Holidays are Here; Roll that Feeling of Magic

I love the holidays; to me personally, they've never really been centered on a religious theme, although I know that's the main gist of Christmas in this country. It has always seemed that the feeling of togetherness hangs a little thicker in the air at this time of year. It's this magical feeling, this collective energy, that makes strangers talk to each other a little more often, acts of kindness a little more frequent, and happy moments seem just a little bit longer than usual. (Yes, I am choosing to completely ignore the Black Friday plague that we've all just lived through--because nothing says magical feeling like trampling people for cheap-ass TVs and clothing, built by practical slave labor on foreign soils. End rant.)

This year, I feel like we could use a little more of this magical feeling than normal, that collective energy is running a bit low; we're not doing so hot in this country right now with the whole togetherness thing, are we? We're divided on so many issues, and that just simply makes me sad. Although we tout with pride that "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness," our American way of life doesn't hold up to this profession.

Apparently it isn't as self-evident or unalienable as we'd like to think. We still have a race problem; the ones you hear denying this fact are, for the most part, white, and ironically and single-handedly reinforcing the fact they are so adamantly denying. (For the record, if you begin a sentence with "I'm not racist, but...." you might consider taking a moment or ten of self-reflection on what you are about to say.) LGBT are still not allowed the pursuit of their happiness in many places because of false teachings, misunderstandings, and fear. (It is time we put many of these worn-out objections to rest) Our nation still teeters on the fence concerning issues of religion; we can either be a nation that hold the freedom of and from religion paramount, or we can be a theocracy--but we cannot be both. We must decide.

We still hold great potential as a nation, there is a diversity here that I simply adore. This diversity can be a strength to all of us, but lately, it has been a point of weakness as discriminations, prejudices, and hypocrisies fly in every direction. The choice is ours--it is an individual choice that starts within our daily lives; this magical season is as good as any to start making choices of unity, peace, and togetherness, with justice and liberty for all. One, two, three, go.

The Day I Saw the KKK

When I was young, I remember sitting in the backseat of our car looking out the window as we drove home from church. As pop drove up to the stoplight by the court square, I recall seeing the men dressed in white cloaks and pointy white hats. There were several other members standing on the corners, and one came towards our green station wagon. I think they must have been collecting money or something; as far as I recall, pop didn’t roll down the window, but kept looking straight ahead. I was scared; me, a little white girl in rural Tennessee, was scared.

(I remember being quite small when this event occurred, but my mom said I would have been in the seventh grade. She also said I could be remembering a time when I was small as well; sadly, it happened more than once.)

I was born and raised in the south. I’ve not always been comfortable telling people this fact. I grew up in a small town in West Tennessee, and I saw blatant discriminations on display regularly. I grew up hearing about "The War of Northern Aggression," (known as The Civil War to most) and I am very familiar with the bumper sticker that states "The South Will Rise Again." I am more grateful than ever before to have been born to parents who loved all--no matter what color, ethnicity, or background--but the same was not always true for the culture in which I was raised. One smaller town close by even boasted that the last colored person who had dared to set foot in that town was taught a lesson.

Blacks and whites, for the most part, lived separately. Many of the black residents of our town lived in black bottom, (yes, it was really called that) and whites didn’t go there often. The races married within their kind (again, that’s how it was stated) for the children’s sake, supposedly; white women who married black men were looked down upon. I remember visiting a black church on their side of town on a few occasions; our white church had joined with a black church in an attempt to overcome the religious/racial segregation that still stood firm. 

Quite by ironic accident, I watched 12 Years a Slave and Freedom Riders (A Documentary on the Civil Rights Era) on the day of the Ferguson grand jury decision. I watched as protests erupted, even here in New York, and opinions spread like wildfire. It is somewhat disturbing that I hear some of the exact phrases used in modern events as in the historical films I watched. Do we really not learn? Whether or not you believe there was a gross injustice served in Ferguson, Missouri in this decision, we cannot keep pretending we don’t have problems in this area of race. I grew up in the midst of racism; I know what it looks like.

Chris Rock said it quite well in a recent interview: “we treat racism in this country like it’s a style that America went through. Like flared legs and lava lamps. Oh, that crazy thing we did. We were hanging black people. We treat it like a fad instead of a disease that eradicates millions of people. You’ve got to get it at a lab, and study it, and see its origins, and see what it’s immune to and what breaks it down.”

I’ve been more than a bit troubled as this recent news in our country unfolds. I sincerely struggle to wrap my mind around all that is going on, and I find myself wrestling with how to respond. I even find that I am having trouble writing this blog, because I’m frustrated by our lack of collective compassion, I’m feeling helpless and a bit hopeless that we’ll see our way through this, and if I’m going to be honest, I’m angry—angry that some vocal whites still have a superiority complex in this country and many have been acting like asses. I even find it hard to chant my mantra of “we’re better than this,” because our history does not necessarily back me up on this stance. So I find myself modifying this mantra lately: I still believe we can be better than this.

It is a time for self-reflection and voices joined together for peace. I believe the voices that desire peace are more numerous than those divisive voices, from all viewpoints that spread violence and spew hate, but perhaps, it is time to raise our voices of peace and togetherness to a new volume. 

Poem of Peace

For quite some time now, I've been reading and pondering the notion of peace and peace movements in the midst of war times. Pockets of turmoil can be found in virtually every country; the vast majority of us, from all backgrounds and cultures, desire peace, yet, at times, it seems so far beyond our grasp. Why do we so quickly resort to violence and war? Why does war sell so much easier than peace? It seems absurd to think that more violence will stop the existing violence. (although I haven't always seen the world in this light)

Yesterday morning, I awoke with peace on the brain once again. I quickly penned this before leaving for work. I'll share it with you, as it is my hope for today, for our country, and for the all the peoples with which we share this globe. We are in this together, lest we forget.

The elusive dream written upon each soul

As the first breath is drawn—

Void of fear, hunger, lack

Knowing love at morning’s dawn—

Contentment rests on every mother’s face

Her child sleeps nourished—

A father’s embrace of his daughter

She walks to school cherished—

A village celebration

Welcoming spring rain—

Two men in love

Down the avenue without shame—

No shadows of despair

No neglected, forgotten—

No slave, no master

No broken, downtrodden—

Peace.

In the hearts of all

As this colossal seed—

Torn from our midst

By power, hate, and greed.

Peace to you today.

My Mountain

Along I-90 towards Seattle, I drove in anticipation of my first glimpse of, what I would call later MY Mountain, Mt. Rainier. My roommate, with me on this trip, had made the trip from Spokane to Seattle many times before; she had prepared me, the best she could, for the sight I was about to behold. Just as my introduction to the ocean, no words could truly prepare me for such a reality-shifting sight. As we topped the final hill, still miles away from Seattle, she said, “there it is.”

As I strained to adjust to the vast openness, for a brief, but long, second, I thought, “there WHAT is?” As my eyes scanned the horizon, I could see only clouds, shapes, sky, blue….and then! And then, as my brain processed the vast amount of information my eyes were sending, I. Suddenly. Saw. Those clouds, and shapes, and blues, and sky, slowly pieced together, and I discovered that those clouds, shapes, blues, and sky were, in fact, an enormous mountain, quite literally beyond my belief. I was silent. Only silent.

Having grown up in the south, and only being exposed to the Smoky Mountains that rest on the border of Tennessee and North Carolina, my mind and senses were simply unprepared for the possibility of a mountain of this magnitude. What rose before me was outside the scope of my vision. Although it was as real and visible as anything could be, it was “hidden” from me for those first few seconds, because it was totally and utterly outside the realm of possibility for me. My brain had never had to process information of this nature, so therefore, I simply couldn’t “see” it.

I love mountains. Just like oceans, I love how small they make me feel in the scheme of this life. I have never forgotten the feeling of the above experience. As my eyes adjusted to the majesty of that mountain, my reality changed. Within the first two seconds, I was convinced there was no mountain there; in the next two seconds I was equally convinced of the mountain’s presence. Were I able to slow down time, I would have voiced these doubts. My mind was puzzled. By her statement, my roommate could obviously see the mountain, but why couldn’t I? Or had she gone crazy and there was truly no mountain visible? As the shift in my reality happened, I, too, saw a most magnificent sight. A sight that has stayed with me all these years.

In many ways, my life has replicated this experience. I have lived a happy life, even in the midst of church, religion and god, my life was full of nice sceneries such as the clouds, sky, and blue above. On a scale of 1 to 10, I believe I would have ranked myself a 9 in the happiness scale. It is only when this scale began to shift did a new realm of happiness and contentment become a possibility. A new reality opened up to me. Now I feel my happiness and contentment far exceed any scale I could fathom.

Just as I find it hard to describe my Mt. Rainier experience, I find it difficult to wrap words around the paradigm shift that has occurred over the last twelve years of my life. My brain has been busy processing the new information being sent by my soul, and just as the awe sunk in as my eyes focused upon my Mountain, the daily wonder of my life brings about a new level of gratitude and speechless amazement; I once again feel small.

Allow me to introduce my wife

Many of my friends and family have not had the honor of spending vast amounts of time with my wife. A small few have chosen this because of their awkward judgment of our lifestyle (yes, that is sarcasm you hear), but most are simply at the mercy of the miles between us. Some of you read her blogs and experience her heart through her writings, but for those of you have not had the privilege, 

allow me to introduce her to you now.

Today, my wife has been asked to participate in a commemoration event honoring Holocaust survivors who endured Kristallnacht. For those unfamiliar with the term, Kristallnacht, also called the Night of Broken Glass, it was a series of attacks upon the Jews of Germany and Austria in November 1938. To be a part of such commemoration is an honor that many would cherish, but to M- it holds a much deeper meaning. I’ll use her words here, with her permission, of course.

Some forty years after the events of Kristallnacht, I was born under the bombs of a vicious war and then raised in a society that believed all Jews must be killed; I was told that there once were Jews in my home country, (Iraq) but I was never told the whole story, actually, I learned no stories. It wasn’t until I was exposed to the Western world that I learned about my own history—a history that saddens me. I learned that in my home country, Jews were estranged, attacked, and forced out of their homes into exile.

While walking between home and school last semester, I realized that I was smiling when I would meet a Jew on the street. A few days later, I realized that I was not necessarily smiling because I had seen a Jew, but because I was able to see a Jew and feel no anger, no hatred. On this same usual walk, I would see Jewish fathers and grandfather kissing and carrying their children after school, and I missed my father. Then I would think: How many more families have to suffer from hate? How many more children will lose their parents as a result of hate? How long will it take for us to awaken?

We come from different worlds. Baghdad, Iraq….Paris, Tennessee. Let me put this in perspective. Do you remember the night of “shock and awe” after the events of 9/11? Do you remember where you were as you watched the bombs exploding upon Baghdad? I certainly do. I watched with an overabundance of mixed emotions. I had no way of knowing that the wife that now makes my very soul dance was sitting beneath those same explosions that filled my television screen fearing for her life and the life of her family. The realization of this has served as a constant reminder to me: no matter what the feeling on one side of a choice, action, or experience, there is always someone on the other side of that choice with their own experience, fears, hopes, and feelings.

To know M- is to have experienced something refreshing. To put it simply, her heart is for humanity.  Months before we were together, she was already challenging my mindset and encouraging a self-examination that I had previously not known. In short, she makes me a better person, not in a cliché sort of way, but in such a way that makes me honestly investigate my place in this world. Yes, I am biased, happily so, but I also see her spread her contagious zest for life through others who are lucky enough to know her.

She is passionate, kind, intense, comical, fascinating, and incredibly humble; she’ll, no doubt, tell me that I give her too much credit when she reads this*. She will end her presentation with these words: 

I could have have foreseen this journey that I walk today, but as we stand here together in commemoration of those who have suffered, and of those we have lost as a result of hate, know that I am committed to this journey of peace. Your well of life, your determination, your resilience, and your pride of heritage beckon us towards hope and strengthen us to see the way of peace.

I am grateful and incredibly lucky to walk this journey called life with such a soul. May we all be strengthened to see the way of peace. 

*and that is exactly what she did.

Historical Ponderings

While reading through one of the wifey's history textbooks, yes, I am a nerd, I found a most interesting document by the Iroquois' Chief Red Jacket. (Seriously, I love the name.)

"Brother; You say there is but one way to worship and serve the Great Spirit. If there is but one religion; why do you white people differ so much about it? Why not all agreed, as you can all read the book?...We are told that your religion was given to your forefathers, and has been handed down from father to son. We also have a religion, which was given to our forefathers, and has been handed down to us their children. We worship in that way. It teaches us to be thankful for all the favors we receive; to love each other, and to be united. We never quarrel about religion....Brother; we do not wish to destroy your religion or take it from you. We only want to enjoy our own."

We are all familiar with the wrongs done against the American natives often in the name of religion,  one of the many stains in our history, unfortunately. The atrocities done in the namesake of religion are still alive and well today, sadly so. I am appalled at recent beheadings and slaughters, but even a quick read of history finds events such as these ongoing and somewhat constant throughout. While reading through another history book, Bartolome De Las Casas' A Short Account of the Destruction of the Indies, I found my, otherwise strong, stomach actually turning at the horrific suffering done, at the hands of Christians, to the peoples of Latin America.

"It is my considered opinion that the greatest obstacle that stands in the way of the pacification of the New World, and with it the conversion of the people to Christ, is the harshness and cruelty of the treatment metered out by 'Christians' to those who surrender. This has been so harsh and so brutal that nothing is more odious nor more terrifying to the people than the name 'Christian', a word for which they us in their language the term yares, which means 'demon'. 

The questions I find myself pondering are these: why does so much violence, hatred, harm, and sheer evil persist in the domain of that which is taught as/and meant to be peaceful, loving, kind?  Does the basis of absolute truth breed such vileness? Is it just the nature of some--personal choices to do evil--masked by a religious front; would these do harm no matter what label they wore?

Abraham Lincoln, in his second inaugural address, speaking of the North and South said, "Both read the same Bible, and pray to the same God; and each invokes His aid against the other..." Being a lover of history, I ponder events such as our Civil War, and even evils such as slavery, and I find more questions than answers. On both sides, as is often the case, one can find religious backings of the justness of their cause. Why do religions seem to play such a drastic role in the making of historical wickedness? Is this a reasonable question or is it a stretch to imply this?

I will never suggest that all people who confess a devotion to a certain belief system are evil, harmful, or vile. This is simply not true or rational. I am grateful to know many peace-loving Muslims, Christians, Jews, Atheists, and the like, who are passionately devoted to a more peaceful world. Even amongst today's evils, I know that peace is possible. I believe it is the result of an inward journey, past religious beliefs and personal differences; as we experience a deeper connection with each other, peace will flourish.

A fellow seeker

I thought to share a quick post to introduce a blog I've recently come across: Leaving Your Religion 

The Autor, Jim Mulholland, was a United Methodist and Quaker pastor for twenty years. He has this to say:

“When I left my religious home, I didn’t know what to expect.  It wasn’t always easy.  There was sadness and pain.  There were also many pleasant surprises.  Eventually, what felt like wandering into the wilderness became a wonderful adventure.”

Many times, I find myself reading his description of a certain feeling or thought and thinking, "Exactly!" Give it a read and let me know what you think. 

Enjoy your journey wherever it may lead. Peace to you.