Clifford Browder's Blog, page 2
December 19, 2021
539. Mysteries
MYSTERIES
This post is about mysteries of communication and healing. I’ll begin with the story of my only out-of-body experience. It occurred while I and my partner Bob were vacationing on Monhegan Island, Maine, where we rented a cabin from our friend Barbara. We had just srrived that morning and spent the day unpacking and getting groceries. That night, heedng the bladder imperative, I went to the bathroom. There, suddenly, I sank quietly to my knees. My mind was up somewhere in the air, observing with detachment my body, but my senses were not involved. I wasn’t alarmed, just wondering why that body was on its knees. Then Bob came, pulled me up, and helped me back to my bed. We both went to bed but couldn’t sleep. Something told me to tell Bob, “Open the windows.” It was a mild, rainy night; he did.
A little later we were still both awake, which was unusual, since we usually slept well on the island. “Let’s go to Barbara’s,” I said. So we went out in the rain, knocked on her door, and luckily found her still awake. Hearing our story, she went to the cabin with Bob and turned the gas refrigerator off. Meanwhile I flopped on a couch in her living room, and that night Bob and I both slept, or tried to sleep, at her place.
The next morning we all returned to the cabin, and Barbara called a handyman over. He confirmed her suspicion: the gas refrigerator’s motor was caked with a slow accumulation of carbon and emitting carbon monoxide. He scraped off the carbon, and all was fine. So monoxide was the explanation of my out-of-body adventure.
A close call for Bob and me, and my only out-of-body experience ever. What prompted me to have Bob open the windows, and then to suggest that we go to Barbara’s? I don’t know, but both actions helped us survive. And I was now more convinced than ever that experience can come to us other than through the senses. I have argued this vehemently with atheist friends who cannot conceive of experiene other than through the senses. Having heard accounts of near-death experiences, where someone comes back to life and tells what happens after death, I am convinced that I am right.
Even perception through the senses can have mystery. Long ago, when I was teaching French at a Catholic university, I had a student named Patrick who took a trip to Europe. He told me afterward of going to Italy to see the Padre Pio, a renowned Capuchin brother who would surely in time be made a saint. He got to see him, and after one glance at his visitor the Padre said, “You are not in a state of grace.” Which was true; Patrick had not been to confession while traveling. How could the Padre tell? I have no idea, but tell he could. And posthumously he was indeed made a saint.
Communication can overcome the barrier of language. In 1999 Bob and I traveled to Europe with our Monhegan friend Barbara. In Florence, hearing from Bob of a shop that sold marbled paper, Barbara wanted to go there, so she could learn more about how it was done. She hoped to do it and sell it in her gift shop on Monhegan. She and I went, having little command of Italian, and knowing that the shopkeeper spoke no English. But Bob had told us that he had a French wife and spoke French, so I cøuld translate. The shopkeeper was glad to answer Barbara’s questions, which I translated into French, and I then translated his replies into English. But after a while he could understand her questions without my translating, though I still translated his answers for Barbara, who learned all about oxblood (sang de boeuf), obtained from butchers and needed in the marbling process. Thanks to the shopkeeper’s information, back on Monhegan she began making beautiful sheets of marbled paper that she could sell in her shop.
Another example: My friend Lilith, whom I first met on Monhegan, had a new career after her kids were grown and she and her husband separated: she became a healer. When she came every autumn to Monhegan, she had a list of islanders with chronic aches and pains whom she treated: no miracle cures, but they felt better afterward. I got to know her, and she told me how she had become a pupil of a famous Zapotec woman healer.
Lilith went to Oaxaca, Mexico, knowing little Spanish, and aware that the Zapotec healer had no English. When she saw the woman, they needed two translators: one for Zapotec into Spanish, and one for Spanish into English. But by their third session, Lilith told me, they could dispense with translators; they understood each other perfectly, and Lilith learned a lot from the woman. And when Lilith came away from their sessions, native people approached her and, thinking her a healer, too, begged her to heal them. But Lilith, being at that point a mere pupil, did not attempt to do so.
The previous two examples of communication can perhaps be explained scientifically, so here is another story that, in my eyes, escapes the realm of science. My friend Gary, hearing an interview in New York with the Dalai Lama, was very impressed by His Holiness’s answer, when asked if he could love the Chinese Communists, who had done him and his people so much harm. “It is very difficult,” said the Dalai Lama, “but yes, I love them.” This so impressed Gary that he resolved to go to India, where His Holiness lived in exile, to thank him in person for his ability to love his enemies.
He managed to go, and before he met the Dalai Lama, he had another extraordinary experience. Attending a great public meeting with a famous guru, he sat in a section reserved for foreign visitors. When the guru arrived, he walked down an aisle right beside where Gary was sitting. For a moment their eyes met, and Gary felt energy passing from the guru into himself. No miracle resulted, simply a transfer of energy.
I am not aware of any scientific explanation of such a phenomenon. I have heard stories of healers and holy men touching supplicants, so that healing energy can pass into the supplicants. Imagination, say skeptics, or the placebo effect. If you think something or someone is helping you, you do in fact feel better — for a while.
Long ago I visited Lourdes and saw the wheelchairs, crutches, and canes discarded by people miraculously cured. It’s hard to dismiss all those healings as temporary and imagined. I think that some phenomena are beyond the grasp of our rational minds and not to be dismissed lightly. They may be rare, but I am not inclined to doubt them.
There is room for mystery in our lives. It is all around us. We come from mystery, and will return to it. And that is solid fact.
© 2021 Clifford Browder
December 12, 2021
538. Watch Out for This Scam
BROWDERBOOKS
BOOKS MAKE GOOD GIFTS
Special Deal through Christmas Day
I'm extending my sale. All my historical novels are available in print at ten dollars each until then, for anyone who can come to my West Village apartment to pay for their purchase and collect it.
If you're interested, contact me by e-mail:
cliffbrowder@verizon.net
And now, au revoir and hasta la vista.
Watch Out for This Scam
It came as a phone call to me. A woman’s voice with a thick foreign accent identified the caller as Medicare and asked if I had received my new Medicare card. No, I said, though only half understanding her English. She then said they would mail it to me and verified my address, which she already had. She said more, but I couldn’t understand her. Annoyed, I finally hung up.
The moment I did so, I realized it had to be a scam. Medicare would inform me of such a development — a new card, superseding the old one — by sending me a letter on official stationery. And they would never entrust the notification to someone whose speech was almost incomprehensible. She was probably in some Asian country like India or Bangladesh, where many of these scams originate. Was I in danger? Probably not, for I had given them no information, only confirmed what they already had. But watch out for this scam.
I am beset with obvious scams, and with suspect phone calls and e-mails. Any message with the words “urgent,” “this is your last chance,” “you are about to lose…,” and similar warnings prompt me to hang up or delete the e-mail. Likewise e-mails confirming my purchase of some item for a huge sum, when I have made no such purchase.
And they repeat. I have heard by phone from Anna (or some such name) at least six times. She announces, “Your name was given to us by a medical professional.” What she then proposes I do not know, since I hang up at once. Why am I suspicious? She doesn’t address me by name; her message addresses anyone. And she doesn’t name the “medical professional” involved. Vague, vague, vague.
These phony phone calls ring four times, then stop. This tells me I’m simply a name on a long list. If there’s no answer after four rings, the caller goes on to the next name on the list.
I sometimes wonder who these scammers are. Does Anna know what she’s been hired to do? Is it just a job to her, no matter how dubious? Or is she self-employed and reaping any profits herself? In any case, it's a wretched way to make a living, exploiting the good faith, vulnerability, or ignorance of others.
© 2021 Clifford Browder
December 5, 2021
537. Portugal Beats the US!
PORTUGAL BEATS THE US!
No, not in soccer, but in good living. The proof? More educated immigrants go there than to the US. And to other countries too, in preference to the US:
Why do they prefer these countries to the US? A host of reasons.
Who then comes to the US? Desperate people fleeing poverty and violence.
So there it is. If you’re educated but inclined to move, why come to a country that
Bombs your native landCalls you names because you’re not whiteHas ruinously high student debtSpends enormous sums on the militaryHas health-care costs that have bankrupted people of limited means.
How do I know all this? From a foreign-born friend, now a US citizen, who has traveled a lot and is very knowledgeable on the subject.
The US is no longer the place where educated immigrants want to go. Portugal and other countries are upstaging us. In those countries newcomers are welcome and live better.
Foreigners still come here for a college education and graduate work, but if they want to emigrate, they go elsewhere.
Some Americans are suspicious of immigrants, even educated ones, and couldn’t care less if they go elsewhere.
Which is crazy. These are the most desirable immigrants, often qualified for jobs we have trouble filling. Desirable, and they go elsewhere.
Our loss, and Portugal’s gain. And Canada's and Costa Rica's.
Crazy!
© 2021 Clifford Browder
November 28, 2021
536. Lullaby: Another Snarkie.
Snarkies seem to be preferred, so
here's another, a lullaby in -- of all
things! -- rhyme. How traditional,
how quaint!
Lullaby
Lullaby O my dear one
Sweet dreams and good night
May demons torment you
And your worries choke tight.
Hush now my darling
These hours are blessed
May nightmares besiege you
With fury and zest.
Close your eyes, rest your noggin
And your brain full of lead
If your bladder malfunctions
Please don’t wet the bed.
Lullaby and good night
Since I can’t wish you well
Sleep deep and forever
Dear lover from hell.
Appropriate for Valentine's Day, so maybe I'll republish it then.
© 2021 Clifford Browder
November 21, 2021
535. Four Titters Crammed with Wisdom
Four Titters Crammed
with Wisdom
Here is WISDOM crammed into three-
and two-line Titters. First, two that go
together:
Mind over Matter
“I’m not masturbating,”
Said the man in the phone booth.
“I’m having sex with a woman in Chicago.”
Matter over Mind
Roaches in paradise.
Phone God, Porto-Potty answers.
And now another three-liner:
Pterodactyls
If you see one, you’re a poet.
Two, a visionary.
Three, a nut.
And finally, a six-liner:
Six Things That Keep Us from Suicide
A tight schedule.
Hope.
No gun.
No poison.
Hate to waste gas.
Diarrhea.
Coming soon: Another Snarkie, a lullaby.
© 2021 Clifford Browder
November 14, 2021
534. Cranky: A Grump.
Cranky: A Grump
Of the unholy trinity, Titters, Grumps, and
Snarkies, we've met a Titter and a Snarkie.
Here now is a Grump.
Cranky
There’s a crank buried deep inside us
That we’re ashamed of, try to squelch.
What a waste of talent,
What a loss of fiendish joy!
For there are joys in being cranky, consider:
Time is on your side;
We all get crankier with age.
You don’t have to flash
That ninny smile,
Limp, insipid, forced,
When others flash at you
That ninny smile,
Limp, insipid, forced.
You can love yourself ad nauseam,
Every foible, every crotchet, every quirk.
A known crank,
You will be avoided by do-gooders urging you
To save baby seals, whales, the world,
When, snug in your own tight nest,
You don’t give a damn about
Baby seals, whales, the world.
If in a weak moment
You perpetrate an act of kindness,
You will astound everyone
And reap unwonted praise.
So what if people call you
An oddity, a grouch?
Immune to derision,
You will enjoy yourself
Unconscionably
To your brazen heart’s content.
So feel free to express yourself. If the
mood hits, be a Grump. And above
all, ENJOY IT.
Next time, for the sake of brevity,
three-liners and two-liners absolutely
crammed with wisdom.
© 2021 Clifford Browder
November 7, 2021
533. Wishes for My Enemies. A Snarkie.
Wishes for My Enemies. A Snarkie.
Last time we talked about Titters,
Grumps, and Snarkies. So now let's
do a Snarkie.
Never make an enemy of a writer; their
revenge can be fierce. For instance this
poem, which bears no dedication.
Wishes for My Enemies
Bedbugs and constipation,
Irritable gut and fallen arches,
Relentless creditors,
Ruinous investments,
Disastrous infatuations,
Boredom, infinite and never ending
With a terrifying midnight awareness
Of their own irrelevance,
Their puniness
On this unfeeling earth.
Rather nasty, isn't it? A real Snarkie.
But that's not the end of it. There are
two more lines.
Fine. But what if
My worst enemy is me?
So maybe now it's a Titter. Certainly not
a Snarkie. To round things out, next time
we'll do a Grump.
© 2021 Clifford Browder
October 31, 2021
532. Titters, Grumps, and Snarkies. A Titter.
NEW -- Titters, Grumps, and Snarkies. But what are they?
This is a Titter. It provokes a quiet laugh, or maybe just a smile.
Wishes for My Friends
Chocolate truffles and warm pajamas
Naughty books, great art, marvelous sex
Contentment without boredom
And once or twice a year
A shock, a jolt
To break their habits, astonish them
And keep them stark and strong.
Next week its companion piece, "Wishes for My Enemies," a Snarky. And maybe, maybe, an explanation of where these things come from and what I'm up to.
Wild stuff ahead. Stick around.
© 2021 Clifford Browder
October 24, 2021
531. Killing
BROWDERBOOKS
My historical novel Forbidden Brownstones, set in nineteenth-century New York, has many features, as the following tags indicate. (Don't know what a "tag" is? Now you do.)
a young black man acquires power in a city of white prejudicean obsession that risks death by fire and murderthe most exclusive brothel in the citya madam's fierce revengethe illusion of youth peddled to senescents and satyrsa sudden death in the parlor
Recommended by Sublime Book Review with a five-star rating. Available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and WiDo Publishing.
Killing
When the State undertakes to execute certain convicted criminals, it gets messy, for every possible method has its drawbacks.
Hanging, the common practice in former times in the US and elsewhere, could fail to do the job. Dangling victims twitched and gasped in midair, before succumbing.
The electric chair was our bloodless, scientific solution in the US. But here too, victims sometimes twitched in agony, urinated or defecated, and the eyeballs could literally pop out. Messy.
(A side note: white attendants strapping in a black prisoner.
My only comment: no comment.)
So today states with the death penalty use lethal injections, administered to a strapped victim who is mercifully unconscious, having been injected with an anesthetic. But what if an inexperienced technician injects a muscle, instead of a vein, or if the needle becomes clogged, causing intense pain to the victim? Messy again.
Pharmaceutical companies have become squeamish about letting their products be used in executions, so if lethal injections are impossible, some states now allow prisoners to choose the firing squad. Which assumes good aim on the part of the squad. And yes, messy.
The French have a solution, introduced during their famous 1789 Revolution: the guillotine. It’s quick and ruthlessly efficient. But it’s bloody, and there are all those decapitated bodies to be disposed of. In executing people we Americans, like the medieval Church, have a horror of blood. (The Inquisition condemned people, but left executing them to the secular authorities, who did it with a vengeance.).
Conclusion: when it comes to executing people, whatever we try is messy. Which gives plenty of ammunition (oops, I mean arguments) to opponents of the death penalty. Yes, eliminating it makes for crowded prisons, and voters don’t like to see their taxes going to such institutions, which some people label “country clubs” — people who have never been in prison. Prison is no picnic. I know this from stories told me by a penpal inmate. But it lacks the terrible finality of execution, the irreversible judgment of death.
This debate will never end. Here in the US we have fifty states, each with its own laws and regulations. And public opinion swings between the alternatives: death penalty vs. no death penalty. When human life is involved, it’s not an easy problem to resolve.
© 2021 Clifford Browder
October 17, 2021
530. Kill
BROWDERBOOKS
The new edition of Fascinating New Yorkers has received two five-star reviews from Readers' Favorite. Excerpts follow.
It is really a pleasure to discover all these personalities one after the other. Fascinating New Yorkers is a book that will appeal to anyone who enjoys an interesting read. -- Five-star review for Readers' Favorite by Astrid Iustulin.
Each character is presented with a sense of familiarity that is not always found in biographical sketches. This makes for an interesting read whether you’re a New Yorker or not. -- Five-star review for Readers' Favorite by Emily-Jane Hills Orford.
Available from Amazon.
KILL
“Be a killer,” Fred Tump told his young son Donald long ago, and Donld has followed his advice ever since.
Not literally, of course. We use the verb “kill” and words related to it rather freely, not meaning to take someone’s life. For instance:
But the verb kill has, in English, a force to it. It’s a monosyllable, short, quick, and clean. Shakespeare knew it, when he had a deranged King Lear exclaim
And when I have stol'n upon these sons-in-law,
Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!
Have I ever killed? Yes, bugs galore. Mosquitoes, flies, roaches, mice. The mice and roaches by using glue traps, the flies with a flyswatter, the mosquitoes with a quick swat by hand. Did I relish these massacres? You bet. We’re all killers at heart, but in different contexts.
I once heard of a young man who, for Christmas, asked his parents for a motorcycle; they said they would see about it. The young man had high expectations. But when Christmas came, his parents apologized, explaining that they just couldn’t afford it. The young man was crushed, then furious. Knowing where his father kept a gun, he got it and shot both parents dead. Then, appalled at what he had done, he rushed to the garage to get in the family car and drive away, to where he didn’t even know. And sitting there in the garage was a shiny new motorcycle. His parents had wanted to surprise him.
This is a true story. The young man fled in the car, but in time he was arrested and sent to prison. He was impulsive and prone to anger, but not a hardened criminal. Yet deep inside him there was a potential killer, waiting for some incident to propel him into action. Do any of us know fully what lies buried deep inside us? Maybe a killer. Scary.
Have I ever seen a killer? Yes, at the Coney Island Aquarium: a shark. It was swimming in a large tank, its sleek, streamlined body supple, its eye evil, its jaws equipped with jagged, in-curved teeth, so that the more a victim struggled, the more it would be impaled on those teeth, rendering escape impossible. An efficient, swift killer, and beautiful. Yes, seen swimming freely, beautiful. But not one to meet in the open sea. Bathers and surfers, watch out. Sharks pop up when and where least expected, with dire results.
Gray nurse shark, Minnesota Zoo
In nature, killing is normal, even necessary. Cats kill birds; do we then hate cats? Once when, on vacation, I was watching a flock of migrating sparrows feeding on some seed that I had put out, a small hawk swooped down and grabbed one of the sparrows, while the others scattered in terror. The hawk — a sparrow hawk, smallest of the falcons — then proceeded to feed on its dead victim. It was nature, it was basic and — in a way — beautiful.
Animals kill because they must eat to survive. To my knowledge, only humans kill for pleasure, for vengeance, out of hatred or ideology or greed. (If there’s an exception, it might be cats, since they play with a captured mouse before killing it.) And yes, sometimes we humans kill in self-defense, which, if true, can be justified.
A messy subject. And when the state executes, it’s really messy. I’ll go into that next time.
© 2021 Clifford Browder
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