I was unhappy with the election results – more like sickened, in fact. More so than at any other time since 1968. A couple of personal notes: I am unlikely to hit the road to Canada – been there, done that, have a couple of tee shirts ( not so funny). That being said, I am too old, wore out and broke down to run, so now is my time to stand and fight, whatever that may mean. I am sitting here angered and unsettled by the election results, listening to early Dylan and finding the way back to long-forgotten rage. I ask myself what did they do in Hamburg the night after Hitler was elected? Buckle up: it is going to a rough ride.

“Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief. Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.” Nittai of Arbel said that. By which he might have meant to say that we must “trust that evil will be repaid.”

The day is short and the task is great. Rabbi Tarfon said that.

He also used to say, “It is not up to you to finish the work, but you are not free to abandon it.”

Note: Hillel said in Micah, “If I am not for me, who will be for me? If I am only for myself, what am I? If not now, when?” Indeed there will be no going gently into the good night. No fuckin’ way.

Outside my door they are marching in freezing northwest rain. I remember marches like these; they were about the war in Vietnam, about civil rights. Effectively, they were about the rights of the citizens to protest. They changed the ways in which many of us saw the world. Will today’s actions change the palpable texture of our fear in the face of a Donald Trump administration? Yes indeed they will if only for the sense of knowing who our brothers and sisters might be. Me, I went for another short run and came inside to write. Do what I can do, do what I must.

When I was a little guy, I went to a Jewish Liberal, Zionist summer camp that was meant to take the sons and daughters of the nouveau riche and teach them some humility. Hard canoe tripping, heavily themed all-day programs were part of the process. And there were inevitable sing-alongs – many were standard camp songs, but in addition there were folk songs from freedom movements around the world, mostly from pre-war Germany and the Spanish Civil War. One of the tunes has been with me since then (the Eisenhower administration). From the Spanish Civil War it was “Freiheit” (Freedom); it chilled me then and it does now. It came from the German brigade that fought with the International Brigade. I have written elsewhere that my father raised money in New York for the Lincoln Brigade that also fought the Fascists.

Spanish heavens yield their burning starlight
High above our trenches in the plain;
From the distance morning comes to greet us,
Calling us to battle once again.

…

We’ll not yield a foot to Franco’s Fascists,
Even though the bullets fall like hail,
With us stand comrades, they are fearless,
And for us there can be no retreat.

Pretty romantic stuff and damn stirring, heart-rending in retrospect. They fought, they died, and the world went on. I found cocaine and whiskey, self-pity and a desperate sense that I had missed my rightful time. That last part was fuzzy-headed nonsense. But here we are again and while it might yet be too early to say this, “The barbarians are at the gates.” And crazy as it is, they look just like you and me.

So as always I find myself turning to song lyrics as I run. I was struck today by these from “The Messenger” by Ray Wiley Hubbard.

Now I have a mission and a small code of honor
To stand and deliver by whatever measures
And the message I give is from this old poet Rilke
He said “Our fears are like dragons guarding our most precious treasures.”

Enough outa me today. I have run, written, eaten and I am about to shower – a very good day. The streets of the world are filled with people who believe that the world is what we make of it and that now is our time to make it a better place for all of us and all of those who are comin’ down the road.

Image Credits

Photo by Michael Lebowitz. All rights reserved.

Poster image: No original copyright found (United States Library of Congress)

I feel a serious storm comin’ on – gonna need all my strength, whatever remains, to stand tall in the howlin’ winds, be the reeds, bend, do not break; there will be time enough for the best in us to rise once again like sunrise on a brand new day. I said that. Dylan probably said it better somewhere else, but he ain’t here this morning.

I used to be a runner, in that I got up every morning, laced up and went for a run. I haven’t done that for three or more years. Strokes and heart infections have caused a break in the flow, so to speak. But given the events that transpired today, I believe I have no choice but to “lace up, light out, and look all around.” Running has always been my sanctuary, a cathedral of my own choosing, if you will. It has always given me strength and clarity of purpose in the effort expended and the lessons learned – of courage, faith endurance and love. I will need to to be my best self going forward. I came home 16 years ago, to America. I didn’t know it then but these days will be the reason I came home, to be a citizen, to do my part. I am an American-born son and what happens here matters to me.

Image Credit

Photos by Michael Lebowitz. All rights reserved.

With any luck at all, one day soon I hope to be able to shoot sports in the back country, to find the high places where the runners go. Like I used to do before age and injury caught up with me and put me on the bench. In the meantime I have to continue to shoot what I can see – the light – in the moment, where I am. Maybe not as exciting as the other but I am here so I might as well do the best I can with what I’ve got.

I was up all night, in my sister’s house in Brooklyn; we were there for Thanksgiving. I fell asleep, finally, in a chair that used to be in my parents’ house fifty years ago; I used to fall asleep in it when the night was too long, when I was too drunk or high, when I was lost. When I woke up dry-mouthed, a bit disoriented, this is what I saw. The quiet and the light drew me in, memory and light; I made the image.

Image Credit

Photo by Michael Lebowitz. All rights reserved.

I went out his morning with a migraine coming hard in my head. Gotta hate that. Decided that a walk in the cool early morning would be just the thing – far better than the usual painkillers. Walked some, inhaled, exhaled, and looked all around. The morning sky was misty, creating halos around the stars. I had forgotten to put on my glasses – the stars appeared to be surrounded by pinwheels, like gospel wheels “a rollin’ way in the middle of the air.”

I stopped, looked up in wonder and bid goodbye to the migraine and welcome to what might be a better day.

Image Credit

Photos by Michael Lebowitz. All rights reserved.

I like the light in this first image on account of it was fading fast and felt magical to me. Not a special image, or a flashy image for that matter It just felt like bein’ safe at home on the edge of a summer storm when I took it.

In the next image, I had just finished a workout on my deck and noticed that the sun had dropped behind the house. It was suddenly a bit chilly, despite the sweat I had worked up and the heavy breathing that had overtaken me. I leaned on the railing to catch my breath and to stop the flood of thoughts: that exercising to recover my health had brought on the END TIMES for me. And I was also thinking, not for the first time, that 911 was my new favorite number. The chill inside a summer day is a theme in my life and has been for years; as a kid at summer camp knowing too soon that the fun and games would likely end before I got that first kiss from the red haired girl in cabin three; that school was starting and that meant all the pressure around getting into college to avoid the draft for Vietnam was already building up; that the days of ease at the cottage on the big lake were drifting and real work in the city would take over with all the striving and scheming that made up my life in those days. It went further back than all that, to a time when my family ran a hotel in the Catskill mountains that would empty out completely on Labor Day morning, the vast lobby and dining room empty of all but a few stragglers. In my memory, every year clouds covered the noonday sun, as I felt the chill of fall as we packed up and headed home to the city.

Now, that is a lot of stuff for a brief instant on the railing of the deck. But even so, when I saw the image above, I knew that I was right on time and exactly where I belong, doing what I do.

Image Credit

Photos by Michael Lebowitz. All rights reserved.