babinscreams

I was deeply saddened by two moments from the recent   Republican Party debates: The first, the audience's spontaneous applause when a moderator sited 200 plus executions in the state of Texas during Governor Perry's tenure. The second, when a member of the audience shouted "Yeah!", followed by light applause, in response to a question asking whether a critically ill person without health insurance should be left to die. Is this behavior representative of   that many people  in this country?  Is this representative one of our two major political parties? It smacks of the kind of mob mentality you'd expect at a Black Panther rally, or the KKK, not the political organization that's controlled the White House for most of the last 30 years. Ron Paul during one of the debates When you throw in the specter of Michele Bachman suggesting that HPV vaccinations for adolescent girls in Texas is something to reject and fear and Sarah Palin opens her mouth to

Yesterday was Father’s Day; a holiday conceived by marketing vultures, a faux holiday I’ve viewed with cynicism for years. But as I sat in a recovery meeting yesterday, my attitude made a shift, as my attitudes often change when I stop admiring myself.   At this meeting, there was a lot of sharing about fathers and fatherhood, and I began to think about my journey. This was my revelation: In February 1985, denial about my alcoholism, which had been my stealthy companion for over a decade, quite suddenly slipped away forever. I admitted my powerlessness over alcohol and began to attend meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous. People there told stories about recovery and how belief in a power greater than themselves was the second step to sobriety and a better life. I put my skepticism on the shelf and tried on the concept of “god” and “higher power”;  this was mildly uncomfortable, but the founders of  AA, knowing how prideful we alcoholics are, gave us a lot of wiggle room regarding this rela

Dear Elliot, Happy 21 st Birthday.   Today you can now engage in new activity – legally. You can get hammered in public establishments, piss away your money playing slot machines and buying stocks, and run for a seat in Parliament (provided you can pull off the accent). Twenty-one years ago, I watched your birth with a depth of feeling unmatched. That night, as you made your entrance into the world, two distinct feelings washed over me. First, I was overcome by profound beauty; a deep primal sob jumped out of my throat. Then, I was overcome with a kind of regret and sadness knowing that you would experience pain in your life; I wanted to apologize for bringing you into an existence that would include suffering. Within seconds, these feelings and thoughts passed and for the next twenty-one years I’ve enjoyed the bliss you bring to my world. Thanks for being here. Turning twenty-one is probably the last formal occasion in which another adult, welcome to the club by the way, can offer

I attended a Good Friday Christian church service last week. A friend of a friend was playing his soprano sax during the service, and the aim was to hear his playing and then join him for dinner and drinks afterwards. Having had a fling with Catholicism a few years ago, I expected to find a few moments in the ritual service that might “fill my cup” however superficially. The music was very good, with a vocalist playing piano and our friend on sax. And that’s about where anything of value ended. The service consisted of several men and women coming forward to vamp on each of the seven statements Christ is reported to have made on the cross.  Each of these was introduced by a clip depicting the crucifixion from Mel Gibson’s Christ Movie in which JC hangs from nails, flesh gashed and bruised, his body a network of open bleeding lacerations  – he looks like a pound of ground sirloin. With one exception, a woman who reacted emotionally to her own experience of sacrifice, the explainers off

Dad, January 25, the anniversary of your death six years ago came and went without conscious recognition this year. I was working that day, enjoying the afterglow of an extraordinary weekend. I can imagine your being fine with that. You were never one to stand on formality. Also, letting go of you is something that I must continue to do. I still carry too much of your stuff, both literally and emotionally. This past year has brought a new house, my son as room mate, the death of my first wife, the reckless conclusion of a relationship with a good woman, a new round of confronting personal defects and spiritual growth. My gratitude for all I have, starting with my life, goes out to you and Mom - thanks. Part of my journey, my therapy, is about "re-parenting" myself. In this process, I have conversations, out loud into a tape recorder - my phone actually. It's not easy creating this new paradigm of inner bonding between the "child" in me and the "adult&quo

Without Beginning or End Beach chatter thinking Crashed to a close When a pair of gulls, Mates, I was sure Began to dance. Soon, every being In sight Fell into step. And my heart went whoosh. I inhaled Caressing her flesh Breathing the sighs of color And saturated moans And I thanked you god For weaving my attention Into the fabric Of divine beauty Hers Mine Yours Then teaching me It is Ours Now Without beginning or end. Her lips Took mine. I could taste The nucleus of fire Descending into blue Hot moist breakers Of Mauve Carnal thunder Rich and wet Calling me in Turning me out And in shallows Amber and pink A goddess-child danced A dance Free of time Free Now Without beginning or end             - Paul Babin

"Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeel!", like a pig facing slaughter. He let his shoulders fall, lip curl, posture sag, "What about me?" "What about you?" Her question was genuine. "I need you,..." "Why?" "Because you complete me, baby." "You're delusional." "That's not very nice." "Don't take it personally. We all are. Some more than others." "But, I need your love." "You have it." "But you're giving me all this harsh shit. That's not loving me." "The shit starts and ends right there behind your eyeballs. My love is what's trying to bring it out front so you might see it." "You're killing me, baby." "I think the 'you' that is spewing this drivel should be killed. It's stinking up the room." And with that, she pulled out her Glock 19 and let him have it. “Fuck Zen”, she was heard to mutter as she staggered

This weekend finished the second gate at my house.  I dedicated the gate to Ann.  I used  pieces of an old, circular oak table that was curbside awaiting trash pickup. I painted using oils and varnish. There are broken bits of ceramic too. When I posted this photo, people on Face Book responded favorably. One of my co-workers spoke of similar works for sale. I was thrilled by the reactions and began to contemplate being paid for work like this. I posted the following: Now, if I can appeal to the universe: "psst, hey, fate and circumstance, what if enough people became aware of my work, and found in it a value worth paying for, and I could actually cover my bills with the proceeds? What d'ya think?" I fe el like Tevia. Except he was asking to become a wealthy man. I'm already there. The wealth of joy that exists in the process of making one of these is irreplaceable. I wonder if joy would diminish when money entered the equation? " I'll make you a deal.

I don’t think anyone will disagree that every year  millions of guns are acquired by people in an attempt to alleviate their symptoms of fear.  Enacting laws to keep paranoid psychotics from owning automatic weapons seems like an intelligent choice; it certainly minimizes my fear of being assaulted or killed. But it seems, my fear pales in comparison to that felt by people who succumb to fantasies of “ THEM ” – the great, dark masses of conspiratorial boogie-men exploited with great success by the NRA, Islamic fundamentalists, third world dictators… all political and religious extremists. The shift in Humankind away from the compulsion to kill one another will only take place when fear yields to compassion . When inflammatory distortions spewing from the 24 hour “news” stations are seen and rebuked for what they really are: vehicles for selling product. When political leaders consistently do what’s right rather than what will inflate their own sense of power. When people’s delusion-