Meditations in Barahona

The frame may be tarnished;

but the mirror stayed polished.

Sheila stood like a wind-wrung tree.

Life's not easy with age, nor more refined.

She held on to faith and clung to the Vine.

Her voice, like a deceptive breeze,

calmed souls with fresh, morning air,

then stirred them up with cloudbursts of prayer.

Her words, like the persistent sea, 

smoothed jagged hearts with free-flowing ease.

Even Peron's tall boys had no force

to match the twinkle of her eyes.

Sheila once sat in an airport with boxes of Books

her beloved Guardian had told her to take..

Her orders came from the Commander-in Chief,

so what could she do but sit and wait?

As hours passed, her whimpering gaze

melted the steel hearts of the Argentine guards,

who ordered her through Books and all.

When fate is divine, who can escape?

Sheila found her home on the Española coast,

island of the "black republics" divinely blessed;

which the Master's Plan had "especially" stressed.

She built her refuge near the palace gates.

Under siege, her battles waged on canvas--

splashes of sea and sand; landscapes of struggles

in the faces of the men. She taught UN troops

about the Source of all answers, 

the Maker of all questions.

Sheila was "dry in the sea."

"Don't think that a person becomes wise

with age," she advised. 

"Wisdom comes through prayer."

Rays of sunlight split the clouds

and appeared in her face.

Her eyes reflected peace;

I detected that her pleas

about life's "why's" had all been satisfied,

except why the heroines had to wither away

like dried up prunes,

as bed-ridden invalids devoid of speech.

Caswell and Agnes among them.

She didn't want to go like that.

"One hour's reflection is worth

seventy years of pious worship..."

a tradition goes.

Then who knows

what seventy years of reflection

and service is worth.?

                                    -- C. S. Cholas

                                    dedicated to Sheila Rice-Wray,

                                    Barahona Bahá'í winter school, 1983

The Sound of a Miracle

What sound has a miracle? Does it crack

so quietly like a sprout that splits

the crust of soil into the open air

for the first time?

-- C. S. Cholas

Fast reflection, March 2, 2005

Badi

Guards did not suspect

him in the garb of a water boy

as he passed them at the prison gate.

to become the one called Wonderful,

who would derange the Empire of the Shah

with a wave of a Tablet from the Prisoner-King.

Badi; his hair tinged with blood

better than all creation,

"salt of the Tablets,"

and a face like the sun,

O Wonderful.

-- C.S. Cholas

February 4, 1986

Two From Wyoming

            SNOWGEESE

That night at Two Moon the frosted air lashed our faces;

Our ears seared by the muffled pleas of snow geese

Snared by the wind on the far side of the lake.

            PRONGHORN

Pronghorn at Old Woman Creek.

Not many-- no -- just a few near cattle.

They graze on the brown grass, calm and untroubled;

Ready to dash in every direction.

--C.S. Cholas 1975, Wyoming

Visit to Ama, Louisiana, Springtime 1975

(Our Urban Studies college study classes from Fort Lewis College, Colorado and Morehead State, Minnesota stopped briefly in the small town of Ama, Louisiana in St. Charles Parish, on the West Bank of the Mississippi River to visit one of our participant’s families. We were heading home after an extraordinary Sociology course in Richmond, Virginia in partnership with Virginia Union College. We were traveling in a car and a van, six in each vehicle with the Sociology professors driving.)

We’re a racially diverse group including an Inuit student from Alaska. After spending a night in New Orleans with its gumbo, Bourbon Street jazz and raucous nightlife, we drive through the lush and humid Louisiana countryside and reach the small town of Ama, where Lisa is from. The air is a rush of elation when Lisa appears from the van and is met with shrieks of excitement by her family. Joyful tears announce that a family member has come home. After greeting Lisa’s family members inside the house, I go back outside with a couple other students in our traveling group to let the family celebrate the moment.  On the porch we meet an older man known as Coon sitting in a chair. A young man with little green-tinted glasses wearing a circular straw hat sits by his side on the porch itself. We enjoy a brief chat.

“Gotta make peace with the Master.” The elderly one says.  The day is heating up and they’re hoping the morning on the porch will keep them cool for a while. “Prices getting’ high,” old Coon continues, “can’t hardly buy nothin’, but I know the Lord’s watching.  Turn to Him and everything be all right.”

            That’s what the old one kept talking about on the porch: the porch of the house he made, bypassing lumber yards and going straight for the trees he made it from.

            “Gotta make peace with the Master,” the younger one with the round, straw hat and little green tinted, wire-rim glasses says.  “Old Coon can talk two weeks about making peace with the Master,” he laughs.  “Old Coon’s something else.”

            Coon greets a passing neighbor, Riley, who responds with, “Morning Coon.”

            “Riley, come on over ‘n’ meet the gang.  Lisa’s home.”

            “Yeah,” Riley says cheerfully, “Well sure, I’ll come right over.”  Riley greets us from the front yard and then begins talking with Coon. 

            While the older two are visiting, the young guy in the straw hat says, “Coon never used to be so much for the Lord ‘til right before he hurt his leg. ‘Bout ten years ago.  Since then, everything’s for ‘the Master’.”  He laughs, but his manner reveals a quiet respect for old Coon.

            Coon says, “Come on in, Riley.  This here’s some of Lisa’s friends from school.  They from Minnesota ‘n’… ah… Colorado.”

            “Well, that’s shore nice,” Riley in his blue work pants and grease-spotted shirt steps up on the porch and greets us, “Shore nice having ya here. Kinda hot here in Louisiana ain’t it?”

            Coon struggles to stand up hopping about on his good leg and welcomes Riley, with one hand holding the back of a chair for support on his bad leg side. Riley moves slowly and drawls out, “Well, that’s shore nice” which he says after anything anyone says, or “Well, that’s shore is something’” whether the talk is sad, or some new gossip is being shared. Then he goes on into the house to meet the others and to give Lisa a hug.

            Lisa’s family is surprised and thrilled to see her, and the house is filled with joyous laughter and chatter.  A couple of the women start rushing about to bring out iced tea and snacks. Lisa hadn’t been able to announce her visit beforehand, and the suddenness of her arrival creates a festive feeling. 

            That joyful suddenness gives way to another, different kind of suddenness when two social workers, a man and a woman, drive up and insist that they need to meet with Lisa’s grandmother about her welfare status.  No, they cannot come back another time; it’s the annual renewal for her benefits. The one blurts out.  The other tries to soften it by swearing it will only take a few moments of the grandmother’s time.  The air stops and feels heavy and sad as a silent scream of resentment flows through the house, but the grandmother is very patient and acquiesces to do the interview in the living room while we move to the dining area. I sense that the grandmother has been in this situation before and knows the routine.  Be tight-lipped and play the game, or risk losing what little benefits you might be entitled to.   

            The two sociology professors are checking their watches and indicate we have a long way to go to reach Lake Charles before nightfall where we will stay with another student’s family for the night.  Lisa is home now and can catch up with all the news of her family while she’s been away to college.  We each give Lisa a farewell hug and interrupt the interview to thank her grandmother for the hospitality.  Outside, Coon sits alone on the porch chair.  Riley and the young man with the green-tinted round glasses and straw hat are no longer there.  They slipped away when the social workers arrived.  Coon looks peaceful with no sign of anger, resentment or discontent. Everything will be okay. He’s made his peace with the Master