Dale "Boh" Beaulieu

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Dale "Boh" Beaulieu I taught myself to draw at age 52 [crayons, pastels, colored pencils] at the mental hospital. I wrest meaning, hope from my devastating PTSD and bipolar.

09/09/2026

“Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something that needs our life-sustaining support and aid." [Theodore Rilke]

Kareen King a magnificent artist and drama therapist wows several elders all day on Wednesdays. This morning Kareen told us a story about an elderly woman who was too afraid to die. Just before she passed the Director of Nursing cradled her tenderly in her arms, being as close to her as her breath and heartbeat. The nurse rocked and hummed to her, then imparted crucial last-minute instructions to this woman resisting death ,'Right now, you are safe in the arms of Jesus."

The next day the elder's son came to collect her belongings and staff found out that this woman, who beat her son badly as a child, used to punish herself by not sleeping on a mattress, giving herself only the mock- comfort of sleeping under the bed on a hard floor. We'll never know, but maybe the woman didn't think she deserved a mattress.

Thanks for all the hard work - preaching the Gospel with busy hands!
26/08/2026

Thanks for all the hard work - preaching the Gospel with busy hands!

Recognizing our 7 Mission Volunteers from Lawrence Indian United Methodist Church who traveled to Baldwin, LA to help put Disaster Relief Bags together, construct handicapped ramps, and mow the grounds at the UMCOR Sager Brown facility. We had a wonderful time and enjoyed it very much! Thanks for the hard work!
L-R: Richard, Robert, Kerry, Sue, Alyce, Courtney, & Esper

02/08/2026

Ride the teeter-totter between "I am not important at all," and "The universe was created for me alone." In the cusp is perfect peace.

01/08/2026

Superman
About 15 years ago, Taloa, our Pastor's granddaughter and I took turns frolicking. I remember we loved all kinds, colors, shapes, different levels of freezing, syrupy, melting popsicles and also-more-solid-er-than-a-rock flavored-freezy-fun. But this was merely an appetizer. The piece-de-resistance was "Superman and Kryptonite."

We had an order to our superhuman activities: one of us had to play the element, Kryptonite, and the other would act like the Man of Steel. As Supermen, when Kryptonite paralyzed us, we would get exceedingly dramatic, thesbian-like and incredibly-beyond-theatrical.

We tried to outdo ourselves as we flopped, frizzled, free-lanced and love-foozled our postured death-dives [just like Al Pacino in Godfather I, II and III]. We rested our Kryptonite-frozen bodies on the pews. I had one moment where I made myself still as stone, like I was actually at death's door.

Taloa got very serious, grabbed my warm hand in her's, and whispered a gentle, spontaneous song to Jesus. I found myself teary-eyed and amazed at how real Taloa's sense of play was. When did prayer begin and play stop? Probably both/and.

01/08/2026

Superman
About 15 years ago, Taloa, our Pastor's granddaughter and I took turns frolicking. I remember we loved all kinds, colors, shapes, different levels of freezing, syrupy, melting popsicles and also-more-solid-er-than-a-rock flavored-freezy-fun. But this was merely an appetizer. The piece-de-resistance was "Superman and Kryptonite."

We had an order to our superhuman activities: one of us had to play the element, Kryptonite, and the other would act like the Man of Steel. As Supermen, when Kryptonite paralyzed us, we would get exceedingly dramatic, thesbian-like and incredibly-beyond-theatrical.

We tried to outdo ourselves as we flopped, frizzled, free-lanced and love-foozled our postured death-dives [just like Al Pacino in Godfather I, II and III]. We rested our Kryptonite-frozen bodies on the pews. I had one moment where I made myself still as stone, pretending to be at death's door.
Taloa got very serious, grabbed my warm hand in hers, and whispered a gentle, spontaneous love-song prayer to Jesus. I found myself teary-eyed and amazed at how real Taloa's sense of play was. I knew we were in the sanctuary where all the praying occurs - but I had no idea play could blend with prayer.

31/07/2026

I was planning a visit to Lawrence tomorrow, but the staff does not think my gait is improved enough. I love your page and can imagine how Gloria, Richard, Kerry et all did a bang-up job for VBS. The children looked spellbound and delighted. That never grows old - every year it is fresh, wholesome fun and, of course, and eternal as the seasons. Keep me in your prayers. I really miss my church family!

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25/03/2026

"The mind can be your greatest friend, or your worst enemy." [Vedic Wisdom]

14/03/2026

"Prayer for the First Three-year-old Girl Killed in the USA-Iran War”

[collateral damage]

Little one,

Daughter of Allah, sister of Mohammed [“Peace Be Upon Him”]

YOUR LIFE IS GREATLY AT RISK,

Little One,

You will experience troubled waters that you may or may not survive. Who is responsible for your life, your nation, your family, your siblings, your Al-Batin? Well, our leaders have lied about the untapped freedom to unleash horrors to take your breath away [without your permission, with you having any “say” in the matter]. We lie with haunting desperation. We love oil more than blood; we use phony words to accommodate our needless atrocities.

We use fancy words, in fancier-sounding songs to justify the bombs exploding near you, and the stressful thumping of your savagely beating, war-torn, itsy-bitsy heart. Our voices sing in choral, sickening triumph, “God bless the USA!"

We are a country founded on liberty and justice for all. But I wonder, though no one’s asking me, “Doesn’t ‘all’ include you, dear child?” I am a journalist. If I came across your form in Iran, dead or alive, I would comfort, cradle and kiss you, Then I would dig deep into my heart, soul and solar plexus, as I wiped away the tears and blood and sweat from your face, and I would sing a song I play on the piano at Azria Health Center, my nursing home:

“My country ‘tis of Thee, sweet land of liberty, land where no innocents die, land of the pilgrim’s pride, from every mountainside - let freedom ring - down Iran's hills, oceans, oil-refineries, valleys, seas, deserts, porches, streets, alleyways, tanks, conference-rooms-at-wartime, trash bins, Peter Hegsmith' peter, missile-bunkers, a slain goat and an equally murdered puppy, mendacious press-briefings, the mudder-friggin' White House of the W***e of Babylon, Donnie, [of course also, the brave Epstein, sexual-abuse survivor who bit Donald's Hamilton, which resulted in his seriously clobbering her in the face and keister], multiple sweat and gravel pits, and homes of all-human-beings lands. Let freedom ring.”

Epic Fury, my pattoobee.

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