Comrade Kevin's Chrestomathy

You Are Not a Quaker (So Stop Calling Yourself One)

2012-01-31T15:28:00.000-06:00

I would have posted this on my Meeting's listserve, but know it would have been received with instant hostility and plentiful angry commentary. Instead, I'll just put it up here.

Transcribed from the Maggie Harrison.

Included below is the most crucial passage.

___________________

So, if you attend meeting because it’s nice, or because you enjoy having a group of liberal friends to talk with about politics, THIS IS NOT ENOUGH TO CALL YOURSELF QUAKER.

If you call yourself Quaker because you like the social messages and the fact that we’re ‘so accepting’ or that we’re not going to stuff religion down your throat, that’s all fine and good, I feel the same BUT THAT’S NOT ENOUGH TO CALL YOURSELF A QUAKER.

If you attend Friends Church so that you can feel connected to God/Christ and do the things a good Christian would do, THAT’S NOT ENOUGH TO CALL YOURSELF A QUAKER.

If you call yourself a Quaker because you went to a Friends School and now work at a nonprofit and always compost your banana peels, THAT DOESN’T MAKE YOU A QUAKER.

Are you all getting my point?Please stop diluting our movement and muddying the waters with your wishy-washy comfort-driven engagement with this group that you think is cool or enjoy ‘meditating’ with. You are not Quaker. Go join some other group that’s not going to tell you what to do and will accept your lack of interest in real radical transformation.

That’s not what we’re about. And yes, we ARE about something. Don’t you dare imply otherwise and I’m sorry if we mislead you by acting like anything goes because we don’t believe in anything specific or challenging. IT DOESN’T. PLEASE LEAVE.

Sunshine Superman

2012-01-31T08:45:00.000-06:00

Sunshine came softly a-through my a-window today
Could've tripped out easy a-but I've a-changed my way
It'll take time, I know it, but in a while
You're gonna be mine, I know it, we'll do it in style

'Cause I made my mind up you're going to be mine
I tell you right now
Any trick in the book a-now, baby, a-that I can find

Everybody's hustlin' a-just to have a little scene
When I say we'll be cool I think that you know what I mean
We stood on a beach at sunset, do you remember when?
I know a beach where, baby, a-it never ends

When you've made your mind up forever to be mine
I'll pick up your hand and slowly blow your little mind
'Cause I made my mind up you're going to be mine
I tell you right now
Any trick in the book a-now, baby, a-that I can find

Superman and Green Lantern ain't got a-nothin' on me
I can make like a turtle and dive for your pearls in the sea, yeah
A-you you you can just sit there a-thinking on your velvet throne
'Bout all the rainbows a-you can a-have for your own

When you've made your mind up forever to be mine
I'll pick up your hand and slowly blow your little mind
When you've made your mind up forever to be mine
I'll pick up your hand
I'll pick up your hand and slowly...

Book review: Delusions of Gender

2012-01-30T08:26:00.000-06:00

My mother is fond of telling a story. Her first child, she had me in her early twenties. Highly influenced by the Feminist thought of the 1970’s, Mom was convinced she would raise me quite differently. The first major challenge to her beliefs arrived not far into the process of parenthood. Like the little boy I was, my play routinely involved pretending to shoot a toy gun.

Except that I didn’t actually have a gun at my disposal. Instead, I began to use stray pieces of a vacuum cleaner, simulating the sound of the firing of a gun. Kow! Kow! Mom was determined she would not reinforce such traditionally masculine behavior and refused to purchase me a simulated firearm.

My Grandmother, being of a very different generational mindset, could not understand her daughter’s rationale. Boys played with guns. Boys had always played with guns. Why should it be any different for her Grandson? I was loaded into a car and then taken to a store. While there, three or four toy guns were bought for me. I set aside the vacuum cleaner for good, running around the yard in a fantasy world of my own creation.

This story might, on its face, seem to argue for traditional gender roles. Past scientific research has relied on methodology as simplistic as this to form firm, supposedly unshakable conclusions. But, as we are told, correlation does not prove causation. The other boys I played with, the gender-specific television programs I watched, and the behavior of adults around me almost certainly influenced my likes and dislikes. The brain is complicated both in its wiring and its ability to adapt and be shaped to fit specific situations and environments.

Similar conclusions are plentiful in Australian psychologist, writer, and professor Cordelia Fine’s most recent book. It is entitled, appropriately, Delusions of Gender: How Our Minds, Society, and Neurosexism Create Difference. Relying on an exhaustive series of research studies to prove her conclusions, Fine debunks one gender stereotype after another. By the end, the reader has to concede that multiple analyses routinely cited by journalists, each asserting some form of gender essentialism, are of dubious factual value.

Politics, rather than sound methods, motivates any number of shoddily and sloppily performed experiments. In many other scientific fields, hypotheses these simplistic would be laughed at and never allowed to be published. Neuroscience, like the brain itself, is poorly understood, relying on a very small number of indisputable truths. When linked with sexist claims and traditional perceptions of gender, gross oversimplifications of brain function are utilized to consistently prove and reprove the status quo.

A brief note. Those who wish to read Delusions of Gender ought to be aware that large sections of the book contain scientific language and jargon, especially the second part. A more or less standard narrative is present in the first and the concluding partition. Regarding the scientific data, I found myself sometimes having to take great pains to not lose myself in the terminology, though the results of each experiment are easy enough to comprehend.

One discovers that even the most complicated-sounding study has a predictably and distressingly similar result. Yet, even when contemplating the consistently depressing, one nevertheless finds a kind of reassuring comfort. It is possible to easily see well beyond the monochromatic world advanced by scientists with a bone to pick.

By the end, Fine argues for, in her words, a great unraveling. Each of us plays a notable role in the deconstructing and eventual vanquishing of gender inequality. She challenges us to be cognizant, as best we can, of the ideas we directly express and emote. How we talk, how we respond to others, how we hold our bodies and gesticulate, the way we form our thoughts—all of these are of great importance.

The reality is complex in ways we can barely fathom. If the problem was as easy to solve and to understand as the studies that make such claims, we would surely have made much greater strides by now.

Quote of the Week

2012-01-29T07:59:00.000-06:00

"The spring of 1988, I spent a fair length of time trying to come to grips with who I was and the habits I had, and what they did to people that I truly loved. I really spent a period of time where, I suspect, I cried three or four times a week. I read Men Who Hate Women and the Women Who Love Them and I found frightening pieces that related to...my own life."- Newt Gingrich, 1989.

Saturday Video

2012-01-28T06:58:00.000-06:00

Let me tell you how it will be:
That's one for you, nineteen for me;
'Cause I'm the taxman;
Yeah, I'm the taxman.

Should five percent appear too small,
Be thankful I don't take it all.
'Cause I'm the taxman;
Yeah, I'm the taxman.

If you drive a car,
I'll tax the street.
If you try to sit,
I'll tax your seat.

If you get too cold,
I'll tax the heat.
If you take a walk,
I'll tax your feet.

Taxman!

'Cause I'm the taxman;
Yeah, I'm the taxman.

Don't ask me what I want it for
(Aaah, aah, Mr. Wilson)
If you don't want to pay some more.
(Aah, aah, Mr. Heath)

'Cause I'm the taxman;
Yeah, I'm the taxman.

Now my advice to those who die:
(Taxman!)
Declare the pennies on your eyes!
(Taxman!)

'Cause I'm the taxman;
Yeah, I'm the taxman,

And you're working for no one but me...

Bisexuals Get No Respect

2012-01-27T18:28:00.001-06:00

I rarely link to existing articles, but I think these two are deserved.

Cynthia Nixon: Bisexuals? We get no respect

This one is better.

Nature

2012-01-27T11:04:00.000-06:00

Conscious of my painted toenails, I did not emerge from theriver like all the others. I instead bobbed up and down with the gently rollingcurrent. Staring at my slightly denuded chest, I had been earlier experimentingwith the removal of body hair. My intention was to reach a more feminine ideal,a standard that always felt more biological to me than cultural.

While swimming or dog paddling, one learns to avoid the bedsof fresh water mussels. The pressure of toes and the balls of the feet cause shellfishto slam shut. The first time it happens to you, your body jerks in surprise.After a time, one adjusts, but it’s always a bit of a fright.

My girlfriend at the time implored me to swim closer to theshore. She never divided in headfirst as I did. She never hid her toes or thehair on her legs. Easing her body into the water, little by little, she keptrunning commentary. A tilted rock, just the right size, was concealed by thelevel of the water. It entered, unexpectedly, giving her a jolt.

That was… intimate.She chuckled nervously. Past partners would not have called attention to the violation,but this was not how she was. For her, the world was an everlasting scavenger hunt.While walking the woods, she would leap for the latest specimen, grabbing forthe ends of tails and wings. I found bugs generally creepy and disgusting, butshe had no such reservations. Her entire life had been lived in the outdoors.It was where she came to recharge and where I came simply to be with her.

Being with me took a lot of convincing. At the outset, Iheld her hand while she cradled the framed picture of her ex-boyfriend,sobbing. I probably should have been more bothered the way she transposed hispersonality traits and perceived strengths onto me. I wanted her with a kind of mad desperationand dogged persistence. In workshop, I’d fallen in love with her short storiesand now wanted the person whose mind had crafted them.

Returning from the creek, we drove back to her house, talkingof nothing in particular. I was devising another strategy to keep her frompushing away from me. The eight years that separated us in age was often citedas a reason why we needed to no longer see each other. Like a comedy duo, wekept returning to the same exchange, the same routine.

Do you see thatpicture on the wall? I indicated that indeed, I did see it. That was me when I was your age. Shedidn’t look that much different then as she did now. Perhaps she seemed lesscomfortable with herself and a little more unsettled and indecisive. Each timewith this call-and-response conversation, she smiled, self-satisfied. I suppose,to her, she felt better being the old wise soul and me the baby.

For all her indecisiveness, or belief in her intellectualsuperiority and maturity, she returned to me, consistently. I was simplygrateful for what I received and did not know yet what I truly deserved. Evenso, I still find myself citing in words and in conversation some of the wisdom andinsight she shared with me. She is part of me. The frustration is gone. Thepicture on the wall is now mine.

Planet Telex (Slightly Shortened)

2012-01-26T08:49:00.000-06:00

I decided to leave off the ending coda from the released version.

You can force it but it will not come
You can taste it but it will not form
You can crush it but it’s always here
You can crush it but it’s always near

Chasing you home saying
Everything is broken
Everyone is broken

You can force it but it will stay stung
You can crush it as dry as a bone
You can walk it home straight from school
You can kiss it, you can break all the rules

But still
Everything is broken
Everyone is broken
Everyone is, everyone is broken
Everyone is, everything is broken

Movie review: Black Brown White

2012-01-25T09:09:00.000-06:00

The 2011 Austrian film Black Brown White covers a topical issue that has been prominent in German-language cinema the past few years, human trafficking. Director Erwin Wagenhofer is the latest to contribute to a chorus of cinematic reformers who are heavily critical of xenophobic attitudes. The main character, the truck driver Peter (Fritz Karl), hauls garlic and tomatoes, but also undocumented workers. The profit is high, but so are the risks.

A Ghanaian woman named Jackie (Clare-Hope Ashite) throws a spanner into his coordinated plans. She refuses to take a place in the back of the air-conditioned, but packed trailer with the others. With her young son in tow, she defiantly takes a place in the cab at the front, next to Peter. This act is verboten for a reason; it only increases the risks involved in an already risky enterprise. Still, the trucker grudgingly admires her persistence and allows the two of them to stay.

A picaresque journey through back roads and deliberate diversions ensues. Evading the police is almost a skill in and of itself. Jackie and her son present frequent challenges by their very visibility. Showing a surprising sensitive side, Peter violates his good judgment by not keeping constant control and surveillance over the two of them. Other men involved in the process of smuggling assume that the Ghanaian is his lover, and the child his own. Why would he be so uncharacteristically soft and incautious otherwise?

Halfway through the film we, the audience, learn that Peter has become a trafficker of humans because of financial necessity. Bad economic times created the need for additional income, but his feelings towards the practice are mixed. The financial reward is lucrative, but the process from start to finish is involved and frequently harrowing. The smuggler never gets the opportunity to relax even for a moment. Danger is openly courted, fate is constantly tempted. He must find a way to never become caught in a lie. In a quiet moment one night, Peter concedes that this haul will be his last.

A main underlying theme in Black Brown White is racism and racist beliefs. Countries in Western Europe often display overt hostility, even to legal immigration. To cite one example, the immigration policy of the Swiss has long been time-consuming and difficult to navigate. Many Swiss don’t want to live with people who look differently than their people have always looked, or talk differently than they have always talked. Or, in other words, they do not wish to compromise cultural purity. The global economic crisis only amplifies these feelings. People now believe that illegal immigrants are taking money out of their own pockets, not just polluting the gene pool.

The widespread belief in ideas like these does not stop with German-speaking peoples. It is especially true in France. Hypocrisy is rampant and virulent, especially because countries who routinely lambaste American racism take part in it themselves, in their own way. Unlike the United States, Western Europe was never founded on an idealistic premise that one ought to take in the refugees of the world. The nation-states of the Old World have, in effect, put up fences much higher and longer than ever proposed by American politicians.

A fear of ethnic corruption regrettably exists in the minds of millions. Black Brown White shows that at least some can see beyond the fear and suspicion. As Americans, it may do us good to recognize that racism and ideas of cultural acceptability do not end and begin with us. We might need to be cautious before we look elsewhere to find a sort of purity we believe to be not present on our shores.

Our problems may have been magnified with time alongside our predominant size and influence throughout the world community. Large countries magnify both their flaws and successes. Small countries sin no less, but often go unreported and unacknowledged.

And along the way, a few basic lessons can be learned that are true regardless of one's country of origin. Life can be rewarding, but it is rarely easy for any of us. People are pretty much the same everywhere, often when it comes to conquering adversity. Every place in the world holds its strengths and also its weaknesses.

Or, If You Prefer...

2012-01-24T14:11:00.002-06:00

Here's a multi-track recording.

Cathy's Clown

2012-01-24T08:56:00.000-06:00

Don't want your love anymore,
don't want your kisses, that's for sure,
I die each time I hear this sound

Here he comes
that's Cathy's clown

I gotta stand tall
you know a man can't crawl,
when he knows you're tellin' lies

andhe hears 'em passing by,
he'snot a man at all

Don't want your love anymore,
don't want your kisses that's for sure,
I die each time I hear this sound,

Here he comes
that's Cathy's clown

When you see me shed a tear,
and you know that it's sincere

Don't you think it's kinda sad that
you're treating me so bad
or don'tyou even care?

Don't want your love anymore,
don't want your kisses that's for sure,

I die each time I hear this sound,
here he comes
that's Cathy's clown

Paterno's legacy from the perspective of a former football player

2012-01-22T15:38:00.000-06:00

The death of Joe Paterno, longtime Penn State head footballcoach, would have been mourned with appropriately solemn reverence had it notbeen for the scandal that brought him down. Some have already lionized himanyway, this in the face of evidence that Paterno completely mishandledallegations of child sexual abuse. The conflicting tone evident in the announcements of hisdeath reveals much. In particular, it shows how eager, even desperate we as asociety are to be entertained and how attached we are to those who provide thatentertainment. That many will always overlook the negligence of one legendarycoach shows the priority we assign to sports.

I grew up in Alabama, where college football is a culturalinstitution. Grown men obsess about the sprained ankles and yards-per-carry ofnineteen-year-old young men. Overgrown teenagers offered scholarships aretreated like royalty for the whole of their time to wear the uniform. Althoughmore and more revenue saturates the college game, its basic function is often adistraction from dull routine. A still largely working class and poor state eagerlyembraces a break from a life spent toiling away in an automobile plant or a papermill.

I can’t remember a time during the fall on Saturday afternoonswithout a game blaring on the television. From a young age, I wanted to be onthe field of play myself. In time, I grew old enough to do that very thing. Fortunately,I inherited athletic ability from my father. I began playing at age ten,showing a natural inclination towards the unglamorous world of the offensiveline. A guard, I was fast enough to cut off linebackers from making a tackle,but big enough to avoid being run over.

Like many of my teammates, I tolerated the practices andlived for the games. My recollections of those contests are blurry and oftenunmemorable. Games proceed at such a fast pace, the laws of time do not apply.A play begins and is over within a minute. One picks oneself up off the groundand trots backs into the huddle, over and over again. On the front line,victory and defeat is transitory. One play’s triumph can quickly become a tragedywith the next snap of the ball. For an offensive lineman, one lives inobscurity until quarterbacks are sacked or running backs earn negative yardage.

After a time, however, even the thrill of the game could notmake up for my reservations. Constant crude remarks made towards women made mefeel embarrassed. I had little to nothing in common with most of my teammates,who didn’t value academics and seemingly lived to hunt deer on weekends. After struggling through an interminably longspring practice, I walked away from everything. No one could understand why. Itwas incomprehensible to them why a starter would quit the team.

Had I continued to suit up on Friday nights, I would havereserved my own spot on a college roster. Even so, I have no regrets. Though Iwas told for years to feel special because I was a football player, I neverfelt particularly privileged. What separated me from other students was a vigorousregimen of physical exertion and abject terror. I was put through high-impact,grueling exercise and treated a little like a Marine in basic training. Today,I sometimes miss being in great shape, but never pine away for the volume andproximity of a coach’s verbal directions. When I was a player, I lived in a verydeliberately fashioned cocoon during the season and for most of the year.

This is the life of the football player. Discipline andfocus are essential components. However, it is easy to see how this world untoitself grows insular and resistant to change. Joe Paterno only wanted to be a footballcoach, not a crime reporter. However, he still had an obligation to show thesame authority and decisiveness he displayed on the gridiron. Football may bean alternate universe of a sort, but it does not and should not exist inisolation to the rest of the world. Even in death, Paterno should not beabsolved fully of responsibility. He could have stopped the behavior of a sexoffender, not merely the offense of next week’s opponent.

Quote of the Week

2012-01-22T07:56:00.001-06:00

"He who cannot hate the devil cannot love God."- Joseph Goebbels

Saturday Video

2012-01-21T08:10:00.000-06:00

Yes, I'm ready, so come on, Luckie.
Well, there's an avenue of Devil who believe in stone.
You can meet the captain at the dead-end zone.

What Devil doesn't know is that Devil can't
stay, doesn't know he's seen his day.

Oh, Luckie's taking over and his clover shows.
Devil can't get out of hand 'cause Luckie's taking
over and what Luckie says goes.

Dig them potatoes
if you've never dug your girl before,
poor little Devil, He's a backseat man to Luckie
forever more.

Yes, I'm ready, so come on, Luckie, Luckie
inside of me, inside of my mind, inside of my
mind.Don't go falling for Naughty.
Don't go falling
for Naughty, he's a dragon
with a double bite.

Sure can do his shortchanging out of sight.
An artist of a sort but a little bit short of luck,
this lucky night.

Oh, Luckie's taking over and
his clover shows.
Naughty can't get out of hand
cause Luckie's taking over
and what Luckie says goes.

Dig them potatoes if you've never dug your
girl before, poor little Naughty,
He's a backseat man to Luckie forever,
a backseat man to Luckie forever more,
hey, hey, hey.

It's a real good day to go get Luckie,
go get Luckie.

I'm gonna go get Luckie, I'm gonna go get
Luckie. I'm gonna go get, I'm gonna go get,
you gotta go, get on down and get away.
You gotta go, get on down and get away.

You gotta go, get on down and get away.
You gotta go, get on down and
get away from you, hey hey, from you, yes,
Yes, I'm ready, yes, I'm ready, ready for Luckie.

The need for narrative control

2012-01-20T09:05:00.000-06:00

For years, media narrative has directly shaped public opinion. In its emphasis on certain stories rather than others, opinions are formed and a hierarchy of current events is created. The cadence and catchy one-liners of pundits and talking heads make their way into routine conversation. Many people walk in lockstep, whether aware of it or not, with how media has framed an issue. The fortunate can peer outside of the box, even while they embrace certain aspects of these presented truths themselves. They may reject some of what they view, read, or hear, seeking to build their own opinion in contradiction to the conventional wisdom.

As the Presidential Race draws ever nearer, each campaign will spit out public relations bullet-points that play up the favorable sides of their candidate. We will likely parrot these arguments amongst ourselves because, competitive being that we are, we'd like our chosen candidate to win. We're aware that campaign spin routinely stretches the truth, but we'll still disregard strict logic for victory. We'll support our team and its own rationale. We'll be cheerleaders for each candidate's chosen strategy each step, day by day, month by month, until the bitter end.

Where the media is concerned, where ought to be its role? In shaping information exchange, a few rules (unwritten or otherwise) have sprung up over time. As has been true with the recent tense exchange between Debate Moderator John King of CNN and Republican Presidential Candidate Newt Gingrich, media is often caught in the middle. It can present an unbiased, fly-on-the-wall perspective, or a very partisan one intended to deliberately influence individual opinion.

Some believe that people are inherently capable of shaping their own conclusions without need for additional agitation. Following this line of thought, news reporting is rather impassive and businesslike. Other outlets believe their role ought to be vetting, jousting, and fact checking. Candidates routinely inclined to hurl their own spin into the mix, like Gingrich, make internal debate between media and candidate irresistible. It makes for great theater, though whether it serves anyone well is debatable.

On a much smaller scale, I understand this conundrum. I am one of the leaders in an house of worship. A recent problem became a time-consuming and frustrating controversy among members and regular attenders. We meant to equip for the hard-of-hearing a simple and cost-effective means so that all might be able to hear during Worship. The challenge before us is an eighty-year-old Meeting Room with its own massive sonic problems.

Seeking sufficient accommodations for the hearing-impaired, I admit that other leaders and I made mistakes. Initially, too many choices were provided the congregation. The selections facing us were broad and expansive, and no one single solution stood out as the best. Leadership regrettably concerned itself more with gathering everyone’s perspective, in the hopes that a wealth of opinion might lead to the best way to resolution.

What we should have done is, at the outset, advance specific possibilities for resolution. Nature abhors a vacuum and the discussion degenerated, I regret to say, into churlishness. Many were afraid, if not terrified that their particular concern was not going to be addressed by the rest of the Meeting. Others were merely petrified of change in any form. Regardless, any decision that leadership made was going to upend the status quo. This is not to take away from anyone’s right to be heard, rather that sometimes complexity for the sake of complexity is not especially effective.

Most recently, I think about this lesson learned in terms of the process of the Health Care Reform legislation. President Obama didn’t get out in front of the bill and guide its passage on easy-to-understand terms. Instead he left the matter wide open for Congress to debate, which provided frequent room for confusion and schism. Without a set of established goals and parameters, the void gave credence to opposition criticism. From then on, the pro-Health Care ranks often seemed to be on the defensive.

Debate can continue indefinitely, as a quick survey of any cable news channel can tell you. Eventually, decisions must be made. Though we may complain about a media, mainstream or otherwise, that takes a heavy-hand in presenting news, we shouldn’t fail to recognize the need for the messenger. People make their own waves, but without the support of others to amplify those waves, most of us can’t hear them. And not only that, those who are familiar with the industry know the appeal and the benefit of building and following the story.

Simply put, attention is naturally drawn to a narrative. The mere accomplishments of anyone can be purely interesting, but put a person in the context of a compelling narrative, and watch the interest of the audience skyrocket. Communication is not merely a question of compelling details, but also narrative control. Everyone has an opinion, but not everyone has a workable solution.

A Study in Gender Contrast and Forgiveness

2012-01-18T15:11:00.000-06:00

I’ve never felt much reason to comment on controversies atother sites. I usually follow my own path andaim for original analysis on other subjects. However, the Hugo Schwartz controversy over on Feministe has captured myattention. For those unaware, HugoSchwartz is a prominent male feminist whose personal life and prior conduct hasbeen considered reprehensible to many outside observers. Because he and I both identify as feminist and as men, his behavior reflects upon my own. I myself am highly critical of him, though I have tried to see thematter as objectively as I can. In aneffort to perhaps flip the framing or put things in a new context, I’ll share astory.

My mind turns to someone with whom I used to Worship. Her reputation was not exactly stellar. She was an out-and-out pariah to severalpeople in the greater community. If theykept their distance, they could hardly be blamed. They shunned her because she’d undergone theshame of being the first woman in the state to be forced to pay child support. Her condition and behavior must have been unprecedented and inexcusably reckless. Primary custody was also granted to thefather. Though in recovery by the time Imet her, she had once been a severe alcoholic. Her substance abuse issues and lengthy history ofmarital infidelity was used successfully against her in court. Still, she mostly harmed only herself.

By the time I met her, her problems seemed to be more orless controlled. I was not aware of herpast when she introduced herself to me the first time. She just seemed to me to be a sweet woman inher sixties who had accepted her ultimate fate in the cosmos. She emoted a zen-like quality, one common to those who have suffered mightily. Those who may have otherwise felt vindictive as a result of herbehavior in another time now mostly felt sorry for her.

She had cancer. Itnever killed her, only left her in constant, terrible pain. Death would have been too easy an escape. Instead, the cancer returned time and timeagain. She underwent chemotherapy, wentinto remission, and then after a few months of improvement the disease inevitably returned. The process repeated itself for over adecade. Some who were still harboring bitterfeelings believed that she got everything that was coming to her, I'm sure. How could someone that out of control not paythe price for what she’d done to her husband and her child?

Her daughter was similar to her mother in all the wrongways. Her own periods of substance abusehad resulted in stints in rehab. Thesame was true for an eating disorder. She stole routinely, often for no discernible reason, this from friendswho trusted her. Eventually, severalthousand dollars would come up missing. Embarrassed, friends cut their ties but did not report the crime. With time, the daughter chose to steal morethan just money and was caught red handed by someone quite willing toprosecute. That decision produced afelony conviction. Like her mother, sheburned many bridges in her life and had to live with the consequences.

I originally thought about framing my conclusion in religious terms,but I instead changed my mind. I’m not trying tovindicate Hugo Schwartz, who identifies as a person of faith. Instead, I'd rather ask instead whether we’re harsher onwomen who transgress than we are on men. For example, do we tolerate people who are bad fathers more easily than those who arebad mothers? How much of our sympathiesdo we devote to someone with the profile of the mother of this story? I’m curious to know how much compassion directedtowards this one troubled life falls along gender lines.

I have my own answer, certainly, but in this situation,being labeled a bad mother probably explains peoples’ animosity towards this woman I have cited. Their immediate reaction is how dare you. Are women allowed to redeem themselves for past serious lapses in judgment and neglectful behavior, regarding parenting?

The Pretender

2012-01-18T06:23:00.000-06:00

I'm busy this morning. Will try to get a post up this afternoon. In the meantime, enjoy the song.

I'm going to rent myself a house
In the shade of the freeway
I'm going to pack my lunch in the morning
And go to work each day

And when the evening rolls around
I'll go on home and lay my body down
And when the morning light comes streaming in
I'll get up and do it again

Amen
Say it again
Amen

I want to know what became of the changes
We waited for love to bring
Were they only the fitful dreams
Of some greater awakening?

I've been aware of the time going by
They say in the end it's the wink of an eye
And when the morning light comes streaming in
You'll get up and do it again
Amen

Caught between the longing for love
And the struggle for the legal tender
Where the sirens sing and the church bells ring
And the junk man pounds his fender

Where the veterans dream of the fight
Fast asleep at the traffic light
And the children solemnly wait
For the ice cream vendor

Out into the cool of the evening
Strolls the Pretender
He knows that all his hopes and dreams
Begin and end there

Ah the laughter of the lovers
As they run through the night
Leaving nothing for the others
But to choose off and fight

And tear at the world with all their might
While the ships bearing their dreams
Sail out of sight

I'm going to find myself a girl
Who can show me what laughter means
And we'll fill in the missing colors
In each other's paint-by-number dreams

And then we'll put out dark glasses on
And we'll make love until our strength is gone
And when the morning light comes streaming in
We'll get up and do it again

Get it up again

I'm going to be a happy idiot
And struggle for the legal tender
Where the ads take aim and lay their claim
To the heart and the soul of the spender

And believe in whatever may lie
In those things that money can buy
Thought true love could have been a contender
Are you there?

Say a prayer for the Pretender
Who started out so young and strong

Only to surrender

Wild Night

2012-01-17T08:46:00.000-06:00

As you brush your shoes, stand before the mirror
And you comb your hair, grab your coat and hat
And you walk wet streets tryin' to remember
All the wild night breezes in your mem'ry ever

And everything looks so complete
When you're walkin' out on the street
And the wind catches your feet
Sends you flyin', cryin'

Ooo-woo-wee, wild night is calling
Ooo-ooh-wee, wild night is calling

And all the girls walk by dressed up for each other
And the boys do the boogie-woogie on the corner of the street
And the people, passin' by stare in wild wonder
And the inside juke-box roars out just like thunder


The wild night is calling
The wild night is calling

Come on out and dance
Whoa, come on out and make romance
Come on out and dance
Come on out, make romance

The War on Poverty, Revisted

2012-01-16T08:55:00.001-06:00

The physical memory of MLK, Jr. as a physical person is being lost with every passing year. He has already passed into legendary status and soon will only be remembered for his legacy. King might first be viewed for his Civil Rights work, but he placed an equal share of time in seeking solutions to bring an end to poverty. Nowadays, we seem to be focused on more manageable endeavors. Should the situation of income disparity be raised, we would rather address a few pressing matters than fix the whole. Depending on one's ideological perspective, prior attempts to narrow the gap between rich and poor were frustratingly ineffective.

In a 1964 address, wherein he accepted the Nobel Prize for Peace, Martin Luther King, Jr. set forth the particulars of the situation. The societal shortcomings of which he spoke still exist today.

The well-off and the secure have too often become indifferent and oblivious to the poverty and deprivation in their midst. The poor in our countries have been shut out of our minds, and driven from the mainstream of our societies, because we have allowed them to become invisible. Just as nonviolence exposed the ugliness of racial injustice, so must the infection and sickness of poverty be exposed and healed - not only its symptoms but its basic causes. This, too, will be a fierce struggle, but we must not be afraid to pursue the remedy no matter how formidable the task.

Around the time of this speech, President Lyndon Johnson instituted a variety of reforms he titled the Great Society. Some of them, like Medicaid and Medicare, persist to the current day. Conservative distaste of these social programs still runs high, which has informed the views of several Republican candidates now running for President. With time and a decrease in financial resources, they have grown more unpopular among some. These dissenters are obsessed with the idea of a zero-sum game. To them, different socio-economic and racial/ethnic groups are pitted against each other in a longstanding battle royal. In their mind, whatever anyone else gains must necessarily come at their own financial loss.

Opposition to Great Society reforms existed even then, but it was choked out by substantial Democratic majorities in both the House and Senate. These majorities prevented the legislation from being effectively killed by its opposition in committee and not being brought to the floor. This slate of progressive programs were notably not brought up as a campaign issue. A more progressive (and also more affluent) country was willing to devote the time and money needed to close the income gap. These acts, a substantial increase of government spending and government intervention, were perceived by many Americans as basic Civil Rights issues.

The poverty initiative remains heavily controversial to this day. Conservatives often see it as an unqualified failure, a policy of wishful thinking and squandered resources. They believe this segment of the Great Society established an underclass and a black welfare state. Liberals argue that the programs made a substantial impact, decreasing the number of people in poverty by nearly half. But in the end, these initiatives in major government intervention truly died when the last of the Post-War economic boom faded.

Many observers point out that the War on Poverty's attention to Black America created the grounds for the backlash that began in the 1970s. The perception by the white middle class that it was footing the bill for ever-increasing services to the poor led to diminished support for welfare state programs, especially those that targeted specific groups and neighborhoods. Many whites viewed Great Society programs as supporting the economic and social needs of low-income urban minorities; they lost sympathy, especially as the economy declined during the 1970s.

The economic boom times that made this country a Superpower have continued to pass into history. The fade has been gradual, but undeniable. If we were unable or unwilling to get rid of poverty when we had tremendous economic surpluses at our disposal, now it is even less likely. But the problem remains, one that creates a plethora of other issues. Now, we’d rather manage only one at a time, ignoring the overlap. Until we devise a new strategy, a new coordinated effort that is as broad as the problem itself, any War on Poverty is bound to be an occupation.

Quote of the Week

2012-01-15T07:20:00.002-06:00

For some contrast...

"The government has failed us; you can’t deny that. Anytime you live in the twentieth century, 1964, and you walkin' around here singing “We Shall Overcome,” the government has failed us.This is part of what’s wrong with you — you do too much singing.

Today it’s time to stop singing and start swinging. You can’t sing up on freedom, but you can swing up on some freedom."- Malcolm X

Haley Barbour's Final Judgment

2012-01-14T14:28:00.000-06:00

If we were not currently in the middle of a competitive Republican presidential primary, we’d be actively talking about outgoing Mississippi governor Haley Barbour. Earlier this week, Barbour pardoned 215 prisoners, including 17 who had been convicted of murder. The controversy his decision produced was immediate and also unsurprising. Families of victims have been outraged and the wisdom of the outgoing Governor has been sharply questioned. Mississippi’s Attorney General, Jim Hood, has sought block the release of these inmates.Barbour is unrepentant in his own defense.

"The historical power of clemency by the governor to pardon felons is rooted in the Christian idea of giving second chances. I’m not saying I’ll be perfect. That nobody who received clemency will ever do anything wrong. I’m not infallible and nobody else is."

One of the strengths of Christianity is in its ability, for those who have transgressed, to be forgiven for past sins. Say what you will about the rest of the religion, but this belief is often an appealing one, especially for those with a checkered past. Americans can often be an unforgiving people, failing to recognize our own flaws as we judge the weaknesses of others. Surely, we would like to have the ability to be forgiven, if we were put on trial in the court of public opinion.

Though we may weigh punishment differently, this from a legal standpoint, in an ideal world each of us might be able to work our way towards forgiveness and acceptance. Most of us have done things before of which we are not especially proud. Should they be revealed to all, we would win no one’s sympathy. Even though we may not have been convicted by our peers in a court of law, winning the right to start again is a concept we would surely embrace.

Forgiveness, in its Christian form, has no stronger example than that of Paul, originally named Saul. Saul made a career out of persecuting Christians. He was present when St. Stephen, the first Christian martyr, was stoned to death. Saul supported the killing, believing that the new faith was a destructive new sect of Judaism. At his own admission, he put many early Christians in prison and voted in favor of their deaths. Interestingly enough, these admissions are recorded in the Book of Acts, when he himself was on trial.

Everything changed unexpectedly one day on the road to Damascus.

About noon… as I was on the road, a light from heaven brighter than the sun shone down on me and my companions. We all fell down, and I heard a voice saying to me in Aramaic, 'Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me? It is useless for you to fight against my will.'

"'Who are you, lord?' I asked. "And the Lord replied, 'I am Jesus, the one you are persecuting.You are to tell the world what you have seen and what I will show you in the future.

Now get up and stand on your feet. I have appeared to you to appoint you as a servant and as a witness of what you have seen of me and what I will show you. I will rescue you from your own people and from the Gentiles.

I am sending you to them to open their eyes, so they may turn from darkness to light and from the power of Satan to God. Then they will receive forgiveness for their sins and be given a place among God's people, who are set apart by faith in me.'

This story is a common example referred to by many born-again or Evangelical Christians like the former Governor. As a society, we often believe that criminals too often get away with their crimes. Once caught, we believe they don’t serve the time they deserve. Prisoners are viewed as wholly without remorse or contrition, showing themselves to be only sociopathic manipulators.

And the truth is that we’re often not inaccurate in our beliefs, but we also don’t leave the door open for inmates to see the light. Once again, we must, for our own sanity, leave open the possibility that no one is ever damned forever. People of faith would say that it is ultimately not our decision to make whether a person has redeemed himself or herself in the eyes of God.

[Barbour] said the five inmates who served him in the governor’s mansion, four of them murderers, have played with his grandchildren and even watched them while they rode tricycles in the driveway.

Historically, he said, murderers are trusties at the mansion because, experts say, their crimes of passion are unlikely to be repeated.

"I have no question in my mind," he said, "that these guys are not a threat to society."

In this matter, can we fairly set ourselves up as judge, jury, and executioner? Disagree or agree, but the final decision may not be made by mere mortals like ourselves. Soon the limits and longevity of our own hatred and forgiveness will be tested once again.

Saturday Video

2012-01-14T08:36:00.001-06:00

Got brass in pocket
Got powder I'm gonna use it
Intention I'm feeling myself

Gonna make you, make you, make you notice

Got motion extreme motion
I've been driving Detroit leaning
No reason just seems so pleasing

Gonna make you, make you, make you notice
Gonna use my arms
Gonna use my legs
Gonna use my style
Gonna use my senses

Gonna use my fingers
Gonna use my, my, my imagination
Oh 'cause I'm gonna make you see

There's nobody else here
No one like meI'm special,
so specialI gotta have
some of your attention, give it to me

I got rhythm I can't miss a beat
It's got me so scared it's so sweet
Got something I'm winking at you
Gonna make you, make you, make you notice

Gonna use my arms
Gonna use my legs
Gonna use my style
Gonna use my senses

Gonna use my fingers
Gonna use my, my, my imagination
'Cause I'm gonna make you see
There's nobody else here
No one like meI'm special, so special

I gotta have some of your attention, give it to me
'Cause I'm gonna make you see
There's nobody else here
No one like meI'm special, so special
I gotta have some of your attention, give it to me

The Cultural Fight Over the Meaning of Marriage, Not Just Marriage Equality

2012-01-13T09:32:00.000-06:00

In Canada, the patchwork system of laws governing same-sex marriage has run into serious trouble. Foreign couples who previously exchanged vows on Canadian soil may now find their marriages invalidated. Beyond a PR disaster, the issue shows the still-fragile coalition of countries or sections of countries which have legalized the practice. In addition, the current legal fight shows the evolution of marriage over time.

In particular, same-sex couples have now run into the challenge of seeking and obtaining a divorce.

The renewed attention was sparked by the case of an unidentified lesbian couple who married in Canada in 2005 but split up in 2009. The partners are living in Florida and the United Kingdom. Both women want a divorce, but cannot get one where they now live because the state of Florida does not recognize their marriage, and although the U.K. grants civil partnerships to same-sex couples, it does not recognize the Canadian marriage.

The couple went to court last June seeking a Canadian divorce, despite the federal Divorce Act's one-year residency requirement, which they do not meet. Their submission argues the rules are discriminatory, and the couple is seeking $30,000 in damages for negligent misrepresentation by the province of Ontario if their marriage is found to be invalid.

This proceeding once again begs the question: what is the real enemy of marriage? As the situation above shows, same-sex couples can and do get divorced. They will continue to desire to dissolve their marital unions in the ways that heterosexual couples always have. Sexual orientation is the only significant distinction present here.

Homosexuality simply isn’t the destructive force upon society as some conservatives may believe. If gay marriage cannot be characterized as a slippery slope towards crumbling morals and perverse sexual practices, other answers must suffice. Should we wish to have a truly honest discussion, let us consider other options.

One line of argument speaks to a simple lack of personal responsibility or because of external factors. According to this philosophy, marriages in Western society that don’t last are the fault of those who obtain them. People get married for all the wrong reasons. Some get married too soon. Others marry to try to compensate for larger personal problems. Some marry seeking acceptance within themselves and others. Some marry because they've been believers in an idealized fantasy not borne out by reality. Some marry because marriage is culturally expected. These are but a few.

Marriage isn’t the force it once was. More and more, people seem to believe H.L. Mencken's acerbic comment that marriage is a wonderful institution, but who would want to live in an institution. Increasing, no distinction is culturally drawn between cohabitation and the formal, legal process. Speaking to older conceptions of the process, in eleven states, plus the District of Columbia, common law marriage is still legal. For example, in DC, the statue reads,

"A marriage that is legally recognized even though there has been no ceremony and there is no certification of marriage. A common-law marriage exists if the two persons are legally free to marry, if it is the intent of the two persons to establish a marriage, and if the two are known to the community as husband and wife."

By that definition alone, I can think of at least three couples I know personally. In addition to those parameters, I know many others who have been happily living together for a long while. The way this statute is worded, verbal intention alone is a satisfactory requirement. For those in their twenties and thirties, marriage is something to be done eventually, but not for a while.

Sharing living space with someone else is common practice, a means of testing the relationship for its solidity and lasting power. Many of our parents got divorced, then frequently re-married afterward. We've juggled step-siblings and dual visits on holidays. We might be forgiven for being a little suspicious.

A few unintended similarities are also present here. Older gay couples often see no reason to be married, believing the ceremony itself is so tainted by discrimination that they want no part. Some have lived together with partners for years. They see no need to confirm formally the bonds of lasting commitment. As far as they were concerned, they never once believed marriage equality would be legal anywhere.

In the meantime, it remains to be seen whether the strict parameters governing same-sex marriage will lessen with time. The liberties that exist now are the product of compromise, even in more ideological liberal countries, portions of countries, and U.S. states. An unsatisfying back and forth is probably in the works for the next several decades.

Even with those legal maneuvers, the state of legal marriage among heterosexual couples will continue to change. If precedent is any indication, some young adults have soured enough on the concept to believe that marriage is unnecessary. How curious that the marriage fight might eventually only be among those who actually hold it in high esteem, sexual orientation aside.

Disability

2012-01-12T17:07:00.000-06:00

I was welcomed into the world by two parents who wanted me. If it’d been up to her, Mom would have had a baby almost immediately after marriage. She was nineteen then. Dad was twenty-four. Instead, they decided to wait five years. Doing so would give them a chance to enjoy being a couple with no children. It would also give my mother a chance to see if her own anxiety and depression would subside enough with time. She wasn’t ready to be a mother yet and eventually came around to that fact, I imagine with some sadness.

When it came time to have me, both of my parents were very excited. I was the son my father always wanted. Thanks for the boy, said the card my father left, tucked into the flowers next to her hospital bed. Or, at least that was true at first. This was before I turned out to be my mother’s child. In physical resemblance alone I looked exactly like her. As a personality, we had much in common. Like her, I was highly-strung, jumpy, over-sensitive, but also creative and artistic.

Mom knew something was wrong shortly after I came home from the hospital. I cried too frequently. I was easily over-stimulated, fearful, and anxious if separated from her. My parents were concerned but unsure what to do. As time passed, this before anything else transpired, I isolated myself deliberately from other children. My own company was less painful. Less chance to be taken aback by the spontaneity of random interactions. I had one real friend whose anxieties and neuroses were similar to my own. Had I not met him, I wonder what sort of person I’d be now.

Visiting specialists is not unusual for me. I've been seeing doctors now for as long as I can remember. My parents probably see me as the sick child. When I call home to report my latest medication regimen, their voices take on a familiar, sympathetic tone. I don't want to be treated differently, but that's just how it happened.

Earlier this week, I was told I could add high blood pressure to a long list of chronic illnesses. I think you could say that I’m my Grandmother’s child as well. My father’s mother fought these sorts of physical complications the whole of her life. Her struggles were so extensive and long-lasting that her sisters said, in all seriousness, that it might have been better had Florence never even been born. In my worst times, I have allowed myself to ruminate about why I entered the world as I am. Still, I have been too stubborn to believe I was better off not even being alive. My parents never once believed it; I didn’t either.

There have been instances in my life where I have felt ashamed of being me. I’ve believed I was a burden to everyone. This was especially true for those with whom I’ve formed long-term relationships. In reality, I recognize that there is more to me than my limitations. I may have wallowed in self-pity for a while, but I was too smart to stay there. Significant others have walked this journey with me, as they must. Those who play an active role must necessarily play a major role as well. Most of the time, my illness is a study of the banal.

It’s the six separate medications taken at different times throughout the day. It’s a general understanding of how each works. It’s the plans made for the worst case scenario. Should I be unable to make the decision myself, someone has to have me admitted to a hospital. If a medication reaction takes place, someone has to determine how to separate moderate problems from the catastrophic.

A close friend of my little sister died of cancer during high school. Her boyfriend remained devoted to the end. It didn’t just make for a tear-jerking story, it also showed that even imminent death could not scare him away. The days where I dwelt in that shadowy world are years behind me now. I wish I’d been strong enough in who I was to find someone worthwhile. True love, real love, never sees an impediment. The bonds linking two people together must weather those storms and others.

Thinking About You

2012-01-12T08:32:00.001-06:00

Been thinking about you, your records are here,
your eyes are on my wall, your teeth are over there.
But I’m still no-one, and you’re now a star,
what do you care?

Been thinking about you, and there’s no rest,
shit I still love you, still see you in bed.
But I’m playing with myself, and what do you care
when the other men are far, far better.

All the things you’ve got,
all the things you need,
who bought you cigarettes,
Who bribed the company to come and see you, honey?

I’ve been thinking about you, so how can you sleep?
These people aren’t your friends, they’re paid to kiss your feet.
They don’t know what I know and why should you care
when I’m not there.

Been thinking about you, and there’s no rest,
should I still love you, still see you in bed.
But I’m playing with myself, what do you care,
when I’m not there.

All the things you’ve got,
she’ll never need,
all the things you’ve got.
I’ve bled and I bleed to please you.

Amen

2012-01-11T17:43:00.002-06:00

Click to embiggen

Only one small typo, but nonetheless...

The continuing need for religious balance in America

2012-01-11T05:00:00.000-06:00

Religion in America seems to be pulled in two different directions these days. The Right, fearing a total loss of morality and upright living, makes one set of forceful arguments in its own defense, intending to preserve religion’s role in daily life. The Left seeks increasing pluralism while at the same time being challenged to not water down belief to mushy irrelevancy. Beyond the self-serving bluster, hyperbole and anxieties, there is some merit to both perspectives and also plenty of room for criticism on all sides.

In the upcoming 2012 Presidential Election, religion will again play a large part. Evangelical Christians might well have to decide whether or not to vote for a Mormon, a member of a faith group that many view as either a cult or an eccentric sect. Religious liberals will most likely cast their ballots for an incumbent candidate who has often soft-pedaled his own professed Christianity.

Each Presidential hopeful will make great strides to strike the optimum balance. Much thought will be given to distinguish public displays of faith from more private expression when the cameras are switched off. It is this dichotomy, among many others, that demonstrates the wide gap both separating and linking ideology and religion.

Americans still have much work to do to fulfill the idealistic notion of religious tolerance upon which we were founded. We may have softened the physical punishment of heresy, but our words are as vitriolic as ever. Refusing to resort to overt violence either though physical force or in language alone is only one step in the process. We must challenge ourselves to honestly respect the faith of others, even though doing so provides many theological difficulties.

Instead of a truly peaceful coexistence, our attempts towards unanimity often take a half-hearted, reluctant form. We must cast aside the very human tendency to use our enemy as a means to build strength and cohesion within ourselves.

We love our enemy, but often for the wrong reason. We love that they exist. We love the feeling of immediate security present as we point out the foolishness of someone else’s argument. At the heart of the problem is a reduction of complex theological concepts into a single, simple-to-understand code of acceptable worship. Many Fundamentalist Christian churches and movements claim that their own specific interpretation is the only valid one.

In reality, the philosophy they espouse cherry picks different combinations of verses and concepts from the Old and New Testament. What is produced may be novel and unique, but is hardly unusual in the grand historical scheme.

What remains is a belief system that uses rationalization and argument to disguise what logic might otherwise expose. Beyond conservative theology, this if we are to be totally truthful, every Christian group which uses Scripture as a means of discernment takes bits and pieces of the text, lining them up in its own chosen order.

Denominations and religious groups are apt to pronounce their alignment as the most correct, either by direct statement or implication. Still, if we take matters literally in their true sense, what we are left with often boils down to petty bickering over semantics.

Many of these differences in scriptural perception are taken by other faith groups as doctrinally harmless and a simple matter of preference. However, some of them still produce significant friction and will for a while longer. For some, the role of women in the church is still a matter under debate. Gay marriage, to cite another example, has created significant recent schisms within Christian denominations and individual churches.

The only way these conflicts can be resolved is by fair debate that does not talk over its opposition, nor scandalize it for gain. And even if cooler heads prevail, the only feasible, tenable conclusion might be an agreement to disagree. What the Bible actually says is often much less important than what specific believers think it says.
In August of 2011, Republican Presidential candidate Rick Santorum expressed a similar fallacy of argument. Speaking in response to criticism that he held prejudicial attitudes towards homosexuality, Santorum rather energetically cited several particularly commonplace conservative talking points. Specifically, the former Pennsylvania Senator referenced the Roman Catholic Church’s long-time position that homosexuality only becomes sinful should someone decide to directly act on it.

“Because I believe what the Bible teaches, 2,000 years of teaching and moral theology is now bigoted? This has profound consequences to the entire moral ecology of America. It will undermine the family; it will destroy faith in America!”

Conservative people of faith will point back here to a passage by St. Paul in the New Testament book of Romans. Their liberal counterparts will choose to ignore it or interpret its intent differently. What neither group readily admits is that they are both guilty, in other similarly contentious matters, of totally disregarding problematic verses or resorting to rationalizations to justify their decision.

Sometimes, there is even room for multiple interpretations, each one no more or no less justified than the other. This fact further emphasizes how densely packed, complex, and nuanced a work is the Bible.

The challenge for progressive people of faith, by contrast, is to avoid the excesses and failings of theological liberalism. There can be a regrettable tendency to jettison specific religious traditions under the guise of utmost respect and observance for other faiths. Human wisdom and righteousness is often subordinate to the essential characteristics and leadership of a Higher Power.

However, religious liberals should not see those who reject what can be an excessively pluralist model as automatically against them. Criticism is not necessarily destructive in nature. Often it serves as a needed corrective.

In his most recent book, published last year, The Bible Made Impossible: Why Biblicism is Not a Truly Evangelical Reading of Scripture, Christian Smith discusses the main failings of liberal Christianity. “The theological liberal program lacks internal resources to help expose idolatry and so recurrently falls prey to the latest cultural movements and political fashions.”

Smith uses as an example the liberal Christian church in Germany, which endorsed the cause of Kaiser Wilhelm in World War I and Adolf Hitler a few years prior to the start of World War II. Without a solid grounding in God, liberal Christianity can drift into very dangerous territory. Over the past few decades, religious liberalism has concerned itself with global warming, social activism, and progressive politics. Neither of these is intrinsically irreligious, but they have often taken precedent, only feeding fears on the Right.

In the meantime, people still feel strongly pulled to religious observance. Our cultural focus on consumerism and individuality has resulted in a multitude of faith groups from which to choose. We are likely to be a part of whichever one best serves our sensibilities, and should it be Christian, certain passages and combinations of verses will establish the distinctions. Beyond religion, we are drawn to other people whose beliefs and values systems resemble our own.

Should we be willing to keep in mind where, how, and why we find commonality, the possibility of compromise is possible. But should we instead fall in love with our differences, we will always be at odds with each other.

National Champions!

2012-01-10T07:49:00.000-06:00

The best feeling in the world is when your team wins. Third championship in two years!

Race, Religion, and Wealth in Our Nation's Capital

2012-01-09T09:14:00.001-06:00

Yesterday afternoon, I attended a meeting of the Washington, DC, area Council of Churches. In attendance was District of Columbia mayor Vincent Gray. In part, I was there to provide greater Quaker representation in the group, but also to observe the pertinent issues brought up during what was billed as an informal chat. Before I bowed my head for an introductory prayer, I knew that very different perspectives and priorities from my own would be brought to light. Without direct experience of my own, it was sometimes challenging to completely comprehend the issues upon which so many placed a heavy emphasis.

Viewing the debate that transpired without introducing the specter of race is impossible. Washington is, like many American cities, divided by class, ethnicity, income, and level of education. The affluent, Northwest quadrant of the District is predominately white. The Eastern section has long been economically impoverished and majority black. There are other separating factors, as well. Several of these areas were scarred by the results of riots which occurred in the aftermath of the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. in 1968. Other areas were decimated by the crack epidemic of the 1980’s and early 1990’s.

Washington, DC, could nearly be two separate cities. The workforce and population of the wealthier sections are often transient, infrequently inclined to put down roots and stay. Some arrive knowing that they’ll only be living there a year or two at most. Their places of employment are often with the Federal Government or perhaps on Capitol Hill. The revolving door effect among the privileged complicates leadership efforts and continuity at churches and Meetings like mine. The less fortunate quadrants, by contrast, have been home to generations of long-term residency and correspondingly entrenched generations of dire poverty.

Returning to the immediate, I sat in a room for an hour and a half with around fifteen fellow people of faith. After introductions and appropriate blessings, most of the meeting was comprised of an involved question and answer session with the Mayor. A theme quickly developed and found its way into every item raised before the group. The predominately African-American audience came back, time and time again, to the same issue. Our children and young people are out of control. What can we do about it?

Numerous city government programs, some more intensive than others, were noted during the discussion. Most involved a dual focus on education and civic involvement, the earlier in life, the better. Each had its strengths and weaknesses and both were thoroughly debated. While answering a question from the audience, Gray revealed a philosophy of black leadership more in line with Barack Obama than Jesse Jackson. The Mayor stated that he believed in the welfare reform law of 1996, which was a product of a Democratic President and a Republican-controlled Congress. The assertion went surprisingly unchallenged among a core constituent group, one which the law expressly targeted.

Predictable arguments and tired talking points were blessedly not found. Nearly everyone was in agreement that they were dealing with a very new problem. When answers are few, people often return to the old standards. Going back to church or to religion has been long used as a solution for anxious parents. This was true with my own. What most seemed to believe is that a new epidemic among African-American youth rages largely unrestrained.

By this, they meant rude, violent, and undisciplined conduct. Underscoring the point, one older woman noted that she, unlike many of her age, was not afraid of young people. Regardless of the complexities of the issue, it was agreed that church groups in DC needed to offer more open-door outreach to urban youth of color.

Issues like these are important, but they could not be more different than the priorities and decisions facing my house of worship. Accordingly, the discussion broke down politely along color lines at several junctures. Outreach strategies described above were only one such distinction. Though only a few miles separate us, the world where I worship on Sundays seems in some ways like a foreign country. Our attitudes regarding systemic problems are not nearly as complex and aggressive.

For us, the results of poverty are often what we read about in the news or are things that happen to other people. I have been highly critical of a navel-gazing focus on the self and on self-achievement more than unselfish group effort. Wealthy DC attitudes are rarely those of servant-led leadership.

Instead of trying to draw at-risk young people into churches and houses of worship for highly structured educational programs, we struggle with getting young Quakers to even regularly show up. We contribute our time and sometimes our money to low-income residents, but I doubt we have a single low-income member. The worries of many Quaker parents at my Meeting are often whether or not they can afford to send their child to private school. And so long as these glaring gaps remain, matters will remain unsolved. Though these issues seem new, they could not be more ancient.

In this very city, not ten miles away from where I write these words, Abraham Lincoln spoke about the irony of separation. He was speaking of two warring sections of the country, but he might have been addressing us today. “Both read the same Bible,” Lincoln noted, “and pray to the same God.” Our original sin of slavery is at fault, but as time has passed, it would be simplistic and a fallacy to think that the issue stopped there. We must keep in mind the past, the present, and the future as we fix the problems that lay before us.

Quote of the Week

2012-01-08T08:02:00.002-06:00

"In the midst of this war of words and tumult of opinion, I often said to myself, "What is to be done? Who of all these parties is right? Or are they all wrong together? If one of them is right, which is it, and how shall I know?"- Joseph Smith

Yesterday

2012-01-07T14:54:00.000-06:00

The tightness in my chest and the racing pulse told me thatsomething was badly wrong. I couldn’tcomprehend why this had happened, exactly. I hadn’t eatenanything out of the ordinary. I’velearned to follow dietary restrictions obsessively over the course of the pastfour years. If food isn’t the culprit, theintroduction of other medications with reactive properties usually is. That line of thinking proved unhelpful as well. Whatcould this be?

I’m glad that few have observed me in the middle of ahypertensive crisis. I doubt I would come across as courageous or stoic. Convinced that thecondition would stay temporary and mild, I manage to stay semi-calm for thefirst few minutes. However, as my pulse rate and blood pressure continued to rise to dangerous levels, my composurefled. Within ten minutes, I was on myhands and knees, my head leaning over the mattress, screaming into the bed sheets.

I hope God is not judgmental regarding this method of direct communication. Prayers thatbegan with half-shouts and incredulity grew quickly to become desperate pleas for immediateintervention.

Don’t let me die. Don’t let me die. Please God, please God, don’t let me die.

I wasn’t actually going to die, but a hypertensive crisisencourages substantial panic and fear. Not again. This had been myfourth in eighteen months. By now, Iknew that I only had one option, and that was to call 911.

I have worries beyond the ordinary. Anytime I go to the hospital, I’m alwaysafraid they’re going to disrobe me somehow, or cut off my clothes. Either of these would reveal to a potentiallyuncomprehending world that the garments I wear routinely aren’t exclusivelymale. I’m reminded of experiencesearlier in life, lovers who didn’t or wouldn't understand. Several made no attempt, assuming my style of dress was merely something else weird that Kevin did. Out of sight, out ofmind, I guess.

One of them tried to comprehend, to be tolerant, but I couldalways tell she was made uncomfortable. The look upon her face has never left my memory for long. In particular, I saw how her eyes trailed down to the floor, to mydirty clothes neatly piled next to my suitcase. To her, I was one of the strangest people she had ever met, and whilepart of me found the statement a perverse compliment, her words still hurt. These days, I don’t need to prove myself as out of the ordinary theway I used to do. I no longer wear unusual as a badge of honor.

The paramedics arrived quickly, within five minutes. I’m fortunate to live within a tenth of a mileof a fire station. Though weak and shaken, I was at least strong enough to walk under my own power out the door. After entering the back of the ambulance,they asked me to lie down on the bed. The seat belt was cinched around my waist and clicked into place. A blood pressure cuff was applied to my rightarm, and it automatically inflated.

Blood pressureelevated. 160/110. Pulse rate slightly higher than normal.

I arrived after a short trip. Wheeled into an examination room, I spokewith a nurse and the doctor. The nurse scattered after a few brief questions. The doctor entered, then disappeared. The nurse reappeared toapply electrodes to my chest in order to perform an EKG. She also shaved a section of hair across the topof my left wrist with a woman's electric razor. The process was overand done in a few seconds. Next, shestarted an IV on the right side of my left wrist, an inch or so before the base of the thumb.

Ativan, a tranquilizer, was administered via IV. I began to relax. My blood pressure, by contrast, remained elevated, evenrose a little. By now, I was too sedatedto be fearful. Within thirty minutes, normalreadings were gratefully reached. The doctorappeared. She was discharging me, suggesting I stop taking a particular medication, and also requesting I visit a cardiologist.

I headed home by taxi, quiet and sleepy. I've had enough of these for one lifetime.

Saturday Video

2012-01-07T08:18:00.000-06:00

A little old-timey gospel/country for you. This song is dedicated in part to my Pentecostal minister Great-Grandfather. Take a close look at the musicians pictured here. One of them was an alcoholic. The other was not. I'm sure you can spot the difference.

As for the lyrics, take them as you will.

Satan's jeweled crown
I've worn it so long
But God for my soul has reached down
His love set me free

He made me His own,
and helped me cast off
Satan's jeweled crown

If I could be king and a ruler of nations,
Wear diamonds and jewels profound
Well, I'd rather know that I had salvation

Than to know my reward
is Satan's jeweled crown

I've worn it so long
but God for my Soul has reached down
His love set me free

He made me His own,
and helped me cast off
Satan's jeweled crown

Oh, the life that I live is
so sinful and needless,
Drinkin' and runnin' around

When I live my life
So reckless and evil
The things I would do
are the will of the Devil

I was giving my soul
for Satan's jeweled crowd

I know my reward
Will be Satan's jeweled crown

Satan's jeweled crown
I've worn it so long
But God for my soul has reached down
His love set me free

He made me His own
and helped me cast off
Satan's jeweled crown

Being Out: Upon Reflection

2012-01-06T14:36:00.001-06:00

Now that my bisexuality is public knowledge, at least among those with whom I worship, I've received a variety of responses. Most are sympathetic. They know the story of how unacceptable and offensive were the responses I got from my parents. I haven't ever quite understood how two people who were usually so practical and common sense went absolutely crazy when I came out to them. They weren't even the same people in the whole of that wounding period.

That's what really has troubled me over the years. For the rest of their lives, my sexual orientation and gender identity will never be a topic for discussion. I would like their acceptance, but it will never arrive. I would also like an apology, but I've never be granted that, either. All of this is their decision, and I don't agree with it, but sometimes we all must form our own "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policies. The only step now is to continue finding friends who will take me as I am.

My story isn't unusual. The Meeting has many openly queer members and regular attenders, and always has. Though the Dupont Circle neighborhood is not as solidly LGBTQ as it used to be, it was for many years the center of gay and lesbian life. Now, with greater acceptance, there is less need to congregate together in one location for protection and freedom of expression. Even so, the legacy remains. My gaydar has improved dramatically. But having been greeted with spontaneous words of encouragement and truth has answered whatever questions I might have otherwise had about a few people.

I'm not exactly certain how much information regarding my gender identity was shared. Each generation has its own understanding of gender non-conformity, genderqueer, and transgender. Sexual orientation is comprehensible enough among many of the older Friends, but anything that falls under the transgender umbrella is probably too much. Those who are my age and younger much have less an issue with it. To many, I really wouldn't begin to know how to introduce the subject, because it's tied so closely to my personal life. Forming a comprehensible definition might be trouble enough.

I often wear clothing regularly assigned for the opposite gender. Because I am ashamed of how I would be perceived by the rest of society, I deliberately conceal these garments underneath clothes normally worn by men. Earlier in my life, I experimented with makeup, and female friends were glad to use me as their guinea pigs. However, I only dared show my face to the world this way while headed to gay bars or LGBTQ specific events. While out and about to flirt or to see the drag shows, I looked very different. As soon as I left, I washed off every trace. I furiously scrubbed off fingernail polish with cotton and pungent smelling remover. One day, it may be possible for me to feel comfortable enough to not limit my personal expression, but I sense this will be the hardest hurdle to leap.

In the past couple months, I've been very fortunate to find a friend who also identifies as LGBTQ. She recognizes how difficult this is for me and has been sympathetic. In addition to being within a year of my age, she has shared her own challenges with me. Her feedback and conversation has been rewarding. I also find it gratifying and flattering how much she looks up to my leadership. We've grown close and I've realized again how important it is to have queer friends. More may arrive soon.

I have other goals, of course. I want to have the ability to interact with men without fear. I've noted that ambition many times and will continue to bring it up until it is no longer problematic. The strange thing for me is while, growing up, I more or less embraced the attitudes and habits of other boys, but yet I never felt like one. Being male was foreign, incomprehensible. I remember disliking it as well, in certain areas I perceived as disgusting and filthy. I learned a few male gender roles by rote, but I never really felt any desire to fully conform. At the time, I was too afraid of women to make friends or to eventually form relationships. However, that transition in confidence would soon arrive by the middle of high school.

I remind myself these days more as a queer woman. But even that isn't quite accurate. I observe my conduct at times and see the socialization present that I absorbed, subconsciously. I find myself adopting my father's mannerisms. I also see aspects of my mother in my behavior and conduct. When I was younger, I had a few short relationships with women who weren't straight or even bisexual. I was their final step towards self-acceptance. I was once told, a smile on her face, by a kind lesbian that I was the sort of man she would have dated before she came out.

I'm still working on forming the correct, most helpful conclusions from all of this. It seems that there is still much to sort through.

For Rick Santorum and Friends

2012-01-06T08:29:00.005-06:00

Look at all my trials and tribulations
Sinking in a gentle pool of wine
Don't disturb me now
I can see the answers
Till this evening, in this morning life is fine.

Always hoped that I'd be an apostle
Knew that I would make it if I tried
Then when we retire we can write the gospels
So they'll still talk about us when we've died

The politics of gender studies research

2012-01-05T09:46:00.000-06:00

A column in yesterday's My Health News Daily referenced the results of a recent medical study. In it, personality traits in both men and women were said to be extensively analyzed. Participants from the ages of 15 to 92, and of both sexes, were asked to participate in a personality test. According to the outlined methodology and findings, the sexes have far less in common, psychologically, than originally thought. The study was the work of a combined team of three researchers, two from Italy, and one from the UK. If taken literally, it could negate efforts to equalize and normalize occupational fields based on sex. Theirs is a controversial assertion, and one that leaves itself open for substantial criticism in a variety of areas.

To summarize in brief, the study makes a basic gender essentialist argument. Men are men and women are women. Substantial overlap does not exist. It can never exist. Thinking otherwise defies the laws of science and nature. In times past, scientific research that has made such resounding claims is often considered cautiously. The same could be said for these new findings.

"Psychologically, men and women are almost a different species," said study researcher Paul Irwing, of the University of Manchester, in the United Kingdom.The new findings may explain why some careers are dominated by men (such as engineering) and others by women (such as psychological sciences), Irwing said.

Certitude aside, there are, however, several significant problems here that the researchers never addressed. For one, they didn't take into account queer identity. If the intention is to state that men and women naturally separate out based on chosen career fields, sexual orientation is also a factor. Gay men are often found in large number within "female" professions like psychological sciences. Could this research then conclude that gay men are their own psychological species? If not, then should they also be considered women?

A second larger aspect of the study that is problematic regards women in male-dominated fields. Women have historically been underrepresented in the STEM careers (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics). Should women that do wish to pursue vocations like these be considered men? According to the research data, one could say that there was something inherently masculine about a woman who wanted to be a scientist, instead of a social worker.

Feminist discourse has long taken an opposite view, one that might make this entire issue a little more comprehensible. Women are not found in larger quantity in fields like engineering for many reasons. One is because of a historical resistance to female participation within these programs. Another is that women who are drawn to STEM are often strongly pushed by educators and parents into more "suitable" fields for their gender. A third is that without the involvement and existence of a suitable critical mass of other women, many feel unsupported and without advocates. This information is not new, nor is it hard to find. For whatever reason, it simply wasn't utilized during the study.

Fortunately, not all psychologists are in agreement.

For starters, the men and women in the study assessed their own personality traits. People may be inclined to rate themselves in a way that conforms with gender stereotypes, Hyde said. "It's not very manly to say that you're sensitive," she said.

Part of basic scientific advancement is, in the minds of many, to challenge the status quo. Arguably, this study only reinforces traditional gender roles and perceptions of gender. Moreover, the numbers were crunched in a very particular fashion, creating a prominent gap between male and female. Numbers can be manipulated to say anything or support almost any conclusion. The entire study is here. Below is its statement of purpose.

In conclusion, we believe we made it clear that the true extent of sex differences in human personality has been consistently underestimated.

At the end of the report, the scientists who have signed their name state that they hope their discoveries will be a catalyst for future discoveries. Among many who have read and analyzed the study, it is unclear the sort of revelations that might eventually arrive. Some see the work as regressive, others as totally unhelpful, merit aside. Regardless of intent, the information seems ripe for ideological debate. Whether this was deliberately intended or not, these scientists must have been at least partially aware of how it would be perceived.

EMDR Session

2012-01-04T07:31:00.000-06:00

It's time for another EMDR session today. If needed, two of them are held back to back, both an hour in duration. By the conclusion, the therapist always tells me that I'm doing hard, but necessary work. Afterward, I feel emotionally, even physically drained, but also more at peace. The office of the therapist is darkly lit, with no windows and only a solitary small lamp. This seems to intensify the process being done. I'm halfway hypnotized by the conclusion of our work together.

My eyes follow her fingers back and forth, side to side. Should I do it properly, I'm praised. It feels good to hear, especially in the middle of the discomfort. I am to hold a traumatic still picture of choice in my mind. The only perquisite is that it must be strong. Other images appear of their own accord. All perfectly normal.

Some of these have their own staying power. Some subside within the first few sweeps of her fingers, positioned as they are in a slight v-shape. Seated alongside me, the fingers travel from right to left and back. I'm never sure where my mind will go from session to session. Sometimes the images produced by the process are very disturbing. Often, feelings alone are troubling, but the images never match the emotional impact.

Every session begins with an exacting series of steps. The therapist works off of precise instructions found in a workbook. She cradles the instructions in her lap from the moment we begin to the time for parting. At first, I explain what has been recently troubling me. She takes extensive notes. That section proceeds like regular psychotherapy. Then comes a section where I'm asked to rank the severity of some traumatic image from my past. The pain is to ranked from 0 to 7, 7 being the most intense. An extensive ranking process proceeds while the EMDR is slowly introduced.

Sometimes I grow weary of the extended rating process. I'd just as soon proceed directly to direct EMDR, but that's not how it works. One has to follow each step in sequence, or the overall gain would not be sufficient or even effective. I keep telling myself that the brain is supposed to do the work. I find myself wanting to understand, intellectually, but that doesn't work. It will never work that way.

I am not in control of the process. The images and feelings come and go of their own free will. Eventually, the discomfort subsides. Pain and anxiety that once ranked a 7 steadily decreases to a 2, 1, or even a 0. At the outset, I was told I might need as many as thirty sessions. I've had five since and look forward to the next, even if I risk having a panic attack in the middle. I guess I could be angry about what happened to me, but I'd much rather devote that energy to making myself totally well.

How We Got Here

2012-01-03T09:14:00.000-06:00

All lyrical credit due to Thom Yorke and Radiohead. Concept mine.

I will stop, I will stop at nothing.
Say the right things when electioneering.

When I go forward

you go backwards

and somewhere we will meet.

When I go forwards

you go backwards

and somewhere we will meet.
Ha ha ha

Riot shields, voodoo economics,
it’s just business, cattle prods, and the I.M.F.
I trust I can rely on your vote.

When I go forwards

you go backwards

and somewhere we will meet.

When I go forwards

you go backwards

and somewhere we will meet.

Stepping out

2012-01-02T08:46:00.000-06:00

I am now officially out at Meeting. It was a slow, deliberative process from start to finish. One of my first decisions was, early last year, to out myself to a number of fellow Quaker Young Adults. Most, if not all of these people are scattered throughout the country. I don't have to keep company with them on a regular basis, so I knew I wouldn't routinely be confronted with their reactions. As I often do, I introduced the topic by way of a written post. The essay had a relatively limited audience, so I stayed in selective out status.

It wasn't until the past two or three weeks that this changed. In therapy, it was brought up that I might want to consider taking a higher profile. Following this advice, I outed myself to someone else LGBT, a person active in Meeting. In an effort to ease the transition and to provide me with others who understood, she reached out on a wide scale. Contrary to my fears, no one seems to have taken any offense to the knowledge. Some aren't sure how to take it and this is confirmed by the look on their face. At least one has been deliberately flirtatious, though in such an awkward fashion that I wasn't sure of his intention.

I've managed most of the change without major problems. It still makes me uncomfortable if another man sees me as an object of desire. The reverse is also true. Maybe now that I've left myself no room for an another retreat, I'll begin to make progress. The theory in cognitive therapy is that of gradual immersion. If, for example, one should be afraid of standing next to someone else on public transportation, deliberately stand a little closer. Hold the position as long as one can, then re-establish old boundaries. Continue the process for slightly longer each time. Eventually, the anxious, irrational feelings will subside.

At least for the moment, I remind myself of one of my creative influences. I've written before about the gay British film and stage director Lindsay Anderson. Though speculation was omnipresent, his sexual orientation remained a closely-guarded secret until the auteur's death. Anderson notably never married, nor did he seek a partnered relationship. He stayed single for the whole of his life, though he constantly surrounded himself with his friends to keep away the loneliness. His diaries, published posthumously, show a man consumed by feelings of isolation, tormented by his desires.

In many ways, his class status factored into the decision to stay closeted. Anderson was of high birth, the son of an army officer. Those who entered life into such fortunate circumstances faced additional pressures and restrictions. Anderson believed that he never really could come out and as a result, he never did. Other decisions may have contributed as well, but these have likely gone with him to the grave.

We all seek coping mechanisms if our basic needs are not met. Some may not feel this way, but, in general, I do believe that humans are intended to seek and attain romantic relationships. Anderson's method was of quietly, silently, secretly falling in love with every single one of his leading men. They were heterosexual and thus not attainable, which made those feelings safe. These fantasies could never be consummated, nor followed to their logical extension. This is tragic self-delusion but it is not unusual.

The idea is not relegated to closeted gay men alone. Friends and acquaintances both now and in times past have used the same script for their own lives. Shy and uncertain, perhaps even with low self-image, they'll form romantic attachments to men who are already in relationships. These men are unattainable, which makes the feelings and the dreams involved safe. Another method is to project desires onto male platonic friends, believing that the possibility for more is simply impossible. I've wished many times before that through sympathy and wisdom alone I could facilitate confidence. Confidence seems to be something an individual alone must consciously choose.

If coming out means we can't go back into our safety zones, then I think it has application beyond one interpretation. Humans seem to be sensitive to criticism or to rejection. We wouldn't act so tough if we weren't afraid of being hurt. Life requires confrontation of adversity, not to give us the satisfaction of having achieved some difficult feat, but in finding the very things we need most. My New Year's wish for many is the ability to slowly, steadily, challenge yourself. Should you achieve love and acceptance, I would like to celebrate with you.

Quote of the Week

2012-01-01T07:07:00.001-06:00

"Youth is when you're allowed to stay up late on New Year's Eve. Middle age is when you're forced to."- Bill Vaughn

Saturday Video

2011-12-31T05:00:00.000-06:00

He's got a perfect face
Turn away before you goand turn me on
I cannot look away
I'm stunnedit's that
Je ne sais quoiuh huh

He talks to me in my sleep
Does he write my songs for me?
Should I try to play just like him?
Kick it out, could you show me your riffs?

You always measure me by him
Don't get me wrong
I'm not opposed to something big
I'm so sick of tests

Go ahead and flunk my ass
You don't own the situation, honey
You don't own the stage

We're here to join the conversation
and we're here to raise the stakes

Now do you hear that soundas the Model breaks?
Take the stage!
Let the image of him fade away
Go back and tear the pictures from the page

It's time for a new rock n' roll age
History will have to find a different face
and if you're ready for more
I just might be what you're looking for
You don't own the situation, honey

You don't own the stage
We're here to join the conversation
and we're here to raise the stakes
Now do you hear that soundas
the Model breaks

Take the stage!

Vignette

2011-12-30T14:35:00.001-06:00

I was twenty. She wasthirty.

Ten year’s difference. I knew it to be a big deal, but I couldn’tquite make sense of it. I kept turningit over and over in my mind. These days,I’d never be with anyone a full decade younger than me.

Where did we meet people in those days? It must have been in a chat room. For a few years, there was no shortage of thelonely, the socially awkward, and the looking.

You didn’t really have to look. You just started talking and things quicklymade their way from there. The Internetmade physical appearance a non-issue and personality the most important factor. We moved fast in those days, probably toofast.

I won’t feign ignorance. I made the trip down I-65 to Mobile knowing full well what I was toreceive. Should I speak of sexual past, severalof these dalliances exist, of which I now have mixed feelings. In those days, I would let my emotions overtakeme, even when they defied reason and rationality. Sometimes I'd have just enough money to manage. But I’d be lying, though, if I said I wasn’t gladfor the release.

She was very openly bisexual. Within the space of a few minutes she toldme. Prior to the trip, I nervously confessedthe same to her. Then, I was much more naïve. Now, I can form conclusions I was simply tooyoung and too inexperienced to have reached. She dressed very masculine, even down to her underwear. I found the effect appealing and rebellious,honest to a fault, as I was myself. Thatthese choices reflected large defining aspects like sexual orientation did not occur to me at the time.

Rather than being repulsed or perhaps even somewhat threatenedby the same-sex relationships I was only beginning to develop, she wasaccepting. Not just accepting, but alsoaroused by the very thought.

Tell me about them! This she implored, eagerly. I obliged, adding extra details I would notthink to incorporate in my own thoughts, even in my own private recollections.

This was…different.

We seemed to have attracted each other based on similaritieswe needn’t even articulate. A vocabulary of terminology would have been helpful, but what I feltinstinctively was informative enough. Following that, a majority of my lovers were bisexual. For a time I quite preferred it thatway. I enjoyed not having to explain athing or feeling worried that I would be misunderstood.

However, in this regard, the age difference and the substantialdistance brought an end to us. Herfriends were mostly uncomprehending and hostile about why she’d want someone as youngas me. Though I’d like to believe Iacted more mature for my age, I also recognize that I had only recently leftbehind my boyhood. She, by contrast,came across much younger than her age would suggest, which would at least partiallyexplain my appeal.

My recollections now mostly center on a trip we tooktogether. We left for a state park inthe eastern Panhandle of Florida, not far from Pensacola. After arriving, we camped close to anestuary, out on a sand bar. The rest ofthe day was spent inside a tent. There’ssomething about the intimacy of coitus that encourages copious, heartfeltdialogue.

Though I may still have shameand anxiety, spending a weekend with her went a long way towards acceptance. Here was someone who desired me as I was,someone who did not judge or jump to conclusions. The older I get, the more I think of her.

More 90's Nostalgia

2011-12-30T06:32:00.002-06:00

Moderation in an immoderate age

2011-12-29T13:33:00.000-06:00

I received some humbling news from an editor today. Feeling confused, I had solicited her honest opinion. A few previously submitted columns of mine had notbeen accepted for publication. I hadconfidence in their quality but knew I must have been doing somethingwrong. I wasn’t sure whether the faultwas in their format or their content, so I was seeking clarity accordingly. What I was told was to avoid preaching to thechoir.

"Everyone already agrees with you," she said.

She continued. “Tryto persuade the other side through reason and evidence, not yelling and tearingdown.”

I believe I may have been in activist mode for too long. Over time, I might have inadvertently transformedmyself into a polemicist. Being an attack dog is a strong leading, especially if you feel oppressed and mischaracterized inany way by the outside world. It’s adefault setting of sorts for my Feminist discourse, Quaker discourse, and Christiandiscourse.

Writing first with the beliefthat I would surely be misunderstood, I’ve felt that the best defense was a powerful offense. Sometimes I’ve yelledand sometimes I’ve torn down, mostly before anyone else could think to do thesame to me.

Activism says: Be outraged! Things are wrong with the world! Peopleneed to know about these travesties! Whereis justice and basic fairness? What ishappening here is wrong! How could aperson say that!

We live in a time where our defenses are up, guardingagainst someone’s inevitable frontal assault. The nature of journalism invites criticism, even solidly negativecriticism. We who write for a living orfor a certain amount of income often need to be reminded to toughen ourhides. We don’t have to be doormats. We don't have to put up with injustice. We're not obligated to be always accommodating no matter what. But we don’t have to always bare our teeth, either.

I’m writing for my own benefit here, as well. When we do draw fire, it may not always bebest to consistently, reflexively reach out for protection. Allies are important, butaddressing an argument impartially needs no Amen Corner. The facts alone should stand by themselves. That we would call for reinforcements onlyemphasizes how threatened we feel. I’mnot saying that attacks don’t happen or that criticism is only a state of mind,merely that we have more control over our responses than we may even believe.

Sometimes we feel that increasing the volume is a sufficientmethod of returning fire. They yell, weyell. They yell back, we yell back. The yelling thus becomes a controversy and anavenue for drama. It makes for greatratings, but by the end, most people grow thoroughly sick of the upheaval andexhausted by the effort. We regroup andsilently prepare for the next one.

Don’t get me wrong. There are avenues for writing and expression where righteous indignationis strongly desired. Still, an enlightenedperspective without the incorporation of activist bombast often characterizes the content of many qualitypublications. Sober reflection is valuedmore than indignant firepower. I thinkthere’s more than ample room for both.

Too much scorched earth policy isn’t just psychologically taxing; it may even takemoney out of our pockets. Writing tosuit a publication’s specific needs needn’t be an intellectual exercise, it mayalso be instructive. Moderation in an immoderateage might well keep us all sane.

Is Occupy Redundant?

2011-12-29T09:32:00.001-06:00

The Occupy movement has been a boon to talking heads, professional pontificators, journalists, and activists. Covering the proceedings has kept many busy and created much work in sour economic times. Now, however, the demonstrations have, in the minds of many, moved from novelty to annoyance to a bore. With the exception of a few cities, most camps have been broken up and forced to disperse. The lack of public outrage to this show of force shows the true feelings of most Americans, even those with Occupy sympathies. A fight for the hearts and minds has not succeeded.

I know that many people still actively engaged in Occupy will debate me here point for point. Many readers may take offense to my conclusions. Some have stated that the media consistently distorted (and still distorts) the message of the movement, showing its goals to be too vague and unsubstantial. Others have believed that the mainstream players, at least, have emphasized and exaggerated only its worst qualities. In the beginning, I was a strong supporter of Occupy but I have not seen the forward momentum and growth needed for continued relevancy. What some believed was the cusp of a momentous, growing revolution has simply not materialized. The story of its promise is more compelling than its actual stature.

The city government of Washington, DC, has been one of the most tolerant thus far. However, Mayor Vincent Gray has been quoted as saying that the city was losing patience with the protesters. This is reflected in a recent letter drafted by a DC law enforcement union, the Fraternal Order of Police.

The union representing D.C. police claims crime in the District is up, in part because officers are being pulled from neighborhood patrols and reassigned to monitor the Occupy D.C. protests. Kristopher Baumann, chairman of D.C.'s Fraternal Order of Police wrote a letter to Mayor Vincent Gray stating violent crime is up by 17% and overall crime is up by 14% since protesters moved into the city 3 months ago.

True or not, the letter reflects a strong displeasure with the movement. Growing dissatisfaction in many corners may spell the eventual end. As has been the case in other cities, protesters would resist, dozens would be arrested, but both parks would nonetheless be cleared. The news would dutifully record what had happened. Those who like their information live and immediate could follow on Twitter and live streaming video. After the shouting was over, substantial calls for righteous indignation would be found in short supply. Those calling for blood would find, yet again, their energies highly ineffective.

Regardless of how posterity may view it, we in the present day might draw some lessons. Some weeks back I took it upon myself to read the McPherson Square Occupy DC list of grievances in full. It was eloquent and inclusive, but far too complicated and lengthy. Effort had clearly been made to take in account everyone's perspective, but the document ran to nearly two pages. Protests work best when built around one or two easily digestible, comprehensible messages. Save treatises for graduate school or a book.

The strictly enforced leaderless focus, the linchpin of many gatherings, also troubled me. I believe that separate, specific leaders are highly necessary. The problems of hierarchy will not necessarily transfer should those with the ability to guide and motivate take their rightful places. I have only seen such a decentralized model work well in very small groups, those far smaller than the ones numbering a few hundred up to a thousand. They who sought to organize may have learned a variety of lessons from their admirable effort. In their lives going forward, the experience may be quite useful both for themselves and for others.

If this strange chapter in our history is to close, one wonders how history would record it. Would it be seen as a period piece, a time capsule, very much a product of its time? Or, if not, would it be the beginning of something more, its failure only temporary in the grand scheme of things? Occupy will only be a failure if we do not learn from its shortcomings. 21^stCentury public outrage may need to take a very different form next time. These recent experiments in direct democracy may someday be the impetus for more, but until then, I'll think of Occupy as a noble attempt.

Helter Skelter

2011-12-28T08:20:00.001-06:00

This is something vaguely sinister about this song. It makes sense, on one level, why Charles Manson would take the title as his definition of a coming war. Beatles music, until then, had never been this deliberately ugly. In this setting, I've adopted a simple acoustic rendering, which softens the blow. Still, the words are fairly threatening.

When I get to the bottom I
go back to the top of the slide
Where I stop and I turn and I go for a ride
'Till I get to the bottom and I see you again.

Do, don't you want me to love you?
I'm coming down fast but I'm miles above you
Tell me, tell me, tell me,

come on, tell me the answer
You may be a lover but you ain't no dancer.

Helter skelter, helter skelter
Helter skelter.

Will you, won't you want me to make you?
I'm coming down fast but don't let me break you

Tell me, tell me, tell me the answer
You may be a lover but you ain't no dancer.

Helter skelter, helter skelter

When I get to the bottom
I go back to the top of the slide

Where I stop and I turn and I go for a ride
Till I get to the bottom and I see you again.

Well do you, don't you want me to love you?
I'm coming down fast but don't let me break you

Tell me, tell me, tell me the answer
You may be a lover but you ain't no dancer.

Helter skelter, helter skelter
Helter skelter.

Faith and the New Year

2011-12-27T09:20:00.004-06:00

I wrote this originally for my Meeting, but felt that it had application beyond Quaker eyes.
___________________________

Hello Friends,

Christmas over, we now prepare for the arrival of another year. New Year's resolutions of any stature are routinely made, then broken. Sometimes they take the form of an intended regular exercise routine. Sometimes they are a vow to avoid unhealthy excess, like junk food or needless consumerism. Some concerns center on the question of faith and belief. The last of these rely highly on the usage and development of spiritual muscles. Like many other areas in our lives, spiritual muscles must be built with up with practice, repetition, and observance.

I am fairly certain I've used the lyrics of a specific song in this forum once before. I do remember that the context was a little different. In any case, I can't recall for certain, so forgive me for any overlap. I may have even mentioned a line or two during a vocal ministry. No matter. The name of the song is "Sympathy", performed ably by the indie rock group Sleater-Kinney.

"Sympathy" stands alone in the Washington State group's canon. Topics usually focused on leftist politics and Feminism. As you will see, this one could not be more different.

The song seeks to document a very emotionally intense situation, this being the premature birth and fight for life of the songwriter's son. I doubt, based on its lyrics alone, that the idea of belief wasn't important to her. Rather, she was far more comfortable writing about activism and all its permutations. "Sympathy" stands out for this reason, possessing as it does a kind of bittersweet beauty. It is the story of someone whose life is, at least for the immediate short term, dramatically changed by a traumatic situation. The potential for disaster is grave enough that the panicked mother reaches out for God. And as she does, she speaks for all of us. I think it would be safe to say that we have all formed these thoughts in a crisis.

I know I come to you only when in need
I’m not the best believer, not the most deserving
but all I have, all I am, all I can…for him
I’d beg you on bended knees for him

I have thought identically on more than one occasion. Here, a mother, fearful for the survival of her child turns automatically to prayer. For all of our own skepticism, for all the reasons to otherwise hold doubts, we might very well respond the same way. Some will say that we are only embracing a less evolved part of our brains. This might be so on some level, but I think the need for God would not persist as it does if this were the case. The limitations of human comprehension are vast.

Precious baby, is your life hanging by a thread?
A thread I’m standing on, praying on today
all I have, all I am, all I can...for him
I’d beg you on bended knees for him

I don’t like the doctor with the deep long face
only wants to give us the very worst case
I’d rather shout out and shake him and do anything for him
I’d beg you on bended knees for him

when the moment strikes
it takes you by surprise and
leaves you naked in the face of death and life
there is no righteousness in your darkest moment
we’re all equal in the face of what we’re most afraid of

These, the most profound lyrics of all. There is no righteousness in your darkest moment. We're all equal in the face of what we're most afraid of. The song's lyricist believes that our times of trial and pain do not deserve commemoration. She refuses to romanticize them as brave or as moments of valor. To her, they are only confirmation of our fragile, brittle humanity. We are all unified on some level by that which terrifies us. These two lines have application well beyond its immediate context. For instance, they could be applied to war, to politics, to environmental issues. They would work for any number of other aspects of human life.

and I’m so sorry
for those who didn’t make it
for the mommies who are left
with their hearts breaking

I search for meaning in sores
the sentences they might form
it’s the grammar of skin
peel it back, let me in

look for hope in the dark
the shadow cast by your heart
it’s the grammar of faith
no more rules, no restraint

Without the comfort of comprehensible information and no certainty upon which to rely, we look for meaning in other avenues. We scour for meaning in that which lies in front of us. We analyze sores, skin, body parts. The grammar of faith, as we understand it, is not a system of rules and regulations. The grammar of faith is a mystery.

How angry I would be if
you’d taken him away
I wish I was wiser
but instead I’ll be grateful, I’ll say

thanks for the love, for the joy,
for the smile on his face

’cause I would beg you on bended knees for him
I would beg you on bended knee

It is easy to turn to anger, should the unthinkable strike. Many of us would turn to anger if our partners, our children, our loved ones were taken from us. The songwriter recognizes that she would also have held the same automatic response. The crisis over, she might not be as wise as she could be, but she does recognize that she is very lucky.

Her child survived an awful, emotionally wrenching ordeal. And yet, the trial could not be more commonplace. Regardless of where we look, this same motif shows up time and time again. And we consistently find that struggle a fascination, be it in books, movies, songs, or other artistic works.

As I conclude, I leave you with a bit of reflection. I wish I was wiser, but instead I'll be grateful.

In the Light,

Kevin.

Quote of the Week

2011-12-25T08:39:00.000-06:00

"I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round, as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys."- Charles Dickens

Saturday Video

2011-12-24T05:00:00.000-06:00

I think this video goes beyond heavy-handed to make its point, but it still has its virtues. The song was recorded in the highly political John & Yoko period that produced works of great beauty and of hamfisted sanctimony. As a pacifist manifesto, it serves its purpose.

So this is Christmas
And what have you done
Another year over
And a new one just begun

And so this is Christmas
I hope you have fun
The near and the dear ones
The old and the young

A very merry Christmas
And a happy New Year
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear

And so this is Christmas
War is over
For weak and for strong
If you want it

For rich and the poor ones
War is over
The road is so long
Now

And so happy Christmas
War is over
For black and for white
If you want it

For yellow and red ones
War is over
Let's stop all the fight
Now

And so this is Christmas
War is over
And what have we done
If you want it

Another year over
War is over
And a new one just begun
Now

And so happy Christmas
War is over
I hope you have fun
If you want it

The near and the dear ones
War is over
The old and the young
Now

War is over if you want it
War is over now

The end of T

2011-12-22T17:53:00.000-06:00

Approximately one year after starting a course of treatment, I have stopped injecting testosterone weekly. The illness for which I began hormone therapy, hypogonadism, has finally been properly resolved. Hypogonadism means abnormally low levels of testosterone in the body. My condition is now understood in greater detail. Normal production of testosterone has been stimulated within the system itself. Hormone therapy likely made a permanent effect on one physical aspect of my life, but I feel somewhat underwhelmed by what it produced on a larger scale.

The observable, measurable results, I must tell you, have been surprisingly small. I have gained a few pounds, this by putting on more muscle mass, but those are the few outward signs. Inwardly, I have to say I don’t feel any more or any less masculine. The lessons I have learned are that hormones alone do not dictate gender. Powerful as they are, they cannot enhance or transform by their very being. In reality, the organ most responsible for how I identify is the brain. Here’s what I’ve gathered. The reason why I am genderqueer results from the way I was formed in the womb--this combined with how my brain developed.

This realization is puzzling in many regards. I never honestly expected massive changes from heightened levels of testosterone. But I did think that a few interesting end products might have given me greater insight. Even with an extremely high level of T in my body, I still felt a strong female identification. When my testosterone level was elevated, my estrogen level usually followed suit. Much as was true with its counterpart, elevated estrogen made no real difference either way.

What my body seemed to crave from a biological standpoint was balance. Anything higher than an optimum concentration, then I experienced multiple side effects.I seek balance myself, as much as I can hope to attain. The thought of speaking in this circumstance for every gender non-conforming person seems untenable and unfair. What I will say is that large swaths of sex and gender both probably still exist beyond our basic understanding to date. The application of hormones is one piece of a complex puzzle. It is an inexact resolution, at best. Who knows what the progression of science and medicine will provide in a later time?

But in the meantime, I at least have expanded my basic knowledge. Everyone who fits outside the gender box treads their own path of self-discovery. And I at least have some cursory idea of what one aspect of transitioning looks like and feels like. Never have I ever thought that the process was easy for anyone. I myself myself have fought with fatigue and a greatly decreased appetite. I've watched my libido swing wildly up and down as body systems struggled for equilibrium. Expanding the basic empathy of others is always positive and produces great gain. I am thankful for the opportunity to learn and I hope also, by this post, to teach.

I'm Not Here Today

2011-12-22T08:01:00.000-06:00

Time for revelry, good cheer, making figgy pudding, and all that stuff.

Bradley Manning's transgender defense

2011-12-21T09:50:00.005-06:00

In the latest developments of the Wikileaks case, Private Bradley Manning's espionage trial continues. I find it peculiar that his defense has chosen to use Gender Identity Disorder in the hopes of preventing a conviction. A picture of the Army private dressed in women’s clothing has been introduced during court proceedings. The basic framing of this motion I object to most. As transgender identity gains greater acceptance, few reasons remain to designate gender non-conforming behavior as a disorder.

Disorder implies in the minds of many that it is a kind of illness, or even a kind of mental illness.Manning's lawyers do nothing to dispel this line of thought. Gender dysphoria, in my case, has been present for years. By this I mean I've sometimes felt male and in many ways I have been more comfortable expressing myself as female. With time, I've become much more comfortable existing somewhere between the confines of absolute, rigidly defined gender. I've even come to believe that absolute gender is a societal construct, not a biological reality.

Taking into account the opinion and examples of other people who identify as genderqueer, I've recognized I am not alone. By genderqueer I mean that I find I cannot identify solely as male, nor as female. My conception of gendered self falls outside the two-sex binary. As a result, loneliness and isolation have been consistent worries. The way I felt about myself remained a lasting, constant nag in the back of the mind. I still feel that way today. But neither did those feelings prevent me from working or from living my life. The Manning defense equates transgender with some debilitating disease or chronic condition. Even in my time of greatest questioning and doubt, I was still a functioning person.

I believe that, in this circumstance, the accused did go through significant mental strain around the time he chose to leak classified documents. In periods of crisis, conflicts within ourselves are more prominent and cannot be easily suppressed. However, the defense’s argument is a see-through distortion, hoping to deceive those who are ignorant of gender nonconformity. Transgender people have a tough enough time winning acceptance. Acceptance starts within the self, but then must exist within the greater world. A defense like this is cynically manipulative, even opportunistic.

Cheapening the experiences of those who are transgender does not educate, rather it calcifies and reinforces incorrect assumptions. If Bradley Manning is transgender, he does have my sympathies. However, I should state that those of one biologically assigned sex who dress in the clothing of another are not necessarily transgender. Some would qualify as transvestites. Manning did contact a counselor to discuss undergoing transition, but considering options does not necessarily mean a desire to undergo an expensive, lengthy process.I do not believe Gender Identity Disorder, if there is even such a thing, to be a medical problem. Rather I view it as a manifestation of a broad, misunderstood gender spectrum of presentation.

Using a disputed diagnosis to avoid jail time obscures the truth. Whistle blowers like Manning who face significant time in jail, should they be convicted, are always few in number and I support his deeds. However, this latest decision appears to be a legal move made purely of desperation. Lest someone get the wrong idea, gender dysphoria is itself a process. With it comes a complex set of feelings and self-judgments.

Nearly everyone who identifies outside one gender norm experiences it. Every person’s process is very different. Eventual resolution usually takes years and sometimes can take multiple years. Some for whom the gender binary is constraining and unhelpful feel the need for surgery, hormone therapy, and a complete transformation.

Others, like me, have discovered that a greater, radical self-acceptance is needed most. I do not feel that I am wholly at odds with my biologically assigned sex, however, I cannot fit comfortably into it. Too much overlap exists for that. Over time, I have talked at length with others who are not heterosexual, and many others who identify as neither fully male, nor fully female. Regardless of whether they identify as lesbian, gay, bisexual, or transgender I have noticed a particularly interesting sort of fluidity.

Each LGBT individual comes to his or her (or an appropriate non-gendered pronoun) own conclusion as to where one fits along the gender continuum. We are alone together, in some ways. Almost everyone acknowledges a blend of identities. Almost no one seems to be exactly like anyone else.

That journey towards greater realization can be a distressing one, at least in the beginning, but we all must make it.If it were up to me, there would be no need to cater to ignorance for the sake of winning freedom. We are granted the opportunity more and more to speak to repressed realities. Should Manning’s defense succeed, it will in effect mean that being transgender is a sort of disqualifying mental illness and thus a disability. This is a construct of belief that in addition to being totally incorrect, plagues far too many already.

We need to recognize that not stigmatizing those who are transgender is the first step towards wholesale comprehension. With comprehension comes tolerance. Such people are already well-versed and skilled in how to think badly of themselves, or to think of themselves as inherently damaged. We can do much better.

I Will

2011-12-20T05:00:00.000-06:00

I intended to add at least three or four vocal tracks to this recording. Then, after playing it back, I found it was perfectly fine with two.

I will
Lay me down
In a bunker
Underground

I won’t let this happen to my children
Meet the real world coming out of your shell
With white elephants
Sitting ducks

I will
Rise up

Little babies’ eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes
Little babies’ eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes
Little babies’ eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes
Little babies’ eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes

Addressing Meeting Discipline

2011-12-19T08:45:00.000-06:00

It is often said that Friends have short fuses around politics and long fuses around people. Should something highly ideological and politically loaded be mentioned during Meeting for Worship, intense passions have at times led to tense moments. On the other hand, should a member of the Meeting behave inappropriately and in a consistent fashion, they are often given the benefit of the doubt. Many Friends came from religious traditions where discipline was punitive; this may be why an over-correction is in place. However, there does come a time when setting consequences is not only necessary, it is essential.

To briefly state the reason why I write, a member of my Meeting has, of late, shown a regrettable behavior pattern. He has been verbally abusive to others. The Friend in question is a prickly person even in the best of times. I regret to say that this past First Day is not the first time he has directly insulted me. Many other Friends have received the same treatment. At no point has he ever felt a need to apologize. However, his behavior did momentarily improve for a time, but only after I called him out on his attitude towards me. It took an open letter to the entire Meeting to achieve that desired result, but my decision did prove very effective.

I recognize that he is severely mentally ill and I am not unsympathetic towards that fact. But regardless of his disability, his behavior crossed the line a long time ago. One never knows whether such people are capable of controlling themselves, or are choosing not to do so. My personal opinion, based on my previous plea for disciplinary action, is that no one is keeping him accountable for his abusive tongue. I'm not sure whether a system is in place for situations like these, but if there is not, one needs to be developed.

There is no reason to go into specifics. At any rate, this is probably not the proper venue for them. After Worship yesterday, suffice to say that he twisted the meaning of my vocal ministry, perhaps deliberately. He then sought to accost me for my supposed rhetorical inconsistencies, this in front of dozens of witnesses. Attendance was high due to a Meeting-wide project that is a long standing holiday tradition.

The Friend regularly resorts to straw man arguments, these intended to put a person immediately on the defensive. Startled by the harshness of his tone, I yelled back for a few seconds and then decided to immediately leave the Meetinghouse. Because his conduct has only gotten worse recently, I was angrier than I would have been otherwise. To calm myself, I took a long walk as I processed what had just happened.

I’m not sure whether he intends to merely provoke or to win an argument. As I noted, I’m not sure about his cognitive functionality. If I had to posit a guess though, I think he’s far more in control of himself than many believe. Before I say this, my intention is never to infantilize anyone, especially the severely mentally ill. But I will say that recently he has of late been acting like a bratty little boy. What I don’t understand, in particular, is why I have consistently been his chosen target. If I felt I was capable of receiving a coherent answer, I would ask him myself. By now, I know I would not receive it and could quite possibly only spark another pointless, high volume argument.

My Meeting tends to soft-pedal these sorts of issues, and I think that the decision does more harm than good. Prior consistent offenders have been taken out for coffee, not severely cautioned. I should add that not a single one of these problematic Friends was ever required to recant publicly, which I think would have gone a long way towards restoring Meeting health. A heartfelt apology goes a very long way. Those who lack basic impulse control and choose not to pursue self-restraint for any reason must have boundaries clearly defined for them. In this, my example, I have a pretty good reason of why this Friend is acting out, one that for privacy’s sake I will keep to myself. Still, knowledge of a problem is not the same as implementing solutions.

An article I read before writing this post summarizes my thoughts quite succiently.

The outcry against discipline in the modern church is, "We are not supposed to judge another." Such an assertion can only be made by people who have an inadequate knowledge of Scripture concerning the matter. The fact of the matter is that if guilt is clearly established (as is always essential), then the person has judged himself.

A persistently contentious matter today concerns the presence of Elders. The word itself seems to invoke an unsmiling scold intent on policing the Meeting with a heavy hand. This more modern definition entirely misses the mark. Quakers are not the only people of faith for whom disciplining its own is a problem. We often view the past as cruel and unforgiving and see no value in it. In seeking not to return to a less evolved time, we have removed discipline from its rightful place. Discipline should always be conducted in a spirit of love, not hatred.

As I conclude, I recognize that as one person, I am limited in the decision-making process. It is entirely possible that it will take more blatant outbursts before he is ever effectively told to stop. Living together in Beloved Community among Friends with strong opinions already thoroughly strains those bonds. Though it may be distasteful, we must resort to corrective actions when no other option remains. Should the offending Friend see the light and reverse course, we should be the first to extend open arms, this in a spirit of forgiveness.

EDIT: A Friend informs me that the correct term is "Overseer", not "Elder". Many Quakers no longer use the phrase because it is closely associated in the modern mind with slavery.

Ward stories

2011-12-18T14:27:00.004-06:00

I don’t usually write about a particular time in my life for a reason. Open as I am, some memories are too much like shards of glass. Broken glass describes how I felt about my life at that time, a metaphor that invokes fragility, or an easy way to cut oneself. Unlike some I knew, the cuts made to my body were psychological, not physical. I did not feel any sense of control, nor any modicum of power should I choose to damage myself. Instead, I felt helpless in those trying times. They are, gratefully, part of my past, not my present.

I’ve chosen to write on this topic to discuss the interaction between men and women as I observed it. Feminism, as I’ve understood it, often exists where both sexes meet, or to be more exact, in the interplay of the gender spectrum. In a more-or-less controlled environment like a psychiatric ward in a hospital, new and different combinations are produced. I observed a little of everything over time. I would be lying if I said I didn’t observe sexist attitudes and callous misogyny among some, but I also witnessed gender equality in surprising places.

We were patients. We were all generally miserable, hoping that this hospitalization was the last one. We felt an allegiance in pain, a comradeship where most other separating qualifiers were not as important. Race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, gender—none of these mattered much in the fellowship of emotional distress. Group therapy encouraged vulnerability, and the stories shared were humanizing. They were also frequently horrifying, but sometimes horror is the first step towards health. Regardless of how we defined ourselves, it was easy to view the parallels from person to person.

It wasn't all good feeling and group growth. From time to time there were always men who made frequent, sexist comments to female patients. They usually just wanted attention, even negative attention. I always found that these sorts of men comprised only a small fraction of patients. They were the sort that usually had few real friends. Loners in life and in the ward, their over-the-top antics usually isolated them from others. Their childishness made them easy to control and also easy to ignore. I have long wondered if I could have learned anything else especially helpful from the behavior of these men, who I saw as pathetic more than threatening.

The fellowship of emotional distress produced not-entirely-unwelcome distractions, too. I always fell hard for the sullen girls, the sardonic, sarcastic ones. They were the types most likely to wear black alternative band t-shirts, their hair dyed some shade of macabre. They were also usually the cutters, bearing scars across all parts of their body, especially their wrists. These women were part of a whole typology of ward patients, a whole sub-genre, bearing its own similarities. I knew the authors of the books they read, the song lyrics they quoted as gospel, their consistent views on life and love. Though they would not open up enough for me to truly understand them, I knew well the front they presented to the world.

Everyone, male or female, had ward crushes. Though romantic and sexual relationships between patients were explicitly forbidden in every hospital where I was a patient, attraction still developed. It was an effect a little like being a counselor at a camp. Apparently, or so I’ve been told, everyone on staff in camp sleeps together. The constant, close proximity was like kindling for fire. If feelings were mutual, it was torturous preserving the façade of platonic interest. The temptation to push the envelope revealed just how powerful sexual desire really is.

Only once did I deliberately and blatantly break the rules. I was sixteen, lonely, and feeling impulsive. The woman in whom I was interested had a boyfriend already, or this is what other patients had said. But it must not have been that serious, because the attention I received was constant. Waiting for the attention of the nurses and staff to be distracted by something else, I entered her room. She welcomed me, but urged me to be quick about it. Suffice it to say that I knew I only had a minute or two before I’d be caught. I achieved what I was after and then fled down the hallway back to my room. It was a heavy risk to take, but I felt like it merited the potential discipline.

Manic Pixie Dream Girl she was not. She was no one's fantasy, least of all mine. The reality was too raw to be smoothed out. We were both equally brooding, equally conflicted, unshowered, heavily sleep deprived. If you've ever seriously contemplated your own mortality, it's easy to grab for a momentary thrill. A verboten kiss on an uncomfortable hospital bed puts a spin into a worried mind. For that moment, the future may well not exist. Prior entanglements simply did not apply.

I could add many more anecdotes to those I’ve told already. The ward could feel like a parallel universe. It’s easy to form kinship around a chronic illness. What patients do not have in common is much less important than what they do. Some may claim that what is felt is a false kind of intimacy, one held by people who are pushed together for the ease of treatment, each in the middle of a crisis situation. If this unity is little more than a basic biological response, then perhaps it is, but it is also an egalitarian expression of common sympathy. Sometimes the best in people, not the worst, shows itself in times of trial.

$240 Worth of Pudding

2011-12-18T07:23:00.000-06:00

Something silly.

Oh yeah...

MTV Shows

Quote of Week

2011-12-18T06:34:00.002-06:00

"All human beings should try to learn before they die what they are running from, and to, and why."- James Thurber

Saturday Video

2011-12-17T08:25:00.003-06:00

This would classify as schmaltz, but I guess that's my mood today. "Pennies from Heaven" became a jazz standard in 1936. As an aside, I much enjoyed talking with the son of one of the songwriters some years ago. I was told many stories about Bing Crosby, for whom this song was originally penned. Few of them were especially complementary.

Every time it rains,
it rains pennies from heaven

Don'tcha know each cloud
contains pennies from heaven?
You'll find your fortune
fallin' all over town

Be sure that your umbrella
Is upside down

Trade them for a package
of sunshine and flowers

If you want the things you love,
you must have showers
So when you hear it thunder
Don't run under a tree

There'll be pennies from heaven
for you and me

Every time it rains, it rains
Pennies from heaven
Don'tcha know each cloud contains
Pennies from heaven?

You'll find you fortune fallin'
All over town
Be sure that your umbrella
Is upside down

Trade them for a package
of sunshine and flowers
If you want the things
you love you must have showers

So when you hear it thunder
Don't run under a tree
There'll be pennies from heaven
for you and for me

Writers I Have Known

2011-12-16T15:09:00.006-06:00

There have been times in my life where I have wondered if anyone fits the dictionary definition of stability. Admittedly, I have asked these questions when witnessing the self-destruction of yet another artist. When I've known them personally, the shock takes on even more sorrow and melancholy. Based on multiple conversations with others over the years, I know the stories I am about to share occur over and over again.

My own worst days are now gratefully beyond me. One of the more difficult life lessons I've learned came by directly observing a couple of my professors. They were as instructive as teachers as they were disconcerting as human beings. In my early twenties, I came to understand, perhaps earlier than some, that some people never mature. Or, it could be said that some areas of their lives are gaping wounds, while other aspects are more or less sufficiently evolved. The best I can reckon is that some don't actively work on themselves in order to make improvement. Call it immaturity of a lack of self-realization, the effect is still the same.

My mentor in college was a published poet. Prior to college, poetry was a discipline I had only occasionally explored. I was inquisitive, eager to learn more, and by nature of my respect for him, I took several of his poetry writing workshops. He was well-known for being utterly devoted to his students. It wasn't unusual for him to work overtime with a student to personally and thoroughly revise poems, line by line. Eventually, I'd sit down with him twice a week to work on the same piece. In a few short months, my output greatly improved in technique and everyone in class noted my progress from poem to poem.

These were in the good days. The cracks were just beginning to show, but I didn't realize at the time how serious the situation really was. A protracted tenure fight just beginning to rage quickly took on a very ugly dimension. Overnight, seemingly, the happy-go-lucky person I once knew became perpetually bitter and angry. I'd ask if there was anything going on, or whether or not I could help, but he'd never say a thing beyond a polite, but firm denial. By the end, it seems he was a little more than a pale shadow of his former self.

This was years after I graduated, but a friend in the department filled me in on the blow-by-blow. His final class as a faculty member was memorable for all the wrong reasons. Aware by then that he had not made tenure, every gathering of students was either an extended rant against the English Department or abject incoherence. I was told that he was often so drunk that a graduate assistant had to finish up the hour. When our heroes disappoint us, we can be devastated or recognize that we all share flaws and a common mortality. I was a little of each.

Another teacher was equally well-known for her inappropriate classroom remarks and complete lack of healthy boundaries. During the first class, she asked if anyone was on a particular anti-depressant. She was seeking feedback, she said, because she had recently been placed on it. Her honesty was so matter-of-fact and unashamed that some people didn't catch on to what it revealed about her mental health. Our first assignment, I recall, was to write about something that scared us. Those were the guidelines, as defined by the syllabus. As rendered, the papers submitted and topics chosen took on a quality of group therapy. I was not exactly sure that this was a good way to structure a workshop.

Eventually, enough people complained and she was no longer allowed to teach. Aware of her reputation, other colleges and universities in the area showed no interest in hiring her. A recovered alcoholic, she became a virtual recluse, rarely leaving the house. Her writing output, which had once consisted of a series of several regionally popular novels, slacked off to almost nothing. With time, her addictions overpowered her as they had before. She developed a heavy dependency on pain pills, an affliction still prominent the last I had heard.

I cite both of these examples, in part, to measure how far I've come. And, I write to state the difficult reality. Artistic, creative people often badly manage the very sensitivity that serves them well and drives their work. Even with all of the mitigating circumstances of my life, I have pushed through the worst of them. Unlike many, I have not let my demons overtake me.

Fears and anxieties have momentarily gotten the best of me sometimes, but they have not dominated my life. People have viewed me in the midst of a panic or two, true. But I have pushed through my pain, not run for a chemical tranquilizer, nor justified my own dysfunctional behavior. In time, these folks will see me in greater contrast, in higher focus. I have faith in my ability to improve my quality of life.

When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see only an indistinct image in a mirror, but then we will be face to face. Now what I know is incomplete, but then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.

Putting on the Breaks

2011-12-16T08:10:00.003-06:00

I have quickly learned that around this time of year, everything beings to grind down. One editor has already told me that he is now on vacation. Another is probably preparing as well. Such is the life of the freelance writer. Those of you who are my readers and engaged in similar pursuits have likely realized this for yourselves as well.

Perhaps I need to take a break myself, for once. I remember, back in the days where I was new to blogging, a nurturing spirit gave me a piece of advice. It was this. "It's okay if I don't write today". Should you find it helpful to your situation, I impart to you the very same words.

I'll be departing next week for the traditional Christmas family gathering. Yesterday, I went to a holiday potluck dinner and much enjoyed myself. The writer's life is often solitary. It is an altogether healthy thing to give voice to the ideas churning inside one's head. And in addition to having these thoughts validated, others can do the very same thing. Or, in other words, one might explain this as the reason why a good conversation can be healing.

Coming out in middle school

2011-12-15T08:11:00.005-06:00

A school district in Utah is defending its decision to report a middle school student's sexual orientation to his parents. The student deliberately self-disclosed his homosexuality during a written activity. He had been open about being gay in other ways, as well. His parents were eventually informed, according to the school district, because of efforts in place to reducing bullying. LGBT groups have gone on record to state that, despite the good intentions of this action, removing anyone's right to out himself or herself is not appropriate. While I favor the view of the latter, I do also understand the motives of the school district.

All of this would have never even been an issue a few short years ago. Though I am now in my early thirties, my experiences were extremely different. It seems almost inconceivable to me that anyone would willingly come out before the end of high school. Where I grew up, at fourteen, LGBT kids might acknowledge the fact within themselves, but never dare to so publicly announce it. In the South, queer culture existed quietly alongside the dominant heterosexual one, always present, but never directly expressed. It would have been seen as a violation of existing social coterie to be that brazenly honest with oneself. Gay people were never to speak or to call attention to themselves as they were.

Among my peers, many had their suspicions early on about a few of their classmates. Sometimes gossip was borne out by fact, when the parties in question came out of the closet. Although inevitable for most, this final step proceeded years later. The more permissive attitudes and freedom present in college usually granted queer kids the confidence to be fully honest with themselves. Those old barriers like constant parental surveillance no longer in place, most opened the closet door wide and left it behind forever. I suppose I always assumed that it was supposed to work this way.

This is why I still have a hard time understanding how anyone would dare to be openly gay in Middle School. Bullying is most intense then, of course, regardless of sexual orientation. And in prior generations, the stigma itself was so intense that coming out was a decision delayed as long as possible.

"Taking away the choice for a LGBT student to come out on their own terms opens the door to significant risks, including harassment at school and family rejection," she said.

Andy Thayer, co-founder of the Gay Liberation Network, said family rejection is a real risk, and some young gay teens have found themselves homeless as a result.

The school "could very well have worsened that situation considerably," he said.

Among a few trusted friends, this at the end of high school, I confessed my bisexuality. But I wasn't anywhere close to emotionally ready to begin to explore that part of myself. In fact, I didn't really explore homosexual relationships and sexuality until my freshman year of college. My parents were left deliberately not informed because I knew they wouldn't approve. Both were openly hostile to the very thought, worried I'd get AIDS or some other gay disease.

My mother had gay friends, but couldn't handle the thought of having a gay child. When I confronted her with who I was she told me that I was only "that way" because I "couldn't get women". These her exact words. It was a ridiculous statement to make since I'd had a few girlfriends by then. But I knew I wasn't speaking to someone in a rational state of mind. Her anxieties and worries had overtaken her judgment, which showed me the source of her intolerance. Fear. I tried to be understanding, but the sting of her words was much too painful.

My father was not much better. He was short-tempered, invalidating, and completely unsympathetic. I was told a story, instead. A very conservative friend of his apparently had a son who was gay. The son had been given, to spare the father's shame, no choice but to move far away. Apparently, the son chose not to do this, instead "flaunting" his "lifestyle choice" in plain view. Accepting and tolerant an anecdote this was not. These statements had almost everything to do with my parents, and nothing to do with me. It was their fears and neuroses that were on display. My side of the story never even merited contemplation.

If I wanted to be treated with basic kindness I knew I'd need to go elsewhere. Though I did not articulate it then, what I wanted was their approval, then a few words of advice. I had to walk a very lonely path myself and searched far and wide seeking guidance. Sometimes I found it, but often I had to learn my lessons alone.

I could have stayed closeted, but I made a conscious decision not to be. The fourteen-year-old Utah student here is extremely lucky. He lives in a time where homophobic bullying is being taken much more seriously. A school district, to say nothing of a society that treats LGBT students as invisible makes no steps to protect them from harm. The news report doesn't indicate one way or another, but I hope his parents have accepted their son as he is. The most important people in his life, their rejection or acceptance will dramatically influence how he sees himself for years and years.

Stay

2011-12-14T09:07:00.002-06:00

Pink Floyd keyboard player Rick Wright wrote several songs about the uneasy relationship between musician and groupie. One gets the feeling that he wasn't quite sure what to make of it. In lyrical form he is tentative, conflicted, even repulsed by the new sexual freedom. He doesn't seem to enjoy it much, in any case.

To process his reservations, he wrote songs like "Stay", which follows below.

Stay and help me to end the day.
And if you don’t mind,
We’ll break a bottle of wine.

Stick around and maybe we’ll put one down,
Because I wanna find what lies behind those eyes.

Midnight blue burning gold.
A yellow moon is growing cold.

I rise, looking through my morning eyes,
Surprised to find you by my side.
Rack my brain to try to remember your name
To find the words to tell you goodbye.

Morning dues.
Newborn day.
A yellow moon turned to gray.

Midnight blue, burning gold.
Midnight blue is growing cold.

Health Update

2011-12-13T17:30:00.003-06:00

Haven't posted one of these in a while, have I?

Today I visited the Primary Care Physician. I've had multiple colds in a short period of time and sought to understand precisely why. What I have is actually a lung infection that has likely lain dormant for months. It has never been adequately treated, nor completely out of my system, which would explain why it hung around for so long. Fortunately, a course of strong antibiotics should get rid of the infection within a week or so.

I also have a condition called Cheliosis. This is a vitamin/nutritional deficiency. What I thought were cold sores were cracks at the sides of my lips, due to malnutrition, essentially. My body doesn't have enough riboflavin or iron in its system right now. I'm supposed to start taking a multivitamin and to force myself to eat more balanced meals.

With time, Testosterone Replacement Therapy and the Aromatase Inhibitor caused my appetite to plunge. Or, at least that's the only likely cause of which I can think. I've found in the last several months that I just wasn't hungry, or that when I did eat, I ate mostly carbohydrates and sugars. Sometimes in seeking to fix one problem, another is created in its place.

Short Story Continuation

2011-12-13T09:08:00.005-06:00

For a time, I thought all of these disparate short story pieces should be eventually conjoined together. Now I believe they stand out by themselves best, individually, as vignettes. I haven't quite decided yet. The best strategy may be to compile them together thematically, or even to be so bold as to write a screenplay someday.

Today's post explores a major area of my life I don't easily confront. I fought with myself in the course of writing, conscious that I shouldn't self-censor to the detriment of the piece. Someday, I hope I can talk about such things without discomfort.

____________________

As I enter, I notice the progression of grey throughout your hair and mine. Mine is only beginning, confined mostly to my temples for the duration. Yours is much more plentiful now. After embracing you, I gather that you still subtly apply patchouli. The chest hair that billows out of your shirt has begun to turn as well. You’ve gained back the forty pounds you’d recently lost when last we met, three years ago. Food always was your torment. Sometimes you'd pour dish soap on food you'd thrown in the trash hours before, so that you wouldn't fish it out and eat it during the night.

You eye me up and down, rapidly and greedily. It embarrasses me now. Once I would have invited your glances. Now you look like a tired old man with a never-ending stack of essays to grade. The last few years have proclaimed your age in front of the world. There was always a kind of defeated, lonely look to you, which I always assigned to your alcoholic mother and overbearing army corporal father. I see how you will be soon, a nice, slightly haunted old man who tips well at local restaurants.

In many ways, I will forever be in your debt. You taught me how to be queer, or at least how to understand it. I rushed into your arms in full freak out mode, eighteen years old and scared absolutely senseless. You were sympathetic, of course. But you didn’t vouch for the fact that I would seduce you. Safe enough, I thought. For a time, you resisted, but neither did you exactly discourage. It wasn’t long before we were lovers. This narrative progression, I gather, is not especially novel or even that out of the ordinary. I just called it the beginning.

Everyone for whom heterosexuality is not an option, or like me, a confusing counterweight, goes through a similar process. First one learns the language, the vernacular, the terminology. Then one applies it to an active life. I was another one of your students, learning from our interplay as much as the unwritten code that opened up before me, bit by bit. Loving mystery, I applied myself well and excelled in symbolic comprehension. Publically, I was fascinated. Privately, I was incredibly tormented.

Regularly locking myself in my room at night, I processed a day spent with you. And I asked myself the same questions. Those who always told me that being attracted to other men was perfectly normal always set off a fresh bout of angst. In all that I saw and felt, nothing felt the slightest bit normal or average. Yet, if I doubted the validity of what I felt, you were always around to prove it. In your arms, I felt momentarily serene. Today, I remember some of that feeling, the hollow, residual sensations we reserve for old lovers.

You understood me. Every Sunday you asked the priest for absolution from sin for homosexuality. The request was always denied. He said the same thing, week in and week out. Don’t act on it. For a time you’d followed his advice. Until well into your twenties you’d remained celibate, chaste, and pure. The phrase you used to describe yourself in those, your salad days was asexual. I tried to explain that asexuality wasn’t necessarily a developmental step. I’m still not certain you understood entirely.

After reversing course, you met someone. The two of you had three wonderful years together until the diagnosis. In those days, AIDS was a death sentence. In an instant you were thrust into the role of caretaker. For five years afterwards, you watched the disease progress, took temperatures, observed night sweats, scheduled doctor’s visits, and then buried him with no one’s assistance but your own. In the course of a long evening, you told me this story, wholly without emotion. There had been pain once, but your voice never showed it. You spoke as though this were a story long told, long memorized.

For a while afterward, I always needed confirmation. Even now, my mind goes strange places. I sometimes doubt what I felt for you, then. If I could deny it, then I could deny who I am, what I am, what this was. The sensation was primal, passionate, and completely affectionate. But unlike how you felt about me, I was never in love with you. I would never allow myself to go that far. You provided me every opportunity to do it, always bringing up the sizable gap in our ages. If you were pushing your heart away, even gently, then I supposed I was allowed to do the very same.

Back in town for a day or so, I thought I might find you at your normal hangout. It shouldn’t matter that you were actively ogling me with unchaste eyes the whole time I was there. We had enough of a history to justify that. I was mostly afraid, like always, that others would pick up on it. Count me as one of those who enjoyed the security and relative anonymity of the clubs and the bars. I knew my place. I knew where I fit into the prevailing culture. Closeted. Even if people disapproved, they still covered for me. They knew why I was there and I never made any pretense otherwise.

We said our goodbyes and you returned to your familiar corner. Blue book essays neatly piled six and seven deep, in coordinated piles stacked on the tabletop. This was your system and I think you alone were the only person to make sense of it. The pedagogical aspect of your life was never especially interesting to me, so I never made inquiries. And you never felt it worthy of a discussion. I only observed the visible products and the observable results. Now, I am only awkward in your presence, the way I imagine all of us feel around an ex.

The Real Palestine

2011-12-12T10:37:00.003-06:00

Last week, GOP Presidential front runner Newt Gingrich raised eyebrows by claiming that the Palestinians were, in his words, an “invented” people. When given an opportunity to qualify or walk back the statement during the most recent Republican debate, Gingrich stood his ground. It is possible to follow the former Speaker’s logic, on some level. However, the remark is also another in a long chain of unapologetic, inflammatory comments Gingrich has made over time. What we see is mostly Newt being Newt. One might as well get used to it.

Other Presidential hopefuls were given an opportunity by the moderator to respond to the comment. Most of them were highly critical of the latest candidate to hold first place, but only Ron Paul told the full truth about Gingrich’s comment. Paul noted that while the former Speaker’s pronouncement might have been factually correct, at least technically, it was a construction of language only designed to make trouble. Beyond forceful and predictable Pro-Israel pandering, it does beg to reopen the debate and challenge our notions of history.

It has often been believed that the Palestinians of today were the Philistines of the Bible. The Arabic language does not contain a hard “P” sound. Instead, the word as properly rendered would sound more like “Ph”, as in Phonetic. Reaching for explanations beyond the most basic can grow extremely heated in a fraction of a second. Indeed, it is difficult to separate facts from strongly held ideological views, both pro-Israel and pro-Palestinian, and both based routinely in hatred. Gingrich surely must have known the danger present in igniting this powder keg once again. But, as is typical, he was more concerned with stirring up controversy than being sensible and reasonable.

Some sources state that Arab settlers, seeking legitimacy, took on the phrase of an ancient, memorable tribe. In some ways, it was a curious selection. Though many of us rarely read the Bible anymore, we are still familiar with the story of David and Goliath. In the account, found in the Old Testament book of 1 Samuel, Goliath is a Philistine and David, his seemingly overmatched challenger, is Hebrew.

Goliath stood and shouted a taunt across to the Israelites. "Why are you all coming out to fight?" he called. "I am the Philistine champion, but you are only the servants of Saul. Choose one man to come down here and fight me! If he kills me, then we will be your slaves. But if I kill him, you will be our slaves! I defy the armies of Israel today! Send me a man who will fight me!"

It is, as we know, the eventual King David who defeats the nine-foot-tall Goliath by way of a slingshot and stones. Palestinians in the 21st Century may resemble David in stature far more than their presumptive ancestor. At the time of the Middle Ages, Philistinism also became a pejorative. The phrase refers to an anti-intellectual, prudish, or otherwise aesthetically resistant person who is smugly indifferent, even openly hostile to cultural pursuits. A particular vein of conservative thought often speaks to this state of willing ignorance, one that often leaves strong political statements unchallenged.

In Western culture, the whole of Judeo-Christian civilization could be viewed as invented. The original text and resulting traditions were adopted quite deliberately by a Roman Emperor who sought to harness Christianity for his own selfish desires. Had he not, then the religion and its observance may have remained small and never left the Middle East. Before Constantine the Great, Christians were heavily persecuted, sometimes infamously thrown to lions. Due to the grand scale and great influence of the Empire, the religion was spread by missionaries to Western Europe, then eventually the New World.

One might say that, much like Israelis and Palestinians both, Christianity is a kind of deliberate transplant. It is strange to consider how profoundly massive our roots are in a small corner of the Earth. Our cultural identity, along with a large source of crude oil are centered there. Conservatives like to play up their cred by expressing their unyielding loyalty to the state of Israel, but if they truly understood, they might think before speaking. I doubt most people, including some of our elected leaders, really understand the Middle East and all its nuances.

Furthermore, Palestinians often are descended from Israelis by blood. In some ways, a particularly persistent Civil War is being waged. Palestinians have been a people without a homeland for a long time, even with their vast amount of diversity in cultural and genetic identification. If they are somehow a construct of politics and imagination, they are far from the only people for whom this is the case. Americans are arranged similarly, since most are transplants from elsewhere. Everywhere that mass migration has taken place, for any reason, one could utter the charge of “invented”. The comparison invites definitions of authenticity that are entirely subjective.

Newt Gingrich hasn’t changed one iota. He’ll still play up hair-splitting points that keep him in the headlines. Many of his supporters will see these characterizations as some kind of courageous fact, when they are half-truths at best. Gingrich is willing to bend the truth, showing himself to be the opposite of mealy-mouthed flip-floppers like Mitt Romney. But what Gingrich backers fail to understand is that, unlike what their hero practices, speaking the complete truth really does take guts. Confronting a world with complex issues that do not invite simple solutions cannot be reconciled by bomb-throwing, either in rhetoric or in military policy.

Quote of the Week

2011-12-11T10:00:00.002-06:00

An old Quaker had retired for the night. He heard a noise downstairs. Rising, he took his hunting shotgun from the wall, and tiptoed very quietly down the steps. Sure enough, there was a burglar looting the family silverware.

In quiet tones, the Quaker addressed the burglar: "My friend, I would not harm thee for the world, but thee is standing where I am about to shoot."- An old joke.

Tuscaloosa Pictures

2011-12-10T09:27:00.001-06:00

Georgia Southern Football Game, a set on Flickr.

19 November 2011. Alabama vs. Georgia Southern.

New Pictures

2011-12-10T09:15:00.002-06:00

My recently married sister and her husband.

Me, November 2011.

Saturday Video

2011-12-10T05:00:00.000-06:00

This song is a favorite of mine. In particular, I love the drum break into the chorus. Though I cannot play a full set well at all, I play air drums along with the recording, every time.

Well, I'm standing here, freezing,
inside your golden garden
I've got my ladder, leaned up against your wall

Tonight's the night we planned
to run away together
Come on Dolly Mae, there's no time to stall
But now you're telling me...

I think we better wait till tomorrow
Yeah, yeah, yeah
(I think we better wait till tomorrow)

Girl, what 'chu talkin' 'bout ?
(I think we better wait till tomorrow)
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Got to make sure it's right,
so until tomorrow, goodnight.

Oh, what a drag.

Oh, Dolly Mae, how can you hang
me up this way ?
Oh, on the phone you said you wanted
to run off with me today

Now I'm standing here like some
turned down serenading fool
Hearing strange words stutter
from the mixed mind of you

And you keep tellin' me that ah...

I think we better wait till tomorrow
What are you talkin' 'bout ?
(I think we better wait till tomorrow)

No, can't wait that long
(I think we better wait till tomorrow)
Oh, no
Got to make sure it's right,
until tomorrow, goodnight, oh.

Let's see if I can talk to
this girl a little bit here...

Ow! Dolly Mae, girl, you must be insane
So unsure of yourself leaning
from your unsure window pane

Do I see a silhouette of somebody
pointing something from a tree?
Click bang, what a hang,
your daddy just shot poor me

And I hear you say, as I fade away...

We don't have to wait till tomorrow
Hey!
We don't have to wait till tomorrow
What you say?
(We don't have to wait till tomorrow)

It must not have been right, so forever,
goodnight, listen at 'cha.
(We don't have to wait till tomorrow)

Ah! Do I have to wait? Don't have to wait
(We don't have to wait till tomorrow)
It's a drag on my part

We don't have to wait till tomorrow)
Don't have to wait, uh, hmm ! Ah, no !
(We don't have to wait till tomorrow)
Don't have to wait, don't have to wait, yeah !

(We don't have to wait till tomorrow)
Don't have to wait, don't have to wait
(We don't have to wait till tomorrow)
Oh, oh

I won't be around tomorrow, yeah!
(We don't have to wait till tomorrow)
Don't have to wait
(We don't have to wait till tomorrow)

Goodbye, bye bye!
(We don't have to wait till tomorrow)
Oh, what a mix up
Oh, you gotta be crazy, hey, ow!
Don't have to wait till tomorrow.

Two of Us

2011-12-09T09:08:00.003-06:00

Timing is of the utmost importance in this song. Should you listen to it, you'll hear that the timing goes a little astray in the last half. The rhythm guitar track decided to get distorted, meaning that I had to record another to fill out the song.

I decided to leave the imperfections in, because I thought I'd try to replicate what a live recording might sound like. Live in the Studio isn't always an oxymoron. Still, the harmonies are strong.

Two of us riding nowhere
Spending someone's hard earned pay,
You and me Sunday driving,
Not arriving on our way back home.

We're on our way home,
We're on our way home,
We're going home.

Two of us sending postcards
Writing letters on my wall.
You and me burning matches,
Lifting latches on our way back home.

We're on our way home,
We're on our way home,
We're going home.

You and I have memories
Longer than the road that stretches out ahead

Two of us wearing raincoats
Standing solo in the sun.
You and me chasing paper,
Getting nowhere on our way back home.

We're on our way home,
We're on our way home,
We're on our way home.

You and I have memories
Longer than the road that stretches out ahead

Two of us riding nowhere
Spending someone's hard earned pay.
You and me Sunday driving
Not arriving on our way back home.

We're on our way home,
We're on our way home

We're going home.

EMDR

2011-12-08T08:30:00.002-06:00

My eyes follow the motion of two fingers all the way to the end
then back again like a typewriter’s carriage return
to and fro a v-shaped pointer and middle finger

Focus on an image
Focus
Focus

lurid
still photography

out of sequence
variations on a theme

follow follow follow
hold the image

holding

the next click
of the viewfinder
the next frame

what do you see what do you see

the insertion of
a finger

don’t make me say
what it is don’t make me

take a deep breath take a deep breath

click

where am I where is this
what is this

pulling out
leaving behind

click

what do you feel what do you feel
where do you feel it

pain in the bowels
lower stomach

enough for today enough

time for leaving time to go goodbye

tightness in the chest
pulse racing

doctor’s office
just a moment

are you okay
are you okay

downstairs
into the rain

calm
calm
calm

An infamous date, seventy years later

2011-12-07T09:33:00.006-06:00

On this anniversary, Japan attacked the United States at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. Despite my own private reservations, I cannot hear Franklin Roosevelt's eloquent address without being caught up in the moment. At the end of dramatically intoned sentences, the entire room breaks into patriotic, thunderous applause. In direct violation of my own beliefs, I feel a desire to let out a cheer as the short, but powerful speech crescendos. Pacifism in any form now seems out of step and unnecessary.

A day which was observed with solemn reverence for the entire country holds a very different meaning for Friends. Charles Lindbergh and his boy-next-door delivery as spokesman for the Anti-War movement was rendered redundant in an instant. Those who still believed that the United States ought to beware of foreign entanglements now became a small minority. Some, usually stating religious reasons, refused to serve in the military. But they were regularly treated like traitors or turncoats. Some were even thrown into jail. This 2006 article in Friends Journal summarizes a variety of stated offenses and solutions for non-participation. Much of this ignoble aspect of our history is simply not discussed.

Conscientious objectors were often persecuted for their efforts in World War II. John F. Kennedy acknowledged this when he said, "War will exist until that distant day when the conscientious objector enjoys the same reputation and prestige that the warrior does today." World War II COs endured verbal abuse and vandalism of their homes, were refused service in restaurants, had to witness being hung in effigy, dealt with efforts to prevent them from voting, and were socially ostracized.

Conscientious objectors and their families also suffered economically. When the men of the family were in CPS [Civilian Public Service], they were not paid. Many COs went on strike, and some called the workcamps "American Slave Camps." Families relied on the women to provide financial support. Also, families had to pay for COs to go into the CPS (about $35 a month). Finally, there were fewer job opportunities for the family members of COs because most of them would not accept employment that included working in war industries, and some employers refused to hire family members of COs.

Many CO families were separated while family members served in the workcamps or on farms. Some families disagreed with COs and were ashamed of what their relatives believed. In some instances, parents and spouses even threatened to commit suicide. The worry over persecution, loss of pay, and separation took over the lives of many COs' families.

In a different time, enlisting for battle was an automatic action by many. Stories are told of men who, while driving in a car towards some destination, heard of the Pearl Harbor attacks by way of the car radio. Many immediately turned around, regardless of previous plans, and proceeded directly to sign up for military service. An older man I talked with some years ago told fascinating stories. He spoke about how, having turned eighteen, he proudly enlisted for the army. Not only was it expected, it reinforced ideas of acceptable masculine behavior. And, it also made one popular with the girls.

He would later be wounded during the Battle of the Bulge, this during a particularly traumatic and violent German offensive. But that is later. A still isolationist nation had not entertained frequent invasions or a total war, and this is why it rushed to armed combat under the sway of an extensive propaganda machine. It would soon recognize that war wasn't nearly as glamorous as it had been led to believe. Even with technicolor or the support of Hollywood's most popular matinee idols, war was still hell.

The impact of this anniversary has faded with time. Once remembered by all, the number of those who were even alive back then has steadily decreased. Soon, it may be remembered only by history, recorded and passed down by those who were themselves not present. History must inevitably rely upon the reflections of primary sources for any truthful retelling. Still, what makes any momentous event real and tangible are personal narratives. One of my Grandmother's brothers came ashore on D-Day. Due to prior written correspondence with him, she knew he would be there. She never talked about the grandiloquence of that event, just that she cried all day and night, fearful that her brother might be among the casualties. These anecdotes summarize the reality of war, not the speeches, not the pomposity.

The Testimony of Community

2011-12-06T08:47:00.004-06:00

The enclosed is a rough draft of a new submission. By the time the editor gets hold of it, it probably won't look like this. Still, I share the content with you, hoping it will resonate with my readers. For those of you who spend much time organizing, planning, and otherwise pondering how to build lasting, strong groups of people, I direct this post specifically to you. I doubt our experiences are that uncommon, if you set the name and concept aside.

____________

Community is often one of the forgotten Testimonies. As Friends, our calling card to the rest of the world is usually Peace. Accordingly, the Peace Testimony often receives a disproportionate amount of our attention. Though there will always be wars and rumors of wars, it is also important that we focus on ourselves as a Beloved Community. Despite the advent of the internet and the prevalence of electronic communication, face to face interaction with other Friends has never ceased to be important. To me, the most meaningful aspects of being Quaker are the interpersonal relationships I have formed with other Friends.

Here in Washington, DC, the need for real Community is palpable and perceptible. A city of hard working, overachieving transplants, everyone a person encounters seems to hail from somewhere else. This often means that cliques or in-crowds are in shorter supply than might be true in other cities. Without years for people to establish long-term friendships and relationships, social networks are tenuous and often fragmentary. After an often-exhausting workweek, sharing an hour or two with Friends keeps the focus on what really matters. Due to the prevalent culture, drawing that distinction can be more challenging here than in any other city in the country.

DC Friends often find it hard to strike the proper balance between spiritual life and vocational demands. Washington is a highly competitive place full of the highly driven and highly intelligent. The lessons taught are often in contradiction to basic virtues like humility, cooperation, and servant-led leadership. Criticism aside, Washington is very different from the way it is often portrayed in the media or by others in the rest of the country. Its flaws are well documented, but its strengths are not always given full weight. As is often the case, the truth lies somewhere in the middle.

DC is also a very transient city. Many view it as simply another stopover on a lengthy career journey. Young Adult Friends living in Washington have often lived in several other cities before reaching the age of 30. Community is complicated by the difficulty in retaining membership and participation. Maintaining continuity is one of the foremost challenges towards leadership and congregational stability. Washington can be a revolving door of sorts, and one either embraces that reality or laments it. Coordinating schedules and attracting Friends to activities even after an exhausting workday complicates fellowship.

Young Adult Friends in DC can be a contradiction in terms. Desiring Community the most, they are often the least able to sustain it in practice. While the entire area is transient enough by itself, young adults are even more inclined to move and relocate. One simply has to get used to it. Devising successful strategies to pull Young Adult Friends together requires a sense of dexterity and a willingness to experiment. It also means listening to others and taking into account their suggestions. Eventually, everyone manages to end up on the same page. No one ever said Community was easy.

Community is quite a bit of work regardless of where one lives. In increasingly individualistic times, finding commonality between diverse interests and differing life experiences is difficult. Some Friends have embraced Quakerism after a long search. This was my particular experience as well. Some are still processing and unpacking prior negative experiences of Community. Others are classic seekers, skeptics at heart, listening for a reason to really believe. The Spirit guides for those willing to surrender to God. Our journeys differ, but our needs are similar.

Sometimes we form Community organically, without a stated intent. While in the moment, our hearts join together as one. Should we share a laugh or a meaningful Worship, we are reminded of what Jesus reminded us. “This is my commandment: Love each other in the same way I have loved you.” In those times, where we work, where we might be in two years, the sum total of our fears and reservations, our best intentions, and our expectations of Community are subordinate. These are moments of sublime beauty and grace.

I have discovered that the fear of failure, rather than any other stumbling block is the most common obstacle to forming Community. God tests us to spread our wings and realize our full potential. However, ultimately, should our hearts and intentions be pure, his ways succeed. Embracing the mystery without understanding the final resolution typifies our relationship with the Divine. This routinely runs contrary to how we believe and comprehend as individuals. In building a common vision, trusting God cannot be underemphasized. Amazing, profound, miraculous things take shape then.

A Reminder

2011-12-06T07:34:00.002-06:00

Then Jesus told this story to some who had great confidence in their own righteousness and scorned everyone else: "Two men went to the Temple to pray. One was a Pharisee, and the other was a despised tax collector. The Pharisee stood up and prayed about himself: 'God, I thank you that I am not like other men--robbers, evildoers, adulterers--or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week, and I give you a tenth of my income.'

"But the tax collector stood at a distance and dared not even lift his eyes to heaven as he prayed. Instead, he beat his chest in sorrow, saying, 'O God, be merciful to me, for I am a sinner.' I tell you, this sinner, not the Pharisee, returned home justified before God. For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted."

Occupy Skepticism

2011-12-05T09:04:00.005-06:00

At the conclusion of Quaker Worship yesterday, it was announced, with much dramatic emphasis, that police had surrounded the McPherson Square Occupy DC protesters. Seeking solidarity with the besieged and to make their own voices heard, roughly half the Meeting headed immediately down to the site. I allowed the emotion of the moment to lead me to contemplate particularly dire conclusions. My first thought was that the police presence was now intent on breaking up the demonstration. The lump in my throat was genuine as was my sense of worry.

It turns out that nothing of the sort transpired yesterday. This is why I continue to retain some skepticism regarding the entire Occupy movement. What I observed from instantaneous internet feeds and correspondence with people who were there was very different. For one, police brutality and acts of violence the likes of which have typified other protests was nowhere to be found. The National Park Service, which has jurisdiction over the site, is well-versed in precisely how to perform arrests. This is particularly because DC is the country’s most favored protest spot. Hyperbole aside, this was not Occupy Oakland or the street protests in the UK earlier in the year.

I’m not trying to sound dismissive. People want to be part of a movement. They want to contribute to a cause greater than themselves. These by themselves are laudable goals. But when grandiose intentions become linked to even more irrational and cloying persecution narratives, then that which is produced is ridiculous and comes close to self-parody. Or, let me say it another way. Thirty-one people were arrested yesterday for failing to leave a makeshift plywood structure. Despite the protest’s self-serving spin, that was the whole of the conflict.

The issue does underscore a more significant issue. Occupy DC’s numbers hold steady but do not make significant gains going into the dead of winter. Late December and January are the coldest times of year in Washington, DC. The cold persists through February and usually ends by early March. Although far enough South that snowfall is not especially consistent, DC finds itself regularly on the back end of a Nor’easter or two. Given the right conditions, accumulation can run as high as a foot or more. I can understand why the structure was built. However, Occupy DC is likely going to have to take account for the weather and concede that twenty-four hour occupation may no longer be an option.

And I have other reservations, nagging concerns shared by many. The demographic makeup of McPherson Square’s protesters is quite consistent. They are Caucasian, middle class, educated, often raised in liberal households, and predominately young. Others before me have been critical that people of color and other minorities are not found in larger quantities. Strategies implemented to address this discrepancy have thus far not been enacted. Of course, this problem cannot be laid squarely at the feet of a few hundred people congregated together in a square, living lives of running commentary. Confronting issues of privilege and class would, in my estimation, be worthwhile topics for discussion should Occupy DC wish to gain serious respect. The movement needs legitimacy before others will close ranks behind it.

Instead, what I’ve seen upon other direct visits to the site are nice white kids who generally did what their parents asked and ate their vegetables. Before I seem too critical, I place myself in with that distinction. The Occupy protesters and their devotion to non-violence are touching, as is their ramshackle creative flair. Still, last night I admit I found it hard to take them very seriously. In this era of immediate documented communication, I monitored the situation through regularly updated Tweets and live stream video. After several hours, I concluded that the fears of many, including my own, were much ado about nothing. Occupy will continue. The crisis that never was is over.

What will continue being a point of contention is the matter of long-term camping. The National Park Service has left notes on tents specifying clearly that sleeping on-site is illegal. They seem willing to accommodate almost everything else. Protesters know that they are being tolerated for now and that just being there is illegal. In future, the movement will need to decide next how far they wish to press their luck. If they dig in their heels and seek to construct another structure for a similar function, the cumulative effect might get the entire Occupy DC group kicked out.

The idea of leaderless movements is a compelling one, but I simply do not think we are ready yet as a race of people for it. Quakerism, for example, as a religious group, speaks deliberately against hierarchy. However, leaders still assert themselves, even if they do not adopt formal titles. I am cautious just as they of too much power concentrated in the hands of a few people, the very issue driving Occupy movements across the country. Even so, there is still a vast amount of middle ground between plutocracy and formless anarchy, which the movement would be wise to seriously take under consideration. Commentators, columnists, and others should be equally cautious before they use the movement to further their own ends.

An Individual's Definition of Marriage and Equality

2011-12-05T08:44:00.003-06:00

My sister just got married. This only proves that the way life shakes out is often nothing like we imagine. What makes this unusual is that she long believed she would never tie the knot. I, for one, believed her. It was instead thought that the oldest child, that being me, would end up the first to betrothal. Instead, the rebellious middle child found herself in the middle of a whirlwind courtship. Four months after meeting him, she was engaged. First comes love, then comes marriage, as they say. But, true to form, she did it her way and no one else’s.

Never one for anyone’s ritual, she and her now-husband headed directly to the courthouse. Believing the no-frills approach was best, the two said their vows in the most minimalist possible way. This is how she always said it would be, if it ever happened. That much was expected. What really surprised me, however, was my sister’s decision to take her husband’s name. It seemed a little odd coming from the woman who personally founded and single-handedly led a feminist group on campus. And yet as it turns out she had a traditional streak, one that none of us who knew her best could have ever foreseen.

When I asked about it, she put the decision rather simply. She and her husband, possessing the same last name, were now on the same team. The symbolism involved in having a surname in common reinforced the level of emotional commitment between the two of them. Far be it for me to object. How she chooses to structure her marriage or her married name is none of my business.

It’s not how I would do it, though. Not at all. Should marriage be in my future, I know I’ll expect my wife to retain her maiden name. The likelihood I will partner with a woman for the long term is considerably high. I’ve never known for same-sex couples, regardless of gender, to exchange one name for another. What has appealed to me, I must admit, is just being one more typically liberal couple. You could call it fitting in, if you wish. Nothing appeals to me more than puttering around with a partner at Trader Joe’s on Sunday afternoons. When I’ve never felt ordinary in most aspects of my life, a little conformity isn’t so bad.

In the end, it comes down to how we define equality in relationships. I’ve known some feminists whose immediate discomfort with the very idea of marriage, and all the baggage retained therein have led them to decide it will never be for them. Regardless of our primary views, it may be useful to think about the whole of the thoughts and reflections we hold about this tradition. What are our motivations in marriage? Do we find that the fantasy conforms to the reality? If my sister’s example is pertinent, when it does happen, I’m sure it will be nothing like anyone’s bridal magazine or reality television show.

Quote of the Week

2011-12-04T07:25:00.002-06:00

"A child of five would understand this. Send someone to fetch a child of five."- Groucho Marx

Holiday and Holy Days: An Open Letter

2011-12-03T08:57:00.009-06:00

Periodically, I write open letters to my Meeting on its listserve. This particular correspondence was sparked by an article I read in a monthly Quaker periodical. In the beginning, Friends did not celebrate Christmas, believing it to be a tradition foist upon them, and one in contradiction to their beliefs. They faced fines for daring to keep their shops open on Christmas Day. Vandals sometimes broke windows and damaged Quaker-owned businesses. Friends believed that Christmas was a festival of unrestrained frivolity and drunkenness, which is a large reason why they didn't celebrate it.

The non-observance of the Christmas holiday persisted until around the time of the Civil War and is held today only by a few.

For the sake of greater comprehension, I'll identify some esoteric references. FUM stands for Friends United Meeting, a Quaker organization based in Richmond, Indiana, which is solidly Christian. First Day is Sunday. Early Friends replaced the names of days of the week, this because their original names were said to be Pagan in origin. For example, Wednesday is Fourth Day and Friday is Sixth Day. A query is an open-ended, often rhetorical question posed to everyone. It is meant to facilitate contemplation and deepen spiritual understanding.

________________

Hello Friends,

The latest edition of Quaker Life magazine has arrived in my inbox. One section, mostly in jest, asks us how we might choose to celebrate (or not celebrate) Christmas. Or, as it was known to earlier Friends, "that day called Christmas". I imagine the phrase being pronounced with a particular emphasis on sharp, unyielding disdain. We are, after all, descendants of Puritans.

As I've understood it, Friends do not celebrate holidays, at least during Meeting for Worship. I've been told that this is because Quakers believe that no First Day is any more or any less special or holy. The Christian holidays and resulting color schemes of my boyhood are nowhere to be seen. I still sometimes half expect us to be celebrating Advent right now. But if we are to be in this world, not of this world, we may have made an exception for Christmas. I think it a good idea to contemplate the rampant consumerism omnipresent to the holiday. It has recently showed itself in the behavior of some overzealous shoppers on Black Friday.

Friends paid quite a price once upon a time for their lack of observance. This was true both monetarily and otherwise. Should we return to those days, much to the disappointment of children and the uncomprehending stares of friends and coworkers? Quaker Life, the FUM publication it is, encourages us to remember whose day the 25th of December really is. And they don't mean Santa Claus. Though Christmas Day may not be the precise, historical twenty-four hour period that Jesus of Nazareth was born, I still think it necessary to commemorate his life and his ministry. The man hasn't exactly had a moderate impact throughout the course of history and throughout the world even today.

Friends may differ in how they view Jesus and I respect their beliefs. At minimum, I hope we recognize that this day of observance, Quakerly or not, has a meaning beyond the mad dash to accumulate more things, more stuff. In an ideal world, our reverence would fall equally upon every calendar day. If there are truly no need for holidays, then we see no difference between the sacred and the prosaic. But how we love Christmas and how we conform to its unstated rules! The negative is commingled along with the positive, as is so often the case in human expression. We may always feel the nagging urge to commemorate particular days for particular events. We may not be quite evolved enough to avoid reaching for this distinction.

In writing this, I have no view to advance, no ax to grind. My intention is to get people thinking, much like an effective query. Why are we officially against ritual though we find that ritual seeks to assert itself anyway? Why would we have no day be more or less reverent than others, while acknowledging that this is not a desire quite so easy to follow? Like many faith groups, we were established based on idealistic standards of purity. Yet we are still human and still possessed of shortcomings. I hope then that we might take account for our flaws as we hold ourselves to a higher standard. The Christmas season is supposed to remind us that goodwill, kindness, and cooperation are more important than selfishness. If holidays must persist, I can think of no better message to be reinforced, year in and year out.

In the Light,

Kevin.

Hilarious

2011-12-03T08:01:00.004-06:00

Saturday Video

2011-12-03T05:00:00.000-06:00

Years ago, I first posted this as the Saturday Video. Once upon a time, there was a television channel named MTV. It played this video constantly, along with many other videos, which is exactly where I first learned to love it. I still get nostalgic for the early 90's. The lyrics seem throwaway, but were apparently inspired by the Marquis de Sade.

Check check check

Spitting in a wishing well

Blown to hell crash

I'm the last splash

I know you little libertine

I know you're a real coo coo

Want you, coo coo

Cannonball

Want you, coo coo

Cannonball

In the shade, in the shade

I'll be your whatever you want

The bong in this reggae song

In the shade, in the shade

Want you, coo coo

Cannonball

Spitting in a wishing well

Blown to hell

Crash

I'm the last splash

I'll be your whatever you want

The bong in this reggae song

Want you, coo coo

Cannonball

Want you, coo coo

Cannonball

In the shade, in the shade

2012: A Vote of Confidence or No-Confidence

2011-12-02T09:42:00.003-06:00

I will vote for Barack Obama. I will vote for him in the primaries, though I doubt any other name will be printed on the ballot next to his. I will vote for him in November. This distinction is made deliberately should some believe I intend to desert the President and his Party. By now, I know the consequences. My criticisms of the current Administration may tangentially have a few aspects in common with current GOP arguments, but that is as deep as they will ever go. I never was very comfortable in sharing my bed with my opposition for any reason.

What troubles me is that I will not be voting for a person this next election cycle, rather I will be voting for the Democratic Party. This is not a concept unique only to me. Like many, I want to swing the balance of power in the Supreme Court of the United States. Or, if that is not possible, I submit my vote as a safeguard to prevent further erosion of progressive ideals. I will pull the lever to Obama to keep Roe v. Wade the law of the land. I strongly desire four more years of Democratic judges and assorted appointees, the ones that even an obstructionist Republican cannot block. I’ll show up at the polls to ensure a steady stream of legislative minutia and stump speech bullet points that, combined together, one calls a Presidential legacy.

My voting history is not as extensive as some, but it does contain a discernible paper trail. In the past, I’ve left a heavy, dark mark next to names like Gore and Kerry. On a state level, I can recall several other Democrats who won my vote. The common denominator between all of these ballots is that of motivation. I never really expected any single person to reform the system. Rather, I expected predictable forward progress lumped between politically expedient posturing. One could say I never held politicians to much of a standard, lowering the bar so that I could be pleasantly surprised at the good things they produced.

The exception to that rule was 2008. I think we’re all processing the aftermath. This forthcoming election will be a referendum of sorts on that subject, both for Democrats and Republicans. For the moment, our system of governance might as well be Parliamentary. Voters know they are selecting the end products of a legislative majority more than a Chief Executive. To be honest, Americans have always had mixed feelings about Presidential power. Too much of it, and people are fearful of the consequences. Too little of it, and the People’s designated representative seems impotent and superfluous. Be careful of what you ask for. You just might get it. Concerns like these are as old as the Republic itself. Who should be responsible for the changing, us, or those who we consistently elect?

At times Americans hold some peculiarly contradictory beliefs. We have become far more ideologically rigid with time, even though we hold to notions of Centrism and moderation. Public confidence in Congress has almost always been far lower than that of any President. Yet, that body is supposedly far less partisan, this because its members are pulled almost exclusively from two competing parties. The paradox here underlines a very important distinction to make. The President is the leader of his or her own Party, true. He or she is supposed to serve that role alone while managing to represent the entire country.

On placards and in conversation, I've heard over and over the same phrase. "Obama is not my President". And, I myself never believed that George W. Bush was my President, either. Our notion of Presidential Authority is equally split. If we want to spare subsequent confusion, we might well concede that the real powers of the office of President of the United States are always in flux. We want Presidential consistency sometimes, but that runs contrary to its function. Other times, we want the office to hold the agency and willingness to make needed changes.

But we cannot have it both ways. That we turn to a living human rather than a deliberative body that is usually faceless reveals much. People can be forgiven. Legislative bureaucracies are rarely granted a second chance by anyone. If we really were governed a Parliamentary system, votes of no-confidence might well have been already proposed within the body itself. As for us, the way it stands now, 2012 will ask us to come to our own conclusions. We will cast our own vote of no-confidence, however we may perceive it.

The Return of the Short Story

2011-12-01T07:52:00.003-06:00

Editor's Note:

I tried, in the beginning, to write in an strict, numerical order while compiling this ongoing short story in progress. Now, I think it may be easier if I document specific anecdotes first, then link them together later as they fit. For those inclined to read these segments, perhaps one can see the creative process at work.

____________

I remember the happy times spent together. The night-long rainstorm we meandered through, in no hurry, while walking in downtown. Our hands brushed against long-forgotten markers and metal plaques. These denoted the construction of buildings or exact sites of historical events. Names of a forgotten age, local politicians lost to memory. Often these were obscured from discovery by newness. New additions, new expressways, new means of transportation.

You said to me: Touch, feel. I complied, reluctantly at first. What was the appeal? Then I understood you, surrendering, my comprehension growing with each stop.

By night’s end, we had arrived at the terminus. Peering over the railings, we spied where Northside meets Southside, watching a train hauling coal chugging steadily away from town. The division once meant much more than it does today. It may as well be its own living historical monument, active, but still a place where prior designation is more important than current value.

Speculation aside, simple pleasures are difficult to understate. Returning soaked to the apartment, I threw layer after layer of clothing to the hardwood floor in the foyer. Each created a heavy, slapping sound as it made contact with the ground. I probably should have bothered to wring out most of the rainwater into the old porcelain sink in the kitchen, but I was weary of the additional weight and tired from the journey. The sensation of complete liquid saturation only can be tolerated for a while. One eventually feels a strong inclination to escape, to push aside for later.

We huddled together under an itchy wool blanket that provided necessary warmth. Regarding a replacement, an additional expense or need always depleted our bank account, delaying the purchase of something better for the occasion. Some would have nagged us before departure, as we had impulsively chosen a day not especially hospitable to those who voluntarily eschew umbrellas. We had ignored periods of heavy rain, not merely a constant light drizzle.

I looked to my right, peering underneath the blanket. Her pale skin flushed scarlet, her legs pulled up underneath her, shivering.

It was totally worth it. I had to agree, though a compendium of old wives’ tales had me worried about particular maladies now in the process of gestation. She embraced me. The introduction of cold, clammy skin made me flinch. Still, I knew in time this momentary reflex of mine would subside. Warmth increases when two people huddle together. This isn't an especially profound truth, at least not on its surface. It’s an act that may save your life in the Arctic or spare your sanity in other situations. You see, these sorts of excursions of ours were frequent and instructive.

Never stop being spontaneous. Never push aside the simple joy of being present in the moment. Even the familiar holds interest if you stop rushing by it. Romance is present without dry clothes and a constant refrain of hackneyed parental warnings. I promise you this. Your feet will not freeze off. You will not catch your death of cold.

True Poverty and the Occupy Movement

2011-11-30T09:19:00.004-06:00

It has, at times, been amusing to overhear conservative criticism and fear of the Occupiers. Many believe that the protesters want some sort of socialistic notion like a wealth redistribution scheme. It was this same insincere, disingenuous anxiety that Joe the Plumber, then John McCain gave voice to during the last election. Few leftists have ever proposed such a scheme with a straight face. It's a concept more in line with Stalinist Russia than America, circa 2011. What has never really been taken into account, however, are sure-fire methods that might give the have not’s an ability to sustain wealth for generations. For example, nearly one in five schoolchildren now lives in poverty in the United States. This income disparity often exists in rural parts of the country, rather than within cities or suburbs.

In Alabama, for example, 39.6% of all Wilcox County residents live below the poverty line. Wilcox Country is part of the Black Belt area of the state, a majority African-American region sometimes referred to as Alabama’s Third World for its sustained lack of adequate basic services and sufficient household income. Ironically, the fertile soil of the region was ideal for growing crops and sustaining plantations. It provided plentiful income for the 1% of its day. Slavery may have long been outlawed, but the unpaid descendants of the peculiar institution have remained in the same location for at least the last two centuries.

Alabama has struggled with generational poverty, which means that generation after generation of families have been poor. But now, Tilly said, job losses because of the rough economy are pushing new families below the poverty line.

I would like to see an Occupy demonstration in the Black Belt. Its residents have been an overlooked part of the 99% well before anyone thought to frame the argument in those terms. Though financial problems are troubling, regardless of the individual situation, I have long believed that any solution that does not take into account the least of us will never succeed. Good times may arrive again in a while, that is for some of us. Camps may be taken down. Grievances may be met. But for the residents of Wilcox County, they will likely be nearly as poor as they always were. The results of a booming economy rarely make a dent in the overall quality of life for this sort of crippling, institutionalized poverty.

If Occupy wanted to resemble the inspiring movements of time past, it might take into account the most basic of needs. Once, and not all that long ago, people of all races, creeds, colors, and privilege left their comfortable existences. All of this was in an effort to register to vote several black residents of rural Southern counties. Many of the people had never before been able to participate in direct democracy. Brave people left the North and headed down on busses, sometimes facing physical assault, often being threatened with insults. Others put their lives in danger in a multitude of ways, over and over again, with a kind of fierce, firm resolve. That same sort of spirit is needed today. That sort of communal, unselfish participation is needed today.

The basic challenges present now for many people I know personally is demoralizing and frustrating. Many of my friends have dealt with lengthy periods of unemployment, this despite holding multiple degrees and the student loan debt to prove it. Some have had to return to their parents’ house for basic lodging, which I call retreating back to the womb. These are embarrassing and pride-wounding decisions to make, but they have little to no choice in the matter. Others have swallowed hard and taken money from family. None of these acts, however, can be defined as a catastrophe. Returning home is, at least, an option on the table. Sympathetic middle class parents can provide temporary stimulus relief funds. The poorest of the poor, by contrast, have never had this ability. They, like Blanch DuBois, have always had to depend on the kindness of strangers. Sometimes our kindness is conditional. Sometimes it is fickle. Often it is simply not present.

Occupying Wilcox County, for example, would not make much sense based on current strategy. It may be worthwhile for those camped out to appreciate the benefits of city living. Without adequate sources of free meals and sleeping bags, the movement wouldn’t be able to sustain itself. But the question then becomes which 99 percent we are referring to, really. This then reveals that there’s a vast amount of variation in making that distinction. The stratification and delineation between those who are not independently wealthy on the other side of the line is appropriately vast. We may all be members of the 99%, but if this is class war as some think, we see a battle being raged between the wealthy and the middle class, by in large.

If it is morality and perspective that is needed most here, we may all need a reminder.

For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’

“They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’

“He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’

Reflections of My Life

2011-11-29T08:08:00.004-06:00

This song can be best described as maudlin, but the melody is catchy. It has long been a favorite for that alone, not the depressing lyrics. Here, I sang the first line of the chorus twice in its proper register and then the remainder at a lower octave. It was just too much to sustain otherwise, and I didn't want to blow out my vocal chords. The results roughen up the vocals, but that could be a desired state in this song.

As for the lyrics, many have put them in the mouth of a soldier. I record all of these videos early in the morning when I have time to do them, so you can likely see just how sleepy I am still.

The changing
Of sunlight to moonlight
Reflections of my life
Oh, how they fill my eyes

The greetings
Of people in trouble
Reflections of my life
Oh, how they fill my eyes

All my sorrows
Sad tomorrows
Take me back to my own home

All my cryings
Feel I'm dying, dying
Take me back to my own home

I'm changing, arranging
I'm changing, I'm changing everything
Oh, everything around me

The world is a bad place
A bad place, a terrible place to live
Oh, but I don't wanna die

All my sorrows
Sad tomorrows
Take me back to my own home

All my cryings
Feel I'm dying, dying
Take me back to my own home

All my sorrows
Sad tomorrows
Take me back to my own home

Gingrich's Own Worst Enemy

2011-11-28T09:02:00.002-06:00

Georgia’s Sixth Congressional District encapsulates the most ideological conservative area of the Atlanta Metro Area. Its residents, by in large, are white, fiscally conservative, heavily affluent, highly educated, and thoroughly partisan Republicans. Evangelical Christians are found in significant quantities. East Cobb is the shorthand designation many Atlanta residents often use to refer to this legislative partition. The area of town formally designated as East Cobb has never incorporated, this to avoid paying its share in taxes. In a city built on an influx of new money, East Cobb is home to conservative Georgia old money.

The Sixth also happens to have elected Newt Gingrich to the U.S. House for ten consecutive terms in office. East Cobb’s insularity and bubble mentality leave it resistant to change and openly intolerant of outside viewpoints. This is an area where residents regularly reinforce the impregnable fortress by sending their children to private schools. One of them, East Cobb Christian School, has a stellar academic reputation and correspondingly deferential attitude to God. The school’s website describes its theological beliefs in this way. “We believe that all truth is God's truth, and God has inerrantly and infallibly revealed His truth in the Bible.” This is biblical literalism and an unquestioned devotion to a Higher Power.

Former House Speaker Gingrich has long sought the office of President of the United States. He has, however, yet to discover that what works in East Cobb will not work on a grander scale. Gingrich often combines a hotheaded shoot-from-the-hip style with a condescending professorial tone. The latter points back to his time spent as a history professor, his occupation before politics. Gary Trudeau’s political comic strip Doonesbury famously rendered then-Speaker Gingrich as a bomb with a lit fuse. Even in a hopelessly divided Washington, a scorched earth policy is terrible strategy.

Much like John McCain’s surprising about-face in 2008, Gingrich’s campaign was earlier counted out and now has managed to regain its viability. This, of course, is due to the implosion of prior front-runners with significantly worse baggage. Gingrich has significant skeletons in his closet, many of which could be potentially fatal should he seriously challenge Mitt Romney for the Republican Party’s nomination. These include the embarrassing revelation that the Speaker was actively involved in an affair at the same time President Clinton was being impeached for the same offense. Though Gingrich did eventually marry his mistress, Evangelicals have sufficient reason to balk at a Gingrich candidacy on that fact alone. What makes it worse is that he has been married three times.

Candidate Gingrich has a disconcerting habit of digging himself into one series of holes after another, then being forced into damage control as he digs himself out. In May, after appearing to support Medicare instead of vowing to dismantle the entitlement program, his campaign was all but given up for dead. Several major aides resigned and Gingrich was forced to retool without adequate funds. It is still unclear whether those early staff defections and overall money troubles have left the campaign unable to sustain front-runner status.

Even so, love him or hate him, Gingrich is a survivor. For the first time, a survey of likely voters conducted by the private firm Public Policy Polling has showed him in first place. Over the past several days, Gingrich received the endorsement of the New Hampshire-based Manchester Union-Leader. The New Hampshire primary will be held on January 10 of next year and be a significant divining rod for eventual campaign success. Taking into account the candidate’s flaws and failings, the paper still believed Gingrich to be the strongest contender. It wrote, “Newt Gingrich is by no means the perfect candidate. But Republican primary voters too often make the mistake of preferring an unattainable ideal to the best candidate who is actually running.”

In what has been a surreal, underwhelming Presidential Election campaign, good enough may be all any party can achieve. Instead of solutions, distractions have sufficed. The decline and shocking rebirth of Newt Gingrich shows the results of a divided Republican Party, one rent asunder by the internecine bickering of Tea Party ideologues and the GOP establishment. Much like Gingrich, the Party itself was said to be on life support not all that long ago, but returned to power based on consistent economic woes. It has yet to regenerate to prior prominence. That it would return to a leader forced to resign in disgrace thirteen years ago is quite telling, indeed.

Quote of the Week

2011-11-27T07:23:00.002-06:00

"A wise man who stands firm is a statesman. A fool who stands firm is a catastrophe"- Anonymous

The Politics of Money and Body Acceptance

2011-11-26T18:41:00.002-06:00

Before I go any further, I am conscious of how carefully I need to pick my words. Be patient with me as I thread a tiny needle on a search for the truth. The center is what I seek. I’ll save the sides for others who may want to further the debate, but will really only start an argument. I’m not looking for scapegoats, just a middle ground.

On a crowded flight home from Thanksgiving with the family, my trip became even more stressful. My seatmate’s physical size, due to obesity, was such that she took up all of her seat and half of mine. It’s difficult for me to feel very comfortable when unable to achieve some degree of personal space. As it stands, I felt wedged into my seat. I had no ability to place separation between the two of us. Boundaries have been increasingly essential for me as I’ve begun a specialized form of therapy to treat PTSD. Feeling trapped in close quarters can make me feel panicked and sometimes triggers a panic attack.

But even if I didn’t have a specific psychological issue, I would have still been physically uncomfortable. As I write this, I am cognizant of arguments against fat shaming and in favor of body acceptance. On the other hand, I am also aware of counter-arguments pushing for personal accountability and responsible decision making. The best way to proceed from here might be to spell out the facts. Airplane seats are not made for travelers who are larger than a certain average body size.

Increasingly, Americans are growing more obese due to an oft-cited sedentary lifestyle and corresponding poor dietary habits. Airlines, which have lost considerable sums of money in the last ten years, have little incentive to design seats or room specifically to accommodate those who are larger than the statistical norm. In fact, the exact opposite has been the case. Air travelers have even less space to themselves then at any other time.

It often pains me to go back home, because I regularly observe those who, for economic and cultural reasons, among others, do not place a priority on their physical wellbeing. Many smoke heavily, eat a steady diet of unhealthy food, and do not exercise sufficiently. As for me, I live in Washington, DC, where wealth and means converge. Exercise is trendy, as is eating healthily.

Grocery stores, co-ops, and farmer’s market, all devoted to providing high quality food products are everywhere. An affluent population is willing and able to pay more for the privilege. Are these same options present in Alabama, especially in the rural areas or the inner city? Not so much. Does a tradition and corresponding cultural expectation of these sorts of beneficial practices exist? Not really.

Cities are concentrations of wealth and the highly educated. There is no financial incentive for either of them to leave and spread elsewhere. Quality food is rarely found in areas of poverty. Most often, only cheaper, lower quality food is affordable and available. This includes fast food. To speak to my own situation, there is no financial incentive for psychologists and medical practitioners to leave the cities for other areas, even though their services are needed everywhere. Instead, some would rather charge rates per hour that only the wealthy can afford. This is where the situation really gets complicated. Those of us who believe in equality must first consider an economic system that is predicated on profit and basic, almost instinctive class inequality.

A paternalistic argument, either on one side or the other, is eventually going to triumph. Either we will grow less and less tolerant of those who are extremely overweight, or we will normalize substantial weight gain and those who qualify as obese. From a profit standpoint alone, money can be made regardless of where we go as a society. If, for the sake of making money, we (and especially women) are expected to conform to a smaller cultural norm of socially acceptable size, some will resort to unhealthy means to achieve it.

As has been the case forever and a day, those unable to manage this distinction will be left out. If accommodation is where we head instead, more changes will result, changes well beyond enlarging the seats on a commercial airliner. I do always hope that a more realistic notion of feminine beauty and body size might someday be reached. What exists now is destructive in its own way. However, if it is reached by decreasing the life expectancy and general health of every American, consider me ambivalent.

Saturday Video

2011-11-26T08:42:00.001-06:00

In pitch dark I go walking in your landscape.
Broken branches trip me as I speak.
Just because you feel it doesn’t mean it’s there.
Just because you feel it doesn’t mean it’s there.

There’s always a siren
Singing you to shipwreck.
(Don’t reach out, don’t reach out)
Steer away from these rocks
We’d be a walking disaster.
(Don’t reach out, don’t reach out)

Just because you feel it doesn’t mean it’s there.
(There’s someone on your shoulder)
Just because you feel it doesn’t mean it’s there.
(There’s someone on your shoulder)

There there

Why so green and lonely?
Heaven sent you to me.

We are accidents
Waiting waiting to happen.

We are accidents
Waiting waiting to happen.

A Few Harmless Pictures

2011-11-25T19:30:00.007-06:00

Me in motion, Edvard Munch style, around Denny Chimes.

Bryant-Denny Stadium in a "quiet" moment.

Overcast skies.

Stadium and frat houses.

(Click on each picture to embiggen)

Or, to Put It Another Way...

2011-11-23T14:57:00.001-06:00

Holiday Break

2011-11-23T10:31:00.002-06:00

Today is the day before Thanksgiving and I have also contracted a case of stomach flu. I don't really have the concentration and energy for very much.

However, I do hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving with your biological families or those who you have designated as family. This holiday can be warm and pleasant for some, stressful and problematic for others. I've had a little bit of both in my life.

Women's Historical Role in Meeting

2011-11-22T11:17:00.010-06:00

As I examine the whole of my religious past, I can say without equivocation that I observed one essential constant. Even from a very young age, I recall the active presence of women in positions of leadership and authority. Women have long been a majority in the congregations of the average Christian or historically Christian church, but attaining full gender equality in leadership roles has sometimes taken centuries. Liberal denominations and faith groups have made a particular effort in this regard, where conservative ones still drag their feet.

Raised a United Methodist, I recall the church that I would formally join at age 12. As is true with some groups, I went through a process of confirmation before I could be considered a formal member. The minister who taught the classes was female. I honestly don’t recall anyone having a problem with it, male or female. Because I was an exceedingly shy child, the Reverend felt particularly maternal towards me. Had I been able to apply the vocabulary and knowledge I now know, I would have identified her as a fellow introvert.

When at age 18 I became a Unitarian Universalist, the installed minister was also a woman. Because of my religious upbringing, I never believed that there was anything wrong with it. I never could understand the reservations of those who thought otherwise.

For a sense of perspective, from its foundation roughly 370 years ago to its cohesion as a formal faith group 20 years later, the Religious Society of Friends were quite progressive on the subject. Women were granted a degree of autonomy from the beginning, allowed to preach during Worship, pen Epistles, and vocally state their opinions. Being part of the direct leadership structure, however, could be problematic. Certain Meetings were opposed to the idea of women in positions of power and some Meetings were not. But there were enough passionate, energetic people involved that the issue was never buried completely and constantly remained in debate.

A concession to this controversy was the formation of separate men’s and women’s Business meetings. It should be noted here that women were not prevented from participating in Meeting for Worship, should they choose. That was a joint gathering. The nature of unprogrammed Worship places authority for speaking in the hands of whoever feels a leading from the Spirit, male or female. That in itself is a kind of leveling of the playing field, though many did not wish for it to stop there. George Fox, the founder, sought to give women’s meetings a further degree of autonomy. He did so by insisting that they be granted the ability to oversee marriage requests performed under care of the entire Meeting. This was an unpopular sentiment among many Friends, but Fox held fast to it, in his typically stubborn style.

The opposition regarding precisely where marriage intentions were submitted was not necessarily motivated by Patriarchal beliefs. Instead, those who opposed the distinction did not wish to have proscribed roles for either sex. In the beginning of the Quaker movement, a liberating and attractive element for many was present in its relative fluidity and organizational near-anarchy. Meetings in the North of England did, however, adhere to beliefs found in the Pauline Epistles of the New Testament. Those scriptural passages stated that women must cover their hair and take a submissive role within the church. The more progressive voices in the South of England did not adhere to these beliefs, nor did Fox.

An early and severe conflict within Quakerism began in the form of a well-spoken, intelligent, and charismatic London-based preacher named James Nayler. To begin with, several of Nayler’s female followers made substantial waves with existing Quaker leaders. The conflict between the two was never fully mediated. But it should be noted that Nayler had intensely loyal male followers as well, though the effect produced was a paradoxical kind of adoration and isolation. Sometimes inherent in this adulation was a projected kind of eroticism. Or to put it another way, a cult of personality formed around him, insulating Nayler from the rest of the world. Like a celebrity whose unwise choice in company proves to be his or her undoing, this decision would eventually have disastrous repercussions.

Even before Nayler’s eventual arrest and conviction for blasphemy, it had been strongly rumored that he was sexually involved with his most visible and vocal associate, Martha Simmonds. This might have been less objectionable if it were not for the fact that Nayler left behind a wife and child in his native Yorkshire. Later, Nayler would assert that he felt strong sexual desire for at least one of the women around him, but was quick to say that he never consummated the relationship. Nothing was ever proven, though some always had their doubts. Though he never believed himself to be anything other than mortal, some of his followers began to believe that he was Jesus Christ reincarnated.

Should this issue have occurred within any other faith group, the backlash against women might have been swift, even brutal. Instead, the conflict centered around the followers of the rogue minister Nayler and the more orthodox followers of George Fox. Though matters remained tense for a time, they were eventually resolved. It is worth noting that the incorporation of women into the Quaker framework was such an automatic given that no one felt any need to reach for a very commonplace scapegoat. Once we all can reach that apex, we can focus on other matters.

Shameless Self-Promotion

2011-11-21T11:55:00.003-06:00

Before I begin, apologies for the numerous typos in the previous post. I am not feeling my best today. Proper context was essential for understanding and that just didn't happen without substantial revision.

On a happier note, I have been very recently published in Voices From the 99 Percent: An Oral History of the Occupy Wall Street Movement. The editor is Lenny Flank. My contribution was an essay that included the perspectives and opinions of actual Occupy DC demonstrators.

And, I would be remiss if I did not properly promote it here.

Regarding Politicians, Americans Get What They Put into the System

2011-11-21T11:40:00.002-06:00

A little under a month from now, the Iowa Caucus will be held, signifying the formal beginning of the 2012 Presidential Election. A preoccupied nation, consumed with its own worries, has only devoted half an eye to the process. This election cycle has, thus far, been one of the least notable on record. The attention of the American people has focused primarily on outside issues.

Beginning on a cold Iowa day in early January, the race will heat up somewhat, but will not compete with 2008 for voter engagement and participation. Those days seem like a distant dream, one discarded along with the Obama glow, which once held such promise and convivial warmth.

For a means of contrast, four years ago, an exciting primary race for both the Democratic and Republican Party was well underway. Weary of the divisiveness produced by two Bush terms and eager for something new, the country embraced optimism and faith in the political process. Since then, the economic woes that likely cemented Obama’s win have changed from help to hindrance.

A particularly romantic notion states that true leaders are birthed in times of crisis. Almost every major party candidate speaks to some version of this idea while on the campaign trail. This time, the power of positive thinking has been replaced by cynical invective and outright distraction. It is hard to believe that a slate of candidates on the Republican side could be less competent or disingenuous. The true tragedy of all is that the GOP will be obligated to formally nominate one of them.

In response, Occupy protesters speak the minds of many, though individual grievances vary wildly. Complicated problems defy easy solutions. During these anxious times, many would reduce the truth to oversimplification, or failing that, slander his or her opponent. Instead of taking the time to address directly at least a few of the country’s woes, candidates have opted for the easy way out. Gimmickry, invective, and soundbyte policies are superfluous and utterly useless. The Elephant in the room aspect of the forthcoming Republican primary season will be soundly tested.

It remains to be seen how thorough vetting will affect the outcome. Candidates thus far have often been their own worst enemy, showing skill only in how to effectively shoot themselves in the foot. Only Herman Cain, thus far, has seen substantial and unforeseen indiscretions damage his chances. In addition to being a weak field, each candidate has accumulated substantial baggage over time. Most are known quantities.

The need for genuine leadership has never subsided. Our Founding Fathers devised a system of governance where citizens would directly intercede when necessary. We have instead created a new caste of people, that being politicians, who we have designated to do our work for us. It shouldn’t be surprising when we get exactly what we have contributed to the system. We have stood impassively on the sidelines for far too long. Americans can put in a hundred hours a week into a job that inspires them, but will never think to offer themselves as candidates for elective office.

It is, therefore, a question of skewed priorities that faces us today. Politics is an occupation no more or no less dirty than any number of others. The mere perception of purity as we define it harms us as much as the many subpar leaders we consistently elect and re-elect. Every industry in our capitalist system ultimately can be traced back to something ethically and morally repugnant. Still, that should not prevent us engaging directly to do our part. The real change begins with us. Indeed, it always has.

Quote of the Week

2011-11-20T07:09:00.002-06:00

"It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good-humour."- Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

Saturday Video

2011-11-19T08:33:00.002-06:00

Help, I'm a rock!
Wow!
Help, I'm a rock!
Help, I'm a rock!
Somebody helps me

Wow, man, it's a drag being a rock
(Help, I'm a rock)
(Help, I'm a rock)
(Help, I'm a rock)

I wish I was anything but a rock
Heck, I'd even like to be a policeman

Hey, you know what?
You know maybe if I practice, you know
Maybe if I pass my driving test

I could get a gig drivin' that
bus that pick the freaks up
In front of Ben Frank's, right?

Help, I'm a cop!
Help, I'm a cop!
Help, I'm a cop!
Help, I'm a cop!
(Help, I'm a rock)
Help, I'm a cop!
(Help, I'm a rock)

It's a drag being a cop
I think I'd rather be the mayor

Always wondered what I was
gonna be when I grew up, you know
Always wondered whether or not
whether or not I could make it

You know, in society, because,
You know, it's a drag when you're rejected
So I tore the cover off a book of matches
And I sent in
And I got this letter back that said...

Over the River and Through the Woods

2011-11-18T07:31:00.005-06:00

As I write, I am taking into account last minute travel preparations. Electrical cords must be unplugged. The heat must be turned down low. Don't forget the coffee pot. Bags must be checked, then rechecked. What have I forgotten? I always forget something. Is there any way to avoid NOT forgetting something? Whatever I misplace can usually be purchased upon reaching my destination, should it be essential.

Several months back, I bought an expensive and very large piece of luggage. Prior bags were not quite large enough for long trips, and I was tired of having to get extremely creative in cramming. A week's worth of laundry, for me, is two full loads in a washing machine. The purchase was also a way to avoid having to pay extra for checked luggage. I look at it across the room from me, still open, waiting for the last of my material possessions. It is a deep shade of royal blue. Once upright, it handles a little like driving a boat, or perhaps a Cadillac.

My inner monologue will soon read like this.

Don't forget tickets. Don't forget tickets. Don't forget a photo ID. Don't lose your boarding pass. What else? What else? What else?

Considering the distance in miles, the flight never lasts very long. It's a fairly perfunctory trip. As far as flight paths are concerned, it's more or less a straight shot. Sometimes we arrive very early and circle around until given permission to land. Other options don't exist. Thirteen or fourteen hours in a car is not feasible, nor is twenty-two on a train. The entire flight is almost a little comical. We take off, climb to the appropriate cruising altitude, stay there for approximately thirty minutes, then begin the descent.

Today, as soon as I make my way outside the apartment, I go from a bus to a train to a train to a plane. In that order. After roughly two hours in a aluminum tube, I strain to hear gate assignments as overhead bins click open all around me. The world shrinks. DC efficiency, affluence, and punctuality have been left behind. I adopt the familiar slower pace, my gait falling back into all the old rhythms. The airport back home has a preponderance of barbecue joints and old carpet. It looks like a house that is clean and tidy, but showing its age.

My father's face or my mother's face or both will greet me. Those picking up passengers line the sides of a long white railing. Astride wave after wave of the arrived, airline pilots and crews ascend the escalator leading into the terminal. The airport is small enough that all traffic is funneled through exactly one security point. There was a time, before 11 September 2001, where whomever was waiting for me could stand by the gate. Now only ticketed passengers are allowed there. I've made that short trip by foot many times, so many I've lost count.

On travel days, I am especially aware of the Testimony of Simplicity. Each Quaker Testimony is meant to be applied to the self first and foremost. When I am confronted with how much stuff I have to take with me, I wonder about my priorities. I wonder about the priorities of this consumer society of which I am a part. Am I doing enough to prune down to only that which I need? I feel like I do fairly well in that regard, but I can always do more.

As I gorge myself on turkey and several side dishes made only once a year for the holiday, I can't help but notice the irony. I've never been the sort of person who was unduly upset by Starving Children in Africa™. Instead, I've tried to let my life's example show for who I am, instead of taking the opportunity to beat up on myself for not being perfect and pure.

As I conclude, I was recently re-introduced to a Mary Oliver poem, one I had not read in years. I enclose it here.

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Quaker History Lesson

2011-11-17T08:49:00.008-06:00

I wrote this specifically for my Meeting, but a few of you might find this interesting. Apologies in advance for typos. This is part of what I do with my day.

Hello Friends,

Over the past couple of weeks I've been reading the book Seekers Found: Atonement in Early Quaker Experience. The work is written by Douglas Gwyn and published by Pendle Hill Press. My desire to take on this task was motivated partially out of an active curiosity to best understand our formation. In the beginning, I merely wanted to find out the precise reason why Friends developed unprogrammed worship. But as I've read more and more, I've been engaged in seeking parallels between the Occupy activists of today and the nascent Quaker movement of the past. I do hope you find this interesting, even useful.

In the course of reading, I've learned lots of interesting information, so much so that I hardly know where to start. Here, I will talk directly to what I perceive to be the strengths and the limitations of the Occupiers. What seems to have ensured the eventual success of the Quaker movement, in part, was the early establishment of wealthy supporters and a base of operation. In this case, I am speaking of Margaret Fell, the Mother of Quakerism, and Fell's first husband Thomas. Their wealth and influence in 1650's England was invaluable. Thomas Fell had been a Member of Parliament but resigned in protest when Oliver Cromwell took control as Lord Protector.

The Fell estate at Swarthmore Hall became the epicenter of Quakerism for years. The Fells themselves had regularly been drawn to radical Protestant thought well before, but their Convincement as Quakers legitimized the Society of Friends in the eyes of many. Prior to that, most converts came from the rough-and-tumble North of England, a good place to find and foment radicalized thought, even while it possessed its own severe limitations.

The more affluent, influential, and powerful South, however, took a while to win Friends. Southern Quakerism adopted a very different form when conversion did go forward. London Friends were far removed from Yorkshire Friends, for instance. Even so, Fox and the other leaders are to be commended for drafting successful strategies to put in place for each region, recognizing rather than resisting unique cultural dynamics. Northern Quakerism remained more radicalized and more reactionary. Southern Quakerism, to cite another example, made sure to leave room for women's voices in the leadership structure; the book implies that Northern Friends would not have acted in kind otherwise.

Gwyn writes on the subject of relative uniformity in Quaker belief. He states,

But of course there is no such thing as pure experience. We frame all experience within certain assumptions and expectations.

...As time went on, Quaker rhetoric increasingly sounded themes of consistency of faith and practice, the unity of Friends in faith and practice, and the need to verify individual truth-claims according to methods of corporate discernment. For instance, during the 1660s, when the Restoration regime feared Quakers as plotters of armed insurgency, Friends began to articulate their pacifist position more clearly, emphasizing that they had submitted peacefully to persecutors [a decade before] and would continue to live consistently in this manner of obedience to Christ's teaching and example.

Rifts sometimes existed within Friends. This included charismatic London minister James Nayler and his cult of personality, which would ultimately end in tragedy. That particular story is well known with Friends. For a time after the Nayler debacle, Quaker energies were devoted to disrupting individual Meetings within Friends rather than churches and steeplehouses of other Christian groups. Sometimes the temptation for a circular firing squad is prominent. However, the schism did heal with time.

A major distinction of supreme importance in the early days took into account a precise definition of the movement itself. Some wished to embrace the notion of the invisible church, whereby individual group identity was less important than solidarity with other religious groups. In some ways, this might be roughly analogous to the liberal inclination for interfaith work. Some believed in the notion of the visible church, where distinct identity and strict separation from other faith groups was necessary. To speak out against persecution, it is necessary to adopt a unified identity and front.

In the end, however, basic pragmatism allowed Quakerism to flourish and persist when many faith and political groups did not. Fox and other leaders were aware that their new faith would need to change with the passage of time and to take into account prior mistakes and missteps. Other groups, among them Ranters, Levellers, Diggers, Seekers, and Fifth Monarchists eventually ceased to be. Often, their own stubborn inability and inflexibility to adapt spelled the end. Though Friends did not reach a fully formative state for at least two decades, their membership grew steadily from the beginning, in some areas quite rapidly. George Fox, in large part, helped orchestrate a successful, closely defined leadership structure once membership grew sufficiently large enough to require it.

350 years later, here we are today.

In the Light,

Kevin.

My Aim Is True

2011-11-17T08:27:00.005-06:00

For wrong or for right, I have been this guy once or twice.

Oh it's so funny to be seeing you after so long, girl.
And with the way you look I understand
that you were not impressed.

But I heard you let that little friend of mine
take off your party dress.
I'm not going to get too sentimental
like those other sticky valentines,

'cause I don't know if you've been loving some body.
I only know it isn't mine.

Alison, I know this world is killing you.
Oh, Alison, my aim is true.

Well I see you've got a husband now.
Did he leave your pretty fingers lying
in the wedding cake?

You used to hold him right in your hand.
I'll bet he took all he could take.

Sometimes I wish that I could stop you from talking
when I hear the silly things that you say.

I think somebody better put out the big light,
cause I can't stand to see you this way.

Alison, I know this world is killing you.
Oh, Alison, my aim is true.
My aim is true.

EMDR

2011-11-16T15:25:00.004-06:00

That odd looking acronym above is actually a specialized form of therapy. In particular, it's designed for those who have PTSD or incidents of trauma in their lives. My first session was today and over the course of 90 minutes, the psychologist and I covered quite a bit of ground. I've noted most of the details multiple times, so that in itself was not especially out of the ordinary. I rattle off psychological jargon and past events like some people talk about books they like or where they want to go for a vacation. Psychologists appreciate how uninhibited I am, though I should add that regular sorts of people have not. Which is why I'm going through EMDR.

Sometimes, with certain childhood memories, I feel like I'm describing someone else's life. The analogy I draw goes like this. Rock musicians have often stated that, with time, playing a huge hit in concert feels a bit like performing a cover. Once your calling card has become that well-known, the artist gives up ownership, passing along that ownership to the audience. For me, prior methods and modalities of addressing the same core issues have failed. Now it's time for something very different.

In the meantime, I'm cautioned to avoid emotionally loaded and unstable situations. Should I currently be in a dysfunctional environment, EMDR would not be recommended. The process runs the risk of being triggering and uncomfortable, though I will first learn relaxation techniques, should I ever find myself in a situation that is too distressing. The EMDR lingo for this is the concept of "safe place". I'm optimistic, but also a little nervous. Should I start to have panic attacks in the shower, for example, I know I'll need to decrease the sensitivity of treatment. However, I am willing to take my chances if it means other aspects of my health will be improved.

Mainly, I'm tired of being anxious, fearful, and hypersensitive. I routinely project my own phobias onto other people, seeing enemies where there are none and desires to harm me that do not exist. This is clearly a result of childhood trauma, and one I hope the most will be positively affected. I may always be a little socially awkward and shy, but those qualities are tolerable. It's the side effects that are out of the ordinary, as described above, that I would go to any lengths to put aside forever.

The video below might better illustrate the technique.

The Occupy Movement Needs a Good Sales Pitch

2011-11-16T08:39:00.003-06:00

Over the weekend, the Quaker Meeting of which I am a member debated our own role in the Occupy movement. The issue had been brought before the entire congregation by a long-time prominent Friend. Two speakers had been invited. Both were actively involved with the movement, one a Quaker, and one not. Each represented one of the two Occupy DC groups still camped out across the city. Freedom Plaza is full of older, more professional activists with more coordinated strategies. McPherson Square is younger, more spontaneous, and provides a diverse plethora of ideas.

During the meeting, the fundamental difference between the McPherson Square occupiers and the Freedom Plaza activists broke down along these lines. Freedom Plaza’s long term participants believed that McPherson Square’s leadership and formation was hopelessly amateur and unruly. McPherson Square, by contrast, sought to be most authentic and populist, believing that Freedom Plaza wants all the attention for itself.

Both speakers had their say and answered questions from those seated. When it was decision time, the form of self-governance known as Quaker process began. It is also known as the consensus method, and has been adopted by the demonstrators themselves to some form or fashion. We wrestled considerably with the issue for over an hour. Quaker process gives every attender a voice, which is fair and democratic, but also time consuming. An issue is not said to reach consensus until everyone’s grievance has been taken into account. Not unsurprisingly, we ourselves broke into two camps.

Some wanted to use Meeting funds to pay the cost of Occupy DC’s essential material needs. These included, but are not limited to sleeping bags, warm clothing for winter, and food. We might have agreed to this option, except that a concern arose that the Meeting’s non-profit, tax-exempt status might be jeopardized. This, should we be perceived to be lending our support to an unapologetically leftist political movement. Other Friends felt deep ambivalence that two groups existed at all, implying that surely unity, if not unanimity was possible. In the end, it was agreed that individual Friends would support the gathering themselves, without direct Meeting financial support or by using said support to purchase materials.

The concerns of most were those of fear and confusion. They were reluctant to get directly involved in any activist movement that has yet to develop a sharply defined cohesive mission statement. Along with that were concerns that the movement was unlikely to grow and potentially likely to disband during the winter now not far away. But among the champions of the demonstrators, the Friend who brought this issue before the greater Meeting stated that the Occupy movement was, in her words, “the new Civil Rights Movement.” I myself would have to strongly disagree on that point.

As has been the case since the very day the protests began, the outside world has chosen to define the movement on its own terms. Some optimistic left-wing activists see the promise of needed reform only inches away. Much as they did with the election of Barack Obama, they project the idea that almost every progressive cause will be enacted the longer the Occupiers persist. Disingenuous, posturing right-wingers sound the alarm, perceiving the danger of so-called mob rule. Neither are correct.

But for the sake of accuracy, that which we now call the African-American Civil Rights Movement was not an especially swift collective effort. What makes Civil Rights fundamentally different is how it relied on wealth and power to achieve its goals. White liberals, often of substantial political agency and financial solvency, backed the movement. It took nearly sixty years for Plessy v. Ferguson to be overturned by Brown v. Board of Education. Following that, the second phase of the movement also took time and lots of sober contemplation.

An immaculately planned endeavor from the very start, African-American leaders rightly took center stage. Martin Luther King, Jr. among many other black leaders (and sometimes white leaders) stood out in front to legitimize the movement and speak to its aims and intentions. Facts like these are not often spoken about, but they are essential to understand. White progressive voices like Hubert Humphrey, who proposed and achieved a Civil Rights plank to Harry Truman’s 1948 Presidential re-election run did much to set the scene. Even those who are privileged and well-to-do can still feel a moral obligation for all people to have equal rights and citizenship under the law.

The Occupy Movement, as it exists today, advances an economic populist ideology. It divides people into the 1% whose greed is the sum of all terrible things or the oppressed, subjugated 99%. It is uncertain whether the wealthy, well-connected, and powerful would ever get behind a political view which places them directly in the cross-hairs. No model or historical invocation yet specifies how to overthrow calcified, hierarchical systems based on capital. Single-issue protests like those which rose up against the draft during Vietnam proved successful in their own time, for a time. The war over, the protests no longer ceased to be.

Occupy DC, or any Occupy gathering, finds itself faced with different challenges. Regardless of what it advances, it must first win over the skeptics. Right now, its most immediate problem is itself. Before any organization, religious or otherwise, opens up its coffers or sends its membership to toil on the front line, it must be able to latch on in a way that it understands. Part of achieving an adequate following is working within the framework of extant systems. It is not a deficit of purity to modify a message to attain the oxygen needed for greater growth. If the Occupy protesters want to be the change they wish to see, they need to think a little differently.