WHAT CAN BE

As I consider decades long since past, I'm finding memories I had forgotten were there -- inspiring, hopeful, renewing memories. What's more, I find they all have a motif, a theme, a golden tether that gathers them together. Hope from heroism.

In junior high Biology, we were supposed to prepare a lesson and give a presentation on anything remotely scientific. Mine *was remotely* scientific, but others really took a shot at delivering quality. When Maria's day came, she did something extraordinary and brave. She brought her mother to class. The subject? Alcoholism. I can't forget when Maria and her mom stood before our Biology class talking about what alcoholism can do to a body and a family, and yet how it can be dealt with and overcome. I felt privileged -- the duo delivered the science and shared the sensitive vulnerability of dealing with addiction. I can't help but think they did a Good thing -- Good with a capital G, beyond exposing alcoholism. A fellow 9th grader showed me it was possible to befriend a parent (I didn't know), and that courage wasn't something only found in stories -- she was courageous, therefore maybe I could be courageous.

Irish Rebecca in 11th grade English had been quiet the five or so years I had known her. Her beautiful curly red hair and fair complexion made most of us certain she was Irish-ancestried. She was graceful as could be, and none of us would have offended lovely Irish Rebecca for the world. When Ms. Cunningham made us present an essay for a grade, most of us either goofed off or did only what was necessary to get the grade -- snickety band that we were, one-by-one refining and distilling idiocy in its purest form. But then Irish Rebecca arose to the podium -- quiet, thoughtful, lovely Irish Rebecca, and even we hushed a little because we knew quality was about to speak. Her subject? She delivered an eloquent and riveting thesis on Racism. All those Mexican jokes told in her presence bothered Irish Rebecca -- not just the jokes themselves, but even the fact that people laughed at such jokes and found them entertaining. And then she shared a fact that shamed us all. It turns out Irish Rebecca wasn't Irish at all. Bonnie Irish Rebecca, was and is Hispanic. I had no idea -- none of us did. We were dumbfounded. As she returned to her chair, none of us said a word. Whether we had told a disrespectful joke or laughed at one or even failed to walk away from one, we were ashamed, and more importantly we were changed. I hadn't known integrity was possess-able until Hispanic Rebecca showed me some -- well if she had some, maybe I could get some too.

Clay and Andy and Eric and Beth and Michael and Marc and Pedro and Erin and Sonya and Laura and others were students like me. I guess I never knew that songs on the radio or art in a museum could be made by people like me -- I didn't know how they got made, but I was pretty sure they were not accessible to me. And then they played or they sung or they made. They produced art from the core of what makes us human, or so it would seem to me. It was better than radio and better than museum! I had no idea people like me could make art like that -- not caring who was was paying attention, expressing feelings some of us didn't know how to express, and helping us notice our own spirits. They were doing it. I had no idea it could be done, but there they were, doing it, and if they could do it, that meant that maybe I could to. It was is if I didn't know my own soul until I saw others giving flight to theirs.

When my four year old decided to give a Christmas gift to a charity for children who would otherwise not get gifts, he chose a shiny red fire truck -- one that he wanted -- and he paid for it and we dropped it off to the charity's corporate headquarters because we were too late to leave it at drop-off locations around town. The lady said to him, "I know a boy who is your age who will just love this -- his name is Bradley." My son stood shocked -- who can know the caring emotions that rolled in my four year old's heart? -- he was a bigger man leaving that office. A year later, my FIVE year old decided to do the same thing -- he picked out a construction play set he would have liked and bought it with his own money to give. THE SAME WOMAN who took his gift the year before CALLED HIM BY NAME, gave him a big hug and then said, "Bradley LOVED the fire truck you gave last year." Emotions swelled up in both of us. My five year old wanted to take care of Bradley. I had no idea. It really is more blessed and more fun to give than to receive and I knew that for certain when I watched a four year old give.

Many of you reading this have shown me that what I thought was on an unattainable high mountain IS available, even to me. You make the world a better place by reaching high places, because people like me who are watching are taking notes. Thanks for showing me what can be.

+Joseph

Learning from Sadness

Have you ever seen an empty vessel
sunk into a shallow sea?
Brine and bone, and all alone,
is what we're destined for eventually.

Have you ever heard a wailing mother,
weeping for her fallen son?
And his child and widowed bride,
staring at his coffin stunned?


copyright Joseph Bishara

Song: "Best You Can Get"

Song: "Best You Can Get"
(music and lyrics by Joseph Bishara)
------------------------------------

Let me tell you about my wife
She’s given her life
Gave me home and family
And as hard as I try
We just barely scrape by
So I can't give her luxury.

Well the car that she drives
It smokes and it grinds
Barely gets her from A to B.
So I quit eating lunch
And I saved up a bunch
Figured I’d get her a red SUV.

I’m gonna give you the best I can get
Cause you’ve given me you and you’re not finished yet
Wait 'til you see
Your red SUV.
I'm gonna give you the best I can get.
I'm gonna give you the best I can get.

So I took what I’d saved and I went into town,
And I went to the car lot, and I laid it all down.
The man looked at me and asked what I’d need.
I told him she needed a red SUV.

Mister please give me the best I can get.
Something shiny and pretty, maybe something in red.
Gotta make her life happy with the time we have left
So I need to get her the best I can get
I need to get her the best I can get

So he gave me the keys
to a red SUV
I could get 'cause of rolled-over miles
So I drove it back in
and it rode kind of mean
But when she saw it she gave me a smile

She didn’t look at the paint
Or the scratch on the door
Or the dent in the bumper
Or the hole in the floor.

She said thank you for giving the best you could get
I feel like I've gotten my own private jet
I love the color and it’s the best we’ve had yet
Thank you for giving the best you could get.
Thank you for giving the best you could get.

My boys came outside
and said wow what a ride
So I threw my wife the keys
And we all piled in
and drove to the drive-in.
All I could look at was my family.

‘Bout the time I got up to get us some snacks
A guy stepped out of his Mercedes Benz.
He'd just lost his wife
and felt lost in his life
but he smiled when he looked back at our red SUV.

Mister you’ve got the best you can get
With your boys and your wife well there’s not that much left
Love what you’ve got or live with regret.
Cause mister you’ve got the best you can get.
Looks like I got the best you can get.

Mister you've got the best you can get.
The family you've got and the time you have left.
Love what you've got and don't you forget.
Mister you've got the best you can get.
Mister you've got the best you can get.

Song: My Dad

MY DAD
------
(song and lyrics by Joseph Bishara)

Many times, when Dad didn't see things my way,
He'd try to calm me down when I threatened to run away.

You can’t go. You’ve got to stay.
You’ll get in trouble If you go away
Like it or not, I’m leaving here.
I’m getting out. I’ll disappear.
I wished I’d never had
hurt My Dad

When I was down
He gave me all the money that he had
When I was cold
He gave me the coat right off his back
When I was hungry
He gave me the food right off his table
He held me up. He pushed me on
He gave me strength when I wasn’t able
To stand on my own.
My Dad.

My Dad’s health isn’t as good as it used to be.
And I swallow hard when I think of him leaving me.

You can’t go You’ve got to stay
I’ll feel so lost If you go away.
Like it or not You’re leaving here
You’re getting out You’ll disappear

Thank you for all you’ve given me,
And for the man I’ve come to be.
I wish I’d been a better son,
In all the world you’re the only one,
Who’d go through hell just to see me glad.
My Dad.

(copyright 2008 Joseph Bishara, all rights reserved.)

Song: "Love is what you've been through"

LOVE IS WHAT YOU'VE BEEN THROUGH WITH SOMEBODY
(music and lyrics by Joseph Bishara)
----------------------------------

I was staring at a stranger dressed scantily
Inasmuchas this seductress stared right back at me
Her image underneath the triple-x marquis,
Then some wisdom showed me a fool
Love is what you've been through ... with somebody.

REFRAIN:
Love is what you've been through with somebody.
Love is what you go through for someone.
Love is what you've been through with somebody.
If you want to start having fun,
That's how the race is run.
That's how the race is won.
Love someone!

She's been with me through it all, through thick and thin,
through sunny and rainy, through lose and win,
I'll tell you how I know that it's love I'm in,
Darling I love you true,
'Cause love is what you've been through ... with somebody.

(REFRAIN)

My boy got in some trouble, did something wrong at school
I could tell he didn't think that I would think he was cool
But he forgot about dad's golden rule.
Daddy thinks you're beautiful
'Cause love is what you've been through ... with somebody.

(REFRAIN)

FLY

FLY
lyrics and song by Joseph Bishara
------------------------------

I want a boat. maybe a train.
I want a chopper made of copper,
or an aerey-o-plane.
rocketships can get me fame.
I know what I want to try -
fly

found it hard finding home.
caught my stinger in the wringer.
worked my fingers to the bone.
my heavy hand picks up the phone
to give it another try
fly

ups and downs, thin and fat,
got my highs and my lows and all of that,
when the blues fall through to a deep blue vat,
don't forget where it's at -- and why,
fly

a breath in me, a breath in you
i'm not one who will tell you what to say or do
but a broken heart won't pull you through
set your sights on something up in the sky.
fly

missed the boat. skipped that train.
lost a chopper made of copper,
and a silly old plane.
rocketships aren't all the same.
spread my wings and leave a nest behind -
fly

Leap New Year Baby

Interesting opportunity for teaching: By the Gregorian calendar, I was born September 12th 1971. However, according to the Coptic calendar ('annuit coeptis' written on the back of every U.S. dollar over the pyramid) I was born on new year's day, 1 Thoout, 1688 A.M. (Anno Martyrum). The 12th of September and the 1st of Thoout correspond with each other only once every four years (because of leap year day). This year, the 1st of Thoout is today, September 11th. I think it's kind of cool to be a Leap New Year's baby. So I've decided to celebrate my birthday on whichever day the Coptic Anno Martyrum begins (usually the 11th but every once in a while the 12th). Happy New Year or "Head of the Year" as they say in Arabic (Ross-elSanna) or in Hebrew (Rosh-aShanna).

Slave With A King's Ransom

by Joseph Bishara

What did the slave buy
with a king's ransom?
Filth, ragged and frayed.
When the king passed by
How he wished he were handsome
for the sum of the treasure he'd paid.

Was it loss of place
that gave him cause
to seize his garment to wrent?
Or the fall from grace
giving him pause
for the harm it surely had meant.

Cain's Cry

Following are lyrics to a song I am writing.

Cain's Cry
by Joseph Bishara

There's a hole in my heart and blood on my hands
A brother is gone. I can't understand
why I did what I've done, destroying all I had planned

There's a hole in my soul and a mark on my head
Seven times cursed, if you strike me dead.
I've destroyed who I love, and buried my only friend.

Able no more to cradle his head
Two peas in a pod and I brought his end
I've got hell to pay down, and the bill comes due when I'm dead

CHORUS
I'm a lost generation, in a well of souls.
And I'm lost to the nations, for whom no bell tolls.
I've got fire inside me, like a falling leaf,
and a cry to remind me. Help me find some peace.

This one's a mess, I just can't undo.
I lied then confessed, in a sentence or two
And his blood still cries out, from the grave that I sent him to

A family that weeps, for both us two.
My shame and my blame, for putting them through.
I've got hell to pay down, and heaven says it's come due

CHORUS

Song: "You Are..."

YOU ARE ...
(music and lyrics by Joseph Bishara)
------------------------------------


My inclination
was to find inspiration,
so I put my pen to the page.
But I just had no more,
It was all a big chore,
So I got up and walked away.

Then I stood in awe
at the beauty I saw,
Lying there that way.
When I watched you sleep
I started to weep,
and you take my breath away.

FIRST REFRAIN:
You are my joy.
You are my life.
You are flesh of my flesh.
You are bone of my bone.
You are my love.
You are my breath.
You are my wife.

I was having such fun
playing with my son
bouncing him on my knee.
I sung him a song
and he slept in my arms
and I rocked him softly to sleep.

SECOND REFRAIN:
You are my life.
You are my joy.
You are flesh of my flesh.
You are bone of my bone.
You are my love.
You are my breath.
You are my boy.
... flesh of my flesh.
You are bone of my bone.
You are my love.
You are my breath.
You are my boy.

Heaven Forcefully?

Every now and then, a verse in the Bible will confound many.

Enter Matthew 11:12. From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven has suffered violence, and forceful people lay hold of it.

Take it in its larger context. Then search different translations and find different meanings entirely. Was the kingdom of heaven under siege by evil men? (recall in Matthew 23:13 “But woe to you, experts in the law and you Pharisees, hypocrites! You keep locking people out of the kingdom of heaven! 3 For you neither enter nor permit those trying to enter to go in.)

Or were the "violent [who] take it forcefully" zealous Christians (as I believe John Chrysostom teaches)? Other translations suggest that the kingdom of heaven progresses forcefully into the world. And a passage in Luke offers a different perspective. The bottom line: no one knows for sure AND every version or flavor of the explanation of this has good meditation.

I don't offer answers though many learned scholars of history do. Rather, I only wish to make the point. I am pleased to see a verse which challenges us all to ponder, and which offers no apparent spoonfeeding for an answer. Even now, even today, I wonder if there are verses which can only be expounded and revealed by the One who inspired them. (...only my humble consideration)

A Meditation on Lazarus

Yes, I'd read the story in the eleventh chapter of the gospel of John several times. Every time I read it or I listen to a sermon on it I tend to pick up a new nuance or an undiscovered application for my life. Topsy turvy, broken dreams, unrealized potential, and unfulfilled effort, cold and still seem to litter my legacy.

This time I was asked to give a lesson on Lazarus' story, and a welcome answer to a particularly difficult problem came. My pupils were children: a small Sunday school class of six- to nine-year-olds is all it took. As I explained to them the basics of this story, I pointed out to them the expectation of man.

"What do you think Jesus will do when he finds out his dear Lazarus is sick?" Of course we all thought Jesus should go and heal his beloved Lazarus and we were all surprised when Jesus let Lazarus die and we all wonder why Jesus would do that. Then Martha echoes the same sentiment, "If you had been here, my brother would not have died." Mary the other sister repeats, "If you had been here, my brother would not have died." Even some people watching on asked, "Couldn't he have done something to keep Lazarus from dying?"

On a smaller scale, I find myself in the same crowd. Where were you Jesus? I need you now. ... and nothing happens. An opportunity dies, or a possibility collapses. ... nothing. Sanity seems to fade. ... nothing. And then burial ... and decay ... of what was so dear to me. Dead and gone and moving on, it would seem.

Many saw Lazarus walk out of his tomb and were astonished. Everything they thought they knew securely died as the dead man came forth.

Oh now I remember. Something will happen that not only will raise me up, but also those around staring at me walking out of my own grave. It has happened to me before, it will happen to me again soon, and it will certainly happen on a literal level later.

Kind of takes the sting out of "not yet".

Poetry Considering ...

The following are lyrics to a song I wrote -- a consideration of similarity in all of creation or reality.

ARE WE ONE?
by Joseph Bishara

Twists and swirls, symphonic curls,
spinning round in endless worlds, dancing geography.
Pulsing flows only shows within my body it echoes
the same choreography.
Are we one? Are we one?

Lightning stripes a clouded sky. Flashing thoughts cloud my mind.
Am I a microcosm? Who am I?
Who are we? one? Are we one?

Some use hereafter to justify disaster
others say we're just here, just now.
But violence in blasphemy, And this-is-it mentality
diminshes the history yet to be ... yet to be.

Nation domination, or rational damnation
make no sense to me at all.
The heart must decide what the mind does hide
Breech the fence, open wide, make it fall.

Did you make you? Did I make me?
Or are we allowed to make in us what we were made to be?
are we one? are we one?

Do I personify an ages-old soothing lie?
Believing in something that isn't there?
Possibly.
Or am I blind to see, Love made you and me,
a cosmic family tree? And something IS there after all?
Probably.

We are one. We are one.

Are we made the same?
how many snakes remain
in pharaoh's court?
many or one? many then one.

Let every rod be cast, the truth will be the last,
that snake upon a mast will heal me.
victory.
make me one. make us one.

Quantity and Discipline after Belief in Value

I've just finished listening to Ted Koppel's recitation of his book Off Camera. It was like reading the journal entry of someone who wasn't all that excited to be writing. But what impressed me was the discipline it took to write it. Koppel picks a topic, no matter how unimpressive, and reflects on it for a whole coherent entry. Judging from his writing and his thought processes, this is a man who chews his food thoroughly before swallowing. But as unimpressive as an inidividual entry may have been (his early reflections on President Bill Clinton's scandal in office come to mind), the collection of entries were nevertheless consistent as a unified product - an informed examination of whatever daily occurence, global or personal, had gotten stuck in the formidably critical synapses of his mind.

As I was finishing the book, I began to compare, as I often do when reading accounts of others, I began to compare and contrast myself against Koppel. I do this, I am convinced, to see if I might take away some positive aspect of his nature and incorporate it into my own. Clearly, the man is educated, but so am I. The difference is Koppel finds a way to exercise his education with his journalism. In this book, he flexes his formal training and seasoned journalism to deliver quantity - the guarantor of quality.

As with all exercise, the undisciplined need not apply. What was it that made Koppel sit down and reflect on his childhood, european conflict, public fascination, the nature of journalism, etc. for a whole book? The answer may be as simple as a publisher's advance, or a contract, or some other non-profound condition, only Koppel knows. However, the answer that struck me was that he must have a belief in the value of his mind: belief in value are the key words. How else would he have applied his mind for an entire year.

So that's what I take away from Koppel -- belief in my own value. That's what I have resolved to take from Koppel's book and to infuse into my own mind, and then discipline, and then quantity, and then quality -- starting with this blog.

What I propose paints a wonderfully fractal, reflexive circle of butterfly logic: We shall see if my reslove to believe in the value of the belief in my own resolve is visible to all.