A BIG BIRTHDAY APPROACHES

In this photo, I am obviously a little toddler.
I used to love talking on the phone - for many

years, actually - but in my old age, I would

rather pray.

I am turning 65 years old this week, and my thoughts naturally turn to a review of my life and of life in general, which is looking much more fraught with difficulties than I'd imagined for my golden years.

I am about 3 or 4 in this picture. I LOVED my rocking horse,

and I later became an expert horse woman.

~~~

At the same time, I have been watching an Amazon miniseries, The Man in the High Castle, and throughout this dystopian vision of an America that LOST World War II and became subservient to both the Germans and the Japanese, there are references to the casual, matter-of-fact incarceration and euthanasia of disabled people, which hits far too close to home for comfort, as you can imagine. In one scene, a surprisingly sympathetic Nazi chief is faced with his teenage son's sudden diagnosis of some wasting disease and the prescribed euthanasia he is expected to perform himself. The doctor is matter-of-fact about the whole thing. This is what one does to the disabled when the prejudices against people become institutionalized. It is a fearsome warning of the future.

I am 6  years old in this picture, hunting for Easter

Eggs at my Grandmother's house in Auburn. I think

we were staying with her while our parents fought

over their divorce.

~~~

You know why, of course! I was reminded of Donald Trump's very vocal prejudices and how he mocked the jerky motions of a disabled journalist, as well as the fat body of one of his supporters. Unattractive women are regularly disparaged and maligned with his filthy language. You will remember the clerk at Smith's Grocery Store on Constitution and Carlisle telling me that he "believes in Trump's law" and that, because I didn't have two arms cut off or two legs cut off, I wasn't really disabled and did not deserve to use my handicap placard. I had hoped that by the time I reached this distinguished old age, the world would have improved, but in Trump's transactional world view, America is a land where very few of us have any value.

I am somewhere between 7 and 9 in this photo.

~~~

Earlier this week, I saw a special edition of "Carpool Karaoke" with James Corden and special guest Paul McCartney, and I was struck, once again, by the love and positivity that radiated from all those old Beatles songs, and which characterized my world view when young. I had anticipated a better world, a kinder world. I thought that by the time I reached this age, the arc of the moral universe that Martin Luther King Jr. referenced would have bent a little bit closer to justice than it has. I remember when he was assassinated. It was an omen of times to come, apparently. Anyone who preaches radical love and forgiveness is the enemy of the powerful and wealthy.

My graduation picture. I was only 16, but

graduated high school a year early.

Note the peace sign around my neck!

I have always been committed to peace.

~~~

Just yesterday, an old man in a giant red truck deliberately smashed into the bumper of my car in a shocking display of parking lot rage. I had gotten into the drive-through line before he was even in the parking lot, but he evidently had his eye on that spot in line, so he rammed my car with his giant bumper and kept ramming it until I called the police. Here I was, a single old woman in a battered 23 year-old car with one window missing, and all kinds of religious bumper stickers on the back end. I was obviously harmless, which is likely the point. When the police officer asked me what the man looked like, I turned to see a short old man whose head barely came up over the dash board.

This was my prom picture. I think it was the junior

prom. I took my junior and senior classes in one year.

That was Chris, with his arm around my waist. (He

was a very nice young man. I always wondered what

happened to him.)

Yes, I had hoped for more progress on the peace front, but, instead, the monetization of people has gotten worse. Prejudice, bigotry, xenophobia and misogyny have grown worse. Cruelty abounds. Free floating rage is endemic.

My son was about 2 or 3 in this picture.

He died when he was 40 from a combination of things.

Diabetes, alcoholism, drug addiction.

Very sad.

~~~

Of course, Trump didn't start the monetization of people as commodities. He is just coarser and more blatant about it than others.  Human beings have long looked down on poor people, people of color, old people, the fat, the disabled and the frail. I have experienced considerable discrimination and cruelty as a large woman with big feet and eyeglasses. There was a continual drumbeat of insistence that I conform to the visual image that others wanted me to present so that I would please them. During my fat years I was tormented horribly. I was a bit thin between the ages of 16 and 24, but I STILL got comments from people that I would be pretty if I lost even more weight. Did they want me to disappear altogether? Maybe that is the point.

We like our women to waste away. We hobble them with high heels and ridiculous tight fashions that keep them bound up. In personality also, I noticed that the weak, passive,  female voice was preferred. No loud mouths, please! We want our women to be subservient. In movies, no matter how smart the woman, she always ends up weeping when the going gets tough - needing to be rescued because she is just so frail and tender. Then, when one is old and is REALLY frail and tender, the world has no use for us.

After the whole Nixon debacle, I was under the mistaken impression that our government was fine enough and good enough to eliminate any bad egg that might come along. I mistakenly thought that we were safe and that no president would dare to be so corrupt. The current occupant of the Oval Office is far worse than Nixon. Not only that, but the Republican Party has become infected with his love of power and is making his reign even worse. They enable him. It is horrifying. And I really didn't expect it.

This as taken about 1975 in San Francisco. I was with my

grandmother, and we were eating at my favorite restaurant.

~~~

My son was about 6 in the above picture. He and

I were meeting my father at a favorite restaurant

on Melrose Avenue in Hollywood.

~~~

The class structure that displaces so many categories of people is taken for granted by the privileged. For instance, when your birthday approaches, Facebook asks you what charity you would like your friends to support instead of sending you a present. People who don't have difficulty stocking the refrigerator probably welcome the opportunity to deflect unnecessary monies to those poor wretched people over there somewhere. It makes them feel good.

My friend, Richard Desiato, took a series of photos

for an anticipated foray into acting. I decided against

it, but the photos were grand.

~~~

The media and social platforms never speak to poor people. Forty million Americans are routinely ignored, not from some deliberate effort to exclude them but because the subconscious, underlying assumption is that they are not part of the audience. Only people with money constitute the audience. Why? Everything is monetized: poor people have no worth because all worth is determined by personal resources that may be useful to other people. Youth, beauty, wealth, power, connections - all have their perceived value. If you possess something that someone else may want, then you have value.

I was about 32 in this picture, enjoying the company of

my guru, Swami Swahananda. This was when I became

very serious about my spiritual journey and joined

the Vedanta Convent in Hollywood.

~~~

This picture was taken just before I joined the Hollywood

Vedanta Convent. My father was in the background, but

he is cut out of the photo.

~~~

Americans find many ways to discount the plight of the poor by claiming they are not poor at all. Either we have too much stuff, or we are not poor unless we are the poorest on the planet. We are required to appear to be poor to the casual observer, but since we live in an affluent culture, American poor people are often the recipients of castoffs from those who are better off. Consequently, we do not fit the mental image of what poor people are "supposed" to look like. My pink leather couch is a perfect example.

This was about 1994, when I moved back to Northern California

for a while. My health wasn't great, and I was having trouble

supporting myself. Salaries being offered were much lower

than in years past.

~~~

These are my sannyas pictures from 2003. My knees had

given out on me, exercise wasn't possible, and I packed on

the weight really fast. Later, I took much of it off.

~~~

I have a 40 year-old pink leather couch that was given to me by a fellow parishioner. A leather couch is considered to be a luxury item, but it is not even possible to sell the damn thing, even if I wanted to. I can not safely invite strangers to come into the apartment of a disabled, single senior lady and risk being robbed or killed. In the alternative, where should I sell it and how could I transport it there? And, after paying for transport, when I get my $100 for the darn thing, will I be able to buy a couch to replace it? No, of course not. I would have to buy someone else's old couch, and it won't be as suitable as the hand-me-down 35 year-old pink one that I have and that I love.

The famous pink couch.

This was in about 2015

~~~

But that pink couch that some may cite as proof of my fabulous wealth doesn't pay for dental work, which Medicare does not cover and costs thousands of dollars. All of your grandmas and grandpas are worried about their teeth because the average monthly income for each of us is about $1,000 a month! When dental work will cost three times a person's monthly income, what are they supposed to do? 3/4 of seniors have serious dental needs by the time they retire. Only the bottom third of poor people qualify for Medicaid, which pays for certain TYPES of dental work. Basically, it will pay to have your teeth removed. That is it. They may help with dentures after all your teeth have been lost.

This was about 2014, 2015.

The weight is starting to come off, bit by bit.

~~~

Another popular idea is most of the 40 million poor people are crooks with larcenous hearts and drug and alcohol addictions. This is a lie. There are no more drug addictions among the poor than among the middle class and wealthy.  The wealthy do a better job of hiding it.

If you have inherited a smart phone and if you have been given a computer, then you are likewise told you are not poor - but neither of those things would pay for that $3,000 dental work.

Facebook became my friend in my years at home after disability.

Being an artist at heart, I loved playing with the photo frames!

~~~

Compare this situation with what happens in all the other industrialized countries, and one has to wonder WHY, exactly, the richest country in the world cannot do what all the other industrialized countries do, despite those countries having far less wealth overall. Our corporations make gigantic profits. American corporate executives make 400 times what the average worker makes. Our entire system is designed to keep millions of us poor and a few people at the very top rich beyond the wildest dreams.

As I approach my 65th birthday this week, my sympathy for my brothers and sisters who belong to this HUGE class of people has been increased. I have a depth of understanding for what seniors, the disabled and the working poor are enduring because I am experiencing it myself.

This is me at age 60. Disabled for 10 years, but still

SMILING.

~~~

As a nation, we need some honesty and integrity to return to the political and social discourse. Prejudice against the poor and vulnerable is just one of the popular lies that is being employed by the wealthy to justify their own criminal, selfish intentions. If we do not turn this trend around, we will end up in a very bad place. Those of us with a serious spiritual life must remember that the bulk of Jesus' message was in favor of the poor. It is harder for the rich man to enter heaven than for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle. Our value structure must be based on His criteria - not Donald Trump and men like him. Not the transactional attitude of big business and corporations.

With regard to this issue in general, I would ask you to consider supporting government programs that give health care to everyone. It is shameful that Americans are sometimes actually DYING from an inability to get dental care. Ignoring dental issues can and sometimes does result in heart problems and death. This does not happen in the other industrialized countries, even though they have far less wealth than the Americans do. Haven't you ever wondered WHY this is? If you do not believe what I have written here, please do yourself and all of us the favor of investigating and researching original sources and legitimate journalists.

For myself personally, I ask that you consider donating to my Paypal account so I can get some dental work. The eyeglasses for which I went through such agony to find the money six months ago have now fallen apart and need repair. My service dog himself needs dental surgery, amounting to between $500 and $800, otherwise he will have to be euthanized much sooner than otherwise. My personal papers and projects are in boxes all over my house because I need storage furniture, a writing desk, some filing cabinets, in addition to the aforementioned electric bed.

See the link to the right, above. I also have a BIRTHDAY WISH LIST on Amazon that includes a bed. Amazon has my address and will ship to me direct.

During the 33 years that I worked and supported myself, I never dreamed I would have to ask for help, but I do it regularly now because I am both disabled, senior, and without resources. What little family I had stole the inheritance my father arranged for me by changing his will after he got Alzheimers and after I became completely disabled. The man who signed his death certificate was a quack who went to jail for giving prescriptions to people he had never met and in amounts that would kill. My father's death was suspicious, but by the time I knew he was dead, those closest to him had quickly disposed of his body by cremation. These few facts tell you all you need to know about my little family. I leave them to their fate - in God's hands. In the meantime, what can I do? Just as others around the world, I must ask for help from the world at large. If help comes, I praise God. If help does not come, I praise God.

If you are able to help, I thank you in advance. If not, you may be one of the 40 million poor people who are struggling to make ends meet, and I will continue to pray for you. Or, you may be one of those people who disparages the poor and blames them. I pray for you also. I pray for everyone.

One day, I hope all Americans learn to treat others as if they were made in the likeness and image of God, instead of just mouthing that biblical platitude.

In the meantime, despite the multiple difficulties, I find meaning, joy and lessons in all of it and I still maintain an overriding sense of gratitude for my long life, which I hope continues for some time. Life is still good, and I still feel blessed. I hope you do likewise.

May all people have peace and happiness. As the Indian sages chant;

Shanti, Shanti, Shanti. Peace, Peace, Peace. May Peace be unto all people.

Silver "Rose"
Sannyasini Kaliprana

PRAYERS NEEDED FOR THE HERMIT

Hermit in a garden

Painting by 

Hubert Robert

(1733-1808)

Since becoming disabled and, consequently, rather poor by American standards, I have been witness to and recipient of the hostile attitudes of Americans toward those on the lower end of the economic spectrum. While it has made me keenly aware of the mental suffering that is heaped upon the poor who already have quite enough in the way of difficulties in their lives, I have also been personally affected.

Although my Social Security is too high to qualify for almost all programs for the poor, I do qualify for a small discount on my rent. (Only the bottom third of poor people are eligible for government programs.) Very few properties have these programs, however, and when I moved into low income housing 14 years ago,  didn't know what I was getting into.

The onsite manager of the low-income property where I live is blatantly rude, greeting me with a pinched and ugly face whenever I try to communicate with her, and turning away from me when I try to speak. She has caused some chaos among the tenants by spreading gossip among us since she arrived here. (I became her target when I objected to her unleashed dog and its feces being left around the property and the multiple cars blocking the fire exit after she moved in.) It just escalated from there.

The manager's campaign of disinformation that was apparently calculated to draw down the ire of my neighbors on my head, has set off an apparently "sensitive" woman who now dances and chants 3 inches from my open windows. One of her performances last week had her chanting in a sing-song:

"Snippy snippy snippy

tattletale tattletale tattletale

You better not report me!"

She kept repeating this for several minutes, while she chanted into my bathroom window, as I was trying to use the facilities.

The previous manager who worked for the same management company ALSO spread rumors about the tenants. A social worker who regularly came to assess the needs of the elderly once pulled me aside and told me that the apartment manager was spreading some ridiculous lie of a sexual nature about me. The woman had a very strange imagination and, even though she knew that I had dedicated myself to God many years before that and that I had no romantic interests at all, I guess she thought it would be fun to just INVENT something. She did this all the time. She would get it into her head that something was true, despite having no knowledge of it at all, and then she'd spread a rumor.

This was the same manager who told me that poor people shouldn't ask for anything to be done in their apartments because they are getting a discount on their rent. They should just shut up and be grateful to have a roof over their heads. Other, similar comments were made. I am paying more than 30% of my income toward housing, yet I am often treated like the deadbeat friend who has been sleeping on your couch for three years.

The entrance to my imaginary hermitage

would be simple, small and inviting

For the longest time, the residents were dictated to as to when they were allowed to take a bath, wash the dishes or do the laundry. In another complex managed by the same company, the residents were told that they could not hang anything on their doors, decorative or otherwise because "poor people shouldn't expect to be able to do that kind of thing," or some such nonsense. ("No Christmas wreaths for YOU!" said Scrooge.)

All sorts of inappropriate measures of control and domination are employed against the poor, especially those who are alone, with no one to defend them. Single disabled old ladies, in particular, have learned to keep their heads down and not ask anything or complain. Most are afraid that they will be thrown out with nowhere to go.  Vacancies are few and far between in the low income housing complexes. The waiting lists are very long. There is simply not enough affordable housing. The housing that is available is in dangerous, crime ridden, traffic dense main streets, in neighborhoods that are usually "food deserts" with no grocery shopping for miles. Still - it is all there is. People who have no power cannot create decent housing out of thin air. They have to take what is available.

18th century hermitage

When I was a normal working person, I rarely had any interactions with the management of the buildings where I lived. I've lived in apartments for at least 40 years of my life, and never had any issues, except for one owner who was a drunk and who began showing up at my apartment, demanding sex. I moved out very quickly. That was an aberration. All my other experiences were pedestrian. I paid my rent. The landlords maintained the apartment. We parted amicably.

I imagined that, upon dedicating my life entirely to God, I would retire to a quaint little cottage, where all I would have to think about would be the God that I love. Having my attention diverted to unworthy topics by mean-spirited bullies is definitely not what I had in mind.

In my imagination, I live in this

"shabby chic cottage"

(with some adjustments for a prayer corner and chair!)

Recently, I read that our new head of Housing and Urban Development, Ben Carson (a retired surgeon) said that public housing should not be too comfortable, otherwise poor people will become dependent. He wants them to go to work and GET OUT.

Shortly after these comments were reported, it was discovered that he had spent $31,000.00 of taxpayer money for a dining room table, and that he intended to spend another $165,000.00 for a "lounge set." That dining room table cost nearly two years of my Social Security income, and is more than two years of a minimum wage earners take home income.

For a brain surgeon, he is an ignorant man. The vast majority of the poor are either working, have worked many years in the past, are unable to work or are CHILDREN and are not eligible to work. Fewer than 3% of the poor who receive "entitlement income" are able bodied people who are not working.

Evidently, a great number of Americans believe the same hogwash that Ben Carson and the GOP have been dishing out lately. I see it in the behavior of the management of the apartments where I live.

I also have a lot to say about the trend toward property ownership as a means of making money, rather than just having a place to live. "Flipping" properties is partially responsible for the astronomical rise in housing costs. The everyday American can no longer aspire to owning their own home, as a matter of course. A home in Boulder, Colorado that a friend's parents bought for $16,000 40 years ago, now sells for $350,000! That increase is not reflected in a proportionate increase in WAGES, however. Wages have stalled over the last 40 years, but corporate profits and CEO salaries have increased wildly.

I have spent years trying fix the issues that plague this apartment complex. First, I tried to make friends with the manager. That did not work very well. She continued to express opinions that were hostile to the poor residents, especially the elderly ones, whom she did not enjoy, and she spoke bitterly about them.

The current manager came to us from the same management company. She hit the ground nasty. Her demeanor is curt and rude, and that chip on her shoulder is quite large. (I have seen her switch modes on a dime, as it were, when an attractive man walks into the room.) With the tenants, however, she is ice.

It isn't just the tenants who are given the cold shoulder, though. Evidently, service personnel are lorded over by the woman in the front office. A delivery man was almost in tears one day after she abused him. I remember so vividly him saying, "just because she's beautiful doesn't mean she can just treat people like dirt." He was obviously feeling very stressed. He had to restrain his response, and I could tell that it was costing him some brain cells. His face was a little red. Tears were in his eyes, and I would bet his blood pressure was sky high.

In my imaginary hermitage

my kitchen window would look out onto 

a quiet and peaceful neighborhood.

Prior to becoming disabled, I was clueless about the mistreatment of the poor in American society. I never had a lot of money, but I was not on anyone's radar because I never received any services for the poor, even during periods of unemployment. I worked, paid my rent, and minded my own business.

Despite the rude treatment I have received from this manager, I have made a point to remark upon anything good that the management team did for me, and I reported it back to their boss. I think it is important to be fair to people. This was not appreciated. Instead, it was just used against me as "proof" that they never did anything wrong. It isn't anything of the sort, but dishonest people will twist themselves into a pretzel to make the facts into something that means the opposite of the truth.

Since making friends with management did not work, I began to try and get my needs met by reporting to the manager's boss, who just denied that her people had done anything I reported.

I have asked my state representative to step in, but, apparently, they couldn't do anything but forward my letter of complaint, which (after languishing for many weeks in his office) ended up in the hands of the very people who caused all the problems to begin with! Again, management just denied the truth and added some lies to spice things up a bit. They finished it off with a broad attempt at character assassination, escalating the whole mess.

Others who have lived in subsidized housing report very similar experiences of harassment, followed by gaslighting, which just feeds into the popular notion that people are poor because they are of poor character. People are poor because they don't have money.

The worst characters in the world can often be found among the wealthy, when you think about it. Many of them lack scruples, ethics and morals. No one wants to criticize the rich, however, otherwise they might not be able to get some of that lovely money with which the wealthy routinely bail themselves out of trouble when their misdeeds are found out.

In the Bible, it is made clear that the poor will see God. We have the best part of the bargain, in that case.

I imagined my hermitage might be

pink and sweet

Currently, I am in a Mexican standoff.  I have to conduct all my business with management in writing, otherwise they lie about it. A friend attended a meeting I had with the manager's boss and was as disappointed as I was about the result. The boss did nothing but deny and defend.

After 13 years, my patience has evaporated. I did my best to make this situation work, and I can only conclude that, in order to have some peace and quiet, I need to move to a market rate property in a more peaceful environment. In fact, I am amazed that I have endured this long. The Lord has blessed me with a very long fuse.

This experience has made me extremely wary of "low income housing." I can't imagine what else I will have to live without in order to pay another $200 a month in rent, which is what I estimate it will cost, but perhaps the new place will have cheaper electricity. Currently, the electricity in this apartment costs about $165.00 a month in the winter! I have often wondered if I am paying the electrical costs for someone else's apartment in addition to mine - or perhaps the exterior lights or something - but it may just be that the construction of this apartment is very drafty.

I ask for your prayers that I may find a proper space in which to pray, meditate, contemplate and get my physical needs met. My friends have been searching for a place for the last 3 or 4 years, with no luck. Let us pray that something in the right neighborhood opens up. I am hoping to be near friends who help me as well as a good church.

May God protect us all from the bullies!

Silver Rose
(c) Copyright 2018
All rights reserved.

CONTROL FREAK

My Command Post - 2018

When you are young and energetic, and you have time on your side, options and possibilities are seemingly endless. There are so many conceivable life tracks and end results that it resembles a good science fiction novel. Only the Divine Writer knows the end of your story.

At the end of your life, however, very little is under one's control. Mastery has flowed through your fingers, when once it was held solidly in your palm.

When you are 63, and you are going blind in an excruciatingly slow manner, your screaming bones won't take you further than a block or two from your car, and your relatives have stolen your inheritance, leaving you a pauper, options, life tracks and end results are frustratingly limited.

EXCEPT, when one is talking about the spiritual realm. THEN, the options are very big indeed. The picture is broad, expansive, fabulously transcendent. No matter how much suffering one endures on this earth, no matter how low people force you down the totem pole of estimation, no matter if you are so discounted that even Walmart wouldn't take you, Heaven is waiting for you on the other side - provided, of course, that you have not succumbed to the temptation for evil that Satan places before you at every opportunity he can find.

That woman who stole your husband? Do you wish that disaster befall her? Say goodbye to heaven. All those little lies you told because you have decided they do not matter? Say goodbye to heaven.
The overdose of sleeping pills you gave to your demented old relative because you are just sure that "he would not want to live like that." Say goodbye to heaven.

Say goodbye to heaven if you lie, cheat, steal, give false witness, commit adultery, or gossip with the girls over drinks at brunch, without remorse and without confession and absolution. Say goodbye to the Pearly Gates.

It is Lent, people. Time to repent, confess, and be shriven - or the end of your life won't be something to look forward to.

Amen.

Silver Rose Parnell

GETTING OUT OF BED HAS BECOME AN ART

Sunset at the hermitage

In the sunset of my life, I am finding the simplest things most difficult. Getting in and out of bed, for instance, is a production, which is probably why I sleep so often in my recliner. I get a much better, much deeper and more restorative sleep, however, if I sleep in the bed, a bed, I might add, that cost me a fortune and took two years to pay for.

The problem is that, if I DO get a good night's sleep or 8 or 10 hours straight through, I wake with my lower spine and hips frozen in pain if I move. If I just lay there, I am alright. The mornings are beautiful and I can pray the time away, but at some time I have to get up, and this is when the morning comedy show begins.

All the icons appeared to be staring at me while I tried to wriggle myself out of bed one morning. The night before, I had finally put together a rolling bed cart so I could bring the computer into the bedroom on some evenings when the Pope is engaged in some special event and I want to see it on EWTN at 3:00 in the morning or whatever odd time of the early morning it had to be shown, due to time differences around the world. It is an inconvenience, but there is something wonderful about being included in an event as it happens.

The cart was blocking the side of the bed which I customarily use to crawl out in the morning, but it didn't occur to me that I might not be able to get out of bed on the other side.

Feeling very much like Kafka's cockroach, I wriggled and squirmed, trying to find a position that would allow me to exit the bed without wrenching my back and causing even more damage to it. It took a good ten minutes before my feet found the floor, finally, and I began the customary production involved in straightening my back.

It is on day's like this that I am grateful to be living alone, with no one to see my comedic stylings in my pajamas...no one except the Lord, of course.

Please pray for me, as I pray for you.

Silver Rose