish that every time I was looking for a particular title, I would find it on sale for 50% off. That's what happened when I entered a local book store looking for Kelly O'Connor McNees' The Lost Summer of Louisa May Alcott. My luck held as I read McNees's historical romance, based in Alcott's letters, biographies, and other source material.
In 1855 the Bronson Alcott family, experiencing their well-known financial difficulties, move to Walpole, New Hampshire, for the summer. Here, Louisa meets Joseph Singer, the love of her life and the man who is destined (at least in this story) to become Laurie in Little Women. Among others, McNees' argument is that Louisa must have known passionate love first hand in order to write the love story in Little Women. McNees' questions are who, when, where, how?
As a romance The Lost Summer doesn't disappoint. A gifted story teller with a style that encourages us to "disappear" into her tale, McNees provides credible guesses about Alcott's muse and how the love story between Jo (Louisa) and Laurie (Joseph) came to be. Unless, of course, reading her favorite British romances such as Jane Eyre acted as inspiration for Alcott and reading a purloined copy (according to this novel) of Walt Whitman's first edition of Leaves of Grass, also published in 1855, ignited Louisa's passionate muse.
What makes this historical romance enjoyable is the skillful inter-weaving of fiction and fact: details backed by McNees' extensive research, listed at the back of the book. Homework done, McNees creates her story of the 19th century Alcott family's impoverished world, threatened by diseases of the time. Whitman's poetry nicely supports Louisa's own writing goals and ignites her romantic attachment with Joseph. Star-crossed by Louisa's determination to pursue her writing, both Louisa and Joseph have family and duty to consider, and this triad--her drive to become a writer, family, and duty--complicate their love affair.
At the core of the romance lies the issue of a woman's engaging in a creative life outside of societal expectations. Seeking a "room of [her] own," Louisa returns to Boston to write. As McNees imagines it, the climactic romantic episode may depend too much on circumstance, but Louisa's choice between love and career demonstrates her enviable creative drive.
Modeled on romance novels from the Bronte's to Austin to Alcott herself, The Lost Summer of Louisa May Alcott opens a window on what might have been. It's just the kind of book Alcott might have written. The narrative style leads us smoothly through the story. All of our questions are faithfully answered, and we're appropriately teased by unresolved questions of Alcott's create muse, which drove McNees to write her speculative romance in the first place.
Suggested by inter-chapter quotes, Alcott's lesser-known works remain to be discovered and enjoyed. McNees provides a full annotated list at the end of the novel in "A Note on Sources," recommending two Alcott books: A Long Fatal Love Chase and Behind a Mask, or A Woman's Power. The former was first published in 1995, the latter under a pseudonym, A. M. Barnard.
All of this is to suggest that Louisa May Alcott has found a passionate champion in Kelly O'Conner McNees. As readers, we are convinced to take another look at Alcott's work.
In 1855 the Bronson Alcott family, experiencing their well-known financial difficulties, move to Walpole, New Hampshire, for the summer. Here, Louisa meets Joseph Singer, the love of her life and the man who is destined (at least in this story) to become Laurie in Little Women. Among others, McNees' argument is that Louisa must have known passionate love first hand in order to write the love story in Little Women. McNees' questions are who, when, where, how?
As a romance The Lost Summer doesn't disappoint. A gifted story teller with a style that encourages us to "disappear" into her tale, McNees provides credible guesses about Alcott's muse and how the love story between Jo (Louisa) and Laurie (Joseph) came to be. Unless, of course, reading her favorite British romances such as Jane Eyre acted as inspiration for Alcott and reading a purloined copy (according to this novel) of Walt Whitman's first edition of Leaves of Grass, also published in 1855, ignited Louisa's passionate muse.
What makes this historical romance enjoyable is the skillful inter-weaving of fiction and fact: details backed by McNees' extensive research, listed at the back of the book. Homework done, McNees creates her story of the 19th century Alcott family's impoverished world, threatened by diseases of the time. Whitman's poetry nicely supports Louisa's own writing goals and ignites her romantic attachment with Joseph. Star-crossed by Louisa's determination to pursue her writing, both Louisa and Joseph have family and duty to consider, and this triad--her drive to become a writer, family, and duty--complicate their love affair.
At the core of the romance lies the issue of a woman's engaging in a creative life outside of societal expectations. Seeking a "room of [her] own," Louisa returns to Boston to write. As McNees imagines it, the climactic romantic episode may depend too much on circumstance, but Louisa's choice between love and career demonstrates her enviable creative drive.
Modeled on romance novels from the Bronte's to Austin to Alcott herself, The Lost Summer of Louisa May Alcott opens a window on what might have been. It's just the kind of book Alcott might have written. The narrative style leads us smoothly through the story. All of our questions are faithfully answered, and we're appropriately teased by unresolved questions of Alcott's create muse, which drove McNees to write her speculative romance in the first place.
Suggested by inter-chapter quotes, Alcott's lesser-known works remain to be discovered and enjoyed. McNees provides a full annotated list at the end of the novel in "A Note on Sources," recommending two Alcott books: A Long Fatal Love Chase and Behind a Mask, or A Woman's Power. The former was first published in 1995, the latter under a pseudonym, A. M. Barnard.
All of this is to suggest that Louisa May Alcott has found a passionate champion in Kelly O'Conner McNees. As readers, we are convinced to take another look at Alcott's work.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Following an Ideal and Getting Lost in the Maze
"The perfect life is following one's own ideal, not in checking those of others; leave everyone to follow his own ideal." from: Bowl of Saki, by Hazrat Inayat Khan
The Sufi master Hazrat Inayat Khan taught in Paris during the l920's. The extent of his influence on the Expatriates is not clear, but writers and artists owe debts to Sufis, not only through Kahn, but also through G. I Gurdjieff. Though often regarded as a charlatan, Gurdjieff's life and influence has been explored in a number of biographies including Jean Toomer and Georgia O'Keefe.
The commentary that arrives with these quotes from Bowl of Saki points out that following one's own ideal is religion for the Sufi. The commentator rightly says that if everyone were encouraged to follow his or her own ideal, then many of the nasty wars being fought might not waste our time and energy since it is religious dogma which causes many wars. The real problem with religion has always been dogma. That's why Ernest Holmes eschewed creating a religion. It was his followers that insisted on creating the Church of Religious Science. Holmes knew enough to fear the crystallization of text into a religious dogma.
Today I received a request for money from the Democratic governors. They want to fight what they perceive to be Sarah Palin's support of and grab for 37 gubernatorial races. They suggest that the seven odd millions she has made since she ran for vice president will be used to enhance the Tea Party's conservative, pseudo-religious votes to elect Tea Party governors. Given Rand Paul's recent Tea Party/Libertarian victory in Kentucky and the subsequent exposure of his views, that's something to worry about, if we can believe she'd use her millions for the gubernatorial agenda the Dem's have suggested.
An NPR headline announced today that Texas is purchasing textbooks for that state's history classes in which the "separation of church and state" is said not to be found in the Constitution. Other propaganda which will further misinform Texan youth is part of those same history texts. As a local attorney once told me (regarding a different issue), "Get 'em young enough or dumb enough and you can get away with anything." Surely there are rational minds that may prevail once the direction of Texan education is noted. Then again, if Rand Paul pursues his plan to eliminate the Department of Education, maybe not. Obviously a regard for truth is not in evidence in the United States, particularly in media. Why not extend that disregard for truth to educational dogma.
That brings us back to the Sufi master's quote, which suggests we should each follow our own ideal. For religion, it works and is really the primary requirement for one's spiritual development, at least as one ages. Is following one's ideal part of the social contract? I suspect that question is one for a philosophical treatise or reasoned dialogue.
The Sufi master Hazrat Inayat Khan taught in Paris during the l920's. The extent of his influence on the Expatriates is not clear, but writers and artists owe debts to Sufis, not only through Kahn, but also through G. I Gurdjieff. Though often regarded as a charlatan, Gurdjieff's life and influence has been explored in a number of biographies including Jean Toomer and Georgia O'Keefe.
The commentary that arrives with these quotes from Bowl of Saki points out that following one's own ideal is religion for the Sufi. The commentator rightly says that if everyone were encouraged to follow his or her own ideal, then many of the nasty wars being fought might not waste our time and energy since it is religious dogma which causes many wars. The real problem with religion has always been dogma. That's why Ernest Holmes eschewed creating a religion. It was his followers that insisted on creating the Church of Religious Science. Holmes knew enough to fear the crystallization of text into a religious dogma.
Today I received a request for money from the Democratic governors. They want to fight what they perceive to be Sarah Palin's support of and grab for 37 gubernatorial races. They suggest that the seven odd millions she has made since she ran for vice president will be used to enhance the Tea Party's conservative, pseudo-religious votes to elect Tea Party governors. Given Rand Paul's recent Tea Party/Libertarian victory in Kentucky and the subsequent exposure of his views, that's something to worry about, if we can believe she'd use her millions for the gubernatorial agenda the Dem's have suggested.
An NPR headline announced today that Texas is purchasing textbooks for that state's history classes in which the "separation of church and state" is said not to be found in the Constitution. Other propaganda which will further misinform Texan youth is part of those same history texts. As a local attorney once told me (regarding a different issue), "Get 'em young enough or dumb enough and you can get away with anything." Surely there are rational minds that may prevail once the direction of Texan education is noted. Then again, if Rand Paul pursues his plan to eliminate the Department of Education, maybe not. Obviously a regard for truth is not in evidence in the United States, particularly in media. Why not extend that disregard for truth to educational dogma.
That brings us back to the Sufi master's quote, which suggests we should each follow our own ideal. For religion, it works and is really the primary requirement for one's spiritual development, at least as one ages. Is following one's ideal part of the social contract? I suspect that question is one for a philosophical treatise or reasoned dialogue.
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