Category: Commentary

Of The Earth

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Chaco_Canyon_Pueblo_Bonito_doorways_NPSChaco Canyon is home to one of the best preserved ancient pueblos in the United States. Over one thousand years ago the Anasazi people built stunning multi-story brick structures that housed thousands of people there. The buildings are remarkable for their beauty and mystery. The native Americans who lived and worked in this land appear to have been rather advanced in their engineering skills and knowledge of the heavens. Excavations have revealed a culture that centered around religious events and included travel and trade with the inhabitants of faraway places. The land is sacred and spiritual. One treads through the long abandoned ruins with a sense of awe. It is difficult to imagine how people survived so well in a region so wild and barren.

Evidence tells us that the Anasazi not only managed to exist in this untamed place but also to thrive. Archeologists have found parrot feathers, jewels, and pottery inside the trash heaps. There are buildings aligned so as to accurately mark the change of seasons and phases of the moon. This now desolate home to spirits was once a center of learning, trade and religious events. The people lived well which is rather surprising given that scientists doubt that they would have been able to support such a large population with only crops grown in the village. Many believe that this grand example of early architecture in the Americas may have been the residence of a ruling class who were provided sustenance by servants who brought in food that was raised in other more fertile and wet areas.

Nobody knows exactly why the lovely structures were eventually abandoned but for whatever reason the people who had lived and worked and laughed inside the walls simply moved. Over time the place was forgotten and left to the elements. It was not until the nineteen twenties that a random discovery of one of the structures led to worldwide scientific and archeological interest in the site. Today it is preserved as a national park and is a haven for astronomers and historians alike. Among the pueblo people it is a sacred repository of the spirits of their ancestors. The rocks and the shards of broken pottery are pieces of their hearts.

I love Chaco Canyon. It reminds me over and over again just how small my part of history really is. I feel the pulse of the men and women and children who once lived here. I marvel at their resilience for I wither in the heat. The warm wind blows across my face and leaves dirt in my eyes. I grow weary and need shelter and water in a short time. Those who were once here may have laughed at my weakness. How brave and remarkable they must have been.

In Chaco Canyon I am reminded that history continues in an infinite arc. The story of mankind will continue because of or in spite of us. The things that bother us so much today may one day seem insignificant to our descendants of the faraway future. They may wonder why we did things the way that we did. I hope that they will understand us and forgive the mistakes that we made for surely we are an imperfect group.

I always feel quite blessed in Chaco Canyon. I all too often take the luxuries of the modern world for granted. It is difficult to ignore how much we really have when faced with the realities of a people who had no running water, cooling systems, vehicles, or the many accouterments that I rarely celebrate. I find myself thinking about less fortunate souls all over the globe who still lack all of the conveniences that I enjoy everyday, even in the trailer that I pull behind my truck. I realize that having enough food has rarely been a worry for me. I turn the handle on a faucet and have cooling liquid to quench my thirst and clean the dirt from my body.

The world is filled with so many wonders and Chaco Canyon is one of them. It stands at the end of a road so pocked and bumpy that only those who truly wish to be there ever arrive. it’s climate is hellishly hot in the summer and brutally cold in the winter. It is not a place for the timid but for those who do seek its secrets it is a miracle. I have been to few places on earth that have left me as profoundly changed.

Chaco Canyon is of the earth just as we are of the earth. It lived gloriously for two hundred years and then just seemed to die. The reality is that it was never really gone, only waiting for a new generation of people to honor and cherish the ingenuity of humans of long ago. It tells a story of mankind that lives on in the hearts and souls of every one of us. It is a connection with a past that continues to reach out to the future. The voices of the individuals who lived there are in the rocks, the brick and mortar, the petroglyphs and the many rooms. They call out to us and remind us that our own time is limited. We have only a moment to leave our marks, tell our stories and preserve the land that sustains us. We must do our best to make our own contributions worthwhile. The moon will keeping repeating its patters and the seasons will come and go. One day we too will return to the earth.

I Did It!

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

IMG_1282A few years back I went on a family vacation to Colorado. My son-in-law Scott had devised a plan for all of us to go backpacking in Rocky Mountain National Park. He assured us that it would be a rather leisurely stroll up a minor peak where a lovely lake awaited us. The plan was to bring our tents and backpacks so that we might spend the night in the secluded spot. It sounded like a doable challenge, especially since Scott had done a great deal of research ahead of time. We would be taking some rather young children on our adventure and my husband Mike and I were well into our sixties and admittedly not in the best of shape, so Scott had done his homework in choosing a destination rated moderate in difficulty.

I was quite excited because it had been years since Mike and I had backpacked into the mountains. We had once attempted to reach the summit of Long’s Peak but had to turn back when one of our daughters was overcome with mountain sickness. Luckily we had camped along the trail at a lower elevation so she was able to rest for a time and recover. By then it was far too late in the day to try our ascent again so we gave up and decided to return another time. We got busy with living and didn’t come back until we knew that we were no longer as hardy as we had once been. A short trek up an easier trail would have to do.

Mike and I spent a great deal of time at REI accumulating the proper equipment. Our old backpacks were sadly worn and out of date so we invested in new ones that were better built. We decided to purchase lightweight sleeping bags and a two person backpacking tent. We already had a single burner stove for cooking and lots of containers to carry the water that we would need. We carefully weighed our loads and spent time walking around the neighborhood to increase our stamina. We thought that after our more difficult adventures this one would be a walk in the park.

We headquartered at my brothers‘ cabin on Storm Mountain. I began to worry just a bit when a walk along the road near their house left me feeling breathless. I told myself that I just needed to acclimate to the elevation. After all, I was coming from only a few miles above sea level to an area that nature had pushed up to great heights. I suspected that after a couple of days my lungs would be okay in the less oxygenated environment.

We ate pasta the night before our journey hoping that the carbs would provide us with extra energy. I hardly slept in anticipation of our trip. We were all set to venture out when one of my grandsons fell on the gravel driveway and got a huge bloody gash in his knee. Fearing that he might need stitches we detoured to a local clinic. The doctor saw him right away, cleaned the wound and declared him ready to go. We were off and running albeit a few hours later than we had planned.

We were grinning from ear to ear as we embarked on our hike. Scott reckoned that it would take us three or four hours to reach our destination. That would give us plenty of time to explore the area before retiring for the night. We were all smiles as we took our first steps down the trail. It didn’t seem to be difficult at all. We began to believe that we would hardly break a sweat achieving our goal.

Before long the asphalt pavement gave way to a more rugged pathway filled with sharp edged rocks and boulders that required us to increase our strides. The gentle slopes became steep and before long I found myself huffing and puffing. I could feel the pounding of my heart inside my ears and I suddenly wondered if I was up to this challenge. Unwilling to admit my concerns to anyone I just kept moving forward one step at a time.

Eventually the trail became so rugged that I had to play mind games to keep moving forward. I would see a log or a rock up ahead and tell myself that I had to proceed until I reached that small goal and only then would I be able to rest for a time. Over and over again I maintained my motivation by starting and stopping, pretending to need a swig of water or a bite of one of my granola bars. The hours ticked by and I feared that I was no closer to my goal. My children and grandchildren had grown weary of lagging behind and were long gone. Only Mike was walking steadily behind me to reassure me that I was not going to pass out alone on the mountain.

Along the way I encountered other hikers who were in worse condition than I was. I pretended to be strong as I sauntered past them and smiled when I heard them note that I appeared to be a very experienced backpacker. I only collapsed when I was out of view, usually pretending to be so taken by the lovely scenery that I had to linger for a time. The truth was that I was running out of steam and saw no end in sight. I didn’t want to disappoint my family or myself. I decided that I had to muster my determination even if it killed me and that was indeed a possibility.

Just when I thought that I was unable to take another step my two eldest grandsons appeared. They had already reached the end of the trail and had set up camp. They encouraged me by insisting that I was almost there. One of them went to help Mike carry some of the load and the other took my backpack and hoisted it over his shoulders. I felt that angels from heaven had descended to aid me in my hour of need.

We walked along talking about a variety of topics most of which were rather deep. I suppose that mountainous environs are cause for reflection and we certainly had time to discuss the state of the world. The good company and conversation made the time and the effort seem less brutal and before I knew it we were rounding a switchback that led into our campsite for the night. I wanted to kiss the ground but I maintained my composure as though I had only completed a little walk that hardly caused me to strain.

It was lovely up there, more so because I was at the top of the world with all of my children and grandchildren. We had brought a whole lot of love and laughter to that place. I was proud that I had made it. I was happy to realize just how wonderful my life really was. I celebrated and rejoiced and slept like a baby even though the rangers had warned us that there were bears in the area.

The next day as I descended I passed people coming up the trail who marveled when they learned that I had spent a night on the mountain. They complained that the trail was far more difficult to navigate than they had been led to believe. I proudly insisted that if I could make it so could they. I was admittedly quite full of myself at that moment. Going down was far easier that coming up had been. I fairly flew to the parking lot where our cars waited to take us back to the luxury of our cabin.

I knew then that my rugged camping days were over. I had grown soft and old. I no longer had the desire or need to prove my mettle. I would leave that to the youngsters. Still I am so glad that I made that kind of trip one last time. I did it! 

Higher Ground

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

4-ways-to-prevent-office-bulliesI’ve observed bullying for most of my life. I was once the victim of bullying, a situation that I nipped in the bud by ignoring my antagonist whom I considered to be sadly damaged. I successfully defended a classmate who was the brunt of ugly jokes and taunts. As an educator I witnessed incidents of cruelty that were horrific. I did my best to teach both my children and my students the importance of living by a moral code imbued with sensitivity, integrity and kindness. When necessary I entered the fray to protect those who had become emotionally broken from the barrage of insults that they had experienced. Sadly I have noticed that over time the game of bullying has only seemed to grow stronger and more common as social media provides a powerful conduit for harming individuals with words and ideas.

Bullying appears to have evolved into a worldwide blood sport these days. We have a presidential candidate who is lauded by his supporters as a kind of warrior because of his fearlessness in accusing an opponent’s father of being somehow associated with an assassin or remarking on the physical flaws of women that he finds threatening. He hurls insults at entire religions and countries. Instead of admonishing and spurning him, large groups of people provide him with attention and adulation as though his lack of manners is a sign of courage rather than crudeness. What are our children to think?

We have countless commercials in which people quite subtly demean others in an attempt at humor. Why do we find it funny when an individual pokes fun at a friend’s command of grammar? What is so wonderful about a woman rolling her eyeballs at a husband being portrayed as a total moron? Why do we laugh when we know we should instead feel uncomfortable?

Facebook and Twitter abound with ugly derisive posts. We encourage bad behavior by sharing and retweeting comments that might once have been considered too rude to repeat. We say that we abhor bullying of any kind and yet we do little to stop the ceaseless chatter that demoralizes and demonizes individuals and groups alike. In today’s world none of us are immune from unwanted and often unsolicited hatefulness. It is little wonder that so many people are choosing to tune out.

Prince William and Princess Kate are attempting to vanguard a movement to bring attention to the horrific effects of bullying. Their campaign reminds us of the often unfair and sordid gossip that swirled around Princess Diana, William’s mother. The poor woman was hounded by cameras and invasions of her privacy. Rumors smothered her attempts to live normally. In the end she died in a tragic accident as she attempted to evade her stalkers. It might be said that she was the victim of a form of salacious and relentless bullying from a public all too hungry to learn her dirty little secrets.

I have generally found that bullies are quite insecure. While they may appear to exude confidence the truth is that they have a need to exert power over others to assuage their own fears. When stripped of their boorish behaviors they often have very little to offer. They are generally very unhappy people and many times are the product of abusive parenting practices. They struggle physically, academically and emotionally. Their bravado masks the emptiness that they feel. They need to dominate others so that they might may pretend to be powerful. They become particularly happy whenever they attract a following for their contemptible behaviors. Like the boorish dictators that they are, they mistake fear for respect. In most cases the quickest way to shut them down is to leave them alone and isolated, a tactic that is all too many times easier said than done.

Back in high school I ran for student body secretary. One morning I had a minor skirmish with a fairly well known bully. I stood at the entrance of my school handing classmates campaign material and requesting votes. Most people politely acknowledged my greeting but one fellow decided to speak his mind. He tore the paper that I had given him in half, spat on it, let it fall to the floor and then crushed it with his shoe. He looked me in the eye and proclaimed that nobody liked me and that I espoused a special hatred in him. He told me that I was so unattractive that it was hard for him to even look at me. As a parting shot he gave me directions as to where he thought I should go.

I suppose that he wanted me to cry or react in some manner but I was determined not to give him the satisfaction. The only thought that I had was a deep sense of sadness that his life was so bereft that he found some sense of joy in putting me down when I barely knew him. His actions only registered in my mind because they seemed so overblown and indicative of an individual who was headed nowhere in life. I’ve always remembered that occasion because I wanted to understand what kind of poison might have created someone so hateful. His cruelty was stunning to me because it said more about him than it did about me.

We all have a vested interest in helping not only those who are bullied but the bullies as well. Our children need counseling in how best to handle such negative situations but we also must consider how to help those whose actions are so obviously toxic. We can begin teaching our kids by modeling healthy behaviors ourselves. We have to speak out against anyone who wrongly uses words and actions to demean or harm. We must show our young that it sometimes requires courage to stand up for what is right. We have to be careful that in defending we do not sink into the morass. We can demonstrate how to debate with facts and ideas rather than insults.

There have been bullies throughout history. We have yet to find a sure fire way of ridding ourselves of them. Sometimes the answer is as simple as ignoring them. Other times we have to provide them with counseling and help. When all else fails figuratively bloodying their noses is our final option. Mostly though the most effective method for dealing with bullies involves being assured within ourselves. When we have confidence nobody can touch us. Feeling good about who we are is the first line of defense against bullies. Our goal for stopping the current trend toward ugliness should be to show our children how to rise to higher ground. When we provide them with a strong moral compass they will be ready to overcome any taunts that come their way and they will do so with the strength and conviction that we have imbued in them.

Stand Up For Love

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

sunset-hands-love-womanHow can I be articulate when I have no words? How can I write about something that I do not fully understand? How can I feel at peace when my heart is so heavy? How can I be happy when my mind is filled with tears?

It has been a violent and murderous summer all around the world. So many souls have been lost in Orlando, Istanbul, Baghdad, Bangladesh, Louisiana, Minnesota, Dallas. Did I forget some place? I suspect that I did because my mind is spinning, unfocused. I find it hard to even think. My emotions have overtaken me. My heart seems to be ruling my head.

I am on vacation with my grandchildren. I want to remain calm and happy for them. They should not have to deal with the horror of all that has happened. I do not want them to be afraid. I struggle to know what to tell them. They are bright children but do not understand hate. They love with honesty and innocence. They do not categorize people. They cannot comprehend any ideas of “them and us.” I want them to remain as optimistic and unfettered by preconceived notions as possible but I know that eventually the realities of the world will catch up with them.

For days and even weeks I have witnessed the pain of my LGBT friends. I have seen the agony of those who are African American. I have read posts in which they cried out for understanding. I have heard from those of Muslim faith who worry that they will be ostracized because of their religious beliefs. Hispanic friends have spoken of feeling unwanted in a country that is just as much theirs as mine. Families of police officers have iterated the fear that they feel every time a loved one puts on a uniform and goes to work. Mothers of young black men have admitted that they worry when their sons are out alone. There is much anxiety and grief permeating relationships and conversations.

I wish that I had the wisdom to know what to do. I want to protest my love for my fellow man and insist that all of us are mostly good but each time that I do the evidence mounts that there is far too much hate swirling around us. I sense that trust is in short supply these days. More and more people that I know are choosing sides when this is the very time in which we should be overcoming our differences and forging ever stronger alliances.

Many of us are praying today. Somehow it seems to be the best that we might do given the circumstances. We remember the words of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. who admonished us to escape darkness through love. We have all read accounts of Jesus commanding us to love one another. It seems a simple but powerful idea. We wonder why it is sometimes so hard to do.

The answer to our problems begins with each of us. One person at a time joining without conditions with one more and then one more to form a chain of love that is stronger than even the most evil forces on earth. It is what we must do. The fighting and hating will never entirely go away but an army of good people has the power to shut down even the most terrible.

Each of us is the same flesh and blood. We all have dreams. We all seek security. We want our children to be honest and good people. It hurts all of us when an injustice is done to one of us. It hurts all of us when violence is perpetrated on any of us. We can work this out but we have to sincerely want to do so. We can no longer afford to pay lip service to the ideals that should be at the heart of all of our actions. We must listen and love and understand. We must lower our voices and condemn hate where ever it is found, always remembering not to blame an entire group for the horrendous actions of a few.

It is true that we have rogue cops who react too quickly because the stereotypes inside their minds causes them to be unnecessarily fearful. They are too quick to escalate situations that should be easily handled without murderous consequences. It is true that most police officers are good men and women who truly want to protect us from the worst criminals. It is true that the vast majority of Muslims are peace loving people but that some among them are intent on evil. It is true that our Hispanic brothers and sisters are hard working individuals who make our nation stronger. It is true that we have persecuted those who have different sexual preferences long enough. It is true that most Christians are loving people but some have distorted the world of God into a religion of judgement and hate. It is true that we should not typecast anyone by race, religion, age or lifestyle. It is true that we should abhor any ideologies that divide us into warring camps.

If we do not use the events of this summer to find unity, understanding and love then all of the tragic and unnecessary deaths will have been in vain. It is time for all good men and women to rise up in indignation and with purpose. Mostly it is time for each of us to reach out even to those with whom we disagree to begin a healing process that has been too long in coming. Let us pray but let us prove with our actions that we are determined to take a stand for love.

Life In Color

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

5172363-joseph-and-his-coat-of-many-colors_331590I’ve read somewhere that dreaming in color is indicative of a creative mind. Not only have I never seen night time images in Kodachrome, but of late I don’t even dream much anymore which is probably related to the fact that as I age I don’t sleep for long stretches of time anymore. I am growing older and I come from a time far different than today. I was a small child when television was in its infancy. The programs that we watched on those tiny screens inside wooden boxes were in lovely shades of black, white and gray. We couldn’t even imagine that there would one day be an NBC peacock. We were as content to tune in to those colorless shows as we were to see images of ourselves in mostly black and white photographs. We were still a very long way from so many of the advances that now seem to be par for the course. The progress that we have made is good, as it should be. Those of us in our senior years are nostalgic but our reverie should not include a desire to return to outmoded ways of doing things.

I remember the great anticipation that ensued when the television series Bonanza became one of the first programs to feature living color. It was an exciting time even for those of us who did not yet own color televisions. Just knowing that someone, somewhere was seeing the green trees and blue skies of the Ponderosa was thrilling. We had entered a whole new world that would only become more and more brilliantly hued over the ensuing years.

It is all too appropriate that our modern day images be filled with a spectrum of reds and yellows and blues mixed together to create greens and purples and oranges. Life is a magnificent rainbow that includes the glorious variety of nature and mankind. There is a beauty in diversity that is never found in the dull sameness of black and white. We are all part of a colorful world that we should embrace but sometimes neglect or even refuse to do.

Just as we didn’t have color photographs or television back when I was very young we humans had a tendency to isolate ourselves from those whose skin appeared different from ours. We convinced ourselves that our ways were normal but in reality we must have known that it was not right to judge anyone without ever getting to know them. Eventually we allowed ourselves to be neighbors and friends with individuals of many different colors. We learned that we had been missing so much and that life was more vibrant and lovely than we had ever before imagined.

When I was just a girl I thought that I would never know anyone who was gay or a lesbian, but I was wrong. As those with differing sexual preferences began to bravely reveal themselves I learned that some of my friends and relatives alike belonged to a world that had once seemed so confusing to me but now seems so perfectly normal. The rainbow flag of the LGBT community is a beautiful thing that represents love. I wonder how we ever could have believed that caring relationships between any two people was anything other than beautiful.

With inventiveness and acceptance we have entered a brighter world filled with possibilities that seemed not to exist when I was young. We have shown that blending hues together is interesting and inclusive. The days of our ignorance should be gone but sadly they are not. Just as it would seem ludicrous to find someone still watching television from a small box with only shades of gray, it should be just as ridiculous to continue to harbor outdated thinking that is cruel, unforgiving and without reason.

As a Christian I was always taught that God makes each of us in His own image and likeness. If we reflect on that idea we realize that God is telling us that every one of His creations is wondrous and perfect. He loves us without conditions and wants us to feel the same. He sent His son to teach us how to behave. Unfortunately some of us never really understood the messages that Jesus made so clear. Not once did He preach that we should spurn those who are not like us. He often went out of His way to embrace those who were outcasts of society. I interpret His actions as meaning that the rules are very simple. We must love everyone, even those who appear to be or think differently. It’s not really that difficult to do. It doesn’t even take much practice. It just requires suspending all restrictions and coloring outside of the lines. We have to break the old rules to follow the new rules which are far more right and just.

Once we experience the colors of the world there is no turning back. We burst out of the boxes that have constricted us and see the watercolors that make life so much more enjoyable. We begin to realize that we only see different hues because of the way our eyes are processing the light. Being able to see the true appeal of all of the world is a gift that makes us feel more joyful. Without the great big box of crayons life would indeed be dull.

Winter has always been symbolic of death. With its withering and limited palette of variations in light it has a certain beauty but none as breathtaking as the riotous colors of spring, a time of life and renewal. We can choose the end of the seasons or the hopeful beginning. It us up to each of us to see the full spectrum of life and rejoice in it.

I am often saddened in knowing that we still have many people who are unwilling to change but I’d like to believe that they are more and more often becoming the minority among us. Slowly but surely we are shining the light on a more beautiful way of living. Because our young have always been more willing to take risks and embrace adventure, they are leading the way to more colorful tomorrows and that is good. Perhaps one day the pallid world of old will be housed in an ancient junkyard and all of us will view life in color.