Sunday Musings – April 10, 2022
Today for Christians is Psalm Sunday – a time to remember the joyful arrival of Jesus into Jerusalem. The story is that he was welcomed by the spreading of psalm leaves. Of course, those welcoming him did not know that soon he would be crucified and then, the story goes, in three days be raised from the dead. We know that in one week we will celebrate the resurrection/the rebirth.
Muslims began the month-long observance of Ramadan the first week of April. For Muslims the observance of Ramadan is a time for fasting, prayer, and rededication to the avoidance of impure thoughts and deeds. It will end with Edir a time of joy and blessings; a time to share or redistribute one’s wealth.
For many this day is another day of war; physical war in which many are being indiscriminately killed; political and emotional wars in much of the United States, France and other countries; wars first of words and then of the physical destruction of those who disagree with the subjugation of a group of people or a country.
I have had the luxury of traveling a lot during my brief sojourn here on the planet Earth. From a scientific standpoint I understand that time and distance are simple measurements. I can look at the calendar and the map and trace the trajectory of my journeys; then use the language of math to describe those journeys across time and space. Yet, at another level, travel is a mystery to me. How is it possible I could occupy this space and in a matter of a few hours be thousands of miles from that space? How is it possible that I have a son who is 51 when in fact his mother and I just brought him home from the hospital? How is it possible that I have lived over 8 decades?
I once suggested to a scientist friend of mine that time was merely an artificial construct. He hastened to tell me that I was wrong. Yet, when I listened again to Tonya Mosley interview the author Ocean Vuong about his most recent book of poems, “Time is a mother” I was sure I was right. Professor Vuong says since his mother died there is only today when his mother is not here and yesterday when she was here. This makes sense to me. For those in Ukraine there is only before the invasion and the time after the invasion.
This morning I received a notes from friends in Indonesia and Turkey. I also have friends in England, Australia, Cambodia and many other places. They are here and not here; there and not there; separated by time and space and very much a part of me in this space and time.
On this Psalm Sunday there is only the triumphant arrival in Jerusalem. On this Sunday of Ramadan there is only the cleansing and preparation for sharing one’s wealth.
We are the birds migrating thousands of miles. We are Peter Pan. We are the wind whirling to form a giant Kitchen Aide mixer bringing all together in a tornadic action until all becomes dust ready to be reborn.
There are no places existing in other times. There is no us and them. There is only us. There is only now.
There is only the triumphant entry. There is only life.
There is only Edir and the sharing of our excess.
Written April 10, 2022
Jimmy F Pickett
coachpickett.org
Today for Christians is Psalm Sunday – a time to remember the joyful arrival of Jesus into Jerusalem. The story is that he was welcomed by the spreading of psalm leaves. Of course, those welcoming him did not know that soon he would be crucified and then, the story goes, in three days be raised from the dead. We know that in one week we will celebrate the resurrection/the rebirth.
Muslims began the month-long observance of Ramadan the first week of April. For Muslims the observance of Ramadan is a time for fasting, prayer, and rededication to the avoidance of impure thoughts and deeds. It will end with Edir a time of joy and blessings; a time to share or redistribute one’s wealth.
For many this day is another day of war; physical war in which many are being indiscriminately killed; political and emotional wars in much of the United States, France and other countries; wars first of words and then of the physical destruction of those who disagree with the subjugation of a group of people or a country.
I have had the luxury of traveling a lot during my brief sojourn here on the planet Earth. From a scientific standpoint I understand that time and distance are simple measurements. I can look at the calendar and the map and trace the trajectory of my journeys; then use the language of math to describe those journeys across time and space. Yet, at another level, travel is a mystery to me. How is it possible I could occupy this space and in a matter of a few hours be thousands of miles from that space? How is it possible that I have a son who is 51 when in fact his mother and I just brought him home from the hospital? How is it possible that I have lived over 8 decades?
I once suggested to a scientist friend of mine that time was merely an artificial construct. He hastened to tell me that I was wrong. Yet, when I listened again to Tonya Mosley interview the author Ocean Vuong about his most recent book of poems, “Time is a mother” I was sure I was right. Professor Vuong says since his mother died there is only today when his mother is not here and yesterday when she was here. This makes sense to me. For those in Ukraine there is only before the invasion and the time after the invasion.
This morning I received a notes from friends in Indonesia and Turkey. I also have friends in England, Australia, Cambodia and many other places. They are here and not here; there and not there; separated by time and space and very much a part of me in this space and time.
On this Psalm Sunday there is only the triumphant arrival in Jerusalem. On this Sunday of Ramadan there is only the cleansing and preparation for sharing one’s wealth.
We are the birds migrating thousands of miles. We are Peter Pan. We are the wind whirling to form a giant Kitchen Aide mixer bringing all together in a tornadic action until all becomes dust ready to be reborn.
There are no places existing in other times. There is no us and them. There is only us. There is only now.
There is only the triumphant entry. There is only life.
There is only Edir and the sharing of our excess.
Written April 10, 2022
Jimmy F Pickett
coachpickett.org
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