My housemate, Mia, recommended that we watch "The End of Suburbia" (I am constantly tempted to call it the "Story of Stuff" which is another documentary about America's consumptive lifestyle.)
The film was wonderful because it was eerily accurate. Even though it was made in 2004 the film's stark predictions about problems regarding our energy use, economic strength, infrastructure, and lifestyle patterns have already come to our immediate attention.
Moreover it was a visionary film. The film showed that the energy-scholar community has reached consensus that our lives will fundamentally change within my lifetime. We have depended on exhaustible resources for too hard for, too long, so that our transition into the new economic and cultural era will be even more challenging. Most important is that Americans address the heart of its cultural problem: our attitudes toward access and use. At least a new progressive era has a chance to mitigate the worst damage by finally telling the truth and taking action.
The End of Suburbia also did an exceptional job weaving several stories into a single narrative critiquing America's way of life since World War II. It's more than about energy access, or consumption, sprawl, or poorly planned infrastructure, or the failed suburban dream, or bad policies, or our weakening economic engine, or localization, or trends toward new urban planning. It's about the detriments of unaccountable power.
Here I wanted to convey a few messages to specific people inspired by the film:
Dear Mom.
I love you and worry about you the most. I can imagine the housing industry quickly evaporating further limiting your opportunities within the next ten years. Soon I will finish school. I will support you if you should return to school, seek out training, or pursue your dreams. I know it has always been your plan to live with me once I have a home. You are always welcome. I do not think a global transition will be difficult for you. All in all you live very simply, and have always done a lot with few resources--like so many people are forced to do, even within our Rich Land. Your passion for nature and living things may soon become economically valuable. You've experienced much bigger hardships.
Dear Dad.
Your life curve has peaked at just the right time. Any major global shifts will hurt you as your lifestyle epitomizes Suburbia. I know you don't like change either. The next 10-15 years will be hard if you remain in Centreville. But since you become eligible for retirement a year ago, you should be able to retire in the near future. You've been a proud and accomplished public servant for which you deserve a restful retirement. I think retirement may offer you a different sort of wealth than the suburban affluence you enjoy now. I can see you in a city. City-life will keep you at the center of vitality and provides easy access for your children and other loved ones. It may also allow you to have a more healthful life, in which you can continue to greatly contribute to your local community. I encourage you to embrace the many changes that you will encounter soon.
Dear Little Bro.
Enjoy your SUV while you can! The future holds a culture shock for you because all we have ever known has been hyper-suburban life. You'll be OK going with the flow. Soon, when your music career launches, you'll be separating from dad and experiencing a great deal of change, anyway. Just remember how your "hippie" sister may have been right about a few things.
Dear Friends.
Most of you share the vision shared by The End of Suburbia and like-minded films, so I will be brief. I do have a few friends attached to their cars. This will change. Most of you, however, are under 30 so you will easily find your lifestyles more active within "walkable communities" assuming that either your neighborhoods are converted or you re-locate to one. For my fellow city-dwellers I would expect more white-affluent-influx (we are currently seeing this in Columbia Heights). More gentrification, increased segregation, unless we speak-out. As we see crises converge we have to demand that our solutions converge as well. We cannot enter 21st century American Life by trading one set of evident problems for another.
Indeed, we have a lot of work to do!
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
Understanding In Three Acts
Act I
I visited my grandparents in Ohio this weekend. I hadn’t seen my father’s parents in over four years. My father found inexpensive plane tickets, and he asked if I could join him about two weeks ago. I told him that I would think about it. I did and we left Virginia without my brother on Friday.
I never doubted that I would make the trip. I was certain this visit would be my last time to see my grandparents alive. Rather, I was preparing myself for an intricate time. Both my grandparents have been ailing for a long time. The last time I saw my grandmother she was struggling to remain in her simple, two-story home on Main St. It was the first time I cared for a sick elder; for my brother it was a traumatic experience. My grandmother now resides with a family who offers her twenty-four hour care (she was violently unhappy at a caretaking facility); my grandfather has survived at “Heartland” moving once from their Bridgeport hometown to his current location in Centerburg, Ohio. Centerburg is said to be the center (read: heart) of Ohio.
Overall the visit was positive. My uncle remarked that my grandfather was more active during this visit than he had been in years. (The previous year my grandfather was not able to wake-up when my cousin visited.) Grandpa was fully awake, speaking, and expressive. He even managed to tease my father whom he told that although he was talking, he wasn’t saying anything. Our end was as nice as our beginning. We finished the visit with a few pictures.
We saw my grandmother twice who was admitted into the hospital for an infection. Her doctor described her as “ornery” which was assuring to my dad and uncle because that meant “she was back to herself.” Well, in a way. My grandmother has lived with cancer twice, thyroid disease, and a host of other physical ailments. But since I had last seen her, things had changed.
Like with my grandfather, my grandmother warmly greeted me. I remained silent for most of the time being content with smiling and being attentive to her physical needs. My father was surprised that she remembered details about who I was. I took this as a sign for reunion.
Yet I think I understood her. Grandma was sharing about how all of her family members were on TV. She had seen my brother on Letterman several times. My dad assured her that without her glasses that she saw people who resembled us on TV, but none of us appeared on TV. Grandma was particularly concerned about the UFOs hovering over the roofs outside her window. My uncle changed the subject. When we left the second night, grandma reminded me to let her know when I was ready—ready to run her hotel and get to the bottom of conspiracy surrounding her wealth that had engulfed my dad and uncle. I smiled and told her that I would.
Doctors have diagnosed my grandmother with Alzheimers, and another form of dementia. My father was persistently correcting her, insisting that she was mistaken, wrong, or sometimes chose to ignore her. I understood why he did this. I know how difficult it is for him to witness this change in his parents. At the same time my grandmother was very upset that she was being treated as if she was “crazy.” This I saw. Her family and caretakers’ attempts to be “rational” with her—to tell her the “truth”—deeply hurt her despite their best intentions. I think I understood her. We talked freely. And I enjoyed being with her.
Act II
Sunday evening I saw Seven Pounds. The film was awe-inspiring. I regret that I cannot share much more for fear of compromising the film, nonetheless, I think it was one of those unique transformative films. I related to Seven Pounds as a film about the depth of human capacity. Our power is remarkable. Yes. I think I understand.
Act III
Sleep tells a lot about us.
I was in an outdoor classroom with fifty or so students. One of my classmates was none other than a young Spike Lee. Our professor was dialoging with the class, and Spike Lee raised his hand. When called on, all he said was “ex-cess.” A sharp “ex” and “cess.” Silence--
He had made a poignant point.
Then he continued, “ex-cess,” “ex-cess,” “ex-cess,” and he went on for about a half an hour.
I woke up and in three instant flashes--noticed my dad’s snoring—remembered my uncle’s remark about Faithful over-consumption—and thought about my own sweet-food addiction.
Three simple acts. A lot of clarity. Prajna paramita.
I visited my grandparents in Ohio this weekend. I hadn’t seen my father’s parents in over four years. My father found inexpensive plane tickets, and he asked if I could join him about two weeks ago. I told him that I would think about it. I did and we left Virginia without my brother on Friday.
I never doubted that I would make the trip. I was certain this visit would be my last time to see my grandparents alive. Rather, I was preparing myself for an intricate time. Both my grandparents have been ailing for a long time. The last time I saw my grandmother she was struggling to remain in her simple, two-story home on Main St. It was the first time I cared for a sick elder; for my brother it was a traumatic experience. My grandmother now resides with a family who offers her twenty-four hour care (she was violently unhappy at a caretaking facility); my grandfather has survived at “Heartland” moving once from their Bridgeport hometown to his current location in Centerburg, Ohio. Centerburg is said to be the center (read: heart) of Ohio.
Overall the visit was positive. My uncle remarked that my grandfather was more active during this visit than he had been in years. (The previous year my grandfather was not able to wake-up when my cousin visited.) Grandpa was fully awake, speaking, and expressive. He even managed to tease my father whom he told that although he was talking, he wasn’t saying anything. Our end was as nice as our beginning. We finished the visit with a few pictures.
We saw my grandmother twice who was admitted into the hospital for an infection. Her doctor described her as “ornery” which was assuring to my dad and uncle because that meant “she was back to herself.” Well, in a way. My grandmother has lived with cancer twice, thyroid disease, and a host of other physical ailments. But since I had last seen her, things had changed.
Like with my grandfather, my grandmother warmly greeted me. I remained silent for most of the time being content with smiling and being attentive to her physical needs. My father was surprised that she remembered details about who I was. I took this as a sign for reunion.
Yet I think I understood her. Grandma was sharing about how all of her family members were on TV. She had seen my brother on Letterman several times. My dad assured her that without her glasses that she saw people who resembled us on TV, but none of us appeared on TV. Grandma was particularly concerned about the UFOs hovering over the roofs outside her window. My uncle changed the subject. When we left the second night, grandma reminded me to let her know when I was ready—ready to run her hotel and get to the bottom of conspiracy surrounding her wealth that had engulfed my dad and uncle. I smiled and told her that I would.
Doctors have diagnosed my grandmother with Alzheimers, and another form of dementia. My father was persistently correcting her, insisting that she was mistaken, wrong, or sometimes chose to ignore her. I understood why he did this. I know how difficult it is for him to witness this change in his parents. At the same time my grandmother was very upset that she was being treated as if she was “crazy.” This I saw. Her family and caretakers’ attempts to be “rational” with her—to tell her the “truth”—deeply hurt her despite their best intentions. I think I understood her. We talked freely. And I enjoyed being with her.
Act II
Sunday evening I saw Seven Pounds. The film was awe-inspiring. I regret that I cannot share much more for fear of compromising the film, nonetheless, I think it was one of those unique transformative films. I related to Seven Pounds as a film about the depth of human capacity. Our power is remarkable. Yes. I think I understand.
Act III
Sleep tells a lot about us.
I was in an outdoor classroom with fifty or so students. One of my classmates was none other than a young Spike Lee. Our professor was dialoging with the class, and Spike Lee raised his hand. When called on, all he said was “ex-cess.” A sharp “ex” and “cess.” Silence--
He had made a poignant point.
Then he continued, “ex-cess,” “ex-cess,” “ex-cess,” and he went on for about a half an hour.
I woke up and in three instant flashes--noticed my dad’s snoring—remembered my uncle’s remark about Faithful over-consumption—and thought about my own sweet-food addiction.
Three simple acts. A lot of clarity. Prajna paramita.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Two Inches
There are two inches between the top of my hip bone and the bottom of my ribcage. I find this fact remarkable. I hardly have a torso! I had made this observation before, though, not in such an illustrative way. I am amazed that I have all of the internal organs I need--and that they fit.
My body and body-relationship have rapidly changed over a year. At the same time I hardly look at "it." If I closed my eyes and envisioned my body, parts would be missing. These parts would not be missing because I am necessarily ashamed or embarrassed of how I look. Rather, I just don't have a vivid memory of what these parts look like, likely, for the reason I never take an opportunity to see my body as much as I feel my body. It was a stunning realization.
I wonder if I was subconsciously motivated by recent conversations about body image. Within November I spoke to two women about our body-relationships, their evolutions, and our relative happy places at present. I concluded that I am happy with my body despite my wanting body-relationship. I attribute improvements to a health consciousness that reflects through my body in a way I have not known during my adult life. I pay much more attention to what I put into it (what I choose NOT to put into it), how I treat it, and how I see it--as also a deserving part of me. I no longer wish to look or appear a certain way. I feel good and my body agrees.
How can I characterize this transformation? My shift in thinking from an assailed body-image to a happy body-relationship. I refer to another lesson from The Heart of the Buddha's Teachings. Thich Nhat Hahn describes the Three Bodies of Buddha as Dharmakaya (source of enlightenment and happiness), Sambhogakaya (body of bliss or enjoyment), and Nirmanakaya (historial embodiment of the Buddha). My physical body has benefited from my return to activity. Exercise allows me to see Dharmakaya, feel Sambhogakaya, and be led to Nirmanakaya.
I previously called my early life my athletic "first life." I was always active because I was naturally inclined to be and enjoyed experiencing my nature. I was forced to suddenly leaving team sports as a teenager, and I struggled to return to an active way of being without team sports. During my senior year in high school, I discovered power-lifting. Today, weight-lifting is a passion. I look forward to building my strength, setting and reaching goals, and essentially challenging myself in a productive way.
Dharmakaya means that the living Dharma can be seen and lived by us. We can see it in a sunset, a blossoming tree, or pushing 30 lbs. weights over our heads. It is when we see light before us so that our path toward love and understanding is clear. Exercise allows me to feed my body, and thus, practice self-love.
Sambhogakaya is the celebration attached to the living Dharma. It is easy to see how physical activity manifests itself vis-a-vis bliss, enjoyment, results, and rewards. Particularly satisfying is reaching a weight-or-running goal which you have set for yourself. In many ways exercise is a great metaphor for the practice. Incremental training, persistence, and patience lead to the Sambhogakaya body. Ultimately mindfulness toward your body and each (training) moment makes a strong, vital self.
Exercise is a form of self-love that relieved suffering to which I had grown so accustomed that I did not even realize it existed. Nirmanakaya is here.
Now it is just a matter of embodying this experience into other parts of my life. I guess that's all it takes :)
My body and body-relationship have rapidly changed over a year. At the same time I hardly look at "it." If I closed my eyes and envisioned my body, parts would be missing. These parts would not be missing because I am necessarily ashamed or embarrassed of how I look. Rather, I just don't have a vivid memory of what these parts look like, likely, for the reason I never take an opportunity to see my body as much as I feel my body. It was a stunning realization.
I wonder if I was subconsciously motivated by recent conversations about body image. Within November I spoke to two women about our body-relationships, their evolutions, and our relative happy places at present. I concluded that I am happy with my body despite my wanting body-relationship. I attribute improvements to a health consciousness that reflects through my body in a way I have not known during my adult life. I pay much more attention to what I put into it (what I choose NOT to put into it), how I treat it, and how I see it--as also a deserving part of me. I no longer wish to look or appear a certain way. I feel good and my body agrees.
How can I characterize this transformation? My shift in thinking from an assailed body-image to a happy body-relationship. I refer to another lesson from The Heart of the Buddha's Teachings. Thich Nhat Hahn describes the Three Bodies of Buddha as Dharmakaya (source of enlightenment and happiness), Sambhogakaya (body of bliss or enjoyment), and Nirmanakaya (historial embodiment of the Buddha). My physical body has benefited from my return to activity. Exercise allows me to see Dharmakaya, feel Sambhogakaya, and be led to Nirmanakaya.
I previously called my early life my athletic "first life." I was always active because I was naturally inclined to be and enjoyed experiencing my nature. I was forced to suddenly leaving team sports as a teenager, and I struggled to return to an active way of being without team sports. During my senior year in high school, I discovered power-lifting. Today, weight-lifting is a passion. I look forward to building my strength, setting and reaching goals, and essentially challenging myself in a productive way.
Dharmakaya means that the living Dharma can be seen and lived by us. We can see it in a sunset, a blossoming tree, or pushing 30 lbs. weights over our heads. It is when we see light before us so that our path toward love and understanding is clear. Exercise allows me to feed my body, and thus, practice self-love.
Sambhogakaya is the celebration attached to the living Dharma. It is easy to see how physical activity manifests itself vis-a-vis bliss, enjoyment, results, and rewards. Particularly satisfying is reaching a weight-or-running goal which you have set for yourself. In many ways exercise is a great metaphor for the practice. Incremental training, persistence, and patience lead to the Sambhogakaya body. Ultimately mindfulness toward your body and each (training) moment makes a strong, vital self.
Exercise is a form of self-love that relieved suffering to which I had grown so accustomed that I did not even realize it existed. Nirmanakaya is here.
Now it is just a matter of embodying this experience into other parts of my life. I guess that's all it takes :)
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Your Liberation, My Liberation, Our Liberation
Not too long ago, I returned from seeing "Milk." It's a profoundly inspiring (and well-made) account of Harvey Milk's late-life. I had planned to write this post for several days, but I should credit the film for creating just the right mood for me to assess and share where I am.
:Deep sigh: All times, and especially this time of year, I undergo an emotional inventory. Often I am hard on myself as the New Year turns. I never achieve all that I wish (which is not an unusual feeling). It's strange, however, because I am never my harshiest critic. It's something about seeing another year in retrospect.
I am actively attempting to counter-balance these negative feelings by looking onto my spiritual growth. It has been significant and it has taken me places which I never could have imagined existed for me a year ago. One day I may be able to chronologically trace it. For now, I will just sum it up the best I can. I have not embraced any single faith of my own. I believe in order to reflect the world's stunning nuance, I could not do so with a single lens, no matter how wide or strong. I continue seeking as if this lifetime's liberation depended on it.
Soul. When I was a young philosophite I insisted that soul was nothing more than our self-conception. My sense of reason could not know better. Over time I substituted my intuition for my intellect. It felt right. Ever since I have been able to "feel" soul even if I could not properly conceive or explain it. Soul consists of unique energy that we possess. Mine resides just above my heart. Soul is me and soul is all things.
Energy. All things are energy. When I was younger, my Christian-raised mother exposed me to this idea called energy. When necessary she'd turn on her initution like a switch. I had long-wondered what guided her. In pieces over the years I learned that she saw energy, nature, and love combined forces into God. I call the culmination of these forces, Universe. Similar ideas. From quantum physics to aura, I see energy as the basis of all things. It radiates or deteriorates. We are able to shape its direction--that is our human power.
Nature and Living Things. After an estranged lifetime, I am slowly reuniting with living things. See more green. Becoming vegan. Knowing which natural resources sustained my livelihood. I can appreciate my connection to water. I am no longer offended by co-existing with other living things. And I sometimes contemplate how I am dominating our shared space (although I remain unsure about what to do). This planet for which I am a guest and I are reconciling with my host. Other living things, Earth, and myself are no longer distinguishable.
Time. I had always had a complicated relationship with death. I was uncertain what it entailed, and more important, I was afraid to face it before I was ready, which meant I was afraid to die before accomplishing what I intended. That fear has virtually evaporated this year for several reasons, some clearer than others. Nonetheless, I am happy with how I have lived my life and how I live it each day. Perhaps my morbid prediction about dying by a random space toilet was more of a quirky prediction about spiritual finality? I am finally comfortable with time itself being beyond my comprehension, around and through I construct. I know of reincarnation. I see my daily choices as ones for this lifetime, which is a manageable idea compared to ones that may reverberate ad infintium. There is always enough time.
Practice. Since beginning Buddhist meditation nearly a year ago I see myself within a "practice." Meditation came naturally, yet practice always felt broader. It was never a quantity nor a quality. It was more of a constant challenge, "how could I be a better human?" Today I intentionally practice by writing, reading, discussing, and mediating. I try to mindfully practice every moment.
Art. There are few things I love in this world more than beauty. Transcendental experiences are ushered by beautiful things. Art moves me as well as other self-expression. Music. Spontaneity. Poetry. Eloquence. Photography. Courage. Performance. Self-expression is easily spiritual. I will be doing more of it.
Love. One of the reasons why I have set aside my fear of death is because I have known true love. Such an experience defies any description I could write at this time. Love is energy and soul and much more. I intend to discover a love that I could know beyond this lifetime and every other convention that we impose.
Future. There is a particular lesson I learned about the future this year. Each action you take alters even the most predictable "future." That's why choice is so powerful. There were times when I had certain knowledge--unshakeable knowledge about what was to come--and it always came to fruition--just never the way I had anticipated. My expectations, not my knowledge, were fickle.
I cannot wait to see what is next. :)
:Deep sigh: All times, and especially this time of year, I undergo an emotional inventory. Often I am hard on myself as the New Year turns. I never achieve all that I wish (which is not an unusual feeling). It's strange, however, because I am never my harshiest critic. It's something about seeing another year in retrospect.
I am actively attempting to counter-balance these negative feelings by looking onto my spiritual growth. It has been significant and it has taken me places which I never could have imagined existed for me a year ago. One day I may be able to chronologically trace it. For now, I will just sum it up the best I can. I have not embraced any single faith of my own. I believe in order to reflect the world's stunning nuance, I could not do so with a single lens, no matter how wide or strong. I continue seeking as if this lifetime's liberation depended on it.
Soul. When I was a young philosophite I insisted that soul was nothing more than our self-conception. My sense of reason could not know better. Over time I substituted my intuition for my intellect. It felt right. Ever since I have been able to "feel" soul even if I could not properly conceive or explain it. Soul consists of unique energy that we possess. Mine resides just above my heart. Soul is me and soul is all things.
Energy. All things are energy. When I was younger, my Christian-raised mother exposed me to this idea called energy. When necessary she'd turn on her initution like a switch. I had long-wondered what guided her. In pieces over the years I learned that she saw energy, nature, and love combined forces into God. I call the culmination of these forces, Universe. Similar ideas. From quantum physics to aura, I see energy as the basis of all things. It radiates or deteriorates. We are able to shape its direction--that is our human power.
Nature and Living Things. After an estranged lifetime, I am slowly reuniting with living things. See more green. Becoming vegan. Knowing which natural resources sustained my livelihood. I can appreciate my connection to water. I am no longer offended by co-existing with other living things. And I sometimes contemplate how I am dominating our shared space (although I remain unsure about what to do). This planet for which I am a guest and I are reconciling with my host. Other living things, Earth, and myself are no longer distinguishable.
Time. I had always had a complicated relationship with death. I was uncertain what it entailed, and more important, I was afraid to face it before I was ready, which meant I was afraid to die before accomplishing what I intended. That fear has virtually evaporated this year for several reasons, some clearer than others. Nonetheless, I am happy with how I have lived my life and how I live it each day. Perhaps my morbid prediction about dying by a random space toilet was more of a quirky prediction about spiritual finality? I am finally comfortable with time itself being beyond my comprehension, around and through I construct. I know of reincarnation. I see my daily choices as ones for this lifetime, which is a manageable idea compared to ones that may reverberate ad infintium. There is always enough time.
Practice. Since beginning Buddhist meditation nearly a year ago I see myself within a "practice." Meditation came naturally, yet practice always felt broader. It was never a quantity nor a quality. It was more of a constant challenge, "how could I be a better human?" Today I intentionally practice by writing, reading, discussing, and mediating. I try to mindfully practice every moment.
Art. There are few things I love in this world more than beauty. Transcendental experiences are ushered by beautiful things. Art moves me as well as other self-expression. Music. Spontaneity. Poetry. Eloquence. Photography. Courage. Performance. Self-expression is easily spiritual. I will be doing more of it.
Love. One of the reasons why I have set aside my fear of death is because I have known true love. Such an experience defies any description I could write at this time. Love is energy and soul and much more. I intend to discover a love that I could know beyond this lifetime and every other convention that we impose.
Future. There is a particular lesson I learned about the future this year. Each action you take alters even the most predictable "future." That's why choice is so powerful. There were times when I had certain knowledge--unshakeable knowledge about what was to come--and it always came to fruition--just never the way I had anticipated. My expectations, not my knowledge, were fickle.
I cannot wait to see what is next. :)
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Overcoming Spiritual Terrorism
Thursday, November 20 is Transgender Rememberance Day. We remember our dead, our injured, and all of us who are harmed everyday. Yet TRD is a special day, symbolizing our lingering grief and our raging perservance. A church-full of us gathered on a bitterly cold night to remember as one community member declared: we are not fighting for marriage, we are fighting for the right to walk down the street.
We all need love to survive.
A memorable moment during the ceremony was the pouring of libations. A pastor asked us to call out our lost loved ones' names as she poured the water--inviting their spirits to join us--for three, long, mournful minutes. She poured, and poured, and poured, and poured, against a ringing backdrop of tearful voices and a sea of steady candlelights.
Spiritual violence underlies the physical brutality in which these lives were destroyed. To be oppressed is to have your soul suffocated with your own heart. Your psychic being sinks through you into the universe's nothingness. And it hurts.
I recently finished Stone Butch Blues, a heralded gender novel by trans-activist, Leslie Feinberg. Feinberg's message is more than transgender equality. It calls for gender liberation; asking us to let go of our hang-ups about how we dress, what we like, what we do, and how we love.
I suspect that Stone Butch Blues is so widely accepted by the academic community because its themes are universal. It is less of a political story, rather, it is a novel about geniune human struggle against spiritual terrorism--a world that makes us fear everything around us and moreover, a world that provides us very good reason to persistently fear, like holding an inverted insanity. You see the world clearly but every person-and-thing which surrounds you intends for your systemic destruction. All paranoia is real, as real as it feels, though, when your world is this way: paranoia does not need to exist. Imagine this! An incredibly painful way of life, if one at all.
The novel tells a story of a person who begins life as an unwanted child and remains misunderstood throughout her early life. A high-school aged person who is violently gang raped by football stars, punished for attempting to confide in her Black friend, relentlessly teased about the rape by her classmates, and is eventually forced to drop out. A young adult who has little choice but to run away from home, abandon her life, begin blue-collar work, and discover the shadowy lesbian-bar scene. A haunted person who routinely endures physical and emotional humiliation and abuse at the hands of co-workers and policemen (taking pleasure in rape-for-ransom). A desperate person who physiologically transforms into a man to escape a tormented life as a "stonebutch" woman. A worn person who eventually finds solace in moments of stability, love, and collective hope. It's likely the story of many people (though, not Feinberg's own) and the story of many more who have fought to live for life's sake.
There is a very Buddhist-like passage appearing in the novel at a chapter's end. The primary character, Jess, is on a bus listening to a mother tell a story to her child. The story is about a woman who is on her way to see a wizard to learn her life's purpose. Along the way she encounters a dragon who wishes to harm her. She outsmarts the dragon enabling her to escape into the forest. She eventually finds the wizard and anxiously asks "what is my purpose?" To which the wizard responds, "to slay a dragon."
If we listen closely we can hear spiritual violence around us. We need not be paralyzed by our own fear. Instead we should simply listen closer--listen harder--to learn how to heal. We know how to cure the pain we cause. Then we must act accordingly.
We all need love to survive.
A memorable moment during the ceremony was the pouring of libations. A pastor asked us to call out our lost loved ones' names as she poured the water--inviting their spirits to join us--for three, long, mournful minutes. She poured, and poured, and poured, and poured, against a ringing backdrop of tearful voices and a sea of steady candlelights.
Spiritual violence underlies the physical brutality in which these lives were destroyed. To be oppressed is to have your soul suffocated with your own heart. Your psychic being sinks through you into the universe's nothingness. And it hurts.
I recently finished Stone Butch Blues, a heralded gender novel by trans-activist, Leslie Feinberg. Feinberg's message is more than transgender equality. It calls for gender liberation; asking us to let go of our hang-ups about how we dress, what we like, what we do, and how we love.
I suspect that Stone Butch Blues is so widely accepted by the academic community because its themes are universal. It is less of a political story, rather, it is a novel about geniune human struggle against spiritual terrorism--a world that makes us fear everything around us and moreover, a world that provides us very good reason to persistently fear, like holding an inverted insanity. You see the world clearly but every person-and-thing which surrounds you intends for your systemic destruction. All paranoia is real, as real as it feels, though, when your world is this way: paranoia does not need to exist. Imagine this! An incredibly painful way of life, if one at all.
The novel tells a story of a person who begins life as an unwanted child and remains misunderstood throughout her early life. A high-school aged person who is violently gang raped by football stars, punished for attempting to confide in her Black friend, relentlessly teased about the rape by her classmates, and is eventually forced to drop out. A young adult who has little choice but to run away from home, abandon her life, begin blue-collar work, and discover the shadowy lesbian-bar scene. A haunted person who routinely endures physical and emotional humiliation and abuse at the hands of co-workers and policemen (taking pleasure in rape-for-ransom). A desperate person who physiologically transforms into a man to escape a tormented life as a "stonebutch" woman. A worn person who eventually finds solace in moments of stability, love, and collective hope. It's likely the story of many people (though, not Feinberg's own) and the story of many more who have fought to live for life's sake.
There is a very Buddhist-like passage appearing in the novel at a chapter's end. The primary character, Jess, is on a bus listening to a mother tell a story to her child. The story is about a woman who is on her way to see a wizard to learn her life's purpose. Along the way she encounters a dragon who wishes to harm her. She outsmarts the dragon enabling her to escape into the forest. She eventually finds the wizard and anxiously asks "what is my purpose?" To which the wizard responds, "to slay a dragon."
If we listen closely we can hear spiritual violence around us. We need not be paralyzed by our own fear. Instead we should simply listen closer--listen harder--to learn how to heal. We know how to cure the pain we cause. Then we must act accordingly.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Caring for Your Introvert
Ethan read this and apparently thought of me:
http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/print/200303/rauch
http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/print/200303/rauch
Friday, November 14, 2008
Monday, November 10, 2008
Destination: Unknown
I am about to run out of words today, but I wanted to write a short "open letter" to my leftist activists friends:
We are on the heels of the next Progressive Era. Here is a precious period of time in which progressive ideas will re-emerge into the body politic. I have read about bygone moments like these. I am moved by humbled excitment to witness such a time.
I know that this era, however, will be much more critical than previous ones. In this short time we will determine the path of our nation and the world. We will either choose to continue a destructive path paved with spiritual and physical violence, or we will choose a nuturing path toward a restorative ethic and fulfilling future.
Many leftist-spiritual activists have visioned walking on the nurturing path much longer than my short lifetime can account. Some have probably predicted reaching this juncture. But few visionaries have been able to articulate this vision, and even fewer seem able to enumerate how we create this new world order.
For some of us this vision is reality. It is here. It always was and always will be the world in which we live. How do we allow others to share this vision with us? Here we struggle. I struggle, too, yet I know one thing for certain.
We ought to invite others to share this vision. After all, it is a beautiful view. I remain sure that we cannot make this invitation by disengaging with the prevailing order. Many leftists (though not all) wish to create change not merely for themselves but for the world. How do we go about this by co-existence? I do not see a way.
I ask: at which point do we engage the powers-that-be in a deep conversation about the paths we must choose? We may not be able to predict the time now--we will realize it in course--yet there will come a time. For how long can we swim in the vast ocean without a destination? We must speak, inquire, challenge, refuse, and expect our vision into reality. It will not simply appear with our best intentions nor will it simply reside next to the prevailing order.
Why do we continue to live in our heads against the "system" when we can work with our hearts for a vision anew?
We are on the heels of the next Progressive Era. Here is a precious period of time in which progressive ideas will re-emerge into the body politic. I have read about bygone moments like these. I am moved by humbled excitment to witness such a time.
I know that this era, however, will be much more critical than previous ones. In this short time we will determine the path of our nation and the world. We will either choose to continue a destructive path paved with spiritual and physical violence, or we will choose a nuturing path toward a restorative ethic and fulfilling future.
Many leftist-spiritual activists have visioned walking on the nurturing path much longer than my short lifetime can account. Some have probably predicted reaching this juncture. But few visionaries have been able to articulate this vision, and even fewer seem able to enumerate how we create this new world order.
For some of us this vision is reality. It is here. It always was and always will be the world in which we live. How do we allow others to share this vision with us? Here we struggle. I struggle, too, yet I know one thing for certain.
We ought to invite others to share this vision. After all, it is a beautiful view. I remain sure that we cannot make this invitation by disengaging with the prevailing order. Many leftists (though not all) wish to create change not merely for themselves but for the world. How do we go about this by co-existence? I do not see a way.
I ask: at which point do we engage the powers-that-be in a deep conversation about the paths we must choose? We may not be able to predict the time now--we will realize it in course--yet there will come a time. For how long can we swim in the vast ocean without a destination? We must speak, inquire, challenge, refuse, and expect our vision into reality. It will not simply appear with our best intentions nor will it simply reside next to the prevailing order.
Why do we continue to live in our heads against the "system" when we can work with our hearts for a vision anew?
Preeeaaaaccchh on Prop 8
I introduce to you, black lesbian activist, Jasmyne Cannick:
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=96751056
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=96751056
Friday, November 7, 2008
A Light Way of Keepin' It Real During These Post-Election Times
Cultural Behavioral Tips On Reacting Obamas Win: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=96738704&sc=emaf
Please enjoy the "spirit of the moment" as Michel Martin suggests. But, too, let's please be real--we still have a lot to do toward racial reconcilation in America. Barack Obama's presidency does not declare racism dead. On the other hand, maybe--just maybe--these United States of ours is beginning to live up to its promise (all forty acres of it).
Please enjoy the "spirit of the moment" as Michel Martin suggests. But, too, let's please be real--we still have a lot to do toward racial reconcilation in America. Barack Obama's presidency does not declare racism dead. On the other hand, maybe--just maybe--these United States of ours is beginning to live up to its promise (all forty acres of it).
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Historic Celebration
An email from my dear friend Julian on November 5th:
So. I watched the election with a few dozen queers at a bar down in Ghent. Every time a state popped up blue, we cheered, and every time a state popped up red, we booed. Fabulous local lesbian musician Narissa Bond played a set, and I had to start the applause every time a song ended, because everyone was paying attention to the televisions instead of her. (But I think Narissa understood.) When it got to a certain hour, the DJs set up and played awesome, indie political music.
Every so often, one would get on the mic to announce, "Newport News confirmed for Obama!" And everyone would cheer and bang on the tables. "Hampton went Obama!" More cheering. When they announced, "Norfolk for Obama!", I screamed at the top of my lungs and threw my fists into the air. Because that's my city, my home, and I helped do that. For hours, of course, Virginia hovered in the yellow--undetermined, too close to tell. We bit our nails as the percentages fluctuated, with McCain being 100,000 votes ahead. Then 10,000. Then 5,000 ... But other states? Oh, those other states! Ohio ... Pennsylvania ... Florida ... FLORIDA! New Mexico! And we couldn't stop cheering. And we were dancing, and we were drinking, and we were just so damn happy I can't even begin to describe it.
When Elizabeth Dole lost her Senate race, Don Davis started crying. He never really stopped for the rest of the night. Then finally--finally!--the West Coast hippies' votes were tallied at last, and the entire West Coast got washed in blue, and suddenly OBAMA HAD OVER 300 ELECTORAL VOTES, and pandemonium broke out. Everyone screamed, everyone hugged, some of us danced. I think I hugged just about every person in that bar. And Don Davis started crying even harder. There was a bit of booing during McCain's acceptance speech, but really not that much. Because, really, what would be the point? We won. WE WON. McCain had ceased to matter, had ceased to be a threat. And then the music kicked back on, and we were dancing again and hugging again and drinking again. And at some point--I don't remember exactly when--I glanced up at the television screen, and Virginia wasn't yellow any more.
Virginia was blue. Virginia was blue. VIRGINIA WAS BLUE. I screamed my head off, and jumped up and down, and I threw my arms around The Physicist and yanked on hir to get hir attention and pointed to the t.v. "Look! Look, look, look!" And for the next half hour, I would just sort of smile dazedly and mutter to myself, "Virginia went blue ... Virginia went blue? Virginia went blue ..."
And that's my state, my home, and I helped do that. Then Barack Hussein Obama appeared on the television screen, approaching the podium, and we SCREAMED hysterically at the DJs to cut the music and frantically pointed at the television. They managed to shut it off just in time for Obama to speak. And I know you've seen the speech, either last night or some time today, but you didn't see it in that bar with me. And that's a shame, because it was A Moment. There were shades of FDR and JFK and MLK, of course, and lots of wonderful rhetoric (meant in the good sense, not the empty sense), and when Obama spoke of being the president of those who didn't vote for him too, it felt like maybe he, unlike others, actually could be a uniter and not a divider. But you all know that already.
What you don't know is how the room reacted when Obama spoke of white people and black people, gays and straights-- --and I thought I hadn't heard him correctly at first. But I looked around, and it wasn't just Don Davis crying--it was EVERY DAMN QUEER in the bar. Every. Single. One. My president--my president!--spoke about me in his acceptance speech. Not to use me as a political tool to scare conservatives, not to juxtapose me against what a Real American looks like, but to include me. To recognize me as a part of this country. I yelled something at this point, to the effect of "I'm America too!", but I don't recall exactly what. It was rather loud, though, and a few folks turned around and looked amused.
There was a small group of African-American women standing near us, including some lesbians, and I cannot describe to you the look on their faces. They were crying, not the streaming tears that Don was, but their eyes were wet and glistening. And it was beautiful.
Oh God, it was so beautiful. They were so happy. After Obama finished his speech, we screamed our heads off again, and then the DJs threw on "We Are Family." And then EVERYONE danced, danced while hugging, and most of us were still crying.
Last night, we were family. All of us. As Obama said, white and black, gay and straight, we really did feel like family. And it was right about then that I realized what a terrible toll the last eight years has taken. It was only after I felt this burden lifted that I realized just how heavy it's been I have spent my entire politically-active life feeling powerless and defeated and abused. Bush in 2000 ... September 11th ... the election where there WERE no Democrats on the ballot, in that hellhole district of my parents ... Iraq, even though we all fought against it so hard ... Bush in 2004, even though we all fought against it so hard ... the Marshall-Newman Amendment, even though I fought it with every fiber of my being ... and on, and on, and ... But the morning has come, after a long, dark night.
I don't believe President Obama can be everything we've projected onto him--no human being possibly can--but I do believe he is the right man at the right moment. I do believe that something incredible has happened and is STILL happening. Virginia went blue. We have an African-American president. And, for the first time in my entire life, I really feel as though I might be able to be a part of America too.
YES, WE CAN.
Thanks, Julian. Thank you.
So. I watched the election with a few dozen queers at a bar down in Ghent. Every time a state popped up blue, we cheered, and every time a state popped up red, we booed. Fabulous local lesbian musician Narissa Bond played a set, and I had to start the applause every time a song ended, because everyone was paying attention to the televisions instead of her. (But I think Narissa understood.) When it got to a certain hour, the DJs set up and played awesome, indie political music.
Every so often, one would get on the mic to announce, "Newport News confirmed for Obama!" And everyone would cheer and bang on the tables. "Hampton went Obama!" More cheering. When they announced, "Norfolk for Obama!", I screamed at the top of my lungs and threw my fists into the air. Because that's my city, my home, and I helped do that. For hours, of course, Virginia hovered in the yellow--undetermined, too close to tell. We bit our nails as the percentages fluctuated, with McCain being 100,000 votes ahead. Then 10,000. Then 5,000 ... But other states? Oh, those other states! Ohio ... Pennsylvania ... Florida ... FLORIDA! New Mexico! And we couldn't stop cheering. And we were dancing, and we were drinking, and we were just so damn happy I can't even begin to describe it.
When Elizabeth Dole lost her Senate race, Don Davis started crying. He never really stopped for the rest of the night. Then finally--finally!--the West Coast hippies' votes were tallied at last, and the entire West Coast got washed in blue, and suddenly OBAMA HAD OVER 300 ELECTORAL VOTES, and pandemonium broke out. Everyone screamed, everyone hugged, some of us danced. I think I hugged just about every person in that bar. And Don Davis started crying even harder. There was a bit of booing during McCain's acceptance speech, but really not that much. Because, really, what would be the point? We won. WE WON. McCain had ceased to matter, had ceased to be a threat. And then the music kicked back on, and we were dancing again and hugging again and drinking again. And at some point--I don't remember exactly when--I glanced up at the television screen, and Virginia wasn't yellow any more.
Virginia was blue. Virginia was blue. VIRGINIA WAS BLUE. I screamed my head off, and jumped up and down, and I threw my arms around The Physicist and yanked on hir to get hir attention and pointed to the t.v. "Look! Look, look, look!" And for the next half hour, I would just sort of smile dazedly and mutter to myself, "Virginia went blue ... Virginia went blue? Virginia went blue ..."
And that's my state, my home, and I helped do that. Then Barack Hussein Obama appeared on the television screen, approaching the podium, and we SCREAMED hysterically at the DJs to cut the music and frantically pointed at the television. They managed to shut it off just in time for Obama to speak. And I know you've seen the speech, either last night or some time today, but you didn't see it in that bar with me. And that's a shame, because it was A Moment. There were shades of FDR and JFK and MLK, of course, and lots of wonderful rhetoric (meant in the good sense, not the empty sense), and when Obama spoke of being the president of those who didn't vote for him too, it felt like maybe he, unlike others, actually could be a uniter and not a divider. But you all know that already.
What you don't know is how the room reacted when Obama spoke of white people and black people, gays and straights-- --and I thought I hadn't heard him correctly at first. But I looked around, and it wasn't just Don Davis crying--it was EVERY DAMN QUEER in the bar. Every. Single. One. My president--my president!--spoke about me in his acceptance speech. Not to use me as a political tool to scare conservatives, not to juxtapose me against what a Real American looks like, but to include me. To recognize me as a part of this country. I yelled something at this point, to the effect of "I'm America too!", but I don't recall exactly what. It was rather loud, though, and a few folks turned around and looked amused.
There was a small group of African-American women standing near us, including some lesbians, and I cannot describe to you the look on their faces. They were crying, not the streaming tears that Don was, but their eyes were wet and glistening. And it was beautiful.
Oh God, it was so beautiful. They were so happy. After Obama finished his speech, we screamed our heads off again, and then the DJs threw on "We Are Family." And then EVERYONE danced, danced while hugging, and most of us were still crying.
Last night, we were family. All of us. As Obama said, white and black, gay and straight, we really did feel like family. And it was right about then that I realized what a terrible toll the last eight years has taken. It was only after I felt this burden lifted that I realized just how heavy it's been I have spent my entire politically-active life feeling powerless and defeated and abused. Bush in 2000 ... September 11th ... the election where there WERE no Democrats on the ballot, in that hellhole district of my parents ... Iraq, even though we all fought against it so hard ... Bush in 2004, even though we all fought against it so hard ... the Marshall-Newman Amendment, even though I fought it with every fiber of my being ... and on, and on, and ... But the morning has come, after a long, dark night.
I don't believe President Obama can be everything we've projected onto him--no human being possibly can--but I do believe he is the right man at the right moment. I do believe that something incredible has happened and is STILL happening. Virginia went blue. We have an African-American president. And, for the first time in my entire life, I really feel as though I might be able to be a part of America too.
YES, WE CAN.
Thanks, Julian. Thank you.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Beauty of Remembering (What We Always Knew)
"What one does not remember contains the only hope, danger, trap, inexorability, of love--only love can help you recognize what you do not remember. And memory makes its only real appearance in this life as this life is ending--appearing, at last, as a kind of guide into a condition which is as far beyond memory as it is beyond imagination...
My memory stammers: but my soul is a witness."
- Preface, The Evidence of Things Not Seen - James Baldwin.
My memory stammers: but my soul is a witness."
- Preface, The Evidence of Things Not Seen - James Baldwin.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
A Little Bit of Rock & Roll
Many of my friends are proud operators of personal Pandora Radio stations. I hadn't listened to mine for some time, and I decided to re-visit my station in light of the type of distraction for which I was searching while outlining for my "Civil Procedure" course...
I quickly remembered my instant fascination with the "Music Genome Project." For those of us with an expansive musicial pallate, Pandora allows us to explore, but also it allows us to explain to ourselves what exactly ties our rhythms together.
I'll invite Pandora users to compare this list (from about an hour worth of play on my station) to their own. I suggest to those who have not yet discovered Pandora to check it out.
What do I have to say for myself? I dunno. It's clear that I grew up on rock-music. I always described my selections as "complex" music, however (I struggle with most acoustic music, for example, and LOVE stringed instruments). I have a slight bias toward male vocalists. I like multi-genre, mixed instrumentation music--I enjoy melody or music that I can move to--and lyrics matter.
What's on your (actual or future) station?
Who's Gonna Save My Soul? Gnarls Barkley.
Modern R&B stylings, electronia roots, blues influences, mild rhythmic syncopation and minor key tonality.
See Me Fall. Mic Burns (Matthew DeKay and Productors Remix).
Four-on-the-floor beats, trance influences, disco influences, house influences, and danceable beats.
Dirty Harry. Gorillaz.
Basic rock structures, electronia influences, rap influences, reggae influences, and heavy use of vocal harmonies.
Stellar. Incubus.
Pop metal qualities, electronia influences, a subtle use of vocal harmony, repetitive melodic phrasing and mixed acoustic and electric instrumentation.
Got Your Money. Ol' Dirty Bastard.
Club rap roots, east coast rap roots, party jam style, danceable beats and syncopated beats.
*By the way I "disclaim" these lyrics.
The Whole World. Outkast.
Club rap roots, southern rap roots, electronia influences, rock influences and party jam style.
Remind Me. Royksopp.
Rock influences, danceable beats, straight drum beats, a smooth male vocal and a laid back male vocal.
Storm. Andrea Wellard.
Basic trock structures, a prominent rhythm piano part, repetitive melodic phrasing, extensive vamping and mixed acoustic and electric instrumentation.
Trio Sonata for 2 Violins. Antonio Vivaldi.
Baroque style, a small chamber ensemble, a featured cello, harpsichord, and violin.
Changes. Tupac.
R&B influences, danceable beats, violent lyrics, lyrics with a political message and melodic part writing.
Is This Desire? PJ Harvey.
Mellow rock instrumentation, blues influences, punk influences, repetitive melodic phrasing and mixed acoustic and electric instrumentation.
The hour rounded out with Nas's "Hip Hop is Dead." :)
I quickly remembered my instant fascination with the "Music Genome Project." For those of us with an expansive musicial pallate, Pandora allows us to explore, but also it allows us to explain to ourselves what exactly ties our rhythms together.
I'll invite Pandora users to compare this list (from about an hour worth of play on my station) to their own. I suggest to those who have not yet discovered Pandora to check it out.
What do I have to say for myself? I dunno. It's clear that I grew up on rock-music. I always described my selections as "complex" music, however (I struggle with most acoustic music, for example, and LOVE stringed instruments). I have a slight bias toward male vocalists. I like multi-genre, mixed instrumentation music--I enjoy melody or music that I can move to--and lyrics matter.
What's on your (actual or future) station?
Who's Gonna Save My Soul? Gnarls Barkley.
Modern R&B stylings, electronia roots, blues influences, mild rhythmic syncopation and minor key tonality.
See Me Fall. Mic Burns (Matthew DeKay and Productors Remix).
Four-on-the-floor beats, trance influences, disco influences, house influences, and danceable beats.
Dirty Harry. Gorillaz.
Basic rock structures, electronia influences, rap influences, reggae influences, and heavy use of vocal harmonies.
Stellar. Incubus.
Pop metal qualities, electronia influences, a subtle use of vocal harmony, repetitive melodic phrasing and mixed acoustic and electric instrumentation.
Got Your Money. Ol' Dirty Bastard.
Club rap roots, east coast rap roots, party jam style, danceable beats and syncopated beats.
*By the way I "disclaim" these lyrics.
The Whole World. Outkast.
Club rap roots, southern rap roots, electronia influences, rock influences and party jam style.
Remind Me. Royksopp.
Rock influences, danceable beats, straight drum beats, a smooth male vocal and a laid back male vocal.
Storm. Andrea Wellard.
Basic trock structures, a prominent rhythm piano part, repetitive melodic phrasing, extensive vamping and mixed acoustic and electric instrumentation.
Trio Sonata for 2 Violins. Antonio Vivaldi.
Baroque style, a small chamber ensemble, a featured cello, harpsichord, and violin.
Changes. Tupac.
R&B influences, danceable beats, violent lyrics, lyrics with a political message and melodic part writing.
Is This Desire? PJ Harvey.
Mellow rock instrumentation, blues influences, punk influences, repetitive melodic phrasing and mixed acoustic and electric instrumentation.
The hour rounded out with Nas's "Hip Hop is Dead." :)
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Election Protection
One of the more interesting law school opportunities I've seen is "election protection" (EP). EP is voter hotline or field assistance (not exclusively legal in nature) prior to and on November 4.
"Am I registered to vote?"
"Where is my polling place?"
"Do I need a photo ID when I vote?"
"I've been 'challenged'--what do I do?"
"The polls aren't open and they should be. What's happening?"
(The latter two are escalated matters.)
I'm excited about volunteering. Elections and voting rights have been a particular passion. I see few opportunities to make democracy work so that elections are legitimately fair, I am moved to do what I can (especially to safeguard againist another 2000 election; I've rarely known such disappointment in my life.) But I can't help but notice...
There was underlying racial tension at the training event I attended this week. Largely, some white volunteers were skeptical of the persistent questions some black volunteers (including myself) about resolving certain problems that may have more pernicious consequences. By this I mean, some of us wanted to know how to address problems linked to institutional issues that could lead to disenfranchisement or more subtle coercion by bad actors (poll watchers, biased poll workers, etc.). Specifically, we had reviewed how to record "challenges" made by third-parities to a voter's status, but we never discussed how we actually responded to the voter or even had knowledge what his or her rights were. I did not fully appreciate at the time that such a question was a launch-pad :)
After some back-and-forth, one white volunteer rebuffed another black female volunteer's concerns (she had worked in Miami) by saying "that doesn't happen here." So ignoring any hierarchy ettiquette (I was among a handful of students, non-lawyers) I impulsively jumped in--I've been a poll worker in Northern Virginia for three elections in which we had improper challenges and poorly informed election officers (who I had to correct, sometimes) leading to questionable decisions and results. There was no direct response to my comments.
And what could one possibly say? Life lesson: lawyers make a LOT of assumptions.
November 4th is near. God Bless America.
"Am I registered to vote?"
"Where is my polling place?"
"Do I need a photo ID when I vote?"
"I've been 'challenged'--what do I do?"
"The polls aren't open and they should be. What's happening?"
(The latter two are escalated matters.)
I'm excited about volunteering. Elections and voting rights have been a particular passion. I see few opportunities to make democracy work so that elections are legitimately fair, I am moved to do what I can (especially to safeguard againist another 2000 election; I've rarely known such disappointment in my life.) But I can't help but notice...
There was underlying racial tension at the training event I attended this week. Largely, some white volunteers were skeptical of the persistent questions some black volunteers (including myself) about resolving certain problems that may have more pernicious consequences. By this I mean, some of us wanted to know how to address problems linked to institutional issues that could lead to disenfranchisement or more subtle coercion by bad actors (poll watchers, biased poll workers, etc.). Specifically, we had reviewed how to record "challenges" made by third-parities to a voter's status, but we never discussed how we actually responded to the voter or even had knowledge what his or her rights were. I did not fully appreciate at the time that such a question was a launch-pad :)
After some back-and-forth, one white volunteer rebuffed another black female volunteer's concerns (she had worked in Miami) by saying "that doesn't happen here." So ignoring any hierarchy ettiquette (I was among a handful of students, non-lawyers) I impulsively jumped in--I've been a poll worker in Northern Virginia for three elections in which we had improper challenges and poorly informed election officers (who I had to correct, sometimes) leading to questionable decisions and results. There was no direct response to my comments.
And what could one possibly say? Life lesson: lawyers make a LOT of assumptions.
November 4th is near. God Bless America.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Friday, October 17, 2008
This Is What It Means To Understand You
Another passage from The Heart of the Buddha's Teaching by Thich Nhat Hahn. This one is from Part II, The Eightfold Path:
The Sixth Miracle of Mindfulness is understanding. When we understand something, often we say, "I see." We see something we hadn't seen before. Seeing and understanding come from within us. When we are mindul, touching deeply the present moment, we can see and listen deeply, and the fruits are always understanding, acceptance, love, and the desire to releive suffering and bring joy. Understanding is the very foundation of love. When you understand someone, you cannot help but love him or her.
A miracle, indeed.
The Sixth Miracle of Mindfulness is understanding. When we understand something, often we say, "I see." We see something we hadn't seen before. Seeing and understanding come from within us. When we are mindul, touching deeply the present moment, we can see and listen deeply, and the fruits are always understanding, acceptance, love, and the desire to releive suffering and bring joy. Understanding is the very foundation of love. When you understand someone, you cannot help but love him or her.
A miracle, indeed.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Gift of Sight
Meditation, for me, is more visually vivid than dreaming.
When I first began regular meditation last spring, I had a consistent vision. I would walk into a sterile white room toward a door. On the other side, I'd enter a most vital and beautiful garden. Splashes of color surrounded plush and fertile growth that spawn from beneath my feet many feet high. I'd explore and explore; and I'd always reach its end which appeared like a sharp cessation of the Earth. Only a sprawling sky was ahead. And always, I would jump.
This way I learned to fly.
Since my meditations have become increasingly visual, active and varied in their images. The only consistent image is when I begin. Instead of jumping from a cliff, I stand above what appears to be a rainforest waterfall, spread my arms, and simply fall. Like a film -- I see myself from one side, from above, and from the other side in three instant moments -- and I fall into water. I see myself meet the water from beneath in which the water is clear with a completely black background. When I make contact, the water's waves are neon blue, fusia, and orange colors. Momentarily, I feel this release. I begin from there.
Within meditation I touch suffering or conflict, large and small. I never intend to untangle it all but I find a starting point. A soft place to enter.
Above all, outside of meditation, I imagine all of my choices and their opportunities. When walking down a residential street this morning, I contemplated, "If I make thousands of choices everyday, I must see those thousands of choices that will alter my well-being." Such thoughtfulness feels like learning how to walk (really for the first time). I'm never certain to where my steps will lead, but I know each step to be true. For each choice I make with conviction, I cannot help but find myself where I want to be.
When I first began regular meditation last spring, I had a consistent vision. I would walk into a sterile white room toward a door. On the other side, I'd enter a most vital and beautiful garden. Splashes of color surrounded plush and fertile growth that spawn from beneath my feet many feet high. I'd explore and explore; and I'd always reach its end which appeared like a sharp cessation of the Earth. Only a sprawling sky was ahead. And always, I would jump.
This way I learned to fly.
Since my meditations have become increasingly visual, active and varied in their images. The only consistent image is when I begin. Instead of jumping from a cliff, I stand above what appears to be a rainforest waterfall, spread my arms, and simply fall. Like a film -- I see myself from one side, from above, and from the other side in three instant moments -- and I fall into water. I see myself meet the water from beneath in which the water is clear with a completely black background. When I make contact, the water's waves are neon blue, fusia, and orange colors. Momentarily, I feel this release. I begin from there.
Within meditation I touch suffering or conflict, large and small. I never intend to untangle it all but I find a starting point. A soft place to enter.
Above all, outside of meditation, I imagine all of my choices and their opportunities. When walking down a residential street this morning, I contemplated, "If I make thousands of choices everyday, I must see those thousands of choices that will alter my well-being." Such thoughtfulness feels like learning how to walk (really for the first time). I'm never certain to where my steps will lead, but I know each step to be true. For each choice I make with conviction, I cannot help but find myself where I want to be.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Love Is A Traveler
what you most want,
what you travel around
wishing to find,
lose, as lovers lose themselves,
and you will find.
Fariduddin 'Attar (1142 - 1220)
Sufi Mystic, celebrated as one of Iran's most prestigious poets
From Ninety-Nine Names of Love: Expressions of the Heart edited by Priya Hemenway.
what you travel around
wishing to find,
lose, as lovers lose themselves,
and you will find.
Fariduddin 'Attar (1142 - 1220)
Sufi Mystic, celebrated as one of Iran's most prestigious poets
From Ninety-Nine Names of Love: Expressions of the Heart edited by Priya Hemenway.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Sex +
This weekend my ever-politically conscience house hosted an event called a "clothing swap." Participants are encouraged to bring unwanted clothes and exchange them for others' unwanted clothes. Our clothing swap also included other activities, like hair-cutting, in an effort to encourage donations (a CISPES & Critical Resistance fundraiser).
If you entered the Hamilton abode on Sunday morning, you would have seen a clothing dozen piles throughout our three common areas. Shoes and other accessories were in the back "workroom" where I prefer to study. I was wading through shoes when I literally stumbled on a plastic bag.
I had tripped on a dildo. A dildo which looked eerily similar to the one I used to own. (Hm.)
As always, when in doubt, I ask Cyres about life's befuddlements. I ask, "Whose is that?" To which he replies with his usual unimpressed expression, "That's yours. We dug it out for the swap but since no one knew what it was made of, no one wanted it."
I looked down: I was still a less-than-proud owner of an unwanted dildo lying on the carpet beneath me. (I have real complicated feelings about dildos. More on this...sometime.)
At the Metta House, we call ourselves a "sex-positive" household. I was long-familiar with the idea, yet never fully knew what it was. So in an effort to be hip I did what any other curious but (at times) painfully shy person would do. I anonymously asked my housemates on our communal whiteboard: "How would you describe 'sex positive'?"
Of course Cyres wrote a reply (manifesto) that took up the entire board. His gist was that sex positivity was the affirmative response to a sexually repressive culture. I go through the checklist. Do I support comprehensive and age-appropriate sex education? Definitely. Do I acknowledge the broad range of sexual desires and choices that exist beyond heterosexual monogamy? For sure. Do I believe that consenting adults should inform and empower themselves about their sexual choices? Absolutely. Do I think that we, as a cultural collective, should encourage and facilitate sexual health? No doubt.
I've passed the test. But have I?
I often am very reserved and shy concerning the topic--sex. Although I gave a sociology presentation on "S&M" in college, suggested visiting a sex shop for a date this summer, and recently had a thoughtful conversation about sex, body image and gender, some people may consider me reluctantly sex-positive.
I've outed myself as a sexual conservative on more than one occasion. On a personal level, monogamy is my only option with my partner (with the expectation that I will have a life-partner); sex is contained within a monogamous relationship, in which sex is a means of reaching spiritual communion; sensuality usually prevails over sex; and a variety of sexual acts, like viewing pornography or masturbation, are never my recreation.
What's more is that I have trouble embracing certain types of sexual liberation. Indiscriminate sex, for example, or possessing many sexual partners, just confuses me. I have an intellectual understanding but I have never felt sexual liberation as independent from psychological, spiritual or psychic pain. I'm honestly not sure what this tension means.
I'll continue to reflect. Sex has been absent from my life for some time now and I do not intend to change this fact in the near future.
I am, however, surprised that I wrote this blog ;)
Simply Memoir
Today I attended a powerful workshop called "Writing Identities" led by Lori Tharps, author of Kinky Gazpacho. Designed for aspiring memoir writers, Lori explained the transformative nature of writing our own stories, why we seek to learn stories like our own, and how we go about starting the journey.
We begin with this: a memoir is not necessarily self-indulgent. Especially for those of us who have few stories which reflect our lives or appreciate the uniqueness of every story, memoir-writing tells truths in a culture that does not (story)tell nor accept truth. Memoirs possess the power to help heal, to expose, to challenge, to share. Contrary to "conventional wisdom" memoirs do not tell your complete life-story like an autobiography. Instead, they are thematic excerpts of any story that you wish to tell. Did you know that Maya Angelou has published seven memoirs?
During the workshop we completed a couple fun writing exercises. My favorite exercise was the "Six Word Memoir." I wrote: perpetually displaced youth builds spiritual crescendo.
What's yours?
Equipped with writing strategies and affirmation I will begin my first memoir tomorrow. I admit that this attempt is much more promising than this summer when I picked up a "how-to" book by an older white author. I simply didn't connect. Today's workshop was filled almost entirely with women of color with compelling and complicated histories.
During my introduction, I shared that over the years I'd become an activist-documentarian, and I believed it was finally time to document my own reality. After all, a thoughtful and talented friend reminds us: we cannot continue to make sense of the world without continuing to make sense of ourselves.
Read, write, share!
We begin with this: a memoir is not necessarily self-indulgent. Especially for those of us who have few stories which reflect our lives or appreciate the uniqueness of every story, memoir-writing tells truths in a culture that does not (story)tell nor accept truth. Memoirs possess the power to help heal, to expose, to challenge, to share. Contrary to "conventional wisdom" memoirs do not tell your complete life-story like an autobiography. Instead, they are thematic excerpts of any story that you wish to tell. Did you know that Maya Angelou has published seven memoirs?
During the workshop we completed a couple fun writing exercises. My favorite exercise was the "Six Word Memoir." I wrote: perpetually displaced youth builds spiritual crescendo.
What's yours?
Equipped with writing strategies and affirmation I will begin my first memoir tomorrow. I admit that this attempt is much more promising than this summer when I picked up a "how-to" book by an older white author. I simply didn't connect. Today's workshop was filled almost entirely with women of color with compelling and complicated histories.
During my introduction, I shared that over the years I'd become an activist-documentarian, and I believed it was finally time to document my own reality. After all, a thoughtful and talented friend reminds us: we cannot continue to make sense of the world without continuing to make sense of ourselves.
Read, write, share!
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Sustenance Which Kills
The Heart of the Buddha's Teaching, Thich Nhat Hanh.
[Four kinds of nutriments can lead to our happiness or suffering: edible food, sense impressions, intention, and consciousness. Regarding edible food, Buddha offered this example.]
"A young couple and their two-year-old child were trying to cross the desert, and they ran out of food. After deep reflection, the parents realized that in order to survive they had to kill their son and eat this flesh. They calculated that if they ate such and such a proportion of their baby's flesh each day and carried the rest on their shoulders to dry, it would last the rest of the journey.
But with every morsel of their baby's flesh they ate, the young couple cried and cried.
After he told this story, the Buddha asked, 'Dear friends, do you think the young man and woman enjoyed eating their son's flesh?' 'No, Lord, it would not be possible for them to enjoy eating their son's flesh.' The Buddha said, Yet many people eat the flesh of their parents, their children, and their grandchildren and do not know it.'"
R.
[Four kinds of nutriments can lead to our happiness or suffering: edible food, sense impressions, intention, and consciousness. Regarding edible food, Buddha offered this example.]
"A young couple and their two-year-old child were trying to cross the desert, and they ran out of food. After deep reflection, the parents realized that in order to survive they had to kill their son and eat this flesh. They calculated that if they ate such and such a proportion of their baby's flesh each day and carried the rest on their shoulders to dry, it would last the rest of the journey.
But with every morsel of their baby's flesh they ate, the young couple cried and cried.
After he told this story, the Buddha asked, 'Dear friends, do you think the young man and woman enjoyed eating their son's flesh?' 'No, Lord, it would not be possible for them to enjoy eating their son's flesh.' The Buddha said, Yet many people eat the flesh of their parents, their children, and their grandchildren and do not know it.'"
R.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
A Dream Never Dreamt
In the New Republic, I read an incisive article, Monsters' Ball: Global authoritarianism on the march, which made me pause about another startling global trend.
Kyrgyzstan, Turkmenistan, Lebanon, Thailand, Kenya, Nigeria, Democratic Republic of Congo, Philippines, Jordan (and others), all share a common political reality: grim futures brought by newly failed democracic governments. No part of the world has gone untouched or for that matter, unscathed, by democratization gone awry. Democracy may follow the way of colonial imperialism (some have yet to understand that imperialism is still immoral in any form).
The article surveys unique challenges each struggling nation faces installing historically-democratic institutions like free and fair elections within its own contexts. Ironically, as these governments have collapsed into more overtly repressive regimes, citizens have taken to the streets in protest, swelling in large numbers, and have effectively forced responsiveness from leaders--in part because there was no other choice. We see desperation drive democracy and democracy drive ever more desperation. How is this possible?
Well, like other distant analysis about worldwide democracies, American writers often omit that the first democractic experiment of modern times has not lived up to its rhetoric. Instead, we have exported our deeply distorted democractic "product" abroad.
So when will we know for certain that democracy has failed? What does a future without democracy and without capitalism look like after all?
Kyrgyzstan, Turkmenistan, Lebanon, Thailand, Kenya, Nigeria, Democratic Republic of Congo, Philippines, Jordan (and others), all share a common political reality: grim futures brought by newly failed democracic governments. No part of the world has gone untouched or for that matter, unscathed, by democratization gone awry. Democracy may follow the way of colonial imperialism (some have yet to understand that imperialism is still immoral in any form).
The article surveys unique challenges each struggling nation faces installing historically-democratic institutions like free and fair elections within its own contexts. Ironically, as these governments have collapsed into more overtly repressive regimes, citizens have taken to the streets in protest, swelling in large numbers, and have effectively forced responsiveness from leaders--in part because there was no other choice. We see desperation drive democracy and democracy drive ever more desperation. How is this possible?
Well, like other distant analysis about worldwide democracies, American writers often omit that the first democractic experiment of modern times has not lived up to its rhetoric. Instead, we have exported our deeply distorted democractic "product" abroad.
So when will we know for certain that democracy has failed? What does a future without democracy and without capitalism look like after all?
Sunday, September 28, 2008
You're So Relevant...
You reduce me to cosmic tears. Luminous more so than most anyone. Unapologetically alive knot in my stomach. - So Pure.
Saying you were talking crazy
That you wanted to do away with yourself
I guess she thought i'd be a perfect resort
Because we've had this inexplicable connection since our youth...
If we were our bodies
If we were our futures
If we were our defenses I'd be joining you - Joining You.
You've already won me over in spite of me
And don't be alarmed if I fall head over feet
Don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are
I couldn't help it
It's all your fault
You are the bearer of unconditional things
You held your breath and the door for me
Thanks for your patience - Head Over Feet.
I don't want to be a bandage if the wound is not mine
Lend me some fresh airI
don't want to be adored for what I merely represent to you
I don't want to be your babysitter
You're a very big boy now
I don't want to be your mother I didn't carry you in my womb for nine months
Show me the back door - Not the Doctor.
How bout me not blaming you for everything
How bout me enjoying the moment for once
How bout how good it feels to finally forgive you
How bout grieving it all one at a time
Thank you India
Thank you terror
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you frailty
Thank you consequence
Thank you thank you silence
The moment I let go of it
Was the moment I got more than I could handle
The moment I jumped off of it
Was the moment I touched down - Thank U.
That I would be good even if I lost sanity
That I would be good whether with or without you - That I Would Be Good.
Dear Terrance I love you muchly
You've been nothing but open hearted and emotionally available and supportive
And nurturing and consummately there for me
I kept drawing you in and pushing you away
I remember how beautiful it was to fall asleep on your couch and cry in front of you for the first time
You were the best platform from which to jump beyond myself
What was wrong with me? - Unsent.
Do you derive joy when someone else succeeds?
Do you not play dirty when engaged in competition?
Do you have a big intellectual capacity but know
That it alone does not equate wisdom?
Do you see everything as an illusion?
But enjoy it even though you are not of it?
Are you both masculine and feminine? politically aware?
And don't believe in capital punishment?
These are 21 things that I want in a lover
Not necessarily needs but qualities that I prefer - 21 Things I Want In A Lover.
You'll rescue me right?
In the exact same way they never did
I'll be happy right?
When your healing powers kick in
You'll complete me right?
Then my life can finally begin
I'll be worthy right?
Only when you realize the gem I am?
But this won't work now the way it once did
And I won't keep it up even though I would love to
Once I know who I'm not then I'll know who I am
But I know I won't keep on playing the victim
These precious illusions in my head
Did not let me down when I was defenseless
And parting with them is like parting with invisible best friends - Precious Illusions.
Dear me-show boy I know you're not really into conflict resolution
Or seeing both sides of every equation
Or having an uninterrupted conversation
And any talk of healthiness
And any talk of connectedness
And any talk of resolving this
Leaves you running for the door - Narcissus.
We thought a break would be good for four months we sat and vacillated
We thought a small time apart would clear up the doubts that were abounding
At that particular time love encouraged me to wait
At that particular moment it helped me to be patient
That particular month we needed time to marinate
In what "us" meant
I've always wanted for you what you've wanted for yourself
And yet I wanted to save us high water or hell
And I kept on ignoring the ambivalence you felt
And in the meantime I lost myself
In the meantime I lost myself
I'm sorry I lost myself. I am - That Particular Time.
You can ask for space for yourself and only yourself and I'll grant it
You can ask for freedom as well or time to travel and you'll have it
You can ask to live by yourself or love someone else and I'll support it
You can ask for anything you want anything at all and I'll understand it
(And there are no strings attached) - You Owe Me Nothing In Return.
Such tragedy to trample on each other with how much we've endured
With the state this land is in
You and me feel joined only by gender
We are not all for one and one for all
Sister blister we fight to please the brothers
We think their acceptance is how we win
They're happy we're climbing over each other
To beg the club of boys to let us in - Sister Blister.
Why no one will help me
I am too dumb I am too smart
They'll not understand me
I am lonely
They'll hate me
And there is not enough time
It's too hard to help me
And God wants me to work
No resting no lazy
These excuses how they served me so well
They've kept me safe
They've kept me stuck
They've kept me locked in my own cell - Excuses.
I can be an asshole of the grandest kind
I can withhold like it's going out of style
I can be the moodiest baby and you've never met anyone
Who is as negative as I am sometimes
I am the wisest woman you've ever met
I am the kindest soul with whom you've connected
I have the bravest heart that you've ever seen
And you've never met anyone
Who's as positive as I am sometimes
You see everything, you see every part
You see all my light and you love my dark
You dig everything of which I'm ashamed
There's not anything to which you can't relate
And you're still here - Everything.
Day one day one start over again
Step one step one I'm barely making sense for now
I'm faking it 'til I'm pseudo making it
From scratch begin again but this time as I
And not as we
Gun shy and quivering
Timid without a hand
Feign brave with steel intent
Little and hardly here - Not As We.
Must be strangely exciting
To watch the stoic squirm
Must be somewhat heartening
To watch shepherd need shepherd
But you you're not allowed
You're uninvited
An unfortunate slight - Uninvited.
My favorite lyrics from a great Love-Philosopher whom I recently saw in concert: Alanis Morissette. Once a middle-school icon, I've re-discovered her during a seminal time in my life. When, like many others around me, I am singularly defining love, life and the world around us.
R.
Saying you were talking crazy
That you wanted to do away with yourself
I guess she thought i'd be a perfect resort
Because we've had this inexplicable connection since our youth...
If we were our bodies
If we were our futures
If we were our defenses I'd be joining you - Joining You.
You've already won me over in spite of me
And don't be alarmed if I fall head over feet
Don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are
I couldn't help it
It's all your fault
You are the bearer of unconditional things
You held your breath and the door for me
Thanks for your patience - Head Over Feet.
I don't want to be a bandage if the wound is not mine
Lend me some fresh airI
don't want to be adored for what I merely represent to you
I don't want to be your babysitter
You're a very big boy now
I don't want to be your mother I didn't carry you in my womb for nine months
Show me the back door - Not the Doctor.
How bout me not blaming you for everything
How bout me enjoying the moment for once
How bout how good it feels to finally forgive you
How bout grieving it all one at a time
Thank you India
Thank you terror
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you frailty
Thank you consequence
Thank you thank you silence
The moment I let go of it
Was the moment I got more than I could handle
The moment I jumped off of it
Was the moment I touched down - Thank U.
That I would be good even if I lost sanity
That I would be good whether with or without you - That I Would Be Good.
Dear Terrance I love you muchly
You've been nothing but open hearted and emotionally available and supportive
And nurturing and consummately there for me
I kept drawing you in and pushing you away
I remember how beautiful it was to fall asleep on your couch and cry in front of you for the first time
You were the best platform from which to jump beyond myself
What was wrong with me? - Unsent.
Do you derive joy when someone else succeeds?
Do you not play dirty when engaged in competition?
Do you have a big intellectual capacity but know
That it alone does not equate wisdom?
Do you see everything as an illusion?
But enjoy it even though you are not of it?
Are you both masculine and feminine? politically aware?
And don't believe in capital punishment?
These are 21 things that I want in a lover
Not necessarily needs but qualities that I prefer - 21 Things I Want In A Lover.
You'll rescue me right?
In the exact same way they never did
I'll be happy right?
When your healing powers kick in
You'll complete me right?
Then my life can finally begin
I'll be worthy right?
Only when you realize the gem I am?
But this won't work now the way it once did
And I won't keep it up even though I would love to
Once I know who I'm not then I'll know who I am
But I know I won't keep on playing the victim
These precious illusions in my head
Did not let me down when I was defenseless
And parting with them is like parting with invisible best friends - Precious Illusions.
Dear me-show boy I know you're not really into conflict resolution
Or seeing both sides of every equation
Or having an uninterrupted conversation
And any talk of healthiness
And any talk of connectedness
And any talk of resolving this
Leaves you running for the door - Narcissus.
We thought a break would be good for four months we sat and vacillated
We thought a small time apart would clear up the doubts that were abounding
At that particular time love encouraged me to wait
At that particular moment it helped me to be patient
That particular month we needed time to marinate
In what "us" meant
I've always wanted for you what you've wanted for yourself
And yet I wanted to save us high water or hell
And I kept on ignoring the ambivalence you felt
And in the meantime I lost myself
In the meantime I lost myself
I'm sorry I lost myself. I am - That Particular Time.
You can ask for space for yourself and only yourself and I'll grant it
You can ask for freedom as well or time to travel and you'll have it
You can ask to live by yourself or love someone else and I'll support it
You can ask for anything you want anything at all and I'll understand it
(And there are no strings attached) - You Owe Me Nothing In Return.
Such tragedy to trample on each other with how much we've endured
With the state this land is in
You and me feel joined only by gender
We are not all for one and one for all
Sister blister we fight to please the brothers
We think their acceptance is how we win
They're happy we're climbing over each other
To beg the club of boys to let us in - Sister Blister.
Why no one will help me
I am too dumb I am too smart
They'll not understand me
I am lonely
They'll hate me
And there is not enough time
It's too hard to help me
And God wants me to work
No resting no lazy
These excuses how they served me so well
They've kept me safe
They've kept me stuck
They've kept me locked in my own cell - Excuses.
I can be an asshole of the grandest kind
I can withhold like it's going out of style
I can be the moodiest baby and you've never met anyone
Who is as negative as I am sometimes
I am the wisest woman you've ever met
I am the kindest soul with whom you've connected
I have the bravest heart that you've ever seen
And you've never met anyone
Who's as positive as I am sometimes
You see everything, you see every part
You see all my light and you love my dark
You dig everything of which I'm ashamed
There's not anything to which you can't relate
And you're still here - Everything.
Day one day one start over again
Step one step one I'm barely making sense for now
I'm faking it 'til I'm pseudo making it
From scratch begin again but this time as I
And not as we
Gun shy and quivering
Timid without a hand
Feign brave with steel intent
Little and hardly here - Not As We.
Must be strangely exciting
To watch the stoic squirm
Must be somewhat heartening
To watch shepherd need shepherd
But you you're not allowed
You're uninvited
An unfortunate slight - Uninvited.
My favorite lyrics from a great Love-Philosopher whom I recently saw in concert: Alanis Morissette. Once a middle-school icon, I've re-discovered her during a seminal time in my life. When, like many others around me, I am singularly defining love, life and the world around us.
R.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Why Autumn Is My Favorite Season
I often find myself making labor-intense commitments to a particular friend, and as recent as June, after seven, long-toiling weeks, a twenty-page sitcom pilot appeared.
Among the few souls who read the manuscript, one person was dissatisfied its ending, in which each character displays his or her best attributes in a concluding musical montage and the narrator sums up the sitcom's theme: "we all do the best that we can."
It's an observation that doesn't induce chuckling, yet brings into fruition the human common-denominator (an element contained in all funny shows).
And it's true. We can't ask anymore from ourselves than our best and what we can do at a particular time. Imperfect (hilarious) sitcom characters teach us so much.
Autumn is my favorite season for its beauty and symbolism. But, too, it is the season which forgives our imperfections. We are forced to re-enter life's cycle, though, we do so among splendor. Fall allows any observer to simply take a regenerative pause.
Vivid colors lead to new paths.
Among the few souls who read the manuscript, one person was dissatisfied its ending, in which each character displays his or her best attributes in a concluding musical montage and the narrator sums up the sitcom's theme: "we all do the best that we can."
It's an observation that doesn't induce chuckling, yet brings into fruition the human common-denominator (an element contained in all funny shows).
And it's true. We can't ask anymore from ourselves than our best and what we can do at a particular time. Imperfect (hilarious) sitcom characters teach us so much.
Autumn is my favorite season for its beauty and symbolism. But, too, it is the season which forgives our imperfections. We are forced to re-enter life's cycle, though, we do so among splendor. Fall allows any observer to simply take a regenerative pause.
Vivid colors lead to new paths.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
I Hear Crickets
Wait. (Peering high-and-low).
It couldn't be? (Scanning left-to-right).
I think...No. False alarm. An Obama cut-out.
Now, are you telling me that there are virtually no brown people at the RNC convention? (Trying really hard to contrive a "shocked" expression.) I tell you, Washington Post, when I emerge from the dustiness of the law school, yes, you keep me informed.
I came across not one, but two stories (including a Post article, front page) about the "lack of diversity" at the current RNC convention. See, I know it's newsworthy that the black delegate count (some 30 out of nearly 3000) is the lowest in recorded history, because what that actually means is George W. Bush attracted more black people in 2004, which I wouldn't believe it if it weren't reported by a national newspaper.
The interesting part, however, is that the few brown people at the convention are surprised.
I'm completely serious.
As are they. Perhaps the entire vanload of Republican people of color are a little out of touch?
Oh. I don't know why Republican diversity is dwindling.
(Sneeze, sneeze, FencingoffMexicoNooseResurgancePoliceShootingsALittleKnownHurricane
OlympicPoliticsTwentyYearOldWorldwideEpidemicWaronIslamEnergyHypocrisy
PrisontoCollegeRatioLivingWageDonImusProbablyVotesRepublican, cough, cough).
Sorry. Glitch in my throat.
R.
It couldn't be? (Scanning left-to-right).
I think...No. False alarm. An Obama cut-out.
Now, are you telling me that there are virtually no brown people at the RNC convention? (Trying really hard to contrive a "shocked" expression.) I tell you, Washington Post, when I emerge from the dustiness of the law school, yes, you keep me informed.
I came across not one, but two stories (including a Post article, front page) about the "lack of diversity" at the current RNC convention. See, I know it's newsworthy that the black delegate count (some 30 out of nearly 3000) is the lowest in recorded history, because what that actually means is George W. Bush attracted more black people in 2004, which I wouldn't believe it if it weren't reported by a national newspaper.
The interesting part, however, is that the few brown people at the convention are surprised.
I'm completely serious.
As are they. Perhaps the entire vanload of Republican people of color are a little out of touch?
Oh. I don't know why Republican diversity is dwindling.
(Sneeze, sneeze, FencingoffMexicoNooseResurgancePoliceShootingsALittleKnownHurricane
OlympicPoliticsTwentyYearOldWorldwideEpidemicWaronIslamEnergyHypocrisy
PrisontoCollegeRatioLivingWageDonImusProbablyVotesRepublican, cough, cough).
Sorry. Glitch in my throat.
R.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Anahata
Today, my
Spirit silently shares,
"I have seen you" and,
For which I am no longer,
The same
Person, possessing this
Reluctantly beating heart,
With deepest force, one which,
Thrusts from past lives,
Breaking through a brilliant light,
To shower upon us, you and me,
The promise of our paths,
For our felt presence, coupled centuries long,
Transcends these current choices toward,
A sweet reunion, surrender,
When you do not fall in, rather
You simply accept to.
RAF
Spirit silently shares,
"I have seen you" and,
For which I am no longer,
The same
Person, possessing this
Reluctantly beating heart,
With deepest force, one which,
Thrusts from past lives,
Breaking through a brilliant light,
To shower upon us, you and me,
The promise of our paths,
For our felt presence, coupled centuries long,
Transcends these current choices toward,
A sweet reunion, surrender,
When you do not fall in, rather
You simply accept to.
RAF
Monday, August 25, 2008
A Truth about Soundlessness & Silence
I experienced a deep thinking period during meditation this weekend. A change in surroundings makes you acutely aware.
From an empty house; from a mentally remote bus ride; from walking back, and forth; from receding into my own thoughts. When, after a highly energized theatre performance, two housemates and I drudged two miles back home on foot in darkness, once our evening clumsily diffused from a string of unfortunate events. Quietness enveloped us along the way, yet I felt unmoved by the soundlessness. These days, I am ambivalent by the absence of sound.
Sunday evening, I enter a meditative state where my essential self and body separate, and my senses are turn inward. And I experience silence, which, as I remember it, is a place that profoundly enjoy. Its serenity, its temerity, its paradox, its substance. Silence is present, and it contains the sound of the world opening to you.
So the next time you are inside your own head, contemplating, scheming, or feeling your way through, struggle past your muted surroundings, and perhaps, surrender yourself to the silence. It welcomes you.
R.
From an empty house; from a mentally remote bus ride; from walking back, and forth; from receding into my own thoughts. When, after a highly energized theatre performance, two housemates and I drudged two miles back home on foot in darkness, once our evening clumsily diffused from a string of unfortunate events. Quietness enveloped us along the way, yet I felt unmoved by the soundlessness. These days, I am ambivalent by the absence of sound.
Sunday evening, I enter a meditative state where my essential self and body separate, and my senses are turn inward. And I experience silence, which, as I remember it, is a place that profoundly enjoy. Its serenity, its temerity, its paradox, its substance. Silence is present, and it contains the sound of the world opening to you.
So the next time you are inside your own head, contemplating, scheming, or feeling your way through, struggle past your muted surroundings, and perhaps, surrender yourself to the silence. It welcomes you.
R.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Say It, Girl
A powerful excerpt from Ntozake Shange's Sassafrass, Cypress & Indigo:
Otis (reading from his book)
Ebony Cunt: for my mama and my grandma and all the women I rammed in Macon, Georgia when I was visitin' my cousins at age sixteen:
The white man want you/ the Indian run off with you
Spaniards created whole nations with you/ black queensilk snatch
I wander all in your wombs and make babies in the Bronx when I come/ you screammmmmmm/ jesus/ my blk man
ebony cunt is worth all the gold in the world / 15 millions of your shinin' blk bodies crossed the sea to bring all that good slick pussy to me...
Mitch
Sassafrass, what's wrong with you? Sit down. Otis gotta finish the book; he isn't even done with the first page...
Sassafrass (standing still)
Just one god-damned minute, Mitch. You gotta mother you supposedly love so much, and daughter by a black woman who won't see you...and you got me all messed up, and tryin' to make you happy...god damn it, I don't haveta listen to this shit. I am not interested in your sick, sick, weakly rhapsodies about all the women you fucked in all your damn lives...I don't like it.
I am not about to sit heah and listen to a bunch of no account niggahs talk about black women; me and my sisters; like we was the same bought and sold at slave auction...breeding heifers the white man created 'cause y'all was frascinated by some god damn beads he brought you on the continent...muthafuckahs.
Yeah, that's right; muthafuckahs, don't you ever sit in my house and ask me to celebated my inherited right to be raped. Goddamn muthafuckahs. Don't you know about anything' besides taking women off, or is that really all you good for?
Ummm, hmmm.
R.
Otis (reading from his book)
Ebony Cunt: for my mama and my grandma and all the women I rammed in Macon, Georgia when I was visitin' my cousins at age sixteen:
The white man want you/ the Indian run off with you
Spaniards created whole nations with you/ black queensilk snatch
I wander all in your wombs and make babies in the Bronx when I come/ you screammmmmmm/ jesus/ my blk man
ebony cunt is worth all the gold in the world / 15 millions of your shinin' blk bodies crossed the sea to bring all that good slick pussy to me...
Mitch
Sassafrass, what's wrong with you? Sit down. Otis gotta finish the book; he isn't even done with the first page...
Sassafrass (standing still)
Just one god-damned minute, Mitch. You gotta mother you supposedly love so much, and daughter by a black woman who won't see you...and you got me all messed up, and tryin' to make you happy...god damn it, I don't haveta listen to this shit. I am not interested in your sick, sick, weakly rhapsodies about all the women you fucked in all your damn lives...I don't like it.
I am not about to sit heah and listen to a bunch of no account niggahs talk about black women; me and my sisters; like we was the same bought and sold at slave auction...breeding heifers the white man created 'cause y'all was frascinated by some god damn beads he brought you on the continent...muthafuckahs.
Yeah, that's right; muthafuckahs, don't you ever sit in my house and ask me to celebated my inherited right to be raped. Goddamn muthafuckahs. Don't you know about anything' besides taking women off, or is that really all you good for?
Ummm, hmmm.
R.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Universe, Calling
Fast forward two and a half weeks. New home (Washington DC), new people (along with the old-faithful), new station in life (organizing to law school, an "Obama reverse").
As I can, I walk a little over a mile from American's main campus to law school in the mornings. During the last couple of days, I've passed a grassy field occupied by teen, female, soccer players. They are clustered around an evidently confident coach who is bestowing instructions. Indeed, I have descended upon none other than soccer camp, and I cannot help but take a deep sigh. My heart glows! I was once among them, almost ten years ago. And it suddenly dawns on me that when attending summer camp that I was training for the Sydeny Olympics. That is, before I quit.
In earlier posts I've alluded to my bygone "athletic" days that I have recently reclaimed. I think, however, that I've seldom shared why I let it go. It's complicated. Yet, in short, a combination of factors, including the pressure-cooking-competitive environment of the girls soccer Olympic track, created an irreconcilable distance between my passion for the game and where I found myself only seven short years later. So when a National team coach lectured us after an exceptionally hard practice when I was 13 about the choice we had to make: either battling our way to the top 1% or deciding that we wanted "to do other things." He didn't have to tell me twice...
About ten minutes later I'm in a law classroom.
I know that these exam preparation tips are important but I made a discovery. At 23, I've claimed three primary identities (though, each has always been very present when not primary). From the time I could walk to 14, I was an athlete. Once I left soccer until last year, I was a justice-seeker/activist. Now, I can feel myself evolving into a new primary identity of which I cannot quite name yet. Maybe "intellectual?" "Scholar?" I dunno. But it entails a lot of mental lifting and flexing.
I'm aware that such changes are very normal during the course of one's lifetime. I guess it's peculiar being conscience of it while it is happening, particularly when you're not (chronologically) old.
The important part, though, about this discovery is my internal restless that has been my self-sabotage. I haven't achieved my full potential yet. When unsatisified or unchallenged, I usually more onto the next thing. I don't regret this. Instead, I've been waiting for the right moment. This time is apparently now.
When I sat in the classroom this past week, parsing legal concepts and turning over ideas, I realized that I'm well-suited for this challenge--intellectually and emotionally. I will take it upon myself to exercise a degree of discipline and finally, for the first time in my life, realize my full self. Call it, redemption.
Inspired,
R.
As I can, I walk a little over a mile from American's main campus to law school in the mornings. During the last couple of days, I've passed a grassy field occupied by teen, female, soccer players. They are clustered around an evidently confident coach who is bestowing instructions. Indeed, I have descended upon none other than soccer camp, and I cannot help but take a deep sigh. My heart glows! I was once among them, almost ten years ago. And it suddenly dawns on me that when attending summer camp that I was training for the Sydeny Olympics. That is, before I quit.
In earlier posts I've alluded to my bygone "athletic" days that I have recently reclaimed. I think, however, that I've seldom shared why I let it go. It's complicated. Yet, in short, a combination of factors, including the pressure-cooking-competitive environment of the girls soccer Olympic track, created an irreconcilable distance between my passion for the game and where I found myself only seven short years later. So when a National team coach lectured us after an exceptionally hard practice when I was 13 about the choice we had to make: either battling our way to the top 1% or deciding that we wanted "to do other things." He didn't have to tell me twice...
About ten minutes later I'm in a law classroom.
I know that these exam preparation tips are important but I made a discovery. At 23, I've claimed three primary identities (though, each has always been very present when not primary). From the time I could walk to 14, I was an athlete. Once I left soccer until last year, I was a justice-seeker/activist. Now, I can feel myself evolving into a new primary identity of which I cannot quite name yet. Maybe "intellectual?" "Scholar?" I dunno. But it entails a lot of mental lifting and flexing.
I'm aware that such changes are very normal during the course of one's lifetime. I guess it's peculiar being conscience of it while it is happening, particularly when you're not (chronologically) old.
The important part, though, about this discovery is my internal restless that has been my self-sabotage. I haven't achieved my full potential yet. When unsatisified or unchallenged, I usually more onto the next thing. I don't regret this. Instead, I've been waiting for the right moment. This time is apparently now.
When I sat in the classroom this past week, parsing legal concepts and turning over ideas, I realized that I'm well-suited for this challenge--intellectually and emotionally. I will take it upon myself to exercise a degree of discipline and finally, for the first time in my life, realize my full self. Call it, redemption.
Inspired,
R.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
A God Interview
Today I was reading The Sun magazine, my last one from my subscription. I came upon a real interesting article by Sparrow called "My God Journal." I'd like to share the final entry because it made me smile:
"Today, after numerous requests and negotiations with God's publicist, God agreed to speak with me, briefly:
Sparrow: Why is there evil?
God: Evil emerges from the imaginations of men -- and I use the word men advisedly. Only about one in eight hundred thousand women in evil.
Sparrow: How can a person become closer to you?
God: The possibilities are endless, but I recommend singing. After all, I invented song. If you go to the jungles of Peru, do you see churches? No. But you do hear joyous singing.
Sparrow: You mean the birds?
God: Yes, birds are my greatest achievement. They fly and sing.
Sparrow: What about humans?
God: A bit disappointing. I had no idea you would invest television. But I do approve of electric lights.
Sparrow: Why?
God: They are gorgerous at night when seen from the sky.
Sparrow: Do you really live above the clouds?
God: Of course not.
Sparrow: Where do you live, then?
God: In the hearts of pious interviewers like yourself! [Laughs.]
[God's publicist indicates that I have time for one last question.]
Sparrow: What is the meaning of life?
God: [Indistinct.]
Sparrow: What did you say?
God: Forget it. You wouldn't understand anyway.
[Here God's publicist signals that the interview is over.]
"Today, after numerous requests and negotiations with God's publicist, God agreed to speak with me, briefly:
Sparrow: Why is there evil?
God: Evil emerges from the imaginations of men -- and I use the word men advisedly. Only about one in eight hundred thousand women in evil.
Sparrow: How can a person become closer to you?
God: The possibilities are endless, but I recommend singing. After all, I invented song. If you go to the jungles of Peru, do you see churches? No. But you do hear joyous singing.
Sparrow: You mean the birds?
God: Yes, birds are my greatest achievement. They fly and sing.
Sparrow: What about humans?
God: A bit disappointing. I had no idea you would invest television. But I do approve of electric lights.
Sparrow: Why?
God: They are gorgerous at night when seen from the sky.
Sparrow: Do you really live above the clouds?
God: Of course not.
Sparrow: Where do you live, then?
God: In the hearts of pious interviewers like yourself! [Laughs.]
[God's publicist indicates that I have time for one last question.]
Sparrow: What is the meaning of life?
God: [Indistinct.]
Sparrow: What did you say?
God: Forget it. You wouldn't understand anyway.
[Here God's publicist signals that the interview is over.]
Another Shade of a Pale Color
My future housemates will enjoy this little ditty. We've had several conversations about our respective sun-moon signs. Using a couple of online resources I discovered that I am a Taurus-Libra. Sometime soon, I'd like to compare this analysis to my earlier Chinese astrology findings.
A timely conversation, indeed. In response to a question that I have been asked a lot lately, "What do you want to do after law school?" I may say, "Become a writer, sound artist, radio journalist or perhaps, a lawyer." All equally considering all four. Below may explain:
2-7 Taurus/Libra
The combination of your Sun sign and your Moon sign produces one of the most likable personalities in the Zodiac. Others may have more wit, ambition, or intellect, but none equal the charm and appeal of this combination. A nice home and a close family are your first loves; social contact and involvement, a close second.
Your keen social personality is aided by a fine sense of humor and an easygoing outlook. This personality is marked with optimism, even if you're up to your ears in private woes. Anyone that doesn't like you is probably motivated by jealousy. You are expressive and idealistic, your nature is inclined toward the dramatic and the artistic. Though your positive attitude allows you to accomplish a great deal when you settle down to work, when forced to face the world of fact and figures and engage in anything that restricts your creative talents, you can never really be happy.
You can never handle conflict matters very well as you suffer from nervous tension when placed in a confrontation situation or hostility of any kind. Your great sense of balance and harmony constantly protects you from ever go off the deep end. You may have a wide range of emotional responses from rapturous joy when you are happily with a special someone in a solid relationship, to almost going to pieces when you are confronted by hostility and forced to react to it.
A timely conversation, indeed. In response to a question that I have been asked a lot lately, "What do you want to do after law school?" I may say, "Become a writer, sound artist, radio journalist or perhaps, a lawyer." All equally considering all four. Below may explain:
2-7 Taurus/Libra
The combination of your Sun sign and your Moon sign produces one of the most likable personalities in the Zodiac. Others may have more wit, ambition, or intellect, but none equal the charm and appeal of this combination. A nice home and a close family are your first loves; social contact and involvement, a close second.
Your keen social personality is aided by a fine sense of humor and an easygoing outlook. This personality is marked with optimism, even if you're up to your ears in private woes. Anyone that doesn't like you is probably motivated by jealousy. You are expressive and idealistic, your nature is inclined toward the dramatic and the artistic. Though your positive attitude allows you to accomplish a great deal when you settle down to work, when forced to face the world of fact and figures and engage in anything that restricts your creative talents, you can never really be happy.
You can never handle conflict matters very well as you suffer from nervous tension when placed in a confrontation situation or hostility of any kind. Your great sense of balance and harmony constantly protects you from ever go off the deep end. You may have a wide range of emotional responses from rapturous joy when you are happily with a special someone in a solid relationship, to almost going to pieces when you are confronted by hostility and forced to react to it.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
A Little Thing
I'm aware that many of you -- my robust readership -- has noted my absence this month. But I've already apologized to both of you so I won't dwell...
It has been an undoubtedly busy month as I undergo a life makeover with a couple of family events wedged in between "life" and "makeover." (Or more accurately for Faithful family event between "life" and "over.")
However, today, I wish to report one thing. A little, funny thing.
I was driving down Furnace Road approaching Ox Road (Rt. 123) breezing into a right hand turn lane at 45 mph. I see something moving! I wheel just to the right to avoid it, as I squint harder into my rearview mirror, the image becomes clearer. A turtle?
Yes. And clearly a suicidal one slowly inching its way into the middle lane.
After a moment of self-consciousness, I brake, put the car in park, tap the hazard light, and leap out of the car. As it so happens only one car passes me as I run fifty yards toward the turtle, scoop it up, and place it on the grassy surface on the other side of the road.
I swore that I heard an approaching car hit its gas when I crossed the median upon returning my car. He saw me set down the turtle and I reason, must have been a Republican.
I hope that the turtle is safe. I'm not always inclined to interrupt life around me, but then again, the four lane road is no one's natural habitat.
And life goes on.
It has been an undoubtedly busy month as I undergo a life makeover with a couple of family events wedged in between "life" and "makeover." (Or more accurately for Faithful family event between "life" and "over.")
However, today, I wish to report one thing. A little, funny thing.
I was driving down Furnace Road approaching Ox Road (Rt. 123) breezing into a right hand turn lane at 45 mph. I see something moving! I wheel just to the right to avoid it, as I squint harder into my rearview mirror, the image becomes clearer. A turtle?
Yes. And clearly a suicidal one slowly inching its way into the middle lane.
After a moment of self-consciousness, I brake, put the car in park, tap the hazard light, and leap out of the car. As it so happens only one car passes me as I run fifty yards toward the turtle, scoop it up, and place it on the grassy surface on the other side of the road.
I swore that I heard an approaching car hit its gas when I crossed the median upon returning my car. He saw me set down the turtle and I reason, must have been a Republican.
I hope that the turtle is safe. I'm not always inclined to interrupt life around me, but then again, the four lane road is no one's natural habitat.
And life goes on.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Just Tryin' To Help You Out
Human brain, human mind. We have millions of chemically related neurotransmitters entangled with one another. We have intractable beliefs, evolutionarily designed desires, and meticulously sensed perceptions.
Help! My central nervous system has been hijacked. This is rare for me.
It's like a glitch in my brain, a broken record in my mind. A songcalled Hamoa Beach by Gomez is stuck between my ears.
I'm not really complaining. It's a great song. But what's going on?
That's just the fear talking
That just the fear talking
That's just the fear
Don't let it take you
Like it nearly took me, fear
Don't let it fool you
Like it nearly fooled me, fear
Remember the good old days
But love is like a dragonfly
So beautiful, it will die
And disappear before your eyes
I'm no philosopher
I am no poet
I'm just trying to help you out
Don't let it fool you
Like it nearly fooled me, fear
Don't let it take you
Like it nearly took me
http://www.last.fm/music/Gomez/_/Hamoa+Beach
I've made a choice not to consider why the italicized lyrics are running through my subsoncious like a treadmill belt. I've acknowledged and appreciated them: here is my new life motto.
Conscious mental note. You already contain answers about yourself.
Help! My central nervous system has been hijacked. This is rare for me.
It's like a glitch in my brain, a broken record in my mind. A song
I'm not really complaining. It's a great song. But what's going on?
That's just the fear talking
That just the fear talking
That's just the fear
Don't let it take you
Like it nearly took me, fear
Don't let it fool you
Like it nearly fooled me, fear
Remember the good old days
But love is like a dragonfly
So beautiful, it will die
And disappear before your eyes
I'm no philosopher
I am no poet
I'm just trying to help you out
Don't let it fool you
Like it nearly fooled me, fear
Don't let it take you
Like it nearly took me
http://www.last.fm/music/Gomez/_/Hamoa+Beach
I've made a choice not to consider why the italicized lyrics are running through my subsoncious like a treadmill belt. I've acknowledged and appreciated them: here is my new life motto.
Conscious mental note. You already contain answers about yourself.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
The Dental Experience
About four months ago I stepped into Springfield-Lorton Dental in desperate need for a check-up. It had been a long time. Yes, college had done me in. It had been a very, long time.
I stroll into the sparking, modern office to the granite front desk. I steal a glance at the name placard to make sure that I was in the right place. "Springfield-Lorton Dental." Great. Not a cosmetic surgeon.
Approaching the granite front desk, I'm greeted by a pleasant "Hi. How're you?" On the other side of the beautiful granite front desk, I see a gorgeous 20-something woman with bright eyes and shampoo commercial hair. "I'm great," I say calmly. I notice her counterpart at the check-out side of the desk: 20 something, blonde hair, blue-eyed bombshell.
Toto, we are no longer in Kansas.
I'm handed a clipboard attached with all of the arduous paperwork burdened by the first visit. I patiently fill it out in the waiting room. I snatched a Deer Park water in the small steel refrigerator next to a granite side table once I reasoned that they were free and they were for me!
The front-desk woman thanks me for returning the clipboard (as if I was planning to run out with it selfishly sprinting through the medical center parking lot happy to have a victory against "the system?") when she flashed a smile. Of course, a million dollar smile (OK, more like 20K one). I thought: Am I awake?
At last, my dentist (actually, dentist assistant) beckons me from the waiting room. She, too, is stunningly attractive. I practically floated toward her, toward the beaming light...
The light? More like an x-ray. My routine exam was a couple of hours of poking, prodding, and other strange things you let beautiful women do to your mouth with sharp objects.
I needed 10K worth of it. How unfortunate.
Two months ago I made a brief visit for some initial work--cleaning, cancer screening. Just as shiny, different women, though, all less than a hand older than me and gorgeous, including my dentist. I haven't detected testosterone yet. This place was made for me!
Yesterday was like any other visit but even better. Dentistry was never so gratifying. First, I was able to submit my new dental insurance (thank you, VOP) which covered the majority of my work. New women, all young and attractive. This time I am helped by a classically stunning Indian woman. She fixed me up for the procedure while we chatted about the holidays. I forgot her name but I do remember her country of origin. She was impressed as I unloaded my pockets on the sitting chair.
I hardly noticed most of the procedure since I had a private screen with Will & Grace episodes playing for the hour and a half. It was admittedly difficult not to laugh during the drilling. Ouch.
We stopped a couple of times where in a particularly eerie way I felt giant holes in my front teeth with my tongue. The first time I thought I was finished, sitting there with the entire backs of my front teeth missing; I officially was worried.
But we went on! Finally, I was finished. And imagine that? Three fillings became five. (The good news being that I've stopped a lot of damage with my new dental routine.)
:Angels singing: I left the dentist's office with a better smile (approximately a thousand dollar improved one). A bit swollen. A bit numbed. A bit bloody. Yet I had heavier front teeth and I'm told this is a positive outcome.
I look forward to my next dental visit.
I stroll into the sparking, modern office to the granite front desk. I steal a glance at the name placard to make sure that I was in the right place. "Springfield-Lorton Dental." Great. Not a cosmetic surgeon.
Approaching the granite front desk, I'm greeted by a pleasant "Hi. How're you?" On the other side of the beautiful granite front desk, I see a gorgeous 20-something woman with bright eyes and shampoo commercial hair. "I'm great," I say calmly. I notice her counterpart at the check-out side of the desk: 20 something, blonde hair, blue-eyed bombshell.
Toto, we are no longer in Kansas.
I'm handed a clipboard attached with all of the arduous paperwork burdened by the first visit. I patiently fill it out in the waiting room. I snatched a Deer Park water in the small steel refrigerator next to a granite side table once I reasoned that they were free and they were for me!
The front-desk woman thanks me for returning the clipboard (as if I was planning to run out with it selfishly sprinting through the medical center parking lot happy to have a victory against "the system?") when she flashed a smile. Of course, a million dollar smile (OK, more like 20K one). I thought: Am I awake?
At last, my dentist (actually, dentist assistant) beckons me from the waiting room. She, too, is stunningly attractive. I practically floated toward her, toward the beaming light...
The light? More like an x-ray. My routine exam was a couple of hours of poking, prodding, and other strange things you let beautiful women do to your mouth with sharp objects.
I needed 10K worth of it. How unfortunate.
Two months ago I made a brief visit for some initial work--cleaning, cancer screening. Just as shiny, different women, though, all less than a hand older than me and gorgeous, including my dentist. I haven't detected testosterone yet. This place was made for me!
Yesterday was like any other visit but even better. Dentistry was never so gratifying. First, I was able to submit my new dental insurance (thank you, VOP) which covered the majority of my work. New women, all young and attractive. This time I am helped by a classically stunning Indian woman. She fixed me up for the procedure while we chatted about the holidays. I forgot her name but I do remember her country of origin. She was impressed as I unloaded my pockets on the sitting chair.
I hardly noticed most of the procedure since I had a private screen with Will & Grace episodes playing for the hour and a half. It was admittedly difficult not to laugh during the drilling. Ouch.
We stopped a couple of times where in a particularly eerie way I felt giant holes in my front teeth with my tongue. The first time I thought I was finished, sitting there with the entire backs of my front teeth missing; I officially was worried.
But we went on! Finally, I was finished. And imagine that? Three fillings became five. (The good news being that I've stopped a lot of damage with my new dental routine.)
:Angels singing: I left the dentist's office with a better smile (approximately a thousand dollar improved one). A bit swollen. A bit numbed. A bit bloody. Yet I had heavier front teeth and I'm told this is a positive outcome.
I look forward to my next dental visit.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Reaping What You Sow
If you're familiar with the "This I Believe" radio essays, you may relate to this post. I just wanted to -- had an urge to -- proclaim my deep belief in mentoring.
I met with a young woman through a W&M mentoring program today. Got me thinkin'.
I'm fortunate to have a variety of intelligent, ambitious, virtuous, complicated, older women in my life who have served as mentors. Many women for many parts of me. I've never had great success with male mentors. So happens that when I have been wisdom-seeking, I have found an older role female role model. In turn I have been lucky to mentor and be a mentor to some, too.
We are our parents and our children.
I met with a young woman through a W&M mentoring program today. Got me thinkin'.
I'm fortunate to have a variety of intelligent, ambitious, virtuous, complicated, older women in my life who have served as mentors. Many women for many parts of me. I've never had great success with male mentors. So happens that when I have been wisdom-seeking, I have found an older role female role model. In turn I have been lucky to mentor and be a mentor to some, too.
We are our parents and our children.
At This Moment
What I do is what I need. I do for which I am responsible to myself or others. This week, today, at this moment.
Several times last week I had conversations about present-mindedness. I also had another conversation about routine. By the end of the week I had linked the two ideas together with the insight that developing habits, or even changing ingrained habits is easy if you have a focused consciousness. Making a lifestyle choice is not difficult if you possess present-mindedness and have a purpose for your choice. I've found it easy to make a lot of fundamental routine choices this year. You just do what you do.
On Saturday night I had a special dinner with my mom, Dwayne (her boyfriend whom I like), Rhonda (her boss whom I also enjoy), and her boyfriend (whose name I can't remember). My mom insisted that I have the Sea Bass. She tried three times and each time I politely declined.
I realize her persistence had to do with her denial that I am no longer a meat-eater (she's proud as she is perplexed), but too, since I became an ovo-vegetarian about 6 weeks ago, she reasons, "she can cheat and have just a little bit." She reminded me that refusing to eat meat was a "choice" and not a necessity. That's true in her mind, but not my own. Principled choices are where choice and necessity merge. I'm not tempted to eat Sea Bass, even though I loved fish in a past life, because I don't eat meat. For the same reason, I exercise everyday because that is what I do. I began not flushing my toilet at every visit in order to conserve water and power, part of a new environmental ethic I am integrating into my life. A shift takes place, so it is done.
The only challenge I've encountered, however, is when I am changing habits which have helped me cope in some way. Dealing with "money matters" comes to mind. I minimally think about budgeting, money, and costs since it excavates deep financial anxieties connected to childhood. Raised separately most of my life by a compulsive gambler father and poverty burdened mother, money emotionally represents discomfort, sacrifice, pain and manipulation.
Intellectually, I have come to associate money with greed, excess, deprivation and unbridled capitalism. Changing certain habits have been more a struggle, in which along with a routine, I am forced to uproot bad feelings for new impressions. Money continues to pay a minimal role in my life. I choose to live as simply as possible for myself. More importantly, it's a choice not motivated by fear, but rather--principle. It's a welcomed change, one that is liberating from my own self-limitations.
Discipline is all that is required to make personal changes. It takes a commitment to leave places that have helped you hide from things which may not even exist anymore, if they ever did.
Several times last week I had conversations about present-mindedness. I also had another conversation about routine. By the end of the week I had linked the two ideas together with the insight that developing habits, or even changing ingrained habits is easy if you have a focused consciousness. Making a lifestyle choice is not difficult if you possess present-mindedness and have a purpose for your choice. I've found it easy to make a lot of fundamental routine choices this year. You just do what you do.
On Saturday night I had a special dinner with my mom, Dwayne (her boyfriend whom I like), Rhonda (her boss whom I also enjoy), and her boyfriend (whose name I can't remember). My mom insisted that I have the Sea Bass. She tried three times and each time I politely declined.
I realize her persistence had to do with her denial that I am no longer a meat-eater (she's proud as she is perplexed), but too, since I became an ovo-vegetarian about 6 weeks ago, she reasons, "she can cheat and have just a little bit." She reminded me that refusing to eat meat was a "choice" and not a necessity. That's true in her mind, but not my own. Principled choices are where choice and necessity merge. I'm not tempted to eat Sea Bass, even though I loved fish in a past life, because I don't eat meat. For the same reason, I exercise everyday because that is what I do. I began not flushing my toilet at every visit in order to conserve water and power, part of a new environmental ethic I am integrating into my life. A shift takes place, so it is done.
The only challenge I've encountered, however, is when I am changing habits which have helped me cope in some way. Dealing with "money matters" comes to mind. I minimally think about budgeting, money, and costs since it excavates deep financial anxieties connected to childhood. Raised separately most of my life by a compulsive gambler father and poverty burdened mother, money emotionally represents discomfort, sacrifice, pain and manipulation.
Intellectually, I have come to associate money with greed, excess, deprivation and unbridled capitalism. Changing certain habits have been more a struggle, in which along with a routine, I am forced to uproot bad feelings for new impressions. Money continues to pay a minimal role in my life. I choose to live as simply as possible for myself. More importantly, it's a choice not motivated by fear, but rather--principle. It's a welcomed change, one that is liberating from my own self-limitations.
Discipline is all that is required to make personal changes. It takes a commitment to leave places that have helped you hide from things which may not even exist anymore, if they ever did.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
15 Best Intentions for a New Life
Fair warning: The following is a sufficiently selfish post, containing little introspective appeal. I've found blogging to be an equally efficient "document of personal record" as a thought-dispensing forum.
Alas, I have about six weeks until I leave the suburbs. There may not be enough cyberspace to express my joy, certainly there's not room on Meta-Minute, so I'll sum it up by saying: it's about time.
In my organizing mind, I've begun making three separate lists related to the move. One is a purely practical list, full of things I need to procure or change upon leaving Lorton. Another is house-related, though, also painfully pragmatic--after finding our place, what do we need, and what should I do with anything that's left?
My final list is my "New Life Virtues" list. These are the commitments I will make to myself because they either have made my post-graduate life much better, that is, I'm happier, in part, due to these choices or with an appreciation that law school can be disorienting, promises to myself for myself.
So I am sharing:
1. Eat locally produced, cruelty-free, and fresher foods. I'll rely on Farmer's Markets and local co-operatives.
2. Exercise everyday (which can include walking or biking). Exercising at the gym five times a week with a one year goal to become a certified personal trainer or class instructor.
3. Attend a sangha at least twice a month. Meditate weekly.
4. Enjoy a new cultural "artifact" every month downtown. I should try to spend time in all parts of DC.
5. Leave the city once a month to breathe. Particularly to visit family and friends.
6. In lieu of activism, I will make donations to several, local, community-rooted organizations, and Barack Obama's campaign. To the extent possible, I also will steer any law school opportunities toward community action, beginning with the Pro Bono Pledge. (Challenging to do first year, yet easier afterward.)
7. Saturdays will continue to be "sabbath" days. Limited studying/reading, if any.
8. Continue my quest to be "unplugged." That is, avoiding online idol-ness or always being accessible via cell phone.
9. Minimize weekday dining out. Establish a breakfast and dinner at home routine, if possible. No social drinking, consistent with non-drinking.
10. Maintain at least one active creative endeavor whether it be writing, reading or producing of another kind.
11. Listen to my NPR favorites and catching-up on news on a weekly basis.
12. Write Terrell regularly. Keep in touch with other friends, likely via phone and Facebook.
13. No new relationships (which also means sex) for the first two months of law school. (May be interesting to know that I changed "two" to "three" several times before finally deciding on 8 weeks.)
14. Continue pursuing preventative health-care needs, like dental and vision.
15. Any of these commitments are subject to change.
This final one may seem out of place, but it is, indeed, perfectly arranged. Circumstances change, so do we. These virtues, as I call them, are more like intentions. Yet none should dramatically change unless given deep thought and due consideration.
It's all so very beautiful. Thank you for allowing my indulgence,
R.
Alas, I have about six weeks until I leave the suburbs. There may not be enough cyberspace to express my joy, certainly there's not room on Meta-Minute, so I'll sum it up by saying: it's about time.
In my organizing mind, I've begun making three separate lists related to the move. One is a purely practical list, full of things I need to procure or change upon leaving Lorton. Another is house-related, though, also painfully pragmatic--after finding our place, what do we need, and what should I do with anything that's left?
My final list is my "New Life Virtues" list. These are the commitments I will make to myself because they either have made my post-graduate life much better, that is, I'm happier, in part, due to these choices or with an appreciation that law school can be disorienting, promises to myself for myself.
So I am sharing:
1. Eat locally produced, cruelty-free, and fresher foods. I'll rely on Farmer's Markets and local co-operatives.
2. Exercise everyday (which can include walking or biking). Exercising at the gym five times a week with a one year goal to become a certified personal trainer or class instructor.
3. Attend a sangha at least twice a month. Meditate weekly.
4. Enjoy a new cultural "artifact" every month downtown. I should try to spend time in all parts of DC.
5. Leave the city once a month to breathe. Particularly to visit family and friends.
6. In lieu of activism, I will make donations to several, local, community-rooted organizations, and Barack Obama's campaign. To the extent possible, I also will steer any law school opportunities toward community action, beginning with the Pro Bono Pledge. (Challenging to do first year, yet easier afterward.)
7. Saturdays will continue to be "sabbath" days. Limited studying/reading, if any.
8. Continue my quest to be "unplugged." That is, avoiding online idol-ness or always being accessible via cell phone.
9. Minimize weekday dining out. Establish a breakfast and dinner at home routine, if possible. No social drinking, consistent with non-drinking.
10. Maintain at least one active creative endeavor whether it be writing, reading or producing of another kind.
11. Listen to my NPR favorites and catching-up on news on a weekly basis.
12. Write Terrell regularly. Keep in touch with other friends, likely via phone and Facebook.
13. No new relationships (which also means sex) for the first two months of law school. (May be interesting to know that I changed "two" to "three" several times before finally deciding on 8 weeks.)
14. Continue pursuing preventative health-care needs, like dental and vision.
15. Any of these commitments are subject to change.
This final one may seem out of place, but it is, indeed, perfectly arranged. Circumstances change, so do we. These virtues, as I call them, are more like intentions. Yet none should dramatically change unless given deep thought and due consideration.
It's all so very beautiful. Thank you for allowing my indulgence,
R.
Monday, June 9, 2008
The Great Egg Search
Beak-breaking isn't sexy.
In fact envisioning dismemberment when staring at my omelet makes me lose my appetite. Gross.
After a little research I learned that cruelty-free eggs are non-existent at the vast majority of chain grocery joints. If I were approaching dietary enlightenment, I wouldn't eat eggs at all. I'm not there yet. Instead, the best I can do is locate free-range, certified humane or cage-free eggs.
The search was on!
Could I find a list of cage-free brands through a simple Google search? Sadly no. I visited the Humane Society's Battery Cage Campaign webpage but no brand list. Apparently demand is outstripping supply. Hoards of Obama voters want cage-free but McCain funding industrial farms are reluctant to pay the costs for ethical business.
How about if I see what my local grocers have? I get on the phone with Bloom, which is across the street, walking distance. "May I ask about your eggs?" "My what?" "Bloom's eggs." "Oh." "Do you have anything that's cage-free, free-range, certified humane, etc?" "Uh. We have an Organic section, Nature's Place." "OK. Thanks."
Shoppers. "I have a question about your eggs?" "What did you say?" "Eggs." "Eggs?" "Yes, eggs." "Do you have any free-range or cage-free eggs?" "Oh, no." "Thanks, anyway."
Two closest stores down. (I'm cursing the suburbs at this very moment.) Should I drive 10 miles to a store for which I don't shop for eggs? Does this mean I need to drive 20 miles round-trip to do my socially-conscience shopping at Whole Foods? Criminey! I save a chicken but contribute to climate change.
I found a Giant only 6 miles away. Shot in the dark. (Metaphorically-speaking, I'm against violence here.) It's reported that Safeway has some cage-free brands. The nearest one to me--9 miles.
I call Giant. "Hello. I have a question about eggs." "Eggs?" "Yes. Eggs. Do you have any cage free or free range eggs?" "Actually, we do. Cage free, I believe. I can check for you?" "Would you? That'll be great. Because I'll drive out there for them." 4 minutes later. "Yep. They're brown. Cage free and cage free organic." "THANK YOU!"
So we come to the end of the Great Egg search. I'll now become a regular shopper of Giant Foods on 2205 Old Bridge Road in Woodbridge until I finally move downtown.
'Cause cannibal chickens? Not tasty.
R.
In fact envisioning dismemberment when staring at my omelet makes me lose my appetite. Gross.
After a little research I learned that cruelty-free eggs are non-existent at the vast majority of chain grocery joints. If I were approaching dietary enlightenment, I wouldn't eat eggs at all. I'm not there yet. Instead, the best I can do is locate free-range, certified humane or cage-free eggs.
The search was on!
Could I find a list of cage-free brands through a simple Google search? Sadly no. I visited the Humane Society's Battery Cage Campaign webpage but no brand list. Apparently demand is outstripping supply. Hoards of Obama voters want cage-free but McCain funding industrial farms are reluctant to pay the costs for ethical business.
How about if I see what my local grocers have? I get on the phone with Bloom, which is across the street, walking distance. "May I ask about your eggs?" "My what?" "Bloom's eggs." "Oh." "Do you have anything that's cage-free, free-range, certified humane, etc?" "Uh. We have an Organic section, Nature's Place." "OK. Thanks."
Shoppers. "I have a question about your eggs?" "What did you say?" "Eggs." "Eggs?" "Yes, eggs." "Do you have any free-range or cage-free eggs?" "Oh, no." "Thanks, anyway."
Two closest stores down. (I'm cursing the suburbs at this very moment.) Should I drive 10 miles to a store for which I don't shop for eggs? Does this mean I need to drive 20 miles round-trip to do my socially-conscience shopping at Whole Foods? Criminey! I save a chicken but contribute to climate change.
I found a Giant only 6 miles away. Shot in the dark. (Metaphorically-speaking, I'm against violence here.) It's reported that Safeway has some cage-free brands. The nearest one to me--9 miles.
I call Giant. "Hello. I have a question about eggs." "Eggs?" "Yes. Eggs. Do you have any cage free or free range eggs?" "Actually, we do. Cage free, I believe. I can check for you?" "Would you? That'll be great. Because I'll drive out there for them." 4 minutes later. "Yep. They're brown. Cage free and cage free organic." "THANK YOU!"
So we come to the end of the Great Egg search. I'll now become a regular shopper of Giant Foods on 2205 Old Bridge Road in Woodbridge until I finally move downtown.
'Cause cannibal chickens? Not tasty.
R.
Celibacy Anniversary
June 10th is my self-appointed celibacy anniversary.
Several, keen twenty-something friends of mine have asked me why on Earth is June 10th an anniversary? (As opposed to say, a funeral.) I've usually stumbled on my words, managing to garble a few things about life changes, spirituality, and singledom. An explanation that doesn't sound too different other (seemingly sudden) changes this year from healthier eating to abandoning alcohol (not that I'll much notice the latter).
Indeed, tomorrow is a celebratory day. How best to explain?
My year of celibacy (and accompanying singledom) marks a turning point. Particularly during the previous year, I jumped from my longest relationship to a shorter, high-impact one and finally, to a serious one that unexpectedly ended. I was exhausted and yet, I was uncertain why I hadn't paused in between relationships before.
This was the Year of Self-Care. Since my dating life began (nine years ago) I was always seeking -- always looking -- or always tending to a girlfriend. I unveiled the source of my serial monogamy several years ago with a campus therapist. Still, I was unwilling or maybe even unable to let several opportunities go in order to turn improving my relationship with myself. My miserable break-up last year was Universe, calling. This time I answered.
I was able to escape a nasty pattern, substituting one commitment for another. For the first time in my adult life I am listening and responding to mind, body and soul. I did not make this realization at first. During the fall I was anxiously"on search" as usual. Then, I received some great advice, made the promise, and managed to live it out.
I no longer feel apologetic for being single. I know how it feels to be geniunely happy as I am. Present-mindedness has replaced future-planning. There's no longing, no self-pity, no confusion. I'm satisfied and to some degree, liberated from a self-tied anchor.
Celibacy symbolizes represents me being with me. I make light of my decision by sarcastically despairing as a sexless 23-year old. You know, though, I honestly don't notice for the most part. Instead, I'm thrilled that I've done something that I never thought I could, adding to my list this year. So, I say, "cheers" to every person who has or is suffering from some level of inner-poverty* forcing him or her to seek out companionship for its own sake wanting to break free. Listen deeply.
See ya,
R.
*Term originally used by Angel Kyodo Williams in Being Black: Zen and the Art of Living with Fearlessness and Grace. I liked it enough to borrow.
Several, keen twenty-something friends of mine have asked me why on Earth is June 10th an anniversary? (As opposed to say, a funeral.) I've usually stumbled on my words, managing to garble a few things about life changes, spirituality, and singledom. An explanation that doesn't sound too different other (seemingly sudden) changes this year from healthier eating to abandoning alcohol (not that I'll much notice the latter).
Indeed, tomorrow is a celebratory day. How best to explain?
My year of celibacy (and accompanying singledom) marks a turning point. Particularly during the previous year, I jumped from my longest relationship to a shorter, high-impact one and finally, to a serious one that unexpectedly ended. I was exhausted and yet, I was uncertain why I hadn't paused in between relationships before.
This was the Year of Self-Care. Since my dating life began (nine years ago) I was always seeking -- always looking -- or always tending to a girlfriend. I unveiled the source of my serial monogamy several years ago with a campus therapist. Still, I was unwilling or maybe even unable to let several opportunities go in order to turn improving my relationship with myself. My miserable break-up last year was Universe, calling. This time I answered.
I was able to escape a nasty pattern, substituting one commitment for another. For the first time in my adult life I am listening and responding to mind, body and soul. I did not make this realization at first. During the fall I was anxiously"on search" as usual. Then, I received some great advice, made the promise, and managed to live it out.
I no longer feel apologetic for being single. I know how it feels to be geniunely happy as I am. Present-mindedness has replaced future-planning. There's no longing, no self-pity, no confusion. I'm satisfied and to some degree, liberated from a self-tied anchor.
Celibacy symbolizes represents me being with me. I make light of my decision by sarcastically despairing as a sexless 23-year old. You know, though, I honestly don't notice for the most part. Instead, I'm thrilled that I've done something that I never thought I could, adding to my list this year. So, I say, "cheers" to every person who has or is suffering from some level of inner-poverty* forcing him or her to seek out companionship for its own sake wanting to break free. Listen deeply.
See ya,
R.
*Term originally used by Angel Kyodo Williams in Being Black: Zen and the Art of Living with Fearlessness and Grace. I liked it enough to borrow.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Rude Awakening
7:51am.
Outside my window, I hear an upset man. Peaking out my blinds, I see a white SUV parked across the street, a man with a cell-phone pacing back and forth, and an exasperated police officer turning his back toward him, hands on hips, slowly walking toward his car.
"Do you hear me?? My car was broken into and this guy asks me 'What the hell do you want?' He's a police officer!"
The SUV owner is black and the officer is white.
I hear him desperately try to receive assurance with whomever was on the other end for several more minutes. He's clearly flustered. A few more minutes pass by as I begin my morning routine until both vehicles vanish. I notice a moment later that the police car re-appears where the SUV was, and the SUV drives by. Then, another glance outside, after I pour a glass of water, both cars are again gone.
I never heard any defense from the officer, if he uttered any words. I distinctly recall, however, the disbelief, frustration, and anger twinged in the SUV-owner's voice, which carried throughout the complex. His complaint -- that the officer seemed inconvenienced by his legitimate call for help --was compounded by final claim on the phone that the officer departed with a "fuck you."
Same, awful story.
Good morning, America.
Outside my window, I hear an upset man. Peaking out my blinds, I see a white SUV parked across the street, a man with a cell-phone pacing back and forth, and an exasperated police officer turning his back toward him, hands on hips, slowly walking toward his car.
"Do you hear me?? My car was broken into and this guy asks me 'What the hell do you want?' He's a police officer!"
The SUV owner is black and the officer is white.
I hear him desperately try to receive assurance with whomever was on the other end for several more minutes. He's clearly flustered. A few more minutes pass by as I begin my morning routine until both vehicles vanish. I notice a moment later that the police car re-appears where the SUV was, and the SUV drives by. Then, another glance outside, after I pour a glass of water, both cars are again gone.
I never heard any defense from the officer, if he uttered any words. I distinctly recall, however, the disbelief, frustration, and anger twinged in the SUV-owner's voice, which carried throughout the complex. His complaint -- that the officer seemed inconvenienced by his legitimate call for help --was compounded by final claim on the phone that the officer departed with a "fuck you."
Same, awful story.
Good morning, America.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Gendered Me
From Rita Mae Brown, originally printed in The Lesbian Tide, 1973, and re-printed in Self Made Men by Henry Rubin (Thanks, T.):
CHAIR: The general meeting of the Radical Revolutionary Anti-racist, Anti-capitalist, Anti-imperialist, Anti-discrimination, Anti-smog [it was L.A.] Lesbian Feminists will come to order. 'Today's meeting is devoted to] a discussion of the topic: How do we reach the masses?...The chair recognizes Susan Savedwoman.
SUSAN SAVEDWOMAN: The name of our group. It turns a lot of new people off, and most don't even come at all. For example, a lot of bar people don't like the word, "Lesbian." They prefer the word "gay." I propose we make a change.
CHAIR: That's a very good idea...[after much democractic posturing] The name of our group has been changed to the Radical Revolutionary, Anti-racist, Anti-imperialist Gay Feminists.
NANCY NOTTASLAVE: Yes. I think our problem is that we ignore new people who come to this meeting...I see two new women sitting over in the corner who haven't said anything at all...I'd like to ehar from them: why they're here and what they'd like to see this group do.
NEW PERSON: My name's Nicki and my old lady, Suzie, and I thought we'd come and see if you guys can help us out. I got fired yesterday from my job as a foreman at a factory because they found out I'm gay, and I want to know what I can do to fight it.
FRANCES FREEDOM: You do have a problem, but more than you think. First off, calling your lover, "old lady" is very sexist and monogamous. Secondly, we are not "guys" we are women. And thirdly, you couldn't have been a foreMAN because your'e a woman. Now what were you saying?
NICKI: What? Oh...I was saying I want someone to help me get my job back...Look, I need a job to pay the rent NOW. If you don't want to help, we're splitting now.
FRANCES FREEDOM: Suzie--wait! Don't leave with Nicki. Don't you realize she oppresses you?
CHAIR: Order please! Let them leave. They obviously have no consciousness. Now who has some other ideas on how we can reach out to the masses?
I read this passage and nearly choked laughing. So familiar!
Today, I incidentally read about the "lesbian menace" debate within the women's "lib" movement. It's a little amusing to think that their daughters may not even understand its context. We're in a multi-gender, pansexual, globally-political generation, after all.
I began an essay that I didn't manage to finish called "Gendered Me." Mostly for my own edification, I was trying to uncover my own gender identity based on my gender expression. I realized how much of my personal lens is un-gendered and in contrast, how gendered others see me. Shopping for clothing is a good example. I aimlessly wander from male to female sections; folks stare--they always do. Or, occasionally, I'm called "sir" by an employee when wearing casual athletic wear. (I'm admittedly thrown off by this because my face is so traditionally feminine.) Forty years later, we appreciate that it's even more complicated than we initially thought...
I'm still uncertain how a multi-gender person relates in this world. Whereas "woman identified" may have been an adequate descriptor during the 70's, I gotta say, it doesn't satisfy now. I like peace, Mother Earth, violins, dancing, politics, sports, progressive bluegrass, and stand-up comedy. I spend an inordinate amount of time weight-lifting and sometimes, waxing. One friend calls me "un-feminine" and another "proto-gay" (short for proto-gay man).
Degrees better than "soft butch." Whatever that means ;)
So what's your gender today?
R.
CHAIR: The general meeting of the Radical Revolutionary Anti-racist, Anti-capitalist, Anti-imperialist, Anti-discrimination, Anti-smog [it was L.A.] Lesbian Feminists will come to order. 'Today's meeting is devoted to] a discussion of the topic: How do we reach the masses?...The chair recognizes Susan Savedwoman.
SUSAN SAVEDWOMAN: The name of our group. It turns a lot of new people off, and most don't even come at all. For example, a lot of bar people don't like the word, "Lesbian." They prefer the word "gay." I propose we make a change.
CHAIR: That's a very good idea...[after much democractic posturing] The name of our group has been changed to the Radical Revolutionary, Anti-racist, Anti-imperialist Gay Feminists.
NANCY NOTTASLAVE: Yes. I think our problem is that we ignore new people who come to this meeting...I see two new women sitting over in the corner who haven't said anything at all...I'd like to ehar from them: why they're here and what they'd like to see this group do.
NEW PERSON: My name's Nicki and my old lady, Suzie, and I thought we'd come and see if you guys can help us out. I got fired yesterday from my job as a foreman at a factory because they found out I'm gay, and I want to know what I can do to fight it.
FRANCES FREEDOM: You do have a problem, but more than you think. First off, calling your lover, "old lady" is very sexist and monogamous. Secondly, we are not "guys" we are women. And thirdly, you couldn't have been a foreMAN because your'e a woman. Now what were you saying?
NICKI: What? Oh...I was saying I want someone to help me get my job back...Look, I need a job to pay the rent NOW. If you don't want to help, we're splitting now.
FRANCES FREEDOM: Suzie--wait! Don't leave with Nicki. Don't you realize she oppresses you?
CHAIR: Order please! Let them leave. They obviously have no consciousness. Now who has some other ideas on how we can reach out to the masses?
I read this passage and nearly choked laughing. So familiar!
Today, I incidentally read about the "lesbian menace" debate within the women's "lib" movement. It's a little amusing to think that their daughters may not even understand its context. We're in a multi-gender, pansexual, globally-political generation, after all.
I began an essay that I didn't manage to finish called "Gendered Me." Mostly for my own edification, I was trying to uncover my own gender identity based on my gender expression. I realized how much of my personal lens is un-gendered and in contrast, how gendered others see me. Shopping for clothing is a good example. I aimlessly wander from male to female sections; folks stare--they always do. Or, occasionally, I'm called "sir" by an employee when wearing casual athletic wear. (I'm admittedly thrown off by this because my face is so traditionally feminine.) Forty years later, we appreciate that it's even more complicated than we initially thought...
I'm still uncertain how a multi-gender person relates in this world. Whereas "woman identified" may have been an adequate descriptor during the 70's, I gotta say, it doesn't satisfy now. I like peace, Mother Earth, violins, dancing, politics, sports, progressive bluegrass, and stand-up comedy. I spend an inordinate amount of time weight-lifting and sometimes, waxing. One friend calls me "un-feminine" and another "proto-gay" (short for proto-gay man).
Degrees better than "soft butch." Whatever that means ;)
So what's your gender today?
R.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Meanings of Apologies
I'm sorry that I am beginning yet another entry about a book...
The above, friends, would qualify as a poor apology, or at least, such is my interpretation of Nick Smith's argument. See, it's a conditional apology in which my sincerity is in question.
I'm more than a third into I Was Wrong: The Meanings of Apologies, to which I can say this: I'm enthralled. I've until today inexplictably anticipated reading this book since March, when I listened to an author radio interview. What about apologies has got me so wrapped up?
I think, in part, it's got to do with how Smith has chosen to approach apologies, which is not solely how we define apologies, instead, he discusses the meanings of apologies. Beyond their utility - what purposes do they serve - what do apologies mean to apologizers - to victims - and what do we, as a society, make of collective apologies?
I found the dig after an entire day of reading. Three parts.
First, I'm narrowing my legal interests. I've had a long-standing interest in ethics and the law. Smith is a philosophy of law scholar who examines ethical questions as well. I am geniunely excited about ethics around legal issues and relatedly (in a way), arbitration.
On a more personal level, I realized that I'm waiting for a significant apology of my own. Sometimes, I fantasize in which form it will take and how I would feel once given. My intuition is that this awaited apology is necessary to a year-long healing process, a path which is near complete. I need to grapple with this more to understand why it seems necessary, and which role, if any, it'll play in my closure. I'm sure there'll be plenty furture comments.
When you can receive apologies, you also can impart a few of your own. There's a particular wrong which I did not reconcile well last spring. I have realized how incomplete my apology was, and need to reflect more about how to make it complete, if appropriate.
In a similar way, my absence has signified a moral failing in a couple instances. One with my grandparents. I told my dad today that I'll make an effort to see his parents before law school. I was never very close to these grandparents, was deeply offended by a homophobic statement my grandmother made to me a few years ago, and have struggled to make sense of their physical ailing's impact on my father. I should see them.
I'm also still remorseful about a middle school friend I have who was diagnosed with cancer after she moved to Arizona. Our relationship was complicated, but I should have been more present, if not supportive. I may have to let that incident go.
If you're interested in what Smith has to say about the "categorical apology," let me know.
For my small blogging audience (of friends), please do tell me if you believe I should offer you an apology. Among other things, things are becoming clearer.
See ya,
R.
The above, friends, would qualify as a poor apology, or at least, such is my interpretation of Nick Smith's argument. See, it's a conditional apology in which my sincerity is in question.
I'm more than a third into I Was Wrong: The Meanings of Apologies, to which I can say this: I'm enthralled. I've until today inexplictably anticipated reading this book since March, when I listened to an author radio interview. What about apologies has got me so wrapped up?
I think, in part, it's got to do with how Smith has chosen to approach apologies, which is not solely how we define apologies, instead, he discusses the meanings of apologies. Beyond their utility - what purposes do they serve - what do apologies mean to apologizers - to victims - and what do we, as a society, make of collective apologies?
I found the dig after an entire day of reading. Three parts.
First, I'm narrowing my legal interests. I've had a long-standing interest in ethics and the law. Smith is a philosophy of law scholar who examines ethical questions as well. I am geniunely excited about ethics around legal issues and relatedly (in a way), arbitration.
On a more personal level, I realized that I'm waiting for a significant apology of my own. Sometimes, I fantasize in which form it will take and how I would feel once given. My intuition is that this awaited apology is necessary to a year-long healing process, a path which is near complete. I need to grapple with this more to understand why it seems necessary, and which role, if any, it'll play in my closure. I'm sure there'll be plenty furture comments.
When you can receive apologies, you also can impart a few of your own. There's a particular wrong which I did not reconcile well last spring. I have realized how incomplete my apology was, and need to reflect more about how to make it complete, if appropriate.
In a similar way, my absence has signified a moral failing in a couple instances. One with my grandparents. I told my dad today that I'll make an effort to see his parents before law school. I was never very close to these grandparents, was deeply offended by a homophobic statement my grandmother made to me a few years ago, and have struggled to make sense of their physical ailing's impact on my father. I should see them.
I'm also still remorseful about a middle school friend I have who was diagnosed with cancer after she moved to Arizona. Our relationship was complicated, but I should have been more present, if not supportive. I may have to let that incident go.
If you're interested in what Smith has to say about the "categorical apology," let me know.
For my small blogging audience (of friends), please do tell me if you believe I should offer you an apology. Among other things, things are becoming clearer.
See ya,
R.
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