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. :)
Sunday, November 30, 2008
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.
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