The Discovery of America, Another Perspective

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[An essay from my memoir workshop with the prompt of Columbus Day]

 

In light of the controversy that Columbus Day can bring up as well as the hurt and disagreement it can stir up, I’d like to tell you about Madoc, the son of the true and rightful King of Wales in the 12th century, Owain Gwynedd, and who is the true first discoverer of the Americas!

Prince Madoc sailed across the Atlantic, landing on the shores of Mobile Bay, Alabama in 1170. This is commemorated by a plaque in place from 1953 until 2008, obviously another casualty of another controversy.

There are several tribes known as the Welsh Indians, thought to be descendants of the Native Indian tribes and the Welsh settlers who came here in 1170 with Prince Madoc.

The Mandan people are a different group of Indians and were said to be different from their neighbors in their culture, language and their appearance, probably appearing more Caucasian than their other Native contemporaries.

It was found that the Mandan boats are similar to the Welsh coracles as well as fortresses and other village architecture that is related to medieval Welsh/European designs because of its extreme similarity.

The Mandan people still survive to this day, but have intermarried with other tribes after a small pox epidemic.

Thomas Jefferson believed in the legend, and commissioned Lewis & Clark to look for these Welsh Indian tribes on their explorations.

In addition, during the French and Indian War, one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence (Francis Lewis) was captured and is said to have a conversation in Welsh with the Indian chief. This is not a singular event, but it is often thought of as an anomaly. I’m not so sure.

The legend reached a peak of interest in the Elizabethan era when the British were laying claim to New World lands and claimed that their representatives were here before the Spanish who laid claim to many areas of the New World.

Historian John Smith of Virginia (c. 1624) wrote that Madoc went back to Wales for more people and then returned for a second voyage to the New World. From this point, he never returned to Wales.

There is no historical or archaeological evidence that Madoc actually arrived on our shores, but we have the circumstantial speculations, some of which that I’ve outlined above.

Resources:

Prince Madoc

Prince Madoc and the Discovery of America

Prince Madog and the Discovery of America- an investigation by Michael Senior

The Discovery of America – Betsey and Guilio Maestro

Make Self-Care a Thing

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Why is so hard to put ourselves first; to take care of our own needs? Most of us usually wait until the stress has hit its boiling point. Instead of letting it go that far, it would be better to take care of ourselves along the way. That won’t eliminate all the stress and angst, but it can go a long way in alleviating those feelings of being put upon.

Some things that might work for you:

  1. Tune-out. Turn off the television, the internet, the cell phone. Find a quiet spot to just close your eyes for at least ten minutes. [Note: I have to mention that when I wrote this in my notebook, I wrote ten months. That might be a bit excessive. ;)]
  2. Re-read a favorite book. The one that I go back to every year or so is Here Be Dragons by Sharon Kay Penman.
  3. Go outside and sit. If it’s a cooler day, wear a lightweight jacket, gloves and a jaunty hat. Watch the wildlife scurry by and the birds glide, counting leaves, following the branches as they reach towards the sky.
  4. Listen to music. Mumford and Sons, Adele, Classic Rock – whatever floats your boat. Pop in your earphones and put your playlist on shuffle.
  5. I used to love this and you could do the pages as backgrounds without even having the pictures ready. Check out Creative Memories for supplies and ideas.
  6. Wander around a local museum or a large library or other interesting places in your local area.
  7. Take yourself to the movies. Have popcorn.
  8. Netflix. Catch up on a series you’ve always wanted to watch. Orange is the New Black anyone? Or re-watch a childhood favorite. Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and Escape to Witch Mountain are two of my favorites; or catch something new like Catching Fire.

One of the things that I do in an attempt at taking care of myself is my recent retreat. That’s a week while the kids are in school, but I also take a day and attend a local flower show in the spring.

As I’ve mentioned before, I visit Starbucks, less now because of finances, but it is still something I consider a special treat and self-care place.

My attendance at Mass will usually put things into perspective for me as well as centering my spirit and preparing me for the day.

I feel sometimes that I don’t have the time for me, but I think the bigger problem is whatever I’m doing gets interrupted and restarted and usually I’ okay with that kind of multi-tasking, but sometimes I’m the guy from Network.

I think I’ll take an hour and catch up on Constantine.

Reflection on Conversion

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“…shows that conversion is not just a one-time event but a lifelong process.”

-The Word Among Us, May 26, 2014 issue

 

When I began my religious studies to become a Roman Catholic, I expected to get the basics, ask some questions, go through with the required rituals and sacraments and then I’d be Catholic.

And while, yes, that is the basic, no-frills description of any person’s conversion, reading this quotation in May really reaffirmed what I had been thinking already for a long time: conversion is not an overnight event. There isn’t a test you have to pass.

There is a period after the Easter sacraments, a mystogogical period to delve further into the mysteries of the Holy Spirit and the Sacraments. I may have been told that this concludes after Pentecost, but I seem to think that I’ve also been told that it continues for a year after joining the Church.

Whichever it is, I feel like I learn something new every day. Whether it’s a new Scripture that I’ve never heard before or am less familiar with than the more ‘popular’ ones; whether it’s a new (to me) day on the calendar, a saint’s day of someone I want to explore further or discovering something deep within myself that I want to reflect on. It is literally an everyday occurrence that either brings a question to be answered or a reflection to be meditated on.

Coming from a Jewish background, I feel as though this conversion is more of a transition. Just as the New Testament is the second part of the Bible for Christians, I feel that my Catholic faith is a second chapter with my Jewish life as the first and the third chapter is written as I move forward spiritually.

For me it’s a never-ending progression as I gather more information and history of Jesus in his time and through his teachings that can only lead to discover knew interpretations for my spirituality to grow deeper and more entwined and woven through my soul.

This wasn’t just a life-long commitment to Jesus; it was a life-long process of learning who I am through Jesus.

Week 44/14 Summary

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Prompt: If you could wear a mask or disguise yourself, who (or what) would you be?

Photo: Fall Leaves

Quotation: Stripped of your ordinary surroundings, your friends, your daily routines, your refrigerator full of food, your closet full of clothes -with all this taken away, you are forced into direct experience. Such direct experience inevitably makes you aware of who it is that is having the experience. That’s not always comfortable, but it is always invigorating. – Michael Crichton

Rec: Cracker Barrel

Writings:

 

Kryptonite (E4K)

My First Anointing Mass

Domestic Violence and Victim-Blaming

Links:

St. Kateri Tekakwitha’s Shrine

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We’re reminded throughout the year and the Liturgical calendar of many of the saints through their feast days. Recently, we’ve observed Sts. Simon and Jude, the North American Martyrs and Pope St. John XXIII and Pope St. John Paul II.

Today is All Saints’ Day; that day on the calendar that honors all the saints. Although not today, it is often a holy day of obligation where Catholics are expected to attend Mass. I did attend this morning, and since there is no specific saint mentioned it is a good time to remember the saints that are important to us.

The saint I chose for my confirmation name is St. Elen (of Caernarfon). I wrote about her back when I was going through my sacraments.

Last week was my annual fall retreat, and today I get to tell you about one of the unexpected directions I was sent on during that week: the National Shrine of St. Kateri Tekakwitha.

She was one of the three saints I considered for my confirmation before I was finally led to St. Elen.

I contemplated having St. Kateri because:

  1. She was local,
  2. She was Native American, and
  3. Her name began with a K like mine.

When I read her story what stood out to me was how she was the only Christian among her relatives, and that struck a chord with me during my conversion. I was the only one moved to follow Jesus Christ, and so was the only one talking about Scriptural things. Obviously, I wasn’t trying to convert my family, but that single similarity stayed with me.

At four, Kateri lost her immediate family to a small pox outbreak. She had contracted the virus, and was left scarred by her illness. Upon her death, witnesses say her scars disappeared.

She appeared to three people in the days after her death, and one year later, she appeared again to Father Chauchetière who painted what is considered the oldest portrait of the saint:

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Two of the four National Shrines that honor St. Kateri are in two small nearby villages in upstate New York about a five hour drive south from her burial place in Quebec.

I had heard of Kateri before I became a Catholic, but really only knew that she had been beatified and her place was local. I’ve had a strong connection to Native Americans since I was a child. I think I find myself drawn to cultures other than my own. I had just begun attending Mass when Kateri was canonized in 2012. I received a wallet card from the Shrine as they celebrated her canonization and our whole Diocese celebrated, and I’ve carried that with me since that day in October.

That day in October also held an unrelated significance for me as well: it was the original due date of my middle child, who decided to be two weeks early, lucky for both of us since as it was, the day he was born I was in labor for two days, unbeknownst to me.

I had no intention of traveling to a saint’s shrine on my retreat, but when I glanced at a map and saw how close it was to where I had been on Saturday, I realized that I didn’t have many opportunities to visit something so significant, and since she did have some inspiration for me, I was excited to go once it had been pointed out to me.

It was raining when I got there, so I browsed around the gift shop until it was a light enough mist for me to walk around. The buildings of the shrine close this weekend for the winter (because none of the buildings have heat), so my timing couldn’t have been more perfect. I plan to return when they have one of their events through the spring and summer.

I wandered through the museum first and then upstairs to St. Peter’s Chapel, which is a commemoration to the chapel that Kateri was baptized in. The nearby spring that was used to baptize her (and other converts at that time) still flows. Visitors claim healings and cures after drawing from the holy spring and praying for intercession by St. Kateri.

She lived in the village up the hill for most of her life. It is currently the only completely excavated Iroquois site in the country. Although the area had a history, it hadn’t been a shrine to her until Pope St. John Paul II beatified her in 1980.

The air was cool, the mist was wet and the sky was grey. I hadn’t realized until last week how much that type of weather is my weather. Very often I talk about my trip to Wales; more like pilgrimage, and when something reminds me of Wales, it is much more than the anecdote of a week’s vacation. There are so many non-religious, spiritual things associated with the simple phrase, it reminds me of Wales.

The fact that walking around the wet grass, seeing the bright yet muted oranges and reds against the greens, browns and greys as light played off the puddles was so reminiscent of my Wales that I had to sit and catch my breath. I was also moved to sit for quite a while in the chapel reading James Martin’s second prayer. The spirit was truly with me on this day. It was the perfect reading for the place; a perfect place to meditate on the Gospel, on Fr. Martin’s reflections, and to feel my own.

I walked.

I sat.

I prayed.

I meditated.

It was very consoling; reassuring of all that is right in the world.

It was exceptionally reflective and it gave me the impulse and the space to be reflective.

It reminded me of why I became a Catholic as well as why I became a writer. Both are similar answers even though they don’t come easily to the conscious mind: I can’t be anything else. Neither was anything that I was looking for, but instead they found me. Both are faith driven, both are involuntary, instinctive, and they both need caring to keep them potent.

Let me share the beauty of St. Kateri Tekakwitha’s Shrine with you:

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Bell Tower

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Domestic Violence and Victim-Blaming

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[Note: This describes people I know, but I have excluded their names. This account will be familiar to many who have witnessed or heard anecdotes of domestic violence incidents. What I witnessed (and continue to witness) is sadly not unusual.]

This has been Domestic Violence Awareness Month.  In two days everyone will forget and this will be relegated to the recesses of our minds until some other big-name celebrity or athlete is in the news for abusing his significant other. A local car dealer is donating money and has said he had no idea ‘this was going on’ until he saw it recently in the news.

The old me can understand. We just can’t wrap our heads around someone we care about being violent towards us. Unfortunately, abuse is more than physical. It can be emotional, verbal, economical, sexual.

I usually broach this subject in May on the anniversary of the murder of a friend of mine by her ex. In the months after that, I learned a great deal about domestic violence. For one thing, most people I spoke to were unaware of it as a common problem. But with one in three women as victims, it is nearly impossible not to know someone who’s been abused.

When my friend went to court to get approval to reside in her own house with her ex-partner and the only other option was homelessness, I thought she must have had other choices. Even before she died, I was guilty of victim-blaming, and since her death, while I’ve learned better, there are many others who continue to blame her and other victims like her.

Why couldn’t she live with her parents? Not an option.

Why couldn’t she get a job and an apartment on her own? She already had three jobs.

Why couldn’t she leave her ex alone; it was his house? It was their house. Her name was on the mortgage even though he illegally removed her from the deed.

Why did she need to sue him for money? It was her money; money she had earned working alongside her ex in their business.

If she were in real danger, the police would have intervened, wouldn’t they? Not in my experience. In fact, the police were at the home the night before the murders; less than twenty-hours before.

Anything that puts the responsibility on the victim is victim-blaming. No exceptions.

As seconds ticked to very few minutes, three people were dead; one of them the murderer and another man’s life was changed forever. Regardless of living or dying, there is no escape from an occurrence of domestic violence.

There is only one person to blame – the abuser with the gun; the murderer. He didn’t snap. He killed people because his ex asserted her independence; because she stood up for herself. She would have been free in six weeks.

Instead, three years later, more often than not she is blamed for her own death because of her choices. Her choices.  Her choices which weren’t really choices at all.

That is victim-blaming and it needs to end; more importantly, the domestic violence needs to end.