Habari gani?
(Swahili for "What's the news?" and a daily Kwanzaa greeting)
Friends, I have found my new favorite holiday; read on, and I believe you will quickly understand why.
I'm not sure how I have passed by Kwanzaa for the last two decades without discovering the incredible values it celebrates. But this year (tonight, in fact) - for some reason - I decided to enlighten myself and read a little bit about it. What I read rocked my socks. I could write a bunch about it (and I may in the future), but for right now, I think I'll let some info from a well-organized website enlighten you instead (click on the title of this blog entry to go to the website yourself). This truly is amazing. I am in awe. It gives me hope for the future; if only Kwanzaa values would begin to be celebrated on a large scale not only this week but every week . . . Imagine what a different world we might have. For those of you who have no idea what Kwanzaa is and for those of you who thought Kwanzaa was just for African-Americans, please read on . . . I think you will be challenged and blessed. And for those of you who have known the truth all along, please share the beauty of this holiday with the world around you. Now, without further ado, here's a bit of info for you:
THE HISTORICAL CONTEXT:
(i.e. where it comes from)
Kwanzaa was created in 1966 by Dr. Maulana Karenga, professor of Africana Studies at California State University. The name Kwanzaa is derived from the Swahili phrase "matunda ya kwanza" which means "first fruits."
The first-fruits celebrations are recorded in African history as far back as ancient Egypt and Nubia and appear in ancient and modern times in other classical African civilizations such as Ashantiland and Yorubaland. These celebrations are also found in ancient and modern times among societies as large as empires (the Zulu or kingdoms [Swaziland] or smaller societies and groups like the Matabele, Thonga and Lovedu, all of southeastern Africa). Kwanzaa builds on the five fundamental activities of Continental African "first fruit" celebrations: ingathering; reverence; commemoration; recommitment; and celebration. Kwanzaa, then, is:
-a time of ingathering of the people to reaffirm the bonds between them;
-a time of special reverence for the creator and creation in thanks and respect for the blessings, bountifulness and beauty of creation;
-a time for commemoration of the past in pursuit of its lessons and in honor of its models of human excellence, our ancestors;
-a time of recommitment to our highest cultural ideals in our ongoing effort to always bring forth the best of African cultural thought and practice; and
-a time for celebration of the Good, the good of life and of existence itself, the good of family, community and culture, the good of the awesome and the ordinary, in a word the good of the divine, natural and social.
THE PRESENT SOCIOLOGICAL CONTEXT:
(i.e. who celebrates Kwanzaa today)
Kwanzaa is clearly an African holiday created for African peoples. But other people can and do celebrate it, just like other people participate in Cinco de Mayo besides Mexicans; Chinese New Year besides Chinese; Native American pow wows besides Native Americans. The question is, under what circumstances? There are both communal and public celebrations. One can properly hold a communal celebration dedicated essentially to community persons. But in a public context, say public school or college, we can properly have public celebrations which include others. How this is done depends on particular circumstances. But in any case, particular people should always be in control of and conduct their own celebrations. Audience attendance is one thing; conducting a ritual is another.
Any particular message that is good for a particular people, if it is human in its content and ethical in its grounding, speaks not just to that people, it speaks to the world. The principles of Kwanzaa and the message of Kwanzaa has a universal message for all people of good will. It is rooted in African culture, and we speak as Africans must speak, not just to ourselves, but to the world. This continues our tradition of speaking our own special cultural truth and making our own unique contribution to the forward flow of human history.
KWANZAA PHILOSOPHY:
(i.e. what Kwanzaa is all about)
Dr. Maulana Karenga, the holiday's founder, designated seven principles, one to be celebrated on each of the seven days of Kwanzaa:
Dec. 26 - Umoja (Unity)
To strive for and maintain unity in the family, community, nation and race.
Dec. 27 - Kujichagulia (Self-Determination)
To define ourselves, name ourselves, create for ourselves and speak for ourselves.
Dec. 28 - Ujima (Collective Work and Responsibility)
To build and maintain our community together and make our brother's and sister's problems our problems and to solve them together.
Dec. 29 - Ujamaa (Cooperative Economics)
To build and maintain our own stores, shops and other businesses and to profit from them together.
Dec. 30 - Nia (Purpose)
To make our collective vocation the building and developing of our community in order to restore our people to their traditional greatness.
Dec. 31 - Kuumba (Creativity)
To do always as much as we can, in the way we can, in order to leave our community more beautiful and beneficial than we inherited it.
Jan. 01 - Imani (Faith)
To believe with all our heart in our people, our parents, our teachers, our leaders and the righteousness and victory of our struggle.
The last day of Kwanzaa (sometimes called the Day of Assessment or the Day of Meditation) is the first day of the new year, January 1. Historically this has been for African people a time of sober assessment of things done and things to do, of self-reflection and reflection on the life and future of the people and of recommitment to their highest cultural values in a special way. Following in this tradition, it is for us then a time to ask and answer soberly and humbly the three Kawaida questions:
Who am I?
Am I really who I say I am?
Am I all I ought to be?
And finally, here is the meditation - first in Swahili and then in English - that is often used on the Day of Assessment:
The Odu Ifa
by Eji Ogbe
K'a má fi kánjú j'aiyé.
K'a má fi wàrà-wàrà n'okùn orò.
Ohun à bâ if s'àgbà,
K'a má if se'binu.
Bi a bá de'bi t'o tútù,
K'a simi-simi,
K'a wò'wajú ojo lo titi;
K'a tun bò wá r'èhìn oràn wo;
Nitori àti sùn ara eni ni.
Let us not engage the world hurriedly.
Let us not grasp at the rope of wealth impatiently.
That which should be treated with mature judgment,
Let us not deal with in a state of anger.
When we arrive at a cool place,
Let us rest fully;
Let us give continuous attention to the future;
And let us give deep consideration to the consequences of things.
And this because of our (eventual) passing.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Friday, December 19, 2008
How different gifts of Sight can shed Light
One is always wrong;
but with two, truth begins. -
One cannot prove his case,
but two are already irrefutable.~Nietzsche
Tonight I wrote the following poem in response to a thoughtful conversation a dear friend and I shared late Monday night before I returned home. This friend by nature is a very contemplative, careful person, and his different gift of Sight often sheds Light on dark, shadowy places where my own unique gift of Sight has not yet ventured. I count him an irreplaceable blessing and thank Whoever directs the Hand of Fate for directing our steps along nearby paths, if only for a short time.
But, as usual, I digress. :-) This conversation disturbed many shadows, and one of those was the significance of humankind - in this case, individually rather than collectively. So then, just how important is a Man? Does He even matter? If so, then how so and how much? We never truly reached a conclusion, but I feel we seldom do. Instead, we simply let thoughts flow and see where they go. Or we just "vibe" and enjoy the ride, as my friend says. In this case, our gifts of Sight enabled us to each see this question from two very different perspectives. I could (and even started to) explain our conversation and perspective locations further, but I want to literarily practice the "less is more" attitude at least once in a while. So I'll just leave you with this and trust that you'll do your best to discern the rest:
Humility and Dignity:
Can they ever
Be found together,
Or must they always
Be found apart?
I understand
Both the scientific
And philosophic
Meanings behind
The fact that
You and I both
Began as an
Insignificant sperm
Amidst a stream of
Nondescript semen.
And I realize
You and I both
Entered this world
Amidst a flood
Of disgusting, unholy
Urine and blood.
I understand:
We are Nothing.
Yet in the depths
Of my Being,
I believe:
We are Something.
Why else would
You and I both
Wake up every morning
With a strange sense
Of purpose
Deep in our gut?
Do you ever feel
That what happens
Is more than mere
Science, logic, or luck?
Do you ever wonder
What it is that
Fuels the drive
That not only
Keeps you alive
But that also
Demands you strive
For Something better?
Even if we ignore
The sense of purpose
Deep in our gut,
And with each day
Work to discover
Everything but -
Our forced "ignorance"
Will not annihilate
Our innate knowledge
That we are
Something more
Than an ordinary
Prude, pimp, or slut.
Yes, we
May be
Only one speck
Amidst six billion
Present particles of dust
(not to mention the many
who passed before
and the many more
who will likely enter
through another door),
And our entire existence
May be
Just
The result of
One chemical reaction
Made possible through
The crude, ancient, and animalistic
Act of Lust
(or more rarely
through
the more selfless
expression of Love).
But despite -
Or perhaps because of -
This cold, scientific fact,
We also must
Acknowledge the logic
Of Herman Hesse*,
Who declares,
"Every man is more than
Just himself;
He also represents
The unique,
The very special
And always significant
And remarkable point
At which the world's
Phenomena intersect,
Only once in this way,
And never again."
So then,
We are naturally
And scientifically
Evidence of a sperm
Meeting an egg,
But logically,
And philosophically,
None of the
Other six billion
Present pieces of evidence
Have ever quite been expressed
In our unique, specific way.
And when
Speaking mathematically,
We are each
A tiny, yet distinct point
On a very large plane.
And this, I believe,
Is what prompts
Brahmans in India
To say,
"Namaste."
As they greet each other
Each day,
They acknowledge
The particles of
Divinity
Present
Amidst their
Humanity.
And this, I believe -
This simple greeting -
Is one place
Amidst our vast and fast
Human race
Where
Humility
Can be found together
With
Dignity.
So then,
When the
Dignity of Divinity
Meets the
Humility of Humanity,
An immortal soul
(which is certainly Something)
Enters a mortal body
(which is certainly Nothing).
So then,
When considering the purpose
You and I both
Sometimes feel
Deep in our gut,
We might join C. G. Jung*
And say,
"As far as we can discern,
The sole purpose
Of human existence
Is to kindle
A light of meaning
In the darkness
Of mere being”
(and I venture to guess
that part of the Meaning
lies in the Process
Of “mere Being”).
So then,
This explains how -
When you look at
The humanity of your body
And say,
"I see Nothing
Here right now,"
And when I look at
The divinity of your Soul
And say,
"I see Something,
Maybe even Everything" -
This
Namaste philosophy
Amidst
Scientific reality
Explains how
You and I both
May be
Right.
Because we speak
And we write
According to the
Types of Light
Which enable
Each of our
Very different
Gifts of Sight.
*To give credit where credit is due: I lifted these two quotes from my friend's (the one who originally shared this conversation) facebook profile. :-)
but with two, truth begins. -
One cannot prove his case,
but two are already irrefutable.~Nietzsche
Tonight I wrote the following poem in response to a thoughtful conversation a dear friend and I shared late Monday night before I returned home. This friend by nature is a very contemplative, careful person, and his different gift of Sight often sheds Light on dark, shadowy places where my own unique gift of Sight has not yet ventured. I count him an irreplaceable blessing and thank Whoever directs the Hand of Fate for directing our steps along nearby paths, if only for a short time.
But, as usual, I digress. :-) This conversation disturbed many shadows, and one of those was the significance of humankind - in this case, individually rather than collectively. So then, just how important is a Man? Does He even matter? If so, then how so and how much? We never truly reached a conclusion, but I feel we seldom do. Instead, we simply let thoughts flow and see where they go. Or we just "vibe" and enjoy the ride, as my friend says. In this case, our gifts of Sight enabled us to each see this question from two very different perspectives. I could (and even started to) explain our conversation and perspective locations further, but I want to literarily practice the "less is more" attitude at least once in a while. So I'll just leave you with this and trust that you'll do your best to discern the rest:
Humility and Dignity:
Can they ever
Be found together,
Or must they always
Be found apart?
I understand
Both the scientific
And philosophic
Meanings behind
The fact that
You and I both
Began as an
Insignificant sperm
Amidst a stream of
Nondescript semen.
And I realize
You and I both
Entered this world
Amidst a flood
Of disgusting, unholy
Urine and blood.
I understand:
We are Nothing.
Yet in the depths
Of my Being,
I believe:
We are Something.
Why else would
You and I both
Wake up every morning
With a strange sense
Of purpose
Deep in our gut?
Do you ever feel
That what happens
Is more than mere
Science, logic, or luck?
Do you ever wonder
What it is that
Fuels the drive
That not only
Keeps you alive
But that also
Demands you strive
For Something better?
Even if we ignore
The sense of purpose
Deep in our gut,
And with each day
Work to discover
Everything but -
Our forced "ignorance"
Will not annihilate
Our innate knowledge
That we are
Something more
Than an ordinary
Prude, pimp, or slut.
Yes, we
May be
Only one speck
Amidst six billion
Present particles of dust
(not to mention the many
who passed before
and the many more
who will likely enter
through another door),
And our entire existence
May be
Just
The result of
One chemical reaction
Made possible through
The crude, ancient, and animalistic
Act of Lust
(or more rarely
through
the more selfless
expression of Love).
But despite -
Or perhaps because of -
This cold, scientific fact,
We also must
Acknowledge the logic
Of Herman Hesse*,
Who declares,
"Every man is more than
Just himself;
He also represents
The unique,
The very special
And always significant
And remarkable point
At which the world's
Phenomena intersect,
Only once in this way,
And never again."
So then,
We are naturally
And scientifically
Evidence of a sperm
Meeting an egg,
But logically,
And philosophically,
None of the
Other six billion
Present pieces of evidence
Have ever quite been expressed
In our unique, specific way.
And when
Speaking mathematically,
We are each
A tiny, yet distinct point
On a very large plane.
And this, I believe,
Is what prompts
Brahmans in India
To say,
"Namaste."
As they greet each other
Each day,
They acknowledge
The particles of
Divinity
Present
Amidst their
Humanity.
And this, I believe -
This simple greeting -
Is one place
Amidst our vast and fast
Human race
Where
Humility
Can be found together
With
Dignity.
So then,
When the
Dignity of Divinity
Meets the
Humility of Humanity,
An immortal soul
(which is certainly Something)
Enters a mortal body
(which is certainly Nothing).
So then,
When considering the purpose
You and I both
Sometimes feel
Deep in our gut,
We might join C. G. Jung*
And say,
"As far as we can discern,
The sole purpose
Of human existence
Is to kindle
A light of meaning
In the darkness
Of mere being”
(and I venture to guess
that part of the Meaning
lies in the Process
Of “mere Being”).
So then,
This explains how -
When you look at
The humanity of your body
And say,
"I see Nothing
Here right now,"
And when I look at
The divinity of your Soul
And say,
"I see Something,
Maybe even Everything" -
This
Namaste philosophy
Amidst
Scientific reality
Explains how
You and I both
May be
Right.
Because we speak
And we write
According to the
Types of Light
Which enable
Each of our
Very different
Gifts of Sight.
*To give credit where credit is due: I lifted these two quotes from my friend's (the one who originally shared this conversation) facebook profile. :-)
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
My Inspiration
I guess this is poetry season.
Tonight I finally finished the thesis I've been working on all semester. It feels wonderful - in many ways - to finally be done. When I returned home from campus tonight, I turned my computer on for the first time in what must have been a long time, because when I opened Microsoft Word, a "recovered" file popped up (apparently my computer crashed while I was away). When I opened it, I was surprised to find a poem I'd written a couple weeks ago; I'd completely forgotten about it. I considered posting the poem on here, but decided that you - my readers - aren't quite ready for it yet (in reality, I am probably the one not yet ready to share). Then, however, I remembered this poem and decided to share it with you instead. It's really quite appropriate, for I wrote it a few weeks back when I was sitting in the library struggling with my thesis.
Do you ever remember the faces or actions of very random people, or am I just a bit strange? I have memories dating all the way back to my girlhood of total strangers who captured my attention and admiration for various reasons. Many of them showed me unexpected acts of kindness; others simply had a different and refreshing "sense" about them. I call them "everyday heroes," and maybe one day I'll write an entry just about them. In a way, this entry already is about them. But yet it's not, because it is instead about only one of them. This individual is a woman I met recently. Only, I didn't literally meet her, because I've only seen her picture. But something about the expression on her face makes me feel like I've known her for years; I can almost remember sharing laughter with her, and during certain moments I can even almost feel her arm around my shoulder. Am I totally crazy? It's possible, especially considering that I have only slept 6 out of the last 72 hours. But you be the judge. If you click on the title of this entry ("My Inspiration"), a youtube video will load; then scroll over to minute 1:32, and you will see the picture of the woman I am talking about. For some reason, ever since I saw her face, she has become My Inspiration for joy in the midst of every circumstance. Thus, when I was struggling with my thesis in the library, her memory inspired me to take a study break and create the poem below:
How is it that I do not even know your name,
And yet you are my inspiration?
As I sit here in this chair
Frustrated by my lack of concentration,
Your face, your story, your voice
Enter my mind.
And as I think of your situation -
Which has so often denied you
The power of choice,
Which has always so freely
Been given to me -
As I think of all this
For a moment,
I suddenly feel very lame.
For how can I complain?
The "hardships" of paper deadlines
To you I could never explain.
Yes, you also have deadlines,
But rather than for a letter grade
You work for bread and water
And to provide a future for your daughter -
And can only hope that eventually, one day
You will be paid.
One look at your determined face
Convinces me that if somehow,
Right now,
Our lives we could trade
So that you were in my place -
You would be thankful for the opportunity
- whether in sunshine or rain -
To choose, to write, to fight.
Because even now,
With each new day you rise
And work with what you've been given
Even if it's not what you'd like to envision,
Because you know it's the only way
To make your own livin'.
Like Delphine,
You would realize the privilege
Of my undeserved and rare position.
As a college-educated woman
I am a tiny minority
In a world history
Dominated by male superiority.
So - whether in sunshine or rain -
You would never view my task as boring,
Because you realize
Half way across the world,
And even right down the street,
There lives a woman
Who despite a life full of storming
Determines to never be beat,
Because she hopes and believes
That on the horizon
A new world history
A new reality
Of gender equality
For her and her daughters
May at last be forming.
Beautiful lady,
Your hardships
I may never conceive.
But I wish somehow, some way,
You could receive
These gifts of opportunity
Which bless my life each day.
No, I still don't know your name,
And maybe I never will.
But I wish I could,
And I feel I should.
For somewhere deep in my heart,
I feel you and I share a part
In the same long
Story and struggle of womanhood.
You have already blessed my life.
Your face, your smile, your voice;
Your unyielding and hopeful determination;
They - YOU - have become my inspiration.
So thank you for your life.
I hope one day
I can give back to you
What you have given me.
But for now,
Somehow,
In word, in thought, in deed,
Even through this "annoying" paper,
I will strive
To join my own voice
with yours.
I feel this will never meet your day-to-day need
For you have children to feed
Before you can even think about helping them read.
But I hope that somehow
Today,
Right now,
You can feel
That you are not alone.
That half way across the world
Or right down your street,
There sits a woman
Who will continue to strive
To keep the hope alive.
I am a woman.
So today,
with you,
I raise my voice
And wish for you the power of choice.
But with God's help,
I will do more than wish.
With your inspiration,
With the power of your determination,
Today, I wake up and work
For your right
To choose, to write, to fight.
Now I will finish this paper
With a smile and new motivation.
For I have come to the realization
That my efforts are not my own -
They are also yours.
To me you have shown
That what I do
Represents and affects
Not only me,
But also you.
So as I write,
I will fight
To make our situation known.
So that maybe
One day
Both our daughters
Will be able
To raise their voice,
To have their say,
And to demand their choice
Between more than one way.
For that access to opportunity
Is my hope for us today.
Tonight I finally finished the thesis I've been working on all semester. It feels wonderful - in many ways - to finally be done. When I returned home from campus tonight, I turned my computer on for the first time in what must have been a long time, because when I opened Microsoft Word, a "recovered" file popped up (apparently my computer crashed while I was away). When I opened it, I was surprised to find a poem I'd written a couple weeks ago; I'd completely forgotten about it. I considered posting the poem on here, but decided that you - my readers - aren't quite ready for it yet (in reality, I am probably the one not yet ready to share). Then, however, I remembered this poem and decided to share it with you instead. It's really quite appropriate, for I wrote it a few weeks back when I was sitting in the library struggling with my thesis.
Do you ever remember the faces or actions of very random people, or am I just a bit strange? I have memories dating all the way back to my girlhood of total strangers who captured my attention and admiration for various reasons. Many of them showed me unexpected acts of kindness; others simply had a different and refreshing "sense" about them. I call them "everyday heroes," and maybe one day I'll write an entry just about them. In a way, this entry already is about them. But yet it's not, because it is instead about only one of them. This individual is a woman I met recently. Only, I didn't literally meet her, because I've only seen her picture. But something about the expression on her face makes me feel like I've known her for years; I can almost remember sharing laughter with her, and during certain moments I can even almost feel her arm around my shoulder. Am I totally crazy? It's possible, especially considering that I have only slept 6 out of the last 72 hours. But you be the judge. If you click on the title of this entry ("My Inspiration"), a youtube video will load; then scroll over to minute 1:32, and you will see the picture of the woman I am talking about. For some reason, ever since I saw her face, she has become My Inspiration for joy in the midst of every circumstance. Thus, when I was struggling with my thesis in the library, her memory inspired me to take a study break and create the poem below:
How is it that I do not even know your name,
And yet you are my inspiration?
As I sit here in this chair
Frustrated by my lack of concentration,
Your face, your story, your voice
Enter my mind.
And as I think of your situation -
Which has so often denied you
The power of choice,
Which has always so freely
Been given to me -
As I think of all this
For a moment,
I suddenly feel very lame.
For how can I complain?
The "hardships" of paper deadlines
To you I could never explain.
Yes, you also have deadlines,
But rather than for a letter grade
You work for bread and water
And to provide a future for your daughter -
And can only hope that eventually, one day
You will be paid.
One look at your determined face
Convinces me that if somehow,
Right now,
Our lives we could trade
So that you were in my place -
You would be thankful for the opportunity
- whether in sunshine or rain -
To choose, to write, to fight.
Because even now,
With each new day you rise
And work with what you've been given
Even if it's not what you'd like to envision,
Because you know it's the only way
To make your own livin'.
Like Delphine,
You would realize the privilege
Of my undeserved and rare position.
As a college-educated woman
I am a tiny minority
In a world history
Dominated by male superiority.
So - whether in sunshine or rain -
You would never view my task as boring,
Because you realize
Half way across the world,
And even right down the street,
There lives a woman
Who despite a life full of storming
Determines to never be beat,
Because she hopes and believes
That on the horizon
A new world history
A new reality
Of gender equality
For her and her daughters
May at last be forming.
Beautiful lady,
Your hardships
I may never conceive.
But I wish somehow, some way,
You could receive
These gifts of opportunity
Which bless my life each day.
No, I still don't know your name,
And maybe I never will.
But I wish I could,
And I feel I should.
For somewhere deep in my heart,
I feel you and I share a part
In the same long
Story and struggle of womanhood.
You have already blessed my life.
Your face, your smile, your voice;
Your unyielding and hopeful determination;
They - YOU - have become my inspiration.
So thank you for your life.
I hope one day
I can give back to you
What you have given me.
But for now,
Somehow,
In word, in thought, in deed,
Even through this "annoying" paper,
I will strive
To join my own voice
with yours.
I feel this will never meet your day-to-day need
For you have children to feed
Before you can even think about helping them read.
But I hope that somehow
Today,
Right now,
You can feel
That you are not alone.
That half way across the world
Or right down your street,
There sits a woman
Who will continue to strive
To keep the hope alive.
I am a woman.
So today,
with you,
I raise my voice
And wish for you the power of choice.
But with God's help,
I will do more than wish.
With your inspiration,
With the power of your determination,
Today, I wake up and work
For your right
To choose, to write, to fight.
Now I will finish this paper
With a smile and new motivation.
For I have come to the realization
That my efforts are not my own -
They are also yours.
To me you have shown
That what I do
Represents and affects
Not only me,
But also you.
So as I write,
I will fight
To make our situation known.
So that maybe
One day
Both our daughters
Will be able
To raise their voice,
To have their say,
And to demand their choice
Between more than one way.
For that access to opportunity
Is my hope for us today.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Free to be.
My Love,
Do you know that you are beautiful?
Surely you must.
For from the time you were young
You have been
The object
Of so many men's lust.
Not just because of your physicality
But also because of your personality.
For not only are you "oh so fine,"
But you also exude warm sunshine.
My Love,
Do you know that you are beautiful?
Surely you must.
For from the time you were young
You've been told
That you are
Beautifully
Carefully
Uniquely
Created
From a mold -
Carved out by God-dess above.
My Love,
Please,
Know that you are beautiful.
Because you are.
My Love,
Why must you feel
That this part of who you are
Is so wrong?
Why must you feel
That our God-dess above
Could never possibly
Want to sing along
With your beautiful song?
My Love,
Do you know
That the love
Our God-dess has for you
Is strong?
My Love,
Please,
Know that you are beautiful.
Because you are.
My Love,
You are beautiful.
Incredible.
Wonderful.
I mean,
I think
You
Are
Freakin' amazing!
So why then,
Do you insist on living
Under this weight of
Self-inflicted shame?
Will you live forever
Trying to play this
Impossible game?
Why do you listen to the lies
Spoken so matter-of-factly
By those who are supposedly wise?
Why must you listen to them,
When clearly their only purpose
Is to condemn
Those like you
Who struggle
So hopelessly
To juggle
The parts of yourself
Which such wise guys
Insist
Could never possibly
Coexist?
Which one of these men
Or women
Who are so intent
To condemn -
Which of them
Has been there
In the quiet of the moment
To listen to your heart
As it cries?
Which of them
Has held you
And felt how
With each word of condemnation
A part of you
Slowly dies?
How do they not see
That you -
Every part of you -
Is a part of God-dess's beautiful creation?
I am so mad
That you are made to feel
As if this part of who you are
Is bad.
I am so mad
That they look at you and say
This part of who you are
Is just a fad.
I am so mad
That while you walk around
Eternally sad
And with a part of your heart
Half-dead,
They just sit there:
High
Mighty
And glad.
Who the fuck
Gave them the power
To make you cower?
Who are they to say
That for you
There is another way,
As if you could simply
Take a shower
And become a different person
Tomorrow than you are today?
My Love,
Why
Do you listen
To the lie?
Why?
My Love,
Will you just stop it all for a moment?
Just stop.
Stop thinking.
Stop trying to figure this out.
Stop struggling with your doubt.
Stop praying for change,
As if you are something strange.
Just stop.
And step outside.
You have nothing to hide.
Not from me.
Not from God-dess.
Not from yourself.
And we love you.
We are on your side.
In Heirm -
Every pain,
Every anger,
Every passion,
Every joy -
You can confide.
No matter how hard you've tried
From Heirm
You cannot hide.
You are who you are.
Just as I am who I am.
Between us S-he sees no difference.
Heirs touch
Can bring new life
And new love
To the parts of you
Which have almost died.
So if you seek Heirm out
Your request for love
Will not - cannot - be denied.
My Love,
When will you be on your side?
My Love,
Every part of who you are is beautiful.
I wish you could look in the mirror
And see what I see
When I think of you today:
A young, beautiful woman
Complete and lovely
In every way.
My Love,
You are beautiful.
And so, I pray for your freedom.
But not for freedom from yourself.
Because
I want you to learn
To love yourself -
The way I try to love you -
And the way our God-dess above
Has always
And will always
Love you:
Wholly,
Completely,
Perfectly,
Just as you are.
No, I pray
You will soon find
Freedom -
Freedom from the lies
Told not just by those
Supposedly wise guys who
Intend to be unkind,
But also by those
Good-intentioned people
Who are helplessly blind.
My Love,
Be free.
Open your eyes
And see.
Believe.
Know
How beautiful you are -
Both to Heirm
And
To me.
My Love,
With all my heart
I wish
I could understand
The depths of your struggle
In whole -
Rather than just in part.
But alas,
I cannot.
Yet at least this is a small start.
So my Love,
I want you to know
That here with you - beside you - I stand.
So when you need strength,
When you need courage,
When you need love
- Not just from our God-dess above -
But a tangible, human love -
Please feel free
To take my hand
And help me see
How I can help you
Learn to be
free.
Because you,
My Love,
Have always been
And still are
So beautiful
To me.
Do you know that you are beautiful?
Surely you must.
For from the time you were young
You have been
The object
Of so many men's lust.
Not just because of your physicality
But also because of your personality.
For not only are you "oh so fine,"
But you also exude warm sunshine.
My Love,
Do you know that you are beautiful?
Surely you must.
For from the time you were young
You've been told
That you are
Beautifully
Carefully
Uniquely
Created
From a mold -
Carved out by God-dess above.
My Love,
Please,
Know that you are beautiful.
Because you are.
My Love,
Why must you feel
That this part of who you are
Is so wrong?
Why must you feel
That our God-dess above
Could never possibly
Want to sing along
With your beautiful song?
My Love,
Do you know
That the love
Our God-dess has for you
Is strong?
My Love,
Please,
Know that you are beautiful.
Because you are.
My Love,
You are beautiful.
Incredible.
Wonderful.
I mean,
I think
You
Are
Freakin' amazing!
So why then,
Do you insist on living
Under this weight of
Self-inflicted shame?
Will you live forever
Trying to play this
Impossible game?
Why do you listen to the lies
Spoken so matter-of-factly
By those who are supposedly wise?
Why must you listen to them,
When clearly their only purpose
Is to condemn
Those like you
Who struggle
So hopelessly
To juggle
The parts of yourself
Which such wise guys
Insist
Could never possibly
Coexist?
Which one of these men
Or women
Who are so intent
To condemn -
Which of them
Has been there
In the quiet of the moment
To listen to your heart
As it cries?
Which of them
Has held you
And felt how
With each word of condemnation
A part of you
Slowly dies?
How do they not see
That you -
Every part of you -
Is a part of God-dess's beautiful creation?
I am so mad
That you are made to feel
As if this part of who you are
Is bad.
I am so mad
That they look at you and say
This part of who you are
Is just a fad.
I am so mad
That while you walk around
Eternally sad
And with a part of your heart
Half-dead,
They just sit there:
High
Mighty
And glad.
Who the fuck
Gave them the power
To make you cower?
Who are they to say
That for you
There is another way,
As if you could simply
Take a shower
And become a different person
Tomorrow than you are today?
My Love,
Why
Do you listen
To the lie?
Why?
My Love,
Will you just stop it all for a moment?
Just stop.
Stop thinking.
Stop trying to figure this out.
Stop struggling with your doubt.
Stop praying for change,
As if you are something strange.
Just stop.
And step outside.
You have nothing to hide.
Not from me.
Not from God-dess.
Not from yourself.
And we love you.
We are on your side.
In Heirm -
Every pain,
Every anger,
Every passion,
Every joy -
You can confide.
No matter how hard you've tried
From Heirm
You cannot hide.
You are who you are.
Just as I am who I am.
Between us S-he sees no difference.
Heirs touch
Can bring new life
And new love
To the parts of you
Which have almost died.
So if you seek Heirm out
Your request for love
Will not - cannot - be denied.
My Love,
When will you be on your side?
My Love,
Every part of who you are is beautiful.
I wish you could look in the mirror
And see what I see
When I think of you today:
A young, beautiful woman
Complete and lovely
In every way.
My Love,
You are beautiful.
And so, I pray for your freedom.
But not for freedom from yourself.
Because
I want you to learn
To love yourself -
The way I try to love you -
And the way our God-dess above
Has always
And will always
Love you:
Wholly,
Completely,
Perfectly,
Just as you are.
No, I pray
You will soon find
Freedom -
Freedom from the lies
Told not just by those
Supposedly wise guys who
Intend to be unkind,
But also by those
Good-intentioned people
Who are helplessly blind.
My Love,
Be free.
Open your eyes
And see.
Believe.
Know
How beautiful you are -
Both to Heirm
And
To me.
My Love,
With all my heart
I wish
I could understand
The depths of your struggle
In whole -
Rather than just in part.
But alas,
I cannot.
Yet at least this is a small start.
So my Love,
I want you to know
That here with you - beside you - I stand.
So when you need strength,
When you need courage,
When you need love
- Not just from our God-dess above -
But a tangible, human love -
Please feel free
To take my hand
And help me see
How I can help you
Learn to be
free.
Because you,
My Love,
Have always been
And still are
So beautiful
To me.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Legos: a Chaos of Colors
Dear all~
I'm sorry I've been so silent recently. There are three main reasons for this:
1) I have little free time.
-I'll spare you the details. But basically the combination of work + class + trying to write a thesis in one semester + preparing for post-graduation (I finish December 10th - craziness) + everyday life = very little time left over.
2) I've had a lot on my mind.
-You might think this would help blog writing, but for me, thoughtfulness (meaning "full of thoughts") hinders the writing process greatly. Why? Because every idea in my head wants to express itself at one time. Did you ever play with legos when you were a kid? This is kind of like that. If I have a bucket packed full of legos and I want to build lego buildings of all one color (i.e. a green building here, a yellow house there, etc.), then I will not try to squeeze my hand into the bucket and carefully select each color one at a time. That would take too long and become annoying. Instead, I will turn the bucket upside down, dump them all out at once, and then seperate the colors. But right now - with writing - I can only seem to get as far as dumping the bucket upside down. Due to reason #1, I never find the time to first seperate thoughts into like piles and to then form them into coherent ideas that may possibly be understood by me, let alone by others who exist outside of my head. So everytime I try to write, I only get as far as a chaos of color. And that might be pretty to someone, but to me it does not make sense.
3) I'm an English major.
-This explains why I refuse to reach into the bucket and pull out one lego at a time. I'm stubborn, and I want to write in a certain, coherent way. And usually that certain way requires a lot of time. And usually I don't mind taking a lot of time to write, because I enjoy the process. The process is a form of therapy for me, really. But whether I mind or not is irrelevant when reason #1 exists and rules.
4) Hope is in sight.
-I may attempt a new writing style soon, one that expresses the chaos of colors inside my head and heart. Perhaps this style will express reality more than my usual one. But whether or not I attempt it, December 10th is almost here. So in about a month, you may begin to hear from me regularly once again.
I hope you are well, and whoever you are - if I know you - I probably love and miss you.
Here's a hug: ***HUG*** (hug yourself and pretend it's from me ;-)
Namaste,
~your rafiki
I'm sorry I've been so silent recently. There are three main reasons for this:
1) I have little free time.
-I'll spare you the details. But basically the combination of work + class + trying to write a thesis in one semester + preparing for post-graduation (I finish December 10th - craziness) + everyday life = very little time left over.
2) I've had a lot on my mind.
-You might think this would help blog writing, but for me, thoughtfulness (meaning "full of thoughts") hinders the writing process greatly. Why? Because every idea in my head wants to express itself at one time. Did you ever play with legos when you were a kid? This is kind of like that. If I have a bucket packed full of legos and I want to build lego buildings of all one color (i.e. a green building here, a yellow house there, etc.), then I will not try to squeeze my hand into the bucket and carefully select each color one at a time. That would take too long and become annoying. Instead, I will turn the bucket upside down, dump them all out at once, and then seperate the colors. But right now - with writing - I can only seem to get as far as dumping the bucket upside down. Due to reason #1, I never find the time to first seperate thoughts into like piles and to then form them into coherent ideas that may possibly be understood by me, let alone by others who exist outside of my head. So everytime I try to write, I only get as far as a chaos of color. And that might be pretty to someone, but to me it does not make sense.
3) I'm an English major.
-This explains why I refuse to reach into the bucket and pull out one lego at a time. I'm stubborn, and I want to write in a certain, coherent way. And usually that certain way requires a lot of time. And usually I don't mind taking a lot of time to write, because I enjoy the process. The process is a form of therapy for me, really. But whether I mind or not is irrelevant when reason #1 exists and rules.
4) Hope is in sight.
-I may attempt a new writing style soon, one that expresses the chaos of colors inside my head and heart. Perhaps this style will express reality more than my usual one. But whether or not I attempt it, December 10th is almost here. So in about a month, you may begin to hear from me regularly once again.
I hope you are well, and whoever you are - if I know you - I probably love and miss you.
Here's a hug: ***HUG*** (hug yourself and pretend it's from me ;-)
Namaste,
~your rafiki
Saturday, September 13, 2008
questions with(out) answers
Recently I've been contemplating some poems and sayings by the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche. Now I know that makes me sound very bookish (which I sort of am) and intellectual, but I can't take credit for discovering his writing on my own. In general, I don't read a lot of explicitly philosophical material. But my friend Anthony kept mentioning Nietzsche in conversation; then lo and behold, I go to my first English class this semester, and I see Nietzsche on the syllabus. Immediately I'm interested. ("Coincidences" in life capture my attention and usually compel me to further investigation.) So I go to the library, check out a few books by Nietzsche, read a few pages in one, and quickly fall head-over-heels in awe with the simple style but profound content of his words.
I suspect you'll hear more of Nietzsche from me in the future, but for now, here are just a few of his sayings which I'm considering tonight:
"An uncomfortable trait.
- To find all things deep - that is an uncomfortable trait: it makes one constantly strain one's eyes and in the end always find more than one had wished."
(I definitely have this problem; I call it "over-thinking everything".)
"Being deep and seeming deep.
-Those who know they are deep strive for clarity. Those who would like to seem deep to the crowd strive for obscurity. For the crowd takes everything whose ground it cannot see to be deep: it is so timid and so reluctant to go into the water."
(Does anyone else feel that in the midst of striving for clarity what they usually - or most quickly - achieve is obscurity? I feel like this right now.)
"Limits of our sense of hearing.
- One hears only those questions to which one is able to find an answer."
I do not believe this last phrase is always true, because right now I feel like some of the questions I have can never be answered. But I hope I am wrong; I hope the reason I am confronted with such frustrating questions is because they have answers, and not just because asking such questions is a valuable exercise of the mind.
A few days ago Diane challenged me to be courageous enough to sit and feel my own chaos. That's probably one of the hardest exercises I've ever tried to complete. I turned to at least nine other activities first: Eating, sleeping, exercising, talking, dancing, drinking, serving, studying, cleaning.
Finally, the voice inside my head commanded me to Sit down. Now. Stop doing. Stop moving. Just be.
Reluctantly, I sat down.
I closed my eyes.
I took a deep breath.
I opened my ears.
And I heard the front door open and my roommate come home.
The other voice inside my head said
Ha. Now this will have to wait until Later.
I breathed a sigh of relief and greeted my roommate.
I do not want to feel my chaos. I want to feel in control. I want to be orderly. I want to neatly place all of my thoughts and ideas into pre-labeled drawers. I want organization. I want Peace. Not Chaos.
But Later finally came today.
Today I faced myself.
Today I felt my own chaos.
Or at least, I tried to feel it for about an hour.
And it was close to terrifying and far from reassuring.
In the midst of the awkward, uncomfortable silence, I heard these questions:
Should I keep searching for Peace, for rest?
Or should I learn to be content with - and even excited about - Chaos?
Do I believe in "the hole" that so many religious people talk about?
Is my lack of Peace evidence that "my hole" not only exists but is empty?
I don't think I believe in "the hole".
But am I living like I believe in it?
Maybe.
If it exists, am I trying to "fill" this "hole" with the activities I choose to spend my time doing? Am I trying to "fill" it with relationships, with people?
I don't know.
But if "the hole" exists, and if I am trying to "fill" it, do I think I can succeed?
No.
If "the hole" exists, do some people learn to live life without needing to fill it?
Yes, I think so.
Am I the type of person who can be content with an empty hole in my soul?
I doubt that very much.
But does this "hole" even exist?
Or is it a figment of my religious upbringing?
Do you ever struggle with these questions? What other questions do you hear? Can our questions be answered? I don't know, but I hope so. Nietzsche seems to think if we are able to ask our questions, then we are also able to answer them.
Friend, I hope you are well - body, mind, and soul. I hope you have Peace. But if you do not - if you, too, have only Chaos - then I hope you find courage: Courage enough to be:
Silent - hear the loud voices in your mind.
and
Still - feel the restlessness of your soul.
Namaste. And love - to you - from your rafiki.
I suspect you'll hear more of Nietzsche from me in the future, but for now, here are just a few of his sayings which I'm considering tonight:
"An uncomfortable trait.
- To find all things deep - that is an uncomfortable trait: it makes one constantly strain one's eyes and in the end always find more than one had wished."
(I definitely have this problem; I call it "over-thinking everything".)
"Being deep and seeming deep.
-Those who know they are deep strive for clarity. Those who would like to seem deep to the crowd strive for obscurity. For the crowd takes everything whose ground it cannot see to be deep: it is so timid and so reluctant to go into the water."
(Does anyone else feel that in the midst of striving for clarity what they usually - or most quickly - achieve is obscurity? I feel like this right now.)
"Limits of our sense of hearing.
- One hears only those questions to which one is able to find an answer."
I do not believe this last phrase is always true, because right now I feel like some of the questions I have can never be answered. But I hope I am wrong; I hope the reason I am confronted with such frustrating questions is because they have answers, and not just because asking such questions is a valuable exercise of the mind.
A few days ago Diane challenged me to be courageous enough to sit and feel my own chaos. That's probably one of the hardest exercises I've ever tried to complete. I turned to at least nine other activities first: Eating, sleeping, exercising, talking, dancing, drinking, serving, studying, cleaning.
Finally, the voice inside my head commanded me to Sit down. Now. Stop doing. Stop moving. Just be.
Reluctantly, I sat down.
I closed my eyes.
I took a deep breath.
I opened my ears.
And I heard the front door open and my roommate come home.
The other voice inside my head said
Ha. Now this will have to wait until Later.
I breathed a sigh of relief and greeted my roommate.
I do not want to feel my chaos. I want to feel in control. I want to be orderly. I want to neatly place all of my thoughts and ideas into pre-labeled drawers. I want organization. I want Peace. Not Chaos.
But Later finally came today.
Today I faced myself.
Today I felt my own chaos.
Or at least, I tried to feel it for about an hour.
And it was close to terrifying and far from reassuring.
In the midst of the awkward, uncomfortable silence, I heard these questions:
Should I keep searching for Peace, for rest?
Or should I learn to be content with - and even excited about - Chaos?
Do I believe in "the hole" that so many religious people talk about?
Is my lack of Peace evidence that "my hole" not only exists but is empty?
I don't think I believe in "the hole".
But am I living like I believe in it?
Maybe.
If it exists, am I trying to "fill" this "hole" with the activities I choose to spend my time doing? Am I trying to "fill" it with relationships, with people?
I don't know.
But if "the hole" exists, and if I am trying to "fill" it, do I think I can succeed?
No.
If "the hole" exists, do some people learn to live life without needing to fill it?
Yes, I think so.
Am I the type of person who can be content with an empty hole in my soul?
I doubt that very much.
But does this "hole" even exist?
Or is it a figment of my religious upbringing?
Do you ever struggle with these questions? What other questions do you hear? Can our questions be answered? I don't know, but I hope so. Nietzsche seems to think if we are able to ask our questions, then we are also able to answer them.
Friend, I hope you are well - body, mind, and soul. I hope you have Peace. But if you do not - if you, too, have only Chaos - then I hope you find courage: Courage enough to be:
Silent - hear the loud voices in your mind.
and
Still - feel the restlessness of your soul.
Namaste. And love - to you - from your rafiki.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Someone, please touch me.
The URL for this blog comes from a poem I wrote back in May of this year, so I figured I would share it with you eventually. Recently I've been feeling again many of the emotions I felt when I originally wrote this. Most of this stems from one simple, honest desire: Someone, please touch me.
Touch is a powerful action with many different abilities: It can inflict pain; it can bring comfort; it can answer questions; it can raise questions; it can reassure; it can stir up memories; it can do so much...
But mostly for me, Touch brings comfort and assurance. When Someone touches me, I know that I am alive. When Someone touches me intentionally, I know that I have worth. When Someone touches me softly, gently, carefully, I know that am beautiful.
Touch communicates life, dignity, beauty. Do we remember the last time we received Touch? The last time we gave It? What a Gift we have; why don't we give and receive and enjoy It more often?
Maybe this sounds odd to you. And maybe it is odd. Maybe it only applies to me and a handful of other weird, needy people. Or maybe it applies to many of us, but it sounds odd because we do not admit our needs often enough. You be the judge: Dependence for All
I believe in human touch:
A gentle shoulder squeeze,
A soft peck on the cheek,
A warm, strong embrace,
Even a simple hand shake.
To deny that people need one another,
Is a huge mistake.
Even after we’ve grown,
Even after we’ve left our mother,
The truth still reveals itself in every face:
We each crave to be touched, to be loved, to be known.
Finally, this misconception’s cover is blown:
The independence for which we’re taught to seek,
Is only an elusive mirage, a fake.
But our state of dependence does not make us weak.
Our need for one another is not an immobilizing crutch—
Even if we’re taught to view it as such.
Instead,
Living in dependence frees.
Like birds,
Which ride a breeze
With their wings wide spread,
It frees us to rise above
Unconvincing, easily spoken words,
And enables tangible expressions of love.
For how can someone know they are lovable,
Before being shown they are touchable?
How can someone believe they are beautifully created,
Simply by hearing what someone has stated?
Whether you are naturally bold
Or usually cold,
Your touch has the power,
To show those who cower,
That they have dignity and worth,
That they have been loved since before their birth.
Our society is wrong.
Independence ought not to be our goal,
For it is living in dependence that makes us strong.
Needing one another brings freedom and faith to our soul.
So please,
Let us open up our eyes,
Let us awake,
Let us speak,
Let us denounce these destructive lies.
Let us again believe in human touch.
Let us every opportunity seize.
Let us learn not only how to give, but also how to take.
Sharing one quick, friendly hug may not seem like much.
But, oh, what a difference it might make,
Not only for us, but for humanity’s sake.
Touch is a powerful action with many different abilities: It can inflict pain; it can bring comfort; it can answer questions; it can raise questions; it can reassure; it can stir up memories; it can do so much...
But mostly for me, Touch brings comfort and assurance. When Someone touches me, I know that I am alive. When Someone touches me intentionally, I know that I have worth. When Someone touches me softly, gently, carefully, I know that am beautiful.
Touch communicates life, dignity, beauty. Do we remember the last time we received Touch? The last time we gave It? What a Gift we have; why don't we give and receive and enjoy It more often?
Maybe this sounds odd to you. And maybe it is odd. Maybe it only applies to me and a handful of other weird, needy people. Or maybe it applies to many of us, but it sounds odd because we do not admit our needs often enough. You be the judge: Dependence for All
I believe in human touch:
A gentle shoulder squeeze,
A soft peck on the cheek,
A warm, strong embrace,
Even a simple hand shake.
To deny that people need one another,
Is a huge mistake.
Even after we’ve grown,
Even after we’ve left our mother,
The truth still reveals itself in every face:
We each crave to be touched, to be loved, to be known.
Finally, this misconception’s cover is blown:
The independence for which we’re taught to seek,
Is only an elusive mirage, a fake.
But our state of dependence does not make us weak.
Our need for one another is not an immobilizing crutch—
Even if we’re taught to view it as such.
Instead,
Living in dependence frees.
Like birds,
Which ride a breeze
With their wings wide spread,
It frees us to rise above
Unconvincing, easily spoken words,
And enables tangible expressions of love.
For how can someone know they are lovable,
Before being shown they are touchable?
How can someone believe they are beautifully created,
Simply by hearing what someone has stated?
Whether you are naturally bold
Or usually cold,
Your touch has the power,
To show those who cower,
That they have dignity and worth,
That they have been loved since before their birth.
Our society is wrong.
Independence ought not to be our goal,
For it is living in dependence that makes us strong.
Needing one another brings freedom and faith to our soul.
So please,
Let us open up our eyes,
Let us awake,
Let us speak,
Let us denounce these destructive lies.
Let us again believe in human touch.
Let us every opportunity seize.
Let us learn not only how to give, but also how to take.
Sharing one quick, friendly hug may not seem like much.
But, oh, what a difference it might make,
Not only for us, but for humanity’s sake.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
a "new" (yet old) way to read "religious" texts...
Today I was blessed to read this paragraph in an e-mail from the Gainesville Catholic Worker House, so I wanted to share it with you in hopes that you may also share in this blessing. I find their description of what it means "to do scripture" very refreshing, freeing, and new. But, as Shane Claiborne likes to say, I have a feeling this is simultaneously a "new and ancient way of life". This way of reading and understanding a religious text like the Bible may seem new and different to me today, but it's quite possible that many people in the past have studied it this way before and will probably continue to do so in the future. Yet somehow certain groups of people manage to live their whole lives without considering the many possibilities... So I'm thankful for groups of people like the GCW family who not only take the time to consider options, but who also care enough to both share what they discover with those around them as well as learn from those - no matter who we are or from where we come - who wish to share their own discoveries. But without further ado, here you are:
"We try to do scripture a little different at the GCW than what some of you may be used to in your churches, from Sunday school, etc. We start with the premise that these stories have something really thought-provoking and life-changing to tell us about the world in which we live. We emphasize that the stories in Scripture are critiques of our own culture and our own society, and the stories that various segments of society try to indoctrinate us with regarding questions about value, meaning, what it means to be human, what our responsibilities are to one another and more. We believe that the story about the Reign of God, which is at the heart of Scripture, is a story which critiques the world we live in–its various systems be they political, economic, religious, etc–and challenges us to live our lives in such a way as to give witness to a deeper reality, an alternative vision of what this world could be."
"We try to do scripture a little different at the GCW than what some of you may be used to in your churches, from Sunday school, etc. We start with the premise that these stories have something really thought-provoking and life-changing to tell us about the world in which we live. We emphasize that the stories in Scripture are critiques of our own culture and our own society, and the stories that various segments of society try to indoctrinate us with regarding questions about value, meaning, what it means to be human, what our responsibilities are to one another and more. We believe that the story about the Reign of God, which is at the heart of Scripture, is a story which critiques the world we live in–its various systems be they political, economic, religious, etc–and challenges us to live our lives in such a way as to give witness to a deeper reality, an alternative vision of what this world could be."
Monday, September 8, 2008
when Peace doesn't come
What do we do when peace fails to come?
We must realize that peace doesn't have to fit our time frame;
She functions independently from our expectations of her.
So we must wait.
Peace is gift.
We can't just demand to have her whenever, wherever, and however we want her.
We can ask for her. We can search for her.
But in the end, she must be given to us.
So we must wait.
But what to do when we're tired of waiting? What to do when it feels like we've been waiting for weeks and months - even years - with what feels like no progress? What to do when the people around us demand to see the progress for which we've "wasted" our time waiting? What to do when our own minds demand to see the same? What to do when we have nothing to show? What to do when it feels as if we may still be standing in the same place in line as we were six months ago?
Why does waiting so rarely involve patience?
Can we remember a time in our lives when we patiently waited for anything at all: an event, a person, a feeling? Whether we're waiting in line at the grocery store, waiting to hear back from a job or program application, waiting to hear from a special someone, or waiting for Peace to come, it seems we usually wait impatiently. Not patiently.
So what to do when we're tired of waiting? We do have other options besides waiting, and when we realize this, sometimes we take advantage of them. We can try to busy ourselves with other thoughts and simply forget we have an unmet need for Peace. We can search Elsewhere for Peace. But somedays it feels like we've searched Everywhere for Peace without finding her. Peace, Peace, oh where are you hiding? Oh. Maybe we forgot to check this spot. Let's search there.
Sometimes Peace comes through Nature.
But yesterday, Nature failed me.
Yesterday I sat on the beach for the first time in over a year and expected the power, the beauty, the mystery of the ocean to bring me Peace. The eternal waves, the ever-changing sky, the constant sea breeze, the horizon that can never be reached: these have all given me Peace in the past.
But not yesterday.
Yesterday the sight of the turbulent waves only reflected rather than calmed the unrest in my soul. Yesterday, as the gentle sea breeze caressed my face, it laughed at my inner distress. But it only laughed because its soft carress could not reach my depths.
Yesterday I watched the sun light up the world. Yet as I watched, it burnt my skin but failed to light up my soul.
Sometimes Peace comes with remembering We belong to each other
(thank you Mother Teresa).
But yesterday, We failed me.
Or at least it felt that way.
Or is it possible that Me failed me?
Perhaps I have forgotten to search within myself for Peace?
But I do not feel she is hiding there.
I feel Peace comes from Somewhere outside of me.
Maybe she even comes from Someone outside of We.
Somehow I doubt Peace can be found by searching.
She is a gift.
But even if we do succeed in finding her
(As a child discovers a hidden present before Christmas morning),
Because she is a gift, she won't yet belong to us.
Even if we hold her in our hands, we can't have her
Until
She is given to us.
So we must wait.
Can we learn to wait patiently?
I hope so, yet I doubt.
I doubt my ability to wait patiently in the midst of a world, in the midst of a mind, that demand tangible progress and proof.
But what if Peace can only come after we have learned to wait patiently?
What if Peace IS waiting with patience?
Then we must learn how to wait patiently.
We must learn this together and individually.
But what to do if Peace still doesn't come?
What to do when we're tired of waiting?
What to do when we don't have any answers?
We must realize that peace doesn't have to fit our time frame;
She functions independently from our expectations of her.
So we must wait.
Peace is gift.
We can't just demand to have her whenever, wherever, and however we want her.
We can ask for her. We can search for her.
But in the end, she must be given to us.
So we must wait.
But what to do when we're tired of waiting? What to do when it feels like we've been waiting for weeks and months - even years - with what feels like no progress? What to do when the people around us demand to see the progress for which we've "wasted" our time waiting? What to do when our own minds demand to see the same? What to do when we have nothing to show? What to do when it feels as if we may still be standing in the same place in line as we were six months ago?
Why does waiting so rarely involve patience?
Can we remember a time in our lives when we patiently waited for anything at all: an event, a person, a feeling? Whether we're waiting in line at the grocery store, waiting to hear back from a job or program application, waiting to hear from a special someone, or waiting for Peace to come, it seems we usually wait impatiently. Not patiently.
So what to do when we're tired of waiting? We do have other options besides waiting, and when we realize this, sometimes we take advantage of them. We can try to busy ourselves with other thoughts and simply forget we have an unmet need for Peace. We can search Elsewhere for Peace. But somedays it feels like we've searched Everywhere for Peace without finding her. Peace, Peace, oh where are you hiding? Oh. Maybe we forgot to check this spot. Let's search there.
Sometimes Peace comes through Nature.
But yesterday, Nature failed me.
Yesterday I sat on the beach for the first time in over a year and expected the power, the beauty, the mystery of the ocean to bring me Peace. The eternal waves, the ever-changing sky, the constant sea breeze, the horizon that can never be reached: these have all given me Peace in the past.
But not yesterday.
Yesterday the sight of the turbulent waves only reflected rather than calmed the unrest in my soul. Yesterday, as the gentle sea breeze caressed my face, it laughed at my inner distress. But it only laughed because its soft carress could not reach my depths.
Yesterday I watched the sun light up the world. Yet as I watched, it burnt my skin but failed to light up my soul.
Sometimes Peace comes with remembering We belong to each other
(thank you Mother Teresa).
But yesterday, We failed me.
Or at least it felt that way.
Or is it possible that Me failed me?
Perhaps I have forgotten to search within myself for Peace?
But I do not feel she is hiding there.
I feel Peace comes from Somewhere outside of me.
Maybe she even comes from Someone outside of We.
Somehow I doubt Peace can be found by searching.
She is a gift.
But even if we do succeed in finding her
(As a child discovers a hidden present before Christmas morning),
Because she is a gift, she won't yet belong to us.
Even if we hold her in our hands, we can't have her
Until
She is given to us.
So we must wait.
Can we learn to wait patiently?
I hope so, yet I doubt.
I doubt my ability to wait patiently in the midst of a world, in the midst of a mind, that demand tangible progress and proof.
But what if Peace can only come after we have learned to wait patiently?
What if Peace IS waiting with patience?
Then we must learn how to wait patiently.
We must learn this together and individually.
But what to do if Peace still doesn't come?
What to do when we're tired of waiting?
What to do when we don't have any answers?
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
private goes public
Yesterday was a very long day for me, and I decided to be bitter about it. Normally I try to keep a positive attitude and remember the many people in the world who suffer from worse plights than mine, but yesterday I just felt like being cranky. So I did. Yesterday was Labor Day, a holiday off work for many people in America. But not for me. I scooped for almost 8 long hours at the ice cream shop. When I got there, I was cranky about being there. While I was there, I was cranky about how much extra work we had to get done, about how understaffed we were, about how many customers we had, about how sick (literally) and exhausted I felt; I was so determined to be cranky that neither my friend Sutania nor India Arie's music could cheer me up. When I finally left work, I was cranky about having spent so much time there and about having to go directly to campus to work on a frustrating group project for a class. And when I finally got home and went to bed late that night, I was cranky about having spent the whole day in a cranky mood.
As I waited for slumber to overtake me, I stared at the ceiling and thought about my day. These are the words that immediately came to mind: What a waste. Those three words are powerful ones to me, because I believe strongly in not wasting my life. I believe each day, each hour, each moment is a gift not only to be received, but also to be given away; I believe life as I know it now could cease to exist even before I am finished with this blog entry. Taped to my computer monitor is a fortune cookie message that reads, "A day is a span of time no one is wealthy enough to waste." So to me, wasting an entire day of my life is a big deal. It is a big deal because how I spend my day affects not only me, but also the people around me. So my time is not actually my time; it is our time; it is your time. My attitude affects your attitude. And as I contemplated yesterday, I felt it was almost a total waste. Not only did I have a miserable, cranky day, but I also managed to complain about my day to others. Somehow I momentarily chose to believe that my eighteen-hour pity party was private and all about "me," when it was actually public and all about "we". With each new day we are given the power to either encourage or discourage the people around us. We must inevitably do one or the other. And yesterday I chose to discourage my community.
Now I believe in honesty and expressing emotion. But I also believe a fine line exists between honest emotional expression and self-centered complaint. Yesterday I crossed that line. And as I lay awake in bed, I knew it, and it saddened me. I thought, How foolish; how silly; how wasteful. As I finally drifted off to sleep, I expressed to the divine my hope for the power to encourage someone tomorrow.
And thus tomorrow became today. The alarm clock woke me up at five minutes past five; I slowly rolled out of bed twenty minutes later. My goal was to arrive at the twenty-four-hour computer lab by 6:30 AM to finish my part of a group project. After dressing and eating breakfast, I hopped on my scooter and rode to campus. As I walked from my parking spot to the computer lab, I felt the cool breeze, observed the calmness of the morning, and silently wished I could take some time to stop and enjoy the dawn instead of rushing onwards. But onwards I marched. At 7:00 AM I arrived at the metal, double-door entrance to the computer lab and pulled down-and-out on the door handle to open the heavy door. It didn't budge. I tried again with no success. Was it locked? Then my eyes met the sign on the door which stated that during the second week of classes, the twenty-four-hour computer lab would only be open for seventeen-and-one-half-hours: from 7:30 AM to 1:00 AM. I was annoyed and even a little angry. How dare the twenty-four-hour computer lab not be open when I needed it? Why did I have to wait for 30 minutes to enter a lab that was already supposed to be opened? Now I would have to waste 30 minutes that I could have spent sleeping. Aargh.
But then I stopped, and I even smiled as a new thought struck me: Now I can take some time to stop and enjoy the dawn. So I did. I turned my back on the metal double-doors, found myself a picnic table, and sat down to watch the new day unfold. Almost as soon as I sat down, I was greeted by this thought: "I want to watch the sun rise every day." And out of that initial thought, the rest of this poem followed:
I want to watch the sun rise every day.
I want to feel the wind carry my cares away.
I want to let the quiet stillness erase
The words I thought I had to say.
All of this busy, worthless rushing to-and-fro,
I am learning more and more to loath.
What I want to learn (how to pray)
Lies in Nature's slow but constant growth.
As I walk beneath of the shadow of trees,
I wonder with each new hour what it sees.
What wisdom does it come to know,
As it observes the creatures hurrying beneath its ever-watchful leaves?
As the sun marks time by changing face,
Does the rest of Nature rush to keep in pace?
Or does she grow in peace?
Perhaps I, too - by standing still - can escape the pressure of this race.
Afterwards, I entered the computer lab and finished my part of the project. Later on that day, between classes, I reread the poem. And guess what I did after that? I turned the page and wrote a to-do list. Life must go on. For most of us, life means running some sort of race. But we can choose how to run, and we can choose when or if to stand still. We can choose to encourage, or we can choose to discourage. Yet no matter what we choose, we must choose. So as we make our choice, we ought to remember that "my" choice will not only affect "me"; it will inevitably affect "we."
As I waited for slumber to overtake me, I stared at the ceiling and thought about my day. These are the words that immediately came to mind: What a waste. Those three words are powerful ones to me, because I believe strongly in not wasting my life. I believe each day, each hour, each moment is a gift not only to be received, but also to be given away; I believe life as I know it now could cease to exist even before I am finished with this blog entry. Taped to my computer monitor is a fortune cookie message that reads, "A day is a span of time no one is wealthy enough to waste." So to me, wasting an entire day of my life is a big deal. It is a big deal because how I spend my day affects not only me, but also the people around me. So my time is not actually my time; it is our time; it is your time. My attitude affects your attitude. And as I contemplated yesterday, I felt it was almost a total waste. Not only did I have a miserable, cranky day, but I also managed to complain about my day to others. Somehow I momentarily chose to believe that my eighteen-hour pity party was private and all about "me," when it was actually public and all about "we". With each new day we are given the power to either encourage or discourage the people around us. We must inevitably do one or the other. And yesterday I chose to discourage my community.
Now I believe in honesty and expressing emotion. But I also believe a fine line exists between honest emotional expression and self-centered complaint. Yesterday I crossed that line. And as I lay awake in bed, I knew it, and it saddened me. I thought, How foolish; how silly; how wasteful. As I finally drifted off to sleep, I expressed to the divine my hope for the power to encourage someone tomorrow.
And thus tomorrow became today. The alarm clock woke me up at five minutes past five; I slowly rolled out of bed twenty minutes later. My goal was to arrive at the twenty-four-hour computer lab by 6:30 AM to finish my part of a group project. After dressing and eating breakfast, I hopped on my scooter and rode to campus. As I walked from my parking spot to the computer lab, I felt the cool breeze, observed the calmness of the morning, and silently wished I could take some time to stop and enjoy the dawn instead of rushing onwards. But onwards I marched. At 7:00 AM I arrived at the metal, double-door entrance to the computer lab and pulled down-and-out on the door handle to open the heavy door. It didn't budge. I tried again with no success. Was it locked? Then my eyes met the sign on the door which stated that during the second week of classes, the twenty-four-hour computer lab would only be open for seventeen-and-one-half-hours: from 7:30 AM to 1:00 AM. I was annoyed and even a little angry. How dare the twenty-four-hour computer lab not be open when I needed it? Why did I have to wait for 30 minutes to enter a lab that was already supposed to be opened? Now I would have to waste 30 minutes that I could have spent sleeping. Aargh.
But then I stopped, and I even smiled as a new thought struck me: Now I can take some time to stop and enjoy the dawn. So I did. I turned my back on the metal double-doors, found myself a picnic table, and sat down to watch the new day unfold. Almost as soon as I sat down, I was greeted by this thought: "I want to watch the sun rise every day." And out of that initial thought, the rest of this poem followed:
I want to watch the sun rise every day.
I want to feel the wind carry my cares away.
I want to let the quiet stillness erase
The words I thought I had to say.
All of this busy, worthless rushing to-and-fro,
I am learning more and more to loath.
What I want to learn (how to pray)
Lies in Nature's slow but constant growth.
As I walk beneath of the shadow of trees,
I wonder with each new hour what it sees.
What wisdom does it come to know,
As it observes the creatures hurrying beneath its ever-watchful leaves?
As the sun marks time by changing face,
Does the rest of Nature rush to keep in pace?
Or does she grow in peace?
Perhaps I, too - by standing still - can escape the pressure of this race.
Afterwards, I entered the computer lab and finished my part of the project. Later on that day, between classes, I reread the poem. And guess what I did after that? I turned the page and wrote a to-do list. Life must go on. For most of us, life means running some sort of race. But we can choose how to run, and we can choose when or if to stand still. We can choose to encourage, or we can choose to discourage. Yet no matter what we choose, we must choose. So as we make our choice, we ought to remember that "my" choice will not only affect "me"; it will inevitably affect "we."
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