miraba el reloj como si pudiera controlar el tiempo o al menos determinar su curso

sobresalía ligeramente de su manga / qué natural como si el tiempo estuviera allí atrapado vigilado de reojo detenido hasta que dijera / se acabó / a otra cosa / nos vamos

llegaré a las siete

Starleaf guérit et détruit. Sur Epsilon-9, la frontière enseigne à chaque cowboy de l’espace que la liberté a toujours un prix.

Les modules d’atterrissage sifflèrent et crachèrent de la vapeur sur le sol cramoisi d’Epsilon-9. Les premiers colons en descendirent, leurs bottes s’enfonçant dans la poussière tendre. Au centre du dôme, une liane étincelait comme de l’argent en fusion, captant la lumière des trois soleils au-dessus. Ses feuilles pulsaient faiblement, miroitant d’un éclat intérieur étrange. Les colons s’arrêtèrent. Certains tendirent la main, effleurant les feuilles, respirant la légère fumée qui s’élevait dans l’air. La douleur se dissolvait, la faim disparaissait, et un vertige paisible les enveloppait comme une marée.

La liane reçut vite un nom : Starleaf. Dans les couloirs du dôme, les marchands chuchotaient : “Elle répare les os brisés, apaise l’esprit, remet d’aplomb les nerfs usés par le combat.” Les colons, rescapés de zones de guerre sur d’autres mondes, pensèrent avoir touché le jackpot.

Mais les ombres arrivèrent toujours. Les jeunes colons perdaient leur concentration. Les esprits s’effilochaient, les souvenirs se tordaient comme des disques de données corrompus. Certains devinrent dépendants de la liane, fixant ses feuilles argentées d’un regard vide tandis que leurs corps tremblaient, en manque de la prochaine bouffée. Les médecins secouaient la tête devant les coûts cachés (cœurs épuisés, poumons brûlés par les fumées, jeunesse consumée trop vite).

Le conseil se réunit dans la lueur enfumée du dôme.

• “Elle guérit, elle apaise. L’interdire, c’est con et dangereux.”
• “Elle grille les esprits et vole la concentration. Laissez faire, vous verrez le merdier.”

Les voix s’entrechoquèrent comme des rafales laser. Les arguments roulaient dans la salle, entre grondements graves et éclats de voix.

Un vieux colon se renversa dans sa chaise, la fumée de son cigare formant des anneaux parfaits autour de lui. “La liberté ne tombe jamais du ciel”, dit-il. “Elle exige que chacun comprenne les forces qu’il manie et accepte les conséquences de ses choix. Laissez-les choisir, mais assurez-vous qu’ils voient les deux faces de la pièce.”

Le vote passa. Starleaf ne serait ni interdite ni idolâtrée. Elle serait étudiée, mesurée, vendue et accompagnée d’avertissements.

Dans la colonie, les colons apprirent vite. Survivre ne consistait pas à supprimer la liane ni à l’ériger en culte. Il s’agissait de faire confiance à l’équipage pour affronter à la fois l’ivresse et la chute brutale.

Une silhouette solitaire se tenait au bord du dôme, aspirant une bouffée de fumée de Starleaf. L’éclat des feuilles peignait son visage d’argent, révélant cicatrices, rides et des yeux durcis par trop de soleils. Il montra la plante du pouce.

“Starleaf, comme la liberté, ne tombe jamais du ciel : elle exige compréhension, respect de sa puissance, et acceptation des conséquences qu’elle entraîne.”

Et quelque part au-delà du dôme, les trois soleils se couchèrent, projetant de longues ombres sur la poussière rouge, rappelant à chaque âme que la frontière était vaste, les risques bien réels, et que la liberté (la vraie) se gagne toujours.

#storm

Copyright John Storm 2025

Écrit avec l’IA par John Storm

Starleaf heals and harms. Out on Epsilon-9, the frontier teaches every space cowboy that freedom comes with its price.

The landing pods hissed and spat steam onto the crimson soil of Epsilon-9. Out stepped the first settlers, boots sinking into the soft dust. At the center of the dome, a vine sparkled like molten silver, catching the light from the three suns above. Its leaves pulsed faintly, shimmering with a strange inner glow. The colonists stopped. Some reached out, brushing the leaves, inhaling the faint smoke curling into the air. Pain melted, hunger vanished, and a dizzy sense of calm rolled through them like a tide.

The vine earned a name fast: Starleaf. Traders whispered in the corridors of the dome: “This one heals the broken bones, calms the mind, even fixes the nerves raw from battle.” The settlers, those who’d survived war zones on distant colonies, felt the truth in it: Starleaf was the jackpot of the void.

But the shadows always came. Young settlers lost focus. Minds frayed, memories twisted like warped data disks. Some began to depend on the vine, staring blankly at the silver leaves while their bodies shook for the next hit. The medics shook their heads at the hidden costs (hearts overtaxed, lungs burned from the fumes, youth spent too fast).

The council convened in the dome’s smoky glow.

• “It heals, it frees. Ban it, and you’re crushing the grind of the colony.”

• “It fries minds and steals focus. Let it run wild, and the chaos is on us.”

Voices clashed like pulsed lasers. Arguments rolled through the chamber in low growls and high shouts.

An old settler leaned back in his chair, cigar smoke spiraling in perfect rings around him. “Freedom never falls from the sky,” he said. “It demands that each person understand the forces they wield and accept the consequences of their choices. Let them choose, but make sure they see both sides.”

The vote passed. Starleaf would be neither banned nor worshipped. It would be studied, measured, sold, and warned about.

Out in the settlement, the colonists learned fast. Survival wasn’t about suppressing the vine, or idolizing it. It was about trusting the crew to handle both the high and the hard fall.

A lone figure stood by the dome’s edge, inhaling a whiff of Starleaf smoke. The glow of the leaves painted his face silver, highlighting scars, lines, and hardened eyes that had seen too many suns. He flicked a thumb at the plant.

“Starleaf, like freedom, never falls from the sky: it demands understanding, respect for its power, and acceptance of the consequences it brings.”

And somewhere beyond the dome, the three suns dipped low, casting long shadows across the red dust, reminding every soul that the frontier was wide, the risks real, and that freedom (real freedom) was always earned.

#storm

Copyright John Storm 2025

Written with AI by John Storm

The thing about lawns is that they need mowing…

This is one of those fundamental truths of the universe, like the fact that toast always lands butter-side down, or that you will inevitably forget why you’ve walked into a room. I had a spare few minutes, which is to say I had cunningly avoided everything else that needed doing, and decided it was time to tackle ours.

I assembled my equipment with the methodical care of someone who has learned, through bitter experience, that preparation is everything. Ice picks. Crampons. A flask of tea (Yorkshire, naturally—one must maintain standards even in the face of mortal peril). A trauma pack medical kit. Thermals. The sort of kit that says “I am going somewhere where oxygen becomes more of a suggestion than a guarantee.”

Because our lawn, you see, isn’t so much a lawn as a vertical expedition waiting to happen. If Everest had suburban aspirations, it would want to be our lawn. I’d suggested to Mary that we hire it out to climbing clubs—diversify, monetise, that sort of thing—but midway through my PowerPoint presentation (complete with projected revenue streams), she performed that peculiar eye-rolling manoeuvre that suggested she was experiencing some form of optical malfunction, and wandered off. I remain convinced there’s money in it. We could even make the expedition leaders sign liability waivers.

But today, regrettably, it was just me and the mower and several hundred feet of near-vertical grass that had clearly been conducting evolutionary experiments when no one was looking.

The lawn mower attempted to hand me a sick note. It was a pitiful effort, really—something about mechanical stress and undue gradient exposure. I wasn’t buying it. I dragged the malingering machine out and aimed it optimistically upward, in the general direction of “summit.” It responded with a cough that suggested emphysema and a wheeze that implied I should probably update my will.

Halfway up—or possibly two-thirds, altitude affects your judgment—I encountered a flock of migratory birds. They seemed genuinely startled to find a human at their cruising altitude, particularly one pushing a lawn mower. We exchanged awkward glances. One of them might have asked for directions. It was hard to tell.

At approximately Base Camp 3 (the bit by the forgotten garden gnome), the mower gave up entirely. Just stopped. Died, really, though I’m assured it’s only resting. I had no choice but to abseil back down Lawn Mountain with it in tow, which is significantly harder than it sounds when the thing weighs approximately the same as a small car and has wheels that rotate in directions not strictly recognised by physics.

My second ascent of the day was conducted with a pair of shears. Manual labour, the old-fashioned way, which is what people did before they invented machines to do the complaining for them.

Once the lawn looked sufficiently trimmed—or at least looked like I’d had a go at it, which amounts to the same thing from the ground—I made my descent. I packed away the shears, oxygen tanks, and carabiners with the quiet satisfaction of someone who has achieved something.

When Mary got home, I naturally regaled her with the full tale of the expedition, complete with hand gestures for the tricky overhang near the shed. She gave me a look. You know the one. The look that suggests you might, possibly, perhaps be making rather a meal of things. Which seemed a bit rich, frankly, coming from someone who hadn’t met the Sherpa at Base Camp 2.

Though, in hindsight, he might have been the postman.

✝️ When Leadership Abdicates

The government has shut down. Hundreds of thousands of federal workers face furloughs. Some may never return to their posts. For families across this country, that means uncertainty in paychecks, in rent, in groceries, in medicine.

This is not leadership. This is abandonment. Those elected to serve have chosen posturing over people, power over responsibility.

But let us be clear:

The pain will not be felt in Mar-a-Lago or in the boardrooms of billionaires.

It will be felt in kitchens where meals must stretch further, in homes where mortgages hang in the balance, in lives where service has been met with betrayal.

Leadership is not measured in slogans or spectacles. It is measured in faithfulness to the people you serve—protecting the vulnerable, carrying the weight, feeding the flock.

A leader who abandons his people in their time of need is no leader at all.

“Woe to the shepherds of Israel that do feed themselves! should not the shepherds feed the flocks?” (Ezekiel 34:2, KJV)

And yet—even in abandonment, the people endure. Neighbors step in. Communities rise. Workers carry one another when leaders have failed.

History will not remember the false strength of those who let their people suffer. Heaven will not forget the ones who stood, who helped, who refused to let the powerful write the final word.

Every age has leaders who fail their people, but there is always a greater voice calling us back to justice, truth, and care for one another.

The false shepherd has fled, and opened the gate for the ravenous wolves. But the true Shepherd is calling. Do you recognize His voice?

John 10:27 (KJV) “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me:”

#ShutdownBetrayal #SilentSentinelWrites #Ezekiel34 #LeadershipMatters #TruthMustSpeak

© SilentSentinel, 2025. All rights reserved. Excerpts may be shared with attribution.

---

✝️ Cuando el Liderazgo Abdica

El gobierno se ha cerrado. Cientos de miles de trabajadores federales enfrentan licencias forzadas. Algunos quizá nunca regresen a sus puestos. Para las familias de todo este país, eso significa incertidumbre en los cheques de pago, en la renta, en la comida, en la medicina.

Esto no es liderazgo. Esto es abandono.

Los elegidos para servir han preferido el postureo sobre las personas, el poder sobre la responsabilidad.

Pero seamos claros:

El dolor no se sentirá en Mar-a-Lago ni en las salas de juntas de los multimillonarios.

Se sentirá en las cocinas donde las comidas deben rendir más, en los hogares donde las hipotecas penden de un hilo, en las vidas donde el servicio ha sido respondido con traición.

El liderazgo no se mide en eslóganes ni en espectáculos.

Se mide en la fidelidad hacia el pueblo al que sirves: proteger a los vulnerables, cargar con el peso, alimentar al rebaño.

Un líder que abandona a su pueblo en su momento de necesidad no es líder en absoluto.

“¡Ay de los pastores de Israel que se apacientan a sí mismos! ¿No deben los pastores apacentar a los rebaños?” (Ezequiel 34:2, RVR1960)

Y sin embargo—aun en el abandono, el pueblo perdura.

Los vecinos se apoyan. Las comunidades se levantan. Los trabajadores se sostienen unos a otros cuando los líderes han fallado.

La historia no recordará la falsa fuerza de aquellos que dejaron sufrir a su pueblo.

El cielo no olvidará a los que se levantaron, a los que ayudaron, a los que se negaron a dejar que los poderosos tuvieran la última palabra.

Cada época ha tenido líderes que fallaron a su pueblo, pero siempre hay una voz mayor que nos llama de nuevo a la justicia, a la verdad y al cuidado mutuo.

El falso pastor ha huido, y ha abierto la puerta a los lobos rapaces. Pero el verdadero Pastor está llamando. ¿Reconoces Su voz?

Juan 10:27 (RVR1960)

“Mis ovejas oyen mi voz, y yo las conozco, y me siguen.”

#TraiciónAlPueblo #EscritosDelCentinelaSilente #Ezequiel34 #ElLiderazgoImporta #LaVerdadDebeHablar

© SilentSentinel, 2025. Todos los derechos reservados. Se pueden compartir extractos con atribución.

Only a month in, I feel I've made a mistake. I shouldn’t have come back to my old school. It was a mistake, and I hope it will become less of a mistake over time.

I have been working in ‘big schools’ here in Hong Kong for the past four years. These are schools with 5 & 6 classes of 25 kids per level. I would teach only the P1-P3 (Grades 1 to 3) without doing anything with any of the upper levels. The classes were repetitive – doing the same lesson over and over again. I would try to modify the lesson to the needs of the students. More fluent classes would have more challenging words and tasks, while less fluent classes would have support at their level. It was stressful in the first year but boring in the second year. It’s this boredom that spurred me to make the move. The work was easy, but a crucial structure was missing, which is often lacking in small village schools in northern Hong Kong.

There are four pillars of a good work environment. They are trust – do you feel like your work has your back? Belonging – do you feel part of something? Recognition – are you valued? And something called collective resilience – in a crisis, can we all come together for the benefit of each other and those we help? In my ‘new job’, I feel I don’t have any of those.

My school is disorganized. The person I rely on for information about what is going on has been missing for two weeks, and I expect them to be absent for the next few days or more. I had worked with her before and know she takes a lot of sick days. I am the only native English speaker at my school, and no one here feels comfortable speaking English. I feel more out of place than before. I have yet to experience the feeling that my work has value, as I still need to determine the needs of the students and find ways to help them.

In the three weeks of classes so far, everything feels rushed and unplanned, with the only purpose being to complete whatever worksheet, page in the textbook, or other assignment. It doesn’t matter if the kids know it. It doesn’t matter if the kids know their ABCs. It is about getting stuff done. I feel like I'm at the mercy of the local teachers, whereas in my previous school, I had more control over what I needed to do, and I could see students learn. This feeling of pressure, which I put upon myself, is normal, but it doesn’t feel like teaching. I am in a mode to manage the class since my teaching partner may not know how to or may not care. I am too harsh and not having fun in the lesson – when I am not having fun, the kids won’t be having fun.

It is only the beginning of the academic year, and I have yet to form a firm bond with the students. I don’t know the names of the teachers well. There is time for me to change, the school to change and for me to build a more meaningful relationship with the students to make the school year better. I am hopeful that when the teacher returns from their sick leave, things will improve. Currently, I’m filling in the gaps, which isn’t my goal or my role here, but I remain optimistic about the future.

The heart is not written down on any map; true places never are.

[Intro 20 seconds]

Verse 1 Saint Elmo’s fire on the mast, Storm winds rise, blowing fast. We stand our ground, we stay, Hold true till break of day.

Chorus No tomorrow, no past remains, Only her voice in the wind and rain. Love is the tide, the helm, the flame, And I sail by her name.

Verse 2 Mighty keel below me lies, Silent strength that never dies. No man cheers her, none recall, Still she bears it, through it all.

Chorus No tomorrow, no past remains, Only her voice in the wind and rain. Love is the tide, the helm, the flame, And I sail by her name.

Verse 3 Plank by plank, her frame is bound, silent walls where love resounds. Called by none, yet fierce and true, she shelters all the ocean’s blue.

Chorus No tomorrow, no past remains, Only her voice in the wind and rain. Love is the tide, the helm, the flame, And I sail by her name.

Verse 4 Saint Elmo’s tide, carry me forth, Through the storm, through eternity. Singing of love keeping us near, Love that silences all the fear.

Chorus No tomorrow, no past remains, Only her voice in the wind and rain. Love is the tide, the helm, the flame, And I sail by her name.

---

Writing and producing these songs is like a drug. Look, I know they aren't very good in the big scheme of things, but you have to understand: I'm no musician. I have a very nice piano and I can find middle c, I know some very basic chords. But never in a million years could i sit down and score and sing a song in a day. Well, I guess in a million years I could. But I am most definitely a decade away from any manner of proficiency. AI is letting me cheat HARD.

And it's a hell of a thrill.

This was SUPPOSED to be a sea-chanty version of A Soldier's Job. But being able to write lyrics and being able to write the RIGHT lyrics is vast chasm. Even for Anchor of Stars, these aren't very good. They are serviceable, but not impressive.

I STILL want to write a sea chanty along the lines of Nathan Evans. He blows me away.

So Anchor of Stars went from rousing chant for the crew to work, to a prog-rocky ballad that's part ode to sailing vessels and part longing declaration to make it home through the storm.

Where the heart is.

Love always,

Wolf.

---

#poetry #100daystooffset #writing #sxs #WYST #song #music

This was the third year I've done this race, except that this time I opted for the longest possible distance: 113 miles (as opposed to the 70ish miles I had done previously). Here’s how it went in 2023. Last year, I wasn’t in the mood to write about it, nor am I right now in 2025. Normally, I’m trying to talk less about pacing, nutrition, and all that typical midlife-crisis bullshit. Can’t completely avoid that, especially when your biggest mistakes or best results directly depend on these boring details. But instead I’m trying to paint a picture of myself out there, which tells some story, big or small. There’s barely a story in this one, so I came up with the idea of a “rapid fire” race report. I’ll try that now because it’s something new and different, and we’ll see if it sticks.

Start. I absolutely destroyed myself in the first five minutes of the race. On the warm-up hill, iykyk. On all three of them, actually. Well… No, I think it only took the first two. On the third, I already started seeing people passing me by. Going hard from the gun to stay with the lead group made sense for me in a 70-mile race. But I shouldn't have done that with the big boys and girls. What was I thinking?

Pain. In the next thirty minutes, more than half the field passed me. I was the 100th out of 150. And I couldn’t hold any wheel rolling right by me. Can’t remember being that far back ever, except at my very first one. I kept thinking that I should turn around. I can probably get back to the hotel before the official checkout time and chill in the pool while my friend Brian finishes his race. Last year, I found myself in a similar situation, albeit to a much lesser extent. What helped then was to remember that “sometimes even if you’re having a bad day, you can put together a good race”. Nothing like that went through my head this time. I just kept rolling along on some mental inertia.

Canyon. Things were getting a little better. Thanks to the dude on a dark green Crux. We worked together. Only two of us for a while, but we were drilling. Caught a few more, which made a group of seven. Some pulled, some sat up. No one was able to keep the pace when the gradient rose by 1% from the average, making it evident that the group would not last very long.

Attack 1. Right before the aid station, the road gets steeper. I opened the gap, but they quickly closed in on me once we reached the flat, paved section.

Attack 2. Half a mile, 7% average and up to 10%, very chunky. Two of us survived. I never saw the rest of the group again.

Refill. Had two bottles waiting for me in a drop bag at mile 43 (70 km) aid station. Took me 24 seconds to swap them out. That’s pretty fast for a non-assisted stop. And that was my only one on a day.

Climbs. Here comes the grind. 45 miles (75 km) split into three climbs — nothing steep, all gradual. CR 48.8 is nasty, but dry and therefore not nearly as bad as it was in Spring 2024. I passed 21 riders on this segment. And then five more while they were taking their time at the aid station nearest to the last summit. While at it, I also smashed my PRs from 2024. In all this time, only one racer zoomed by me, but it was a lady, so as a gentleman, I let her go ahead.

Return. As glorious as I was on the climbs, I bled a shit ton of time on that false downhill back into town. Homie Jaron was only 5 minutes ahead of me at the beginning of the home stretch, and I finished a whopping 20 minutes behind him.

Almost there. At the last aid station, some dude hopped on my wheel. I don’t know if he caught me or if he popped out of the aid station. But I’m glad he happened to be there; that gave me something to race for. I did not want to let him sit, so I hammered hard on every single hill left. Luckily, we still had a few to go over.

Overall. Solid mid pack. Objectively, if that's the official result, then this is where I belong. Suck it up, buddy. But it's far below my expectations, I could've done better. Only one way to find out, but I will have to wait until next year.

PS: This was my first race with a powermeter, which I installed only four days earlier. I’m not really sure if it helped me with pacing, but I definitely learned a lot from the data collected. Weaknesses have been identified, and the remediation work has already begun.

In Summary: * Highlight of this Wednesday would be a quick shopping trip in the evening with the wife to pick up some ice cream. Seriously.

Prayers, etc.: * My daily prayers.

Health Metrics: * bw= 219.25 lbs. * bp= 142/86 (63)

Exercise: * kegel pelvic floor exercise, half squats, calf raises, wall push-ups

Diet: * 06:15 – 1 McDonalds double burger, * 10:00 – Mongolian beef, rice * 12:30 – fried chicken, mashed potatoes & gravy, cole slaw * 15:20 – 1 fresh apple * 20:30 – dish of ice cream

Activities, Chores, etc.: * 04:30 – listen to local news talk radio * 05:30- bank accounts activity monitored * 05:40 – pray, read, follow news reports from various sources, and nap * 07:20 – placed grocery delivery order * 12:30 to 13:40 – watch old game shows and eat lunch at home with Sylvia * 13:50 – pray, read, follow news reports from various sources, and nap * 20:00 – quick shopping trip to the local HEB with the wife

Chess: * 10:30 – moved in all pending CC games

1. Mirror Dance (Vorkosigan Saga (Publication Order) #8) by Lois McMaster Bujold, 600p: This book dives into some really intense stuff, and while I usually shy away from stories involving torture and body horror, I felt like Bujold handled it with a lot of emotional nuances. That being said, it was an amazing read! Both Miles and Mark go through horrible experiences, and we see them overcoming all sorts of challenges. The pace is excellent and the suspense with the dual POV was great (even though Miles is absent for most of the book). There is lots of trauma in this book, but it is used as character transformation, it's not gratuitous. Mark's pain isn't romanticized, and yet his journey toward healing feels earned.  Watching him confront the legacy of being a clone, a tool, a shadow of someone else, and then slowly carve out his own space in the world was incredibly moving. Bujold's writing doesn’t flinch from the darkness, but she also doesn’t wallow in it. There are hope and resilience and it's probably the best book in the series so far for me.

2. The Girl Who Could Move Sh*t with Her Mind (The Frost Files #1) by Jackson Ford, 496p: This was one of my local book club's picks.  It starts strong with a high-intensity action scene, and the premise is intriguing.  However, I felt it lacked deeper character development.  It opens as a murder mystery but loses momentum midway through. The villain, who gets his own chapters and point of view, felt flat and underdeveloped. The main character is Teagan Frost, a young lady with telekinetic powers working for the government in covert operations alongside a team of former criminals and outlaws. Her powers only work on inorganic matter.  It bothered me a bit that Teagans' explanation was that she couldn't move anything containing carbon or hydrogen molecules, which does not quite translate to “organic matter” in a scientific sense. I found spelling errors and typos in the text which pulled me out of the story. Overall, it wasn’t really my cup of tea, but the fast-paced action kept me reading.

3. The Leopard Prince (Princes #2) by Elizabeth Hoyt, 255p: Lady Georgina Maitland (or George), an aristocrat who refuses to marry just because society expects it (I love an unconventional heroine), meets her new land steward, Harry Pye, and finds him quite dashing.  When sheep begin mysteriously dying in the area, George teams up with Harry to uncover the truth. Harry is a broody type with a big heart, deeply connected to the land and nature. I especially enjoyed how his mysterious past was gradually revealed throughout the story. Another nice touch is George’s retelling of a wild fairy tale about a Leopard Prince, and it becomes a charming inside joke between the couple. The story blends a well-crafted cross-class romance with a strong heroine, a compelling mystery, and a hint of fairy tale magic.

4. Start Where You Are: A Guide to Compassionate Living by Pema Chödrön, 151p: This book introduces Tibetan Buddhist wisdom through the lens of lojong slogans, which are brief, thought-provoking phrases designed to encourage reflection and shift habitual patterns.  Many of the slogans center on cultivating compassion in daily life. It's written in a conversational tone with some light humour making it more approachable. I thought the number of slogans was a bit overwhelming and felt repetitive after a while. But beneath that, the book offers a powerful and timely reminder: to be less judgmental of ourselves and others, and to practice the art of letting go.

#readinglist #books #reading

When we left Dorothy Gale and her yellow hen, Billina, last week, they had washed up on the shore of a land called Ev. They had an adventure with the Wheelers, and they met a new friend, a mechanical man named Tik-Tok. Tik-Tok proved to be a valuable and knowledgeable friend as long as Dorothy kept him wound up with a golden key.

He told her much about Ev, which lay across the deadly desert from the land of Oz. He explained to her that Ev used to be efficiently run under their King, but the King drowned himself in the ocean after he sold his wife and ten children to the Nome King.

Dorothy was imprisoned, locked up in a tower by the Princess of Ev, after refusing to give her her head. While in the tower, Dorothy saw coming across the deadly desert on a magic carpet, a delegation from Oz which included her old friends the Scarecrow, the Cowardly Lion, the Tin Woodman, and a company of soldiers. They were led by Ozma, the Princess of Oz, who had just learned that the King of Ev had sold his wife and children to the Nome King. And she was come with her army and friends to rescue them. When they learned that Dorothy was held prisoner in the Castle they freed her and her friends, and they all went to find the Nome King in his underground Palace.

They are now in the Palace of the Nome King, trying to free the rightful Queen of Ev and her ten children.

And the adventure continues.

Hello, I hope your day is going well.

POTUS has addressed all the General and Admirals of our Defense Department, telling them that they should use our cities for their training grounds. This from the guy who avoided any military service by having a doctor claim he had bone spurs. Now he claims the right to tell the men and women charged with our protection how to train their troops.

This, of course, is part of the Grand Plan to insure the country is in such chaos that POTUS will declare it impossible to hold the 2028 Presidential Election and, that he must continue to rule “for the good of the country.”

We need to stop the deployment to our cities of members of the armed forces for the purpose of causing fear and panic. They are us and don't want to harm the republic, but may need to do so in order to retain a job because their families need the money. This is a terrible choice and we need to make sure they do not have to make it.

Further, think what Putin will do when he knows that our republic can be infiltrated and maybe even emasculated because of Trump. We need a better POTUS.

POTUSRoaster

Have a good day and say hello to your neighbors. They may be just as afraid as you are

www.write.as/potusroaster for more of this blog.

From galaxies to individual cells, everything participates in great cycles of return. … Death is the amnesia separating one life experience from another. It is only the enemy for those who seek to hold on to this world in order to control and possess. … Not so for those who share their lives with others. For them, death is simply the final opportunity to give. —Rabbi Lawrence Kushner, in Honey from the Rock

And Abraham … sent [Hagar] away, and she went wandering through the wilderness of Beersheba. And when the water in the skin was gone, she flung the child under one of the bushes and went off and sat at a distance, a bowshot away, for she thought, ‘Let me not see when the child dies.’ And she sat at a distance and raised her voice and wept. —Genesis/B’reishit 21:14-16, from Robert Alter, trans., The Five Books of Moses: A Translation and Commentary

As sundown approaches, I feel the trap of fear, loneliness, powerlessness, the common background emotions, sensations, intuitions of my life through the surreal horror of the collapse of the world I thought I knew, that I thought I’d grow old and die in. Feelings intensified as Yom Kippur nears, the yearly rehearsal of our own deaths, preparation for the last breath which we may or may not take over the coming year, whether or not we are ready for it to end, a last breath that will mark, at some point, the end of all our efforts to love, to help, to make and shape beauty, a better world. Yom Kippur feels unique in that as a festival, a chag, of individual reflection, moving inward to reckon with our lives, accepting our role and part in harming and hurting others and the world. It can be a day of isolation, a day of standing alone with our shortcomings, sins, faults, failures. When you strip away the ritual and history and tradition of it all, it’s about my end.

As we approach two years since the massacres of October 7th, 2023, since the Israeli government opted for razing a civilization, destruction, mass death, which, as I write this, grinds on even as Netanyahu and Hamas consider their options in the face of a “peace deal” created by the neo-fascist government of the United States. As American Jews caught up in this two-year conflagration, it is hard not to be pulled out of the individual, the interiority, to turn our gaze to the People, am Yisrael, and to the national, global, universal. We can choose to return collectively, as a “we” the Jewish people, to the warnings of the prophets, their almost droning urging that we remember to protect the weak and powerless, the strangers among us, to adopt them into the community and care for them, to feed and clothe them. This year there can be no atoning without asking what these core values of Torah and Nevi’im mean now in the face of a state driven by fear and vengeance.

But tonight, I will stand in my San Francisco community, in the dim light of Kol Nidre, bare before the covenant to chant confessions and forgiveness, all oaths that condemn me, may they be forsworn, may my words not be held against me, may I face the many ways I’ve failed to honor all creation, all of the images of god in the world, failed to strive to be holy, failed to love god and neighbor and stranger. I will stand shoulder to shoulder with others as we think, ponder, and face untimely death and unfinished work and unmended damage we have caused and hope for a return, t’shuvah, the eternal return, to start over and try again.

for a better year ahead that our lives may be counted as good

In April 2023, I was required to write an essay for my Emotion-Focused Therapy class, reflecting on my attachment styles. I didn’t receive a good mark because it was too personal, not academic; however, the process of writing it was necessary. I wanted to share it.

My mother was always there for me. She continues to be there for me now. The past four years have been difficult, with the death of my father in 2019 and the onset of COVID, with the travel restrictions between Hong Kong and Canada preventing me from seeing her. When I was young, I could depend on her for all my emotional support. She was a stay-at-home mother in the first years of my life before returning to work when I started primary school.

Looking back at my early years, my first relational attachment to my primary caregiver was secure based on John Bowlby's criteria. My mother was always around from birth until around two years old, up until today. She remains the person I turn to for emotional support. When I was a young child, there wasn't an overreaction if I fell or something went wrong. I was free to make mistakes and learn from them, knowing that the safety and support of my mother were always around me in my early years.

With my mother, things felt safe and secure; however, there were issues with my brother, which may have created an insecure attachment with peer groups. My brother was an angry child, according to my mother. After she gave birth, she went through a period of postpartum depression where the attachment to him was not secure. There wasn't emotional support from others for my mother, making it difficult for her to bond with him. As a young child, he would hit, lash out and seek to harm me. He was never happy, and we would learn he was sexually abused by a family member when he was around five years old; we would remember 30 years later, after he was arrested. I was not. I feared being around my brother, but I was alone with him after school when my mother started working, which was when I was in primary school. During this time, he would terrorize me until he left for secondary school, when my parents paid for him to attend boarding school. I would stay at friends' homes or seek ways to avoid going home until I knew my mother or father would be around to protect me.

Things became even more complicated when I started school in grade one (primary one). Socially, things were good. Being in a small community of 90 people made it easy to find friends who joined sports and interest clubs, such as scouting. In my first year of primary school, my teacher mentioned how it would be difficult for me to focus on things going on around in the classroom. I was missing many of the benchmarks for a child at my age. My shoes were always on the wrong feet, even when the letters L and R were written on the tops of the shoes. Academically, forming letters would be odd – d/b, q/p, and many misformed letters like s and e. I could not read simple books like 'See Spot Run' no matter how many times they were read with me, and I followed along. Behaviourally, I seemed aloof but not energetic. There were no discipline problems; instead, I was overly helpful to the teacher, seeking approval within this setting, as I knew I was different.

I was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder, or what is known today as ADHD, inattentive type (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders: DSM-5, 2013), by the Clarke Institute in Toronto. It was suggested that I be put in a special non-residential school about 40 km from my home, which taught students with mental health issues. Medication was not recommended then, and I never took it until I was 43. I was seven years old and didn’t fully understand why I was going to a new school where I didn't know anyone, in a town I had never been to. I don't remember my issue being discussed with me, or if it did, I didn't fully understand it, but took it as if something was wrong with me and needed to be fixed.

Many psychological theories have associated attachment insecurity and ADHD (Storebø et al., 2016). There is a belief that emotional dysregulation is an essential feature of the hyperactive–impulsive type of ADHD (Storebø et al., 2016). The perinatal period plays a critical part in the initial attachment of people with ADHD and the development of attachment. Looking back, it feels like my mother and father provided a secure environment in the initial stages of life. My brother's treatment of me and my moving to a different school while still having the same friends in my village caused an insecure attachment with my peers. The secure attachment to my mother grew stronger as doubts arose about others, and it became more challenging for me to make friends.

The special school I went to had many students with the more hyperactive style of ADHD, developmental delay, autistic, or a mixture of different mental health issues at once. Some students had physical challenges, such as using a wheelchair or having minimal sight or hearing. Looking around the class, I couldn't understand why I was there. Students in my class would move in and out on a monthly or yearly basis. I wouldn't know or play with the students in the other courses, as they were in a 'normal' program, meaning a classroom with no modifications in the curriculum. My social circle consisted of these students during school time, as well as children in my village. I continued with sports and local activities with the students in my village. With my village friends, I was teased – called dumb and stupid. I realized that doing simple tasks, such as tying, reinforced the feeling that I was not good enough. Eventually, I would withdraw from sports and local activities, preferring to stay home to watch TV alone if I could or find neighbours to play with or hang out with so I wouldn't be alone with my brother. I now understand how there was shame in my abilities, and feel my attachment style to peers was insecure, but I still maintained a strong attachment to my primary caregiver.

My goal as a schoolchild was to be 'normal,' meaning not being in the special school, but rather attending my village school with the kids next door and across the street. When I was in P2, I asked to find a tutor to help, which was unheard of in the 1980s. I would take classes in summer school in P2 or P3, trying almost anything to be in the 'normal school,' thinking the teasing would stop. Eventually, I would return to my regular school. Still, for some lessons – English language arts, which is reading, writing, spelling, and maths – I would be pulled out into a remedial class with a special education teacher. In the classes where I was with the 'normal' students, I would always try to show, in some way, how smart I was, excelling in social studies, science, art, physical education, and music. There are elements of this today, as when initially meeting people, I try to find a way to show off my strengths. This drive to be seen as usual dominates my work life today as I tend to push myself hard, be unforgiving for making mistakes, and feel that being not 'good enough' in my workplace has helped me get ahead, but at a cost. Being 'normal' became an obsession throughout my academic years, from primary to secondary school, with some elements persisting to this day.

My relationships in primary school were not close due to the constant change and the feeling that most students in my primary school classes struggled to form bonds, given the numerous emotional and intellectual challenges they faced. In my first year of secondary school, I had no close friends and would spend most of my time with my mother, helping her with our family business in my free time, not for the money, but to be with her. Our family moved to a bigger city when I was in my final years of primary school (Form 1 and Form 2 in Hong Kong), necessitating the need for remedial classes. My attachment style to others was avoidant, as I mainly kept to myself and believed friends would never stick around.

In my second year of secondary school, I attended a typical school with no exceptional educational support. People were unaware of my academic background and did not share it with anyone. There was a strong desire to build new relationships, which felt more clingy to others on my part. I thought I loved the people I was with and would express it in a powerful way. It would make things uncomfortable. If they did things without me, I would get angry and jealous, thinking they might not like me. My thoughts about the people around me were obsessive in retrospect. I did things to fit in and be social constantly, such as drinking and taking on more responsibilities in school and extracurricular activities, as a way to spend more time with them. There was more focus on social activities than on schoolwork, but I could still get good marks without studying. There was a drive to be needed and indispensable in running the school and people's lives. This would extend to my first romantic relationships with females in my second and third university years. Based on my understanding of Bowlby's Attachment Theory, I believe that the transition to a 'normal school' in my second year of secondary school created significant anxiety and worry about forming and maintaining friendships. It became a focus fueled by the normal adolescent tendencies to build relationships outside the family, but accelerated due to the constant changes in my friendship groups.

In 2003, I moved to Korea after working for the Government of Ontario for eight years, serving various politicians and ministers, and following the end of my first long-term relationship. I lived in Korea for eight years, attending several different schools, and experienced constant changes. I moved 13 times and had 14 different jobs. Most of the friendships formed would only last a year due to the continual turnover of people. I would build strong relationships with people, but they would mostly leave within a year or two. I had a few close friends who remained with me during my Korean years, but I generally treated all friendships as temporary and distant for those who were close to me. Most people I was surrounding myself with were ten years younger than me and in their 20s, while my friends at home were getting married and building families. Relationship-wise, I had come to terms with my homosexuality and was exploring this new part of me in a new country. I was dating a lot, and people who became disposable. Some of the people I dated would get frustrated as I wasn't responsive or inattentive to their thoughts and feelings. The constant change in friendships, as well as my previous experiences with continuous shifts in friendships throughout my life, created an internal working model that suggests people do not stick around, so there is no point in investing in these relationships. I was not interested in long-term relationships or friendships and felt I could always find more if I was social, loud and drank. I developed a more avoidant attachment style in my relationships and friendships, extending into my first few years in Hong Kong. My relationship with my mother remained secure, while the relationships with those who moved from Korea to Hong Kong became a bit more secure. Still, initially, I was reluctant to share my true self with anyone but my mother and father.

I met Marco two years after arriving in Hong Kong in 2012. He changed my life. Early in the relationship, we had issues, and I would often find myself looking for the exits. He confronted me by explaining that he would be sharing something personal, and I was paying half attention to what he was saying, but my mind was focused on other things. He would get frustrated by stopping talking and staring at me. I would give a puzzled look. He would ask if I knew what he was talking about, and I could respond exactly to what he said verbatim, but with no emotion. Over the initial months, he would share more about these frustrations with me, often sharing something personal, but I wouldn't seem interested; there would be no follow-up. He sensed from me a feeling of coldness or aloofness, as if I didn't care about what was happening in his life. I began seeing what he saw and started seeking help from a counsellor to look at my behaviours and take medication for my ADD, and understand my path.

Within my relationship with Marco, I learned to extend the secure attachment I had with my mother to him, and in turn, become more open to the close friends I have now. I made many mistakes with Marco, but I never felt these mistakes would jeopardize our relationship. There was a sense of being able to share anything at all. Our relationship grew stronger over the course of eight years. Two years ago, my partner had the opportunity to build a new life in America, as his mother had emigrated there. In his note to me, he mentioned how he had learned that I can be deep and emotional, but it was buried deep inside. At the time, it didn't make sense for me to leave, as I couldn't work in America and study. Marco mentioned the only time he felt happy in Hong Kong was during the time he spent with me. He felt the chances for personal growth were bigger in America than in Hong Kong. It was vital for him to do this, and I supported him, though the change has affected me more than I knew.

Reviewing my path to this point has made me aware of how my attachment styles and strategies have changed throughout my life. These changes were due to trauma when I was a child at my brother's hands, the moving of schools, learning to adapt, and being labelled as different. These experiences have brought out a sense of shame for being different, but they have also created a drive in me to be successful. I believe my 'drive to be normal' made me excel, but at the cost of becoming more self-critical and overly self-reliant. It makes me resist the urge to reach out for help both in my professional and personal life.

Having clients at St. John's Cathedral Counselling Services and completing my counselling courses through the University of Hong Kong have helped me recognize and understand how I have arrived at this point. I am continuing to learn to be more dependent and aware of my thoughts and emotions, which has been challenging. I am a Western man who culturally should be more open to his thoughts and feelings; however, growing up in the 1980s and 1990s, emotions were not easily discussed. I moved to Asia when I was 30, lived in two similar cultures, and had relationships with people who, although culturally different, shared a similar outlook on emotions as I had growing up. 

As for how I would describe my current attachment style, it remains secure with my mother and Marco, but only via phone, not in person. In day-to-day life, the attachment I feel towards my peers is not as secure as it was with Marco, but it is not as ambivalent as it was in Korea or during my early school years, and it is not as anxious as it was during my adolescent years.

In the year my partner left, there was a point when I felt like there was no secure attachment to anyone around me. I felt lost. With distance and more separate lives, the attachment to Marco is more strained. I reacted to this feeling by becoming more closed off and self-reliant since this pattern had worked before. I have learned there is a strain causing problems that affected me personally and my work life.

Additionally, in the year my partner left, many of my close friends left or are planning to leave Hong Kong, which has made me feel more reluctant to form new friendships. I have become more aware of these issues during this course and also by reviewing the materials for this essay. I am building something with someone who has been helping me regain a more secure attachment than when my partner left. It has helped me open up more, share, and possibly recover the secure attachment I need to grow and improve.

Fealty with love, valor with honor, disloyalty with vengeance.

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St Elmo's fire danced Upon the mast. Winds blew up And his love, Helped hold fast.

It is a soldier’s job— A soldier’s job

Mighty keel. Steady and strong. Un-celebrated, Un-worshipped On its inverted throne.

It's a soldier’s job— A soldier’s job

No note for the plank Or her many sisters Stitched as one. Compound, concave. But names Never Known.

A soldier’s job— Soldier’s job

No Future, No past

So sing with me— Of the heroes Who did their job— no day but today, no love but ours.

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