Maria has made it to her hotel outside of Boston, she drove in medium snow for about four hours without incident. Before she left, she insisted on moving some hay bales to the other side of the barn so that I could access them easily if the storm got bad.
The storm here is quite bad, it is falling thickly and heavily. I think there is already eight or nine inches. I am grateful Maria got to Boston, it is not snowing heavily there, a light snow is turning to rain, and no additional snow in the city is forecast until Monday morning.
Unless something changes, she should be able to make her flight and get going later this evening. In Boston, the winter storm watch ends at 7 p.m. Here, it continues until tomorrow afternoon. It is going to be a whopper here. More later. Thanks for the good words, I was getting a little jumpy there. Maria says there was no problem driving.
That was the only part I was really worried about. Maria knows how to take care of herself. Now, on to the good stuff, getting to India. More later.
Compassion:sympathetic pity and concern for the sufferings or misfortunes of others.
I wrote yesterday about the opportunity to buy prayer mats used by Muslims in their daily prayers towards Mecca. I was touched by the idea of offering new refugees to America gifts that recognize and accept their worship, it seemed to me that freedom of worship is one of the great American ideas.
I can’t think of a better or more meaningful way to let these people – many have suffered unimaginably – know they are welcome and accepted here.
A lot of people responded enthusiastically to the idea, judging by my e-mail and messages on social media. A lot of people did not care for the idea, which I did not really see as controversial, but which is, of course in modern and very polarized America.
Roger K was one of the first of many to take me to task for urging aid for the refugees, newly arriving from Syria and other devastated countries.
“Like most liberals,” he write, “you deal in abstractions and theory, not the practical everyday.”
I usually ignore people who label me, a real conversation rarely follows, but Roger was raising an interesting point, shared by so many other people, including some of our most powerful leaders.
“Compassion,” Roger wrote,”should be first for our fellow citizens, then if there is any left for those who are repressed or dispossessed in the rest of the world. Bring additional burdens for the state, only worsens the condition of those who are already in need in the U.S. Most immigrants who do not speak English and have no real skills end up on the public dole, which is already failing for our own citizens.”
Roger offered no evidence for this assertion, nor any specifics. I know this is a wide belief.
He was also, I think, sadly misinformed. Roger doesn’t persuade me to pick and choose in that way.
For me, compassion is not a political position, it is about showing pity and concern for the suffering of others. There is no need to detail it here, but I have worked often and hard on behalf of the poor who are here. Obviously, we cannot help all of the people in need all of the time. We help when and where we can, depending on our values and will and resources. It is a personal decision, not really another issue to debate for me.
Compassion is not a theory or an abstraction. It is the essence the practical every day. It is an awful stereotype to equate the refugee experience only with poverty. These refugees had homes, jobs, businesses, they were not poor. They were the victims of terrorism and civil war and awful violence. They were not poor then, they are not poor now.
There is nothing compassionate about Roger’s message.
“A human being is a part of the whole called by us universe,” wrote Albert Einstein, “a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feeling as something separated from the rest, a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.”
I have no doubt that any of our great political and religious leaders – Christ, Merton, Gandhi, the Dalai Lama, Pope Francis – would bless the idea of helping people devastated by war and cruelty and neglect. Of offering them refuge and support. What does it mean to be human, if not this?
Very few Americans have suffered in the manner of manner of the refugees coming to America.
And yes, it would be wonderful if we offered our own poor support and hope and comfort. What resources, I wonder, are being so secretly and quietly diverted that I have never heard of them and find no record of them.
I admit to being surprised at the idea it is harming Americans to give prayer mats to Muslim refugees. Have we really come to this?
My grandmother came to America as a refugee, she spoke no English, and was never on the “dole,” not for an hour. She worked seven days a week for 50 years until she dropped. So did my grandfather, aunts and uncles and cousins. Not a one of them ever took a penny from our government.
I have been fortunate to know some new refugees from America, and none of them are on the dole either, they are all working, some in two jobs, studying for citizenship tests, raising children, paying taxes and participating in the life of their communities. It is not simple to get to America, and it is about to get a lot harder. There is nothing lazy about these people, they are not moving into poverty, but hope.
I have the sneaking suspicion that Roger doesn’t know any refugees, people who do don’t make sweeping statements like that.
I am certain some refugees have sought public assistance and are deserving of it. We can afford it, and in many ways, we cannot afford not to do it. In a land of billionaires, I have a hard time believing we are draining our resources on the poor, ours or theirs.
At the moment, our political leaders in Washington are working feverishly to control or curtail immigration to the United States – laws proposals, executive orders, restrictions, round-ups, but I am not aware of a single proposal in Congress to add poor people in America, to guarantee them health care, to raise their minimum wages, help them avoid violence, or assist them in job training or public schools.
America is not about to restrict the sale of guns, but since 911, more than a million Americans have been injured or killed by guns, no Syrian refugee has been accused or convicted of killing a single American. Yet we can’t afford to let them in? Refugees would be justified in worrying if they are safe here.
Compassion is out of favor in American life at the moment, as Roger’s message suggests. It seems to have fallen to the skirmishing of the “left” and the “right,” like so many other meaningful ideas. I am sorry to see that in some ways, we have become so selfish and narcissistic a people.
I know of no reason why the world’s wealthiest company can’t aid people in dire crisis overseas as well as help the poor in America. During the presidential campaign, I did not hear the poor mentioned in a single debate or campaign speech.
I greatly admire the refugees I know, I am sorry they are afraid to speak out on their own behalf, so I do feel the need to speak out for them. They work harder than most Americans I know.
America has always welcomed refugees, some in dire need, some who simply wish to live here.
I am pleased to report that a great number of people who consider themselves “conservatives” or members of the “right,” have donated gifts to the refugees and thanked me for telling them about the Amazon gift page set up by the U.S. Committee on Refugees and Immigration.
The criminal forces us to consider the nature of evil, but the hypocrite is the lowest form of life.
These refugees are good and honest people, families, mostly women and children, they have waited for years to get here and have been thoroughly investigated.
They are no threat to us, they will not harm us, kill us, or steal our resources. They are here to live and worship in peace and safety and to raise their children with hope. They work as hard as my grandmother, their greatest need is now because they lost everything and are beginning anew. You can help them here.
I donated several prayer mats today, it seems a very inexpensive and meaningful gift for new citizens coming to America. What an inexpensive and easy way to affirm our values. To let the refugees know who we truly are. Every day, they help me to understand who I am and who I wish to be.
The ones I know have greatly added to our culture, economy and values. I am grateful for the opportunity to help them practice their faith as well.
Be kind, said Plato, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle.
Lulu came out to visit me in the storm, she was the picture of acceptance. When I go out again, I’ll bring her an apple. The brunt of the storm is yet to come, but the first round is pretty impressive.
Maria left early this morning, she drove straight into a deepening snowstorm, and I am waiting to hear that she has made it to Boston. I know she will, she is strong and takes good care of herself. Still, when she drove off, I wished my heart was a strong as hers. Her plane is supposed to take off tonight for Dubai, then Kolkata. A blizzard is underway in the region, the worst to come.
I suggested going last night, or earlier this morning, but she had made up her mind, and it is up to her.
I am sure she will get there safely. She wanted us to spent some time together this morning, we did the barn chores together, sat and talked, held hands, hugged a dozen times. Then we drove to the Round House to pick up some tea for her to take on the drive – Scott Carrino opened up early for us and gave Maria a great big hug.
Goodbyes are tough on me, so is watching Maria drive off in a snowstorm in her little blue car. We said goodbye in the parking lot at the Round House. Neither of us is much into drama, but our hearts were heavy with separation.
We were both crying as we said goodbye. Maria and I are independent in many ways, close in so many others, and the goodbye was harder than imagined it would be.
Still, we are both so excited by the trip, that overwhelms any other emotion. I came home and gave the donkeys and pony some carrots and ran Fate and Red around the pasture and then started shoveling, there is already four or five inches on the ground, more coming.
Scott called to caution me about the shoveling, but it was light snow, I feel fine. Maria called to tell me she was nearly in Massachusetts. She has rented a hotel room since her flight is so late. If her flight is canceled or delayed – as too many people too count have assured me it will be – she will go to the airport and wait it out.
I do not believe the flight will be delayed., we both checked the weather carefully and the forecast is for rain in Boston tonight, snow tomorrow. If it is, she’ll get another. If the weather forecast holds she will be on her way tonight. I hope it all goes smoothly for her, but I do not worry about this trip, it is a miracle in so many ways, it is her trip, yet a triumph for us both. I just mostly feel so happy for her and proud of her.
It is strange to be in this house without her, she is a very large presence here. I hope to write this afternoon, keep up with the snow (I’ve called our friend Tyler Lindenholl and he will come and help shovel later today). I’m not sure Cassandra will be able to make it in the morning to kick off our creative writing plan, I called her and old her to say home if the roads are not clear. I can do the chores myself.
Strange is the best word, it is as if a large part of me is missing. And it is. Fate is looking everywhere for her, she seems to know this trip is different from an errand or trip to post office.
So the first step today is to hear that Maria has made it to Boston – writing always settles me – and then that her plane is taking off. More to come. This trip is destined to be, and I believe in it.
Ellen is new to the Mansion, an assisted care facility in my town, she is still making friends. At a gathering to read letters from the outside, Ellen came in late and sat down on the sofa in the corner, there was no other room. Red saw her and came over to her and sat with her. I am always struck by his intuition and empathy. You can write to the residents of the Mansion at 11 S. Union St., Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.
