I've been thinking about perception a lot lately. The beginning of this reflection was prompted by a recent trip in a zip car. As I turned on the wipers and began to crawl through the NE maze to I-5 I became aware of how little I could see. Even after the foggy windows cleared I could only glimpse the world through windows and mirrors with many blind spots. Driving gives a false sense of security, of being safely ensconced in this metal box which could in an instant become a steel trap or worse, a coffin. This sense of security leaves the mind free to roam miles away from the moment, to take a quick look at the latest text message, change the radio station or take that call, giving way to irritation and anger when other drivers, cyclists or pedestrians call the mind back to sudden awareness of present moment and requiring a split second response. Why is it that we get so irritated when people demand our attention at the present moment, shouldn't we already be there?
When riding my bike the blind spots, foggy windows and mirrors are gone, my vision of the world around me limited only by the flexibility of my neck. I can see in front and behind, but never both. The mind becomes focused on the next moment, will that car turn, will they stop for the sign, is the light going to change, where's the next clear space that I can dart through, and on and on. The mind wanders less, feeling the cool air and rain on the face reminding that every moment counts. The scenery speeds by, lost in a blur. No time to stop and smell that newly bloomed red tulip.
Then there are the days that I take to the streets on foot. The world unfolding slowly, each step moving me seconds through the mile. Time to smile, wave, give a buck, smell a flower, watching the cyclists whiz by in deep focus and motorist motoring by in their own oblivion to the sweet smelling tulip that my daughter and I stop to inhale.
I deeply cherish these slower moments lately. Ten days ago I experienced the world from yet another vantage point, a new perspective, that dropped me to stillness. It was a normal Monday. I cruised to work on the bike, enjoying the strong pulse of energy and oxygen surging through my sunrise express to the Portland waterfront. About two hours into my work day I began to experience a discomfort in the center of my chest. As the day progressed the discomfort demanded more of my attention. By the time I was reunited with my bike I doubted my ability to ride. By then my breathing was shallow and attempts at deep breathing caused a surge of pain into my neck and ears. So I abandoned the bike, bused to my daughter's school and then we walked to another stop to catch a bus to the ER. The courteous staff at Legacy Emmanuel wasted no time in collecting EKG data from me and entertaining my six year old daughter. During my five hours in the ER I had ample time to practice mindfulness, taking comfort in the embrace of the compassionate Tara as her mantra diverted my mind from worries of the unknown. As I was being wheeled to the CT Scanner, my housemate walked with my daughter down the same hallway and out of the ER. In that frozen moment I felt a tear escape realizing that if my lease on this body was soon to end I had surrounded myself and my daughter with an amazing network of loving adults and young friends that would be there to help her on her journey. In those moments I didn't think about religion, politics, my activism, the unfinished screen play, books and poems. All of these concerns evaporated and in the remaining residue of my life I found only love and gratitude.
Before the night was over I had blood work, chest x-rays, a CT Scan and the relief of knowing I did not have a heart attack or anything growing in my lungs. Again, the supportive housemate came to collect me at the ER. I found a sleepy eyed and smiling daughter in my bed, where I gladly curled up next to her for some sweet slumber. One week later all trace of the pain was gone. I see a cardiologist next week just to make sure all is indeed well with my heart.
I haven't resumed my daily bike rides yet, but have opted for the slower route. My daughter and I are monitoring the tulips each day, anticipating which ones will be fully open and admiring the variety of color they bring to our day. There's a particularly sweet smelling red one on the corner of Multnomah Blvd and NE 21st St. So if you rambling by in your car, or rolling past on a bike, you just might want to park it a moment and get out to inhale it's rich aroma. Oh, and there's another little red one hiding it's vibrant colors under the next bush over. It is amazing the world that exists just beyond our vision.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Friday, April 8, 2011
Walking in Sunshine
I've been walking more lately. Riding the bike at rush hour with a kiddo on the back is stressful whereas walking is quite the opposite. Admittedly it takes longer but I have more time between getting off the bus downtown and when I need to be at Alexa's school which is across the river and up 16 blocks. It's only 2 miles so I can be quite leisurely with it. Today she went to her father's and I still walked, in the sunshine!! I forgot how much I love walking (and sunshine).
It would be hard to to plan, but if you're ever in Portland on the first sunny day after about 30 days of rain you're in for quite a show. Just take a stroll in South East for the most interesting people watching you'll ever experience. Everyone is happy. Young girls with glowing white skin will skip around like their only eight, giggling as if they just spied a grasshopper in tall grass. As we shed our layers of fleece and fuzz, the newly adorned winters artwork from the local tattoo artists shine in techno color. The food carts become social centers for all the cool hipsters, freaks, geeks and hippies. The crazy bikes parade down the street, taller than the Humvees and wayyyyy cooler. Even our homeless are smiling and gregarious. I stopped and chatted with Ron, a heavy set disabled man. I asked him if he had been responsible for the sun's appearance today. He laughed and said he was going to ask me the same thing. We talked about Obama (a sign he carried asking how we liked Bush dark - Obomba ), our government, the empty houses and all the evils of capitalism. I asked if he had enough for dinner that night, he said he could use a little more so I dug out my last three bucks. I told him it was the least I could do for the guy who could get the sun to come out. We waved farewell as if we were great pals, both happier for the interaction with our fellow human.
There is so much wrong in the world and yet there are these special days filled with moments fleeting yet somehow frozen in time where everything becomes crisp, clear and perfect. The world fills me up with its beauty providing this brief glimpse of how it could be if only we would let it. May I learn to see every day as if it is the first break of sun after a long darkness.
It would be hard to to plan, but if you're ever in Portland on the first sunny day after about 30 days of rain you're in for quite a show. Just take a stroll in South East for the most interesting people watching you'll ever experience. Everyone is happy. Young girls with glowing white skin will skip around like their only eight, giggling as if they just spied a grasshopper in tall grass. As we shed our layers of fleece and fuzz, the newly adorned winters artwork from the local tattoo artists shine in techno color. The food carts become social centers for all the cool hipsters, freaks, geeks and hippies. The crazy bikes parade down the street, taller than the Humvees and wayyyyy cooler. Even our homeless are smiling and gregarious. I stopped and chatted with Ron, a heavy set disabled man. I asked him if he had been responsible for the sun's appearance today. He laughed and said he was going to ask me the same thing. We talked about Obama (a sign he carried asking how we liked Bush dark - Obomba ), our government, the empty houses and all the evils of capitalism. I asked if he had enough for dinner that night, he said he could use a little more so I dug out my last three bucks. I told him it was the least I could do for the guy who could get the sun to come out. We waved farewell as if we were great pals, both happier for the interaction with our fellow human.
There is so much wrong in the world and yet there are these special days filled with moments fleeting yet somehow frozen in time where everything becomes crisp, clear and perfect. The world fills me up with its beauty providing this brief glimpse of how it could be if only we would let it. May I learn to see every day as if it is the first break of sun after a long darkness.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
My Resurrection
The taste of damp sweet Spring teases the palate
A craving for warmth sends chills deeper into bones
Tiny green sprouts struggle for survival
Feeding upon the humus of the old
Birth and death reflected in a drop of morning dew
As the shadows of winter fade my journey turns
Once maiden, then mother
resurrecting once again
Dipping an apprehensive toe into cool wise waters
Enter the crone
As fertility of my flesh fades
Seeds of creative freedom sprout
Feeding on memories of pain, passion, of youth
Dipping the quill into the dark
Rich ink of the soul
May life begin again
Last Sunday Rev Sinkford spoke about resurrection, how we are born and reborn many times in our life. One life change shaking us up and moving us in new direction. Pema Chodron dedicates a whole book to the idea that when things fall apart, when the solid ground beneath out feet suddenly becomes thin as air and we find ourselves in a free fall, it's not necessarily a bad thing. These are moments of tremendous growth.
As I gallop headlong through my 45th year of this life I am confronting new realities. My eyesight is less reliable, requiring drug store cheaters to read. Allergies are cropping up that have never been an issue in the past. And now I begin the transition into the crone phase of this full and wonderful life. With the onset of menopause come new challenges. My early morning meditations are often accompanied by a hot flash or two, reminding me ever more deeply not to mistakenly think myself immortal. Sleep can elude me more with the occasional night sweat. Taking time to relax physically and mentally has become important. For this reason I have taken up knitting, finding that as I tie little knots into yarn, the tight bundles of knots in my mind loosen as do my muscles. Another great relaxation is walking back from school with my six year old daughter. The more present I am in the moment, the more relaxing it is. Mindfulness is a practice for all ages (pun intended).
I search my feelings for anything hinting of fear or anxiety but find only a sense of relief. I've wondered at this for a time and it has dawned on me that the women I most admire have all achieved their greatest accomplishments late in life. I've caught myself many times searching for gray hair on my head and being disappointed when I don't find it. I'm hoping that I have my greatest accomplishments still ahead of me. Most of the women I work with in the USNPCA and the UU Peace Action Committee are older than me and I admire their wisdom, beauty, poise and relentless persistence for the cause of peace and social justice. They are my constant inspiration and role models.
Our culture is so devoid of spirit and heart. I find myself yearning for a ritual that would connect these moments of passage with my larger sangha or social circle of friends. With first menses there is a blossoming into womanhood, the maiden. It is a busy time of love, heartbreak, work, struggle and finding our inner strength. Many cultures have beautiful rituals surrounding this rite of passage. As we birth new life, dancing with a new spirit who carries some of our spark, we connect with a deep, primitive force that makes us one with all of existence, past, present and future. By burying the placenta under a rose bush for which my daughter is named, I created our own ritual. Prior to birth our culture has the baby shower, and my pagan sisters performed a beautiful birthing ritual for me just prior to Alexa'a entry into this realm. Suckling our young we feel a sense of the order and perfection of this life, just as we doze off to sleep the new born sleep. We nurture our child and forget ourselves, focused on protecting that bit of our heart with legs, arms, and an inquisitive mind not yet afraid to engage this world. We give all we have... and then we let go. The hormones begin to slow, the family needs us less and at last there is space to create in a new way. A chance to more closely examine the cracks in the mortar to see what we have blocked away in our busy-ness. Finding wisdom hidden in the hair and mud buried beneath years of tacky wall paper. In there we are all three; maiden, mother and crone. In this sacred matriarchal trinity, I am reborn whole.
A craving for warmth sends chills deeper into bones
Tiny green sprouts struggle for survival
Feeding upon the humus of the old
Birth and death reflected in a drop of morning dew
As the shadows of winter fade my journey turns
Once maiden, then mother
resurrecting once again
Dipping an apprehensive toe into cool wise waters
Enter the crone
As fertility of my flesh fades
Seeds of creative freedom sprout
Feeding on memories of pain, passion, of youth
Dipping the quill into the dark
Rich ink of the soul
May life begin again
Last Sunday Rev Sinkford spoke about resurrection, how we are born and reborn many times in our life. One life change shaking us up and moving us in new direction. Pema Chodron dedicates a whole book to the idea that when things fall apart, when the solid ground beneath out feet suddenly becomes thin as air and we find ourselves in a free fall, it's not necessarily a bad thing. These are moments of tremendous growth.
As I gallop headlong through my 45th year of this life I am confronting new realities. My eyesight is less reliable, requiring drug store cheaters to read. Allergies are cropping up that have never been an issue in the past. And now I begin the transition into the crone phase of this full and wonderful life. With the onset of menopause come new challenges. My early morning meditations are often accompanied by a hot flash or two, reminding me ever more deeply not to mistakenly think myself immortal. Sleep can elude me more with the occasional night sweat. Taking time to relax physically and mentally has become important. For this reason I have taken up knitting, finding that as I tie little knots into yarn, the tight bundles of knots in my mind loosen as do my muscles. Another great relaxation is walking back from school with my six year old daughter. The more present I am in the moment, the more relaxing it is. Mindfulness is a practice for all ages (pun intended).
I search my feelings for anything hinting of fear or anxiety but find only a sense of relief. I've wondered at this for a time and it has dawned on me that the women I most admire have all achieved their greatest accomplishments late in life. I've caught myself many times searching for gray hair on my head and being disappointed when I don't find it. I'm hoping that I have my greatest accomplishments still ahead of me. Most of the women I work with in the USNPCA and the UU Peace Action Committee are older than me and I admire their wisdom, beauty, poise and relentless persistence for the cause of peace and social justice. They are my constant inspiration and role models.
Our culture is so devoid of spirit and heart. I find myself yearning for a ritual that would connect these moments of passage with my larger sangha or social circle of friends. With first menses there is a blossoming into womanhood, the maiden. It is a busy time of love, heartbreak, work, struggle and finding our inner strength. Many cultures have beautiful rituals surrounding this rite of passage. As we birth new life, dancing with a new spirit who carries some of our spark, we connect with a deep, primitive force that makes us one with all of existence, past, present and future. By burying the placenta under a rose bush for which my daughter is named, I created our own ritual. Prior to birth our culture has the baby shower, and my pagan sisters performed a beautiful birthing ritual for me just prior to Alexa'a entry into this realm. Suckling our young we feel a sense of the order and perfection of this life, just as we doze off to sleep the new born sleep. We nurture our child and forget ourselves, focused on protecting that bit of our heart with legs, arms, and an inquisitive mind not yet afraid to engage this world. We give all we have... and then we let go. The hormones begin to slow, the family needs us less and at last there is space to create in a new way. A chance to more closely examine the cracks in the mortar to see what we have blocked away in our busy-ness. Finding wisdom hidden in the hair and mud buried beneath years of tacky wall paper. In there we are all three; maiden, mother and crone. In this sacred matriarchal trinity, I am reborn whole.
Monday, January 10, 2011
A New Year
A lot has happened since my last post in July. I finished a five month web project redesigning the previous static website for United States Nonviolent Peaceforce Chapters Association into a dynamic site to help connect the chapters more closely. I assisted in organizing the Annual Conference for the USNPCA in Boston, to be held the second weekend in October. The conference was a great success. We honored Gene Sharp, or maybe he honored us by attending and giving a talk, with a nice certificate and dinner. After the conference time was slipping quickly into November, at the end of which I had to finish writing the first draft of a book chapter. In fact, while my daughter enjoyed a big feast with family, I pedaled to the Red Cross, donated a little of my life blood, was gifted a pumpkin pie for my effort and I spent the remainder of that holiday in my office writing and eating pie. After sending that off to the editors the holidays were well underway and the dark days upon us. We enjoyed a beautiful solstice celebration at Whitefeather, leaving all electric lights off while each guest lit four candles upon arrival with four wishes for the New Year. By the end of the evening the house was bright with candlelight and with renewed energy. Just before solstice an opportunity came up to join a women's community home in NE Portland with other children, so Alexa would have mates to play and grow with and my bike commute would decrease significantly. It was also a way to avoid going to see an allergist for headaches and asthma that had begun to plague my respiratory system since moving into the peace house. So quite out of the blue I picked us up and moved us over the New Year's Eve weekend. Last night my daughter and I enjoyed our first soak in the private hot tub in the back yard and I felt all the tension and hard work of 2010 begin to leave my weary bones, and today new energy is flowing in. The morning headaches have vanished and I'm using the nasal spray less and less. Although I'm a few miles South, I will continue to be an active member of the Whitefeather Peace Community.
So I begin the New year with a new perspective and energy. During the time since the IPRA conference in Sydney I've given much thought on my future and how I might bend my vocation more towards nonviolence. I've explored teaching and leading workshops and find that much to my liking. I also enjoy doing research. That's what got me into science to begin with. So my real interest seems to be in the intersection, looking deeply into the science of nonviolence and then sharing that learning with others. After looking at PhD programs in the universities across the US and beyond I began to feel a bit stranded from my source. I realized that for me this work had to be grounded in the philosophies from which it had sprung, my Buddhist leanings. So I've decided to take a slightly less traveled path and take a course at Maitripa Buddhist College in Portland titled, Engaged Buddhism: Non-Violence and Social Justice in Buddhist Thought and Practice. As one who tries to walk the path of an engaged Buddhist, this class intrigued me. This will be my first class at the college, but not my first event there. I attended a talk by Robert Thurman - I love his books, but love his public talks even more. His joviality does not come through in print as it does face to face. I feel very fortunate to live in a city with a thriving Buddhist college, and I look forward to supporting it with my tuition and my attention. After this class I'm sure my path will bend again, and I will come back to the blog and take you on that journey as it unfolds.
On another note for the unfolding year, I'm becoming more involved with the counter-militarism subgroup of the UU Peace Action Committee. Looking back on all the violence in speech, politics and action unfolding in the culture around me I see an urgent need to hold a mirror up to people. It seems we've gotten lost in the forest and can no longer see the bigger picture and how terribly disturbing it is. More and more American's are embracing violence as the way to solve their problems, from school yard shootings to assassination attempts. The NRA and it's supporters jump up and down about the right to bear arms while others are convinced that the government wants to take their guns away in order to control them and the rest of us wonder about the national insanity level and if there's any hope for a future here. I think the entire country needs a time out, liberals in one corner, the conservatives in the other and the rest of us in whatever corners they leave. While in that time out, clear your mind and just breathe for a moment. We all want security for ourselves and our families. We all want our children and grandchildren to have the resources and time to enjoy life, and a beautiful planet to enjoy as well. We all really want peace. But how to get there. That's up to what you envision during your time outs. If you're letting your imagination vision death and suffering to those you feel are to blame for your problems, then you will never have peace, nor will those around you. Take those time outs to paint the reality you desire and begin to take steps to get there. Look in the mirror everyday and try to see the good in yourself. You CAN make a difference.
There's a sticker on my bike that says, "We're all in this together". We need to help each other through this. Let's make this a New Year we'll want to remember.
So I begin the New year with a new perspective and energy. During the time since the IPRA conference in Sydney I've given much thought on my future and how I might bend my vocation more towards nonviolence. I've explored teaching and leading workshops and find that much to my liking. I also enjoy doing research. That's what got me into science to begin with. So my real interest seems to be in the intersection, looking deeply into the science of nonviolence and then sharing that learning with others. After looking at PhD programs in the universities across the US and beyond I began to feel a bit stranded from my source. I realized that for me this work had to be grounded in the philosophies from which it had sprung, my Buddhist leanings. So I've decided to take a slightly less traveled path and take a course at Maitripa Buddhist College in Portland titled, Engaged Buddhism: Non-Violence and Social Justice in Buddhist Thought and Practice. As one who tries to walk the path of an engaged Buddhist, this class intrigued me. This will be my first class at the college, but not my first event there. I attended a talk by Robert Thurman - I love his books, but love his public talks even more. His joviality does not come through in print as it does face to face. I feel very fortunate to live in a city with a thriving Buddhist college, and I look forward to supporting it with my tuition and my attention. After this class I'm sure my path will bend again, and I will come back to the blog and take you on that journey as it unfolds.
On another note for the unfolding year, I'm becoming more involved with the counter-militarism subgroup of the UU Peace Action Committee. Looking back on all the violence in speech, politics and action unfolding in the culture around me I see an urgent need to hold a mirror up to people. It seems we've gotten lost in the forest and can no longer see the bigger picture and how terribly disturbing it is. More and more American's are embracing violence as the way to solve their problems, from school yard shootings to assassination attempts. The NRA and it's supporters jump up and down about the right to bear arms while others are convinced that the government wants to take their guns away in order to control them and the rest of us wonder about the national insanity level and if there's any hope for a future here. I think the entire country needs a time out, liberals in one corner, the conservatives in the other and the rest of us in whatever corners they leave. While in that time out, clear your mind and just breathe for a moment. We all want security for ourselves and our families. We all want our children and grandchildren to have the resources and time to enjoy life, and a beautiful planet to enjoy as well. We all really want peace. But how to get there. That's up to what you envision during your time outs. If you're letting your imagination vision death and suffering to those you feel are to blame for your problems, then you will never have peace, nor will those around you. Take those time outs to paint the reality you desire and begin to take steps to get there. Look in the mirror everyday and try to see the good in yourself. You CAN make a difference.
There's a sticker on my bike that says, "We're all in this together". We need to help each other through this. Let's make this a New Year we'll want to remember.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Missing July but Finding My Way
July almost escaped me entirely without even a single blog post. It's been such a high speed, world traveling month for me that writing has been mostly of the private note-taking variety in hopes that I might sort it all out later and make some sense, or better yet, some use of it all. I attended the International Peace Research Association, IPRA, conference early this month in Sydney Australia. It was my first time in the Southern hemisphere, and my first time mingling in the international peace community. Both firsts were expansive and exhilarating for me.
Elise Boulding was one of the founders of the field of Peace Research and of IPRA. She passed away June 24th after an amazing life brimming with contributions to our understanding of ourselves and how relate with one another. I'd heard of her through many friends and colleagues. She was one of the first financial contributors to Nonviolent Peaceforce, and the inspiration to many of the original founders and supporters. The more I learn of her the more I continue to feel her hand changing my life's trajectory. I'd all but given up on getting a PhD, but when I learned she received hers at age 50, I realized I too might be able to do it. Who knows, I might even finish by age 50. The global reach of her work has further erased borders from my imagination. I hope to work in a global capacity, raising my little wonder girl to see the world as one large home with plenty of room and food for all. Looking at pictures of Elise, her sparkling eyes and warm smile convinced me to dust off the feminist hat and fit it squarely and proudly back on my head. Women and children are key to opening the doors of peace in this world.
As I began to consider various career paths from here, I found myself perusing the classes being offered at Portland State University this Fall. As I scrolled through the Psychology I notice the class, "psychology of women" and I had to wonder why we need to study that and not the "psychology of man", which wasn't listed. It seems to me that it's the abnormal psychology of man that has put us on the brink of extinction. If we could get some better understanding of that psychology we just might be able to save ourselves. I suspect that this class was designed by men for men - feels very Fruedian.
There was no point to that last paragraph, just an amusing aside as I ponder this passing month. I try to find the unifying theory of my lifeline. I still love technology, discovery, science, both social and physical, and I can only wonder at where all these passions will lead me as they churn and swirl around with peace and social justice issues in a world gone mad with war and the suffering it brings. I wonder if humans can learn to enjoy the benefits of technology without destroying each other and the planet in the process. What a terrible shame if we can't. Our entire food system, and likewise our health, has been ruined by the technicians approach to raising crops and animals. Now our food poisons us, millions of animals live in misery without ever seeing the sun or touching grass only to die at the hands of a frustrated and under paid immigrant trying to make his own way in life by taking this dangerous unwanted work. Technology at it's absolute most evil sees its anniversary in a week, the dropping of the first atomic bomb. August 6th, 1945, America dropped the bomb, instantly killing over 100,000 human beings and slowly killing in excruciating pain another 100,000 in the days following. If you haven't read John Hersey's account of that terrible event, you must. That day, 65 years ago, Americans danced and celebrated in the streets. The day the Twin Towers fell in Manhattan, Muslim fundamentalists and others wounded by America's policies and actions abroad, danced and celebrated in the streets. We do unto others as they do unto us, over and over again in a retributive dance of death. And now technology makes it all the easier. We can watch each other die and dance on YouTube, or get instant messages and Tweets as events unfold for our brothers and sisters. And it also allows me to sit here and ramble on in this public forum or to say "I'm sorry" for America's horrible sins against humanity.
Each public event I attended in Sydney was started with solemn recognition of the First People of the area, the aboriginal tribe who had once lived on that land. There was even a public apology from the white community to the aboriginal community for the missing generations, including a march that filled the Harbour Bridge with apologetic people. The first event was followed by an annual "Sorry Day". It will take a long time to restore the dignity to the First People just as it will for the First Nations here in America. We haven't even begun the process of healing in America. White America has never offered an apology to the African Americans or the First Nations, much less offered any reparation to ease the hardships faced by over a century of subjugation, abuse and treaty violations. I for one am very sorry and will continue to work for an equal and just world.
Communication is another key to unlocking the puzzle of peace in this world. I met Birgit Brock-Utne in Sydney. She was friends with Elise and has been a global researcher since the beginning of IPRA. She's studying the relationship between security and language. She's also looking at how histories are being rewritten with the radical changes taking place in South Africa. Language, communication, technology, dignity, respect, indigenous wisdom, equality, women, children...these are the rubrics of change that we must strive to satisfy. Somewhere in this matrix I will find my way. We must learn to bridge the barriers of culture, gender, language in order to build a better world for all our children and their great great grand children. Let's not allow the human race to end with us just because of some abnormal male psychology that we forgot to study before it was too late.
As I began to consider various career paths from here, I found myself perusing the classes being offered at Portland State University this Fall. As I scrolled through the Psychology I notice the class, "psychology of women" and I had to wonder why we need to study that and not the "psychology of man", which wasn't listed. It seems to me that it's the abnormal psychology of man that has put us on the brink of extinction. If we could get some better understanding of that psychology we just might be able to save ourselves. I suspect that this class was designed by men for men - feels very Fruedian.
There was no point to that last paragraph, just an amusing aside as I ponder this passing month. I try to find the unifying theory of my lifeline. I still love technology, discovery, science, both social and physical, and I can only wonder at where all these passions will lead me as they churn and swirl around with peace and social justice issues in a world gone mad with war and the suffering it brings. I wonder if humans can learn to enjoy the benefits of technology without destroying each other and the planet in the process. What a terrible shame if we can't. Our entire food system, and likewise our health, has been ruined by the technicians approach to raising crops and animals. Now our food poisons us, millions of animals live in misery without ever seeing the sun or touching grass only to die at the hands of a frustrated and under paid immigrant trying to make his own way in life by taking this dangerous unwanted work. Technology at it's absolute most evil sees its anniversary in a week, the dropping of the first atomic bomb. August 6th, 1945, America dropped the bomb, instantly killing over 100,000 human beings and slowly killing in excruciating pain another 100,000 in the days following. If you haven't read John Hersey's account of that terrible event, you must. That day, 65 years ago, Americans danced and celebrated in the streets. The day the Twin Towers fell in Manhattan, Muslim fundamentalists and others wounded by America's policies and actions abroad, danced and celebrated in the streets. We do unto others as they do unto us, over and over again in a retributive dance of death. And now technology makes it all the easier. We can watch each other die and dance on YouTube, or get instant messages and Tweets as events unfold for our brothers and sisters. And it also allows me to sit here and ramble on in this public forum or to say "I'm sorry" for America's horrible sins against humanity.
Each public event I attended in Sydney was started with solemn recognition of the First People of the area, the aboriginal tribe who had once lived on that land. There was even a public apology from the white community to the aboriginal community for the missing generations, including a march that filled the Harbour Bridge with apologetic people. The first event was followed by an annual "Sorry Day". It will take a long time to restore the dignity to the First People just as it will for the First Nations here in America. We haven't even begun the process of healing in America. White America has never offered an apology to the African Americans or the First Nations, much less offered any reparation to ease the hardships faced by over a century of subjugation, abuse and treaty violations. I for one am very sorry and will continue to work for an equal and just world.
Communication is another key to unlocking the puzzle of peace in this world. I met Birgit Brock-Utne in Sydney. She was friends with Elise and has been a global researcher since the beginning of IPRA. She's studying the relationship between security and language. She's also looking at how histories are being rewritten with the radical changes taking place in South Africa. Language, communication, technology, dignity, respect, indigenous wisdom, equality, women, children...these are the rubrics of change that we must strive to satisfy. Somewhere in this matrix I will find my way. We must learn to bridge the barriers of culture, gender, language in order to build a better world for all our children and their great great grand children. Let's not allow the human race to end with us just because of some abnormal male psychology that we forgot to study before it was too late.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Killing from a Distance
The age of heroes
warriors
brave men
Fades with the parchment their stories are told on
Murder is mechanized
computerized
fun
In graphic color and surround sound war hums a new song
Only that dot blinking
A heart beat
A soul
A glassy eye can not see the tears
Cannot see the young of years
Sit safe in a bunker
while she cries
While he dies
And another dot on your screen goes out
Another dream ends
a nightmare begins
You play unseeing God with joystick in hand
As you spray the blood and brains of one "could-be" terrorist
You seed the ground to sprout a hundred more
You think you're safe
And for now you are
But we are all less safe for what you do
And who you give your dogged obedience to.
Pavlov is dead
Bite the hand
Put down the game of death
And come home.
War is over.
warriors
brave men
Fades with the parchment their stories are told on
Murder is mechanized
computerized
fun
In graphic color and surround sound war hums a new song
Only that dot blinking
A heart beat
A soul
A glassy eye can not see the tears
Cannot see the young of years
Sit safe in a bunker
while she cries
While he dies
And another dot on your screen goes out
Another dream ends
a nightmare begins
You play unseeing God with joystick in hand
As you spray the blood and brains of one "could-be" terrorist
You seed the ground to sprout a hundred more
You think you're safe
And for now you are
But we are all less safe for what you do
And who you give your dogged obedience to.
Pavlov is dead
Bite the hand
Put down the game of death
And come home.
War is over.
When you understand you cannot help but love
When you understand you cannot help but love. Thicht Naht Hanh
Sometimes I feel as if I'm walking in a wold of blind, deaf and dumb creatures - my fellow humans. At the same time I also recognize that my true nature is identical to theirs in that I'm also just a walking, talking cadaver temporarily gifted with breath and thought. I'm but a speck of dust that for some mystical reason has this amazing opportunity to experience wonderment, love, fear and anger. Each and every one of us is destined to die. What death is and what happens beyond death, or what happened before our birth, no one can say. It is the uncertainty that drives myth. We build enormous stories that place our existence within a larger context, anchoring us to something permanent. But reality pricks our thoughts, constantly reminding us with each passing moment that nothing of our world is permanent.
Many are born to unfortunate circumstance of place (man-made or nature made devastation), time, or with physical limitations or ailments, or preoccupied parents. Many of us will never grow old and many who do will feel pain and sickness as the body decays, eventually forcing them to abandon the shipwreck of a body. Some may never experience the comfort of a warm and loving home while others will have it in spades. Just as we have no control over the place and time of our birth, we also can not choose the time or place of our death and I wonder if this isn't part of what drives our insanity. We try to control the middle portion of our life, that brief wink between two unknowns. In this desperate attempt to find something solid, something not changing, not decaying, not falling in or out of love, but just there, we have caused much damage to the planet and each other.
Contemplation of the nature of our existence melts away the artificial divisions that separate us from each other. Eventually we will all return to dust and mingle again with the Great Mother. Regardless of our political views, our skin color, gender, sexual identity, our intellect, our wealth or poverty, we will all be equal in the end. The addled addict begging for spare change at the train station is no less than the Donald Trumps of the world, just as the obese, video game playing American boy is no less or more than the bone thin, starving babes of Africa. The rapist and the victim, the soldier and pacifist, the mothers that kill their children and those that nurture, we will all share the same coffin called Earth. All that ever remains is the whisper of our actions carried in the breath of those that follow. Did we make a child smile? Have we opened our hearts to those who suffer to ease their pain without questioning the cause. Did you plant seeds of love as you stepped through life, or did you cling too tightly to a false belief of security and permanence?
When the Buddha achieved enlightenment he smiled. Boy, howdy, are we lucky he smiled. That when you understand all there is to understand about the reality of this existence, there is joy, there is love. There can be no more or less. Maybe this is the truest test of knowledge and understanding.
Sometimes I feel as if I'm walking in a wold of blind, deaf and dumb creatures - my fellow humans. At the same time I also recognize that my true nature is identical to theirs in that I'm also just a walking, talking cadaver temporarily gifted with breath and thought. I'm but a speck of dust that for some mystical reason has this amazing opportunity to experience wonderment, love, fear and anger. Each and every one of us is destined to die. What death is and what happens beyond death, or what happened before our birth, no one can say. It is the uncertainty that drives myth. We build enormous stories that place our existence within a larger context, anchoring us to something permanent. But reality pricks our thoughts, constantly reminding us with each passing moment that nothing of our world is permanent.
Many are born to unfortunate circumstance of place (man-made or nature made devastation), time, or with physical limitations or ailments, or preoccupied parents. Many of us will never grow old and many who do will feel pain and sickness as the body decays, eventually forcing them to abandon the shipwreck of a body. Some may never experience the comfort of a warm and loving home while others will have it in spades. Just as we have no control over the place and time of our birth, we also can not choose the time or place of our death and I wonder if this isn't part of what drives our insanity. We try to control the middle portion of our life, that brief wink between two unknowns. In this desperate attempt to find something solid, something not changing, not decaying, not falling in or out of love, but just there, we have caused much damage to the planet and each other.
Contemplation of the nature of our existence melts away the artificial divisions that separate us from each other. Eventually we will all return to dust and mingle again with the Great Mother. Regardless of our political views, our skin color, gender, sexual identity, our intellect, our wealth or poverty, we will all be equal in the end. The addled addict begging for spare change at the train station is no less than the Donald Trumps of the world, just as the obese, video game playing American boy is no less or more than the bone thin, starving babes of Africa. The rapist and the victim, the soldier and pacifist, the mothers that kill their children and those that nurture, we will all share the same coffin called Earth. All that ever remains is the whisper of our actions carried in the breath of those that follow. Did we make a child smile? Have we opened our hearts to those who suffer to ease their pain without questioning the cause. Did you plant seeds of love as you stepped through life, or did you cling too tightly to a false belief of security and permanence?
When the Buddha achieved enlightenment he smiled. Boy, howdy, are we lucky he smiled. That when you understand all there is to understand about the reality of this existence, there is joy, there is love. There can be no more or less. Maybe this is the truest test of knowledge and understanding.
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