Count Your Coins (And Throw Them Over My Shoulder)

Never sing for my supper
I never help my neighbour
Never do what is proper
For my share of labour

I'm a poor boy
And I'm a rover
Count your coins and
Throw them over my shoulder
I may grow older

Nobody knows
How cold it grows
And nobody sees
How shaky my knees

Nobody cares
How steep my stairs
And nobody smiles
If I cross their stiles

Oh poor boy
So sorry for himself
Oh poor boy
So worried for his health

You may say every day
Where will he stay tonight

Never know what I came for
Seems that I've forgotten
Never ask what I came for
Or how I was begotten

I'm a poor boy
And I'm a ranger
Things I say
May seem stranger than Sunday
Changing to Monday

Nobody knows
How cold it flows
And nobody feels
The worn down heels

Nobody's eyes
Make the skies
Nobody spreads
Their aching heads

Oh poor boy
So worried for his life
Oh poor boy
So keen to take a wife

He's a mess but he'll say yes
If you just dress in white

Nobody knows
How cold it blows
And nobody sees
How shaky my knees

Nobody cares
How steep my stairs
And nobody smiles
If you cross their stiles

Oh poor boy
So sorry for himself
Oh poor boy
So worried for his health

You may say every day
Where will he stay tonight

Oh poor boy
So worried for his life
Oh poor boy
So keen to take a wife

Oh poor boy
So sorry for himself
Oh poor boy
So worried for his health
Oh poor boy

Rape Culture and Its Effect on Men

Trigger Warning

A few years back, I participated in a project specifically designed with LGBTs in mind. The intention was to ask for volunteers willing to be fully honest with the organizers. These anonymous contributors were encouraged to share the stories of their first sexual encounter with a member of the same sex. The intention was that these anecdotes would be compiled into a booklet given away for free at Pride, which was then several months away. It was hoped that people who were not queer could recognize the similarities between everyone's first time. The stories collected varied considerably. I’m sure it comes not as too much of a surprise that I wrote out my own experience to be collected. It was not very memorable or very pleasurable, but now having at my disposal a vast amount of anecdotal evidence, I felt better when I realized I was far from the only person for whom gay sex was unspectacular the first time around.

Most of the stories were obviously written on the spur of the moment. Several were written with an ink pen on notebook paper. It was one such recollection that stood out from the rest. The creator of this effort first handed it to me still folded neatly in half, her body language and the very gesture itself indicating that she wasn’t sure whether or not this one should be published. A fairly concise account, upon reading it myself, I understood immediately why.

The encounter existed in that familiar grey area between consensual and non-consensual conduct. Though actual age in years was not mentioned, the main character was likely somewhere between 14 and 16 at the time. An older man, age also not mentioned, pursued the protagonist mercilessly through a public park until the boy finally acquiesced to his persistent overtures. The pursuer could have been as old as his early twenties or much older than that. Having been coaxed into a men’s restroom, the sex that follows is described as agonizingly painful.

I will not share the exact language used because it is graphic, but suffice to say that it describes penetrative intercourse. As if to assuage the pain, the older man resorts to flattery, claiming that he is such an attractive boy that any number of men will always want him over the course of his life. Here the story ended. I wished the anonymous contributor, whoever he was, could have provided more details. Even so, it must have taken courage to share something this personal with a complete stranger.

Knowing what I know now, this entire account sounds and reads like rape. We have uncertainty and an emphatic “no” at the outset. An older, more experienced man capitalizes on naiveté and persistence for his own benefit, disregarding completely the desires of his victim. The boy finally agrees to engage in sex, finding it not just underwhelming, but also agonizing. The older man attempts to normalize what he has just done by fawning words, lavishing compliments. If this happened to a woman, we might think of it very differently.

The contrast here is that the now young man obviously still views this, years later, as a kind of initiation into the gay community. When we take into account barbaric practices like hazing rituals, one can understand how easy it would be to confuse sexual assault with a harsh, traumatizing, but nonetheless required welcome. There is always an undercurrent of violence evident with male to male interaction. It is never expressed in many men, but there are enough repeat offenders that one must always guard against them.

I have no way of knowing how commonplace these sorts of abuses are for men who have sex with men. Reading and listening usually to a female, heterosexual perspective, I have acquired some basic understanding of their frequency. I know the forms sexual assault usually takes and also how public perception is still tainted by the distorting lens of rape culture. What I do not know is how frequently this occurs with queer men. If we assume that men are men are men, removing women completely from the equation, then the crime statistics must be similar. But somehow these offenses are not being reported as regularly as crimes against women. As irregular are reported rapes when they happen to women, they are even more irregularly reported here. I think the most depressing statistic I’ve recently encountered when I asked my trauma therapist how many of her patients had a history of childhood sexual abuse. The answer was nearly 100%. This happens regularly and, much like rape at an older age, it is seldom, if ever, reported at the time.

What partially makes this situation a difficult one to prosecute or to expose is homophobia. Reporting the crime would be an admission of a sort. So long as the closet door is a viable option, many will still stay there. The teenage boy was not beaten up or threatened with physical violence during the encounter he described. In the eyes of many, the instant he agreed to go along with it, he was actively consenting to sex. But what is not taken into account is the fear and anxiety that even a brief two-page account in trembling handwriting reveals. Still, for whatever reason, he assumed that this was the way things were, though he never forgot the experience, or the way it made him feel.

Men are raped. If we extended our conception of the definition beyond adult-on-adult crime, we can see more of the disease. There is something about masculinity that involves strength, power, and the willingness to reinforce it when challenged. This is not to imply that all men are somehow complicit, but that all men understand that force and physical prowess speak larger than anything else. I’m not sure why this is, but I know intrinsically that it exists. It was in place long before I was born. The code of silence is not merely a gay phenomenon. It extends to all men.

Quote of the Week

Beware of self-made men who worship their creator.

The Real World, Season One: A Review

A recent trip by bus around DC clued me in to the fact that the fashion of the early 90’s has returned. I would like to believe that I am young enough yet that clothing styles have not yet come full circle. In my early thirties, I am no longer a target demographic, nor concerned with conforming to such trends. Still, in response, I decided to reexamine a television program that in some ways functions as a time capsule of those familiar days. Elements of the program have dated painfully with time, but others have not. Should a new generation yet again seek to dust off the old for the sake of the new, I would hope that they might attempt to understand a time they were far too young to remember themselves.

Once, there was a time where the acronym MTV connoted a kind of thrilling edginess and rebellious authenticity. This was well before everyone had a cell phone and an internet connection. The Real World, Season One may not have truly been as advertised, but it was released when reality television was a brand new concept. Nineteen years later, it retains enough veracity to at least be granted a suspension of disbelief. Despite primarily dismal reviews at the time, MTV still retained enough clout with young adults to ensure that many tuned in to see. The network additionally made a habit of constantly re-running episodes, meaning that there were numerous instances to catch at least the first few seasons in totality.

I remember The Real World as a very young teenager. In large part, this is due to the fact that I am a native of Birmingham, Alabama. Julie Gentry, a cast member in the first season, also called Birmingham home. The series placed an inordinate amount of emphasis upon her Southern upbringing and resulting cultural mindset, which is a motif older than the motion picture. The region does retain its own unique character, but I took some offense to the way she was sometimes shown to be a fish out of water for the sake of contrast. The conceit seemed overbearing at times, especially as regards discussions about race.

Southerners, especially white Southerners, retain a particular chip on the shoulder on the subject of how they are perceived beyond the Mason/Dixon Line. Though I may not always agree with her conclusions, I do understand the motives behind them. In a younger year, they were mine as well. My parents, much like Julie's father, were both suspicious of the way that I would be seen by people of other parts of the country. They were fearful and repulsed by what was to them most certainly the ultra-violent, rude reality of New York City.

It was a big deal back home when it was confirmed that Julie would participate. MTV has thoroughly scrubbed clean its reputation considerably since then, but in a conservative area of the country, the network was still thought of as subversive (rarely in a good way) and sometimes even dangerous to youth. It was expected, in all seriousness, that her participation would be edited in such a way as to cast a negative light on the city and the South in general. Those anxieties were unfounded for the most part, although some disagreements and misunderstandings did escape the cutting room.

The most infamous and longest lasting of these might be a sarcastic remark made by Julie regarding the occupation of a black cast member who owned a beeper. (Remember those?) African-American members of the cast objected to the notion that all black people sell drugs, whereas Gentry’s sardonic characterization was color-blind, completely clueless of the racial undertones. She spoke out of simple ignorance, and this gratefully was smoothed over before it became a major problem. Such an adult response to what could have been a significant issue should inspire us.

Julie was very much a modern woman, despite the Southern drawl and her parent’s working class roots. Though the show sought to play up her credentials as a genuine Southern Belle, she is opinionated, occasionally caustic, and no-nonsense. A deferent, acquiescing, passive personality she is not. The two of us grew up within miles of each other, and even though she is a few years older than me, I view her as a contemporary, not as some manufactured throwback to a mythologized era.

MTV did, however, make a decision to show her in church, which makes even more stereotypical assumptions about Southerners. Fortunately her place of worship is shown to be different, even “alternative” to the perceived norm, but I would have liked to see a means of contrast with another churchgoing cast member from a different area in the country. Faith is still important in the Bible Belt, but religious believers are found in sufficient quantities all across the United States.

With time, The Real World jumped the shark, becoming less and less real with each concurrent season. After the first few seasons, the novelty was gone. But it did provide the blueprint, ironically enough, to birth a new genre of shows. Like the MTV version, they were cheap to produce, since they did not rely on stars or on additional expenses like special effects. Even so, it is a little depressing to see the slow slide of the genre into mediocrity. Returning to the beginning, true to life or not, the behavior and slightly grandiose dreams of a group of people in their twenties makes me feel decidedly old.

Article first published as TV Review: The Real World on Blogcritics.

Saturday Video

A heart that's full up like a landfill
A job that slowly kills you
Bruises that won't heal
You look so tired, unhappy

Bring down the government
They don't, they don't speak for us
I'll take the quiet life
A handshake of carbon monoxide

No alarms and no surprises
No alarms and no surprises
No alarms and no surprises

Silent
Silent

This is my final fit, my final belly-ache with
No alarms and no surprises
No alarms and no surprises
No alarms and no surprises, please

Such a pretty house, such a pretty garden
No alarms and no surprises
No alarms and no surprises
No alarms and no surprises, please

Stuck in the Middle with You

Dedicated to Congress, President Obama, and those who safeguard our economy.

I would do a version of my own, but due to recent illness, I can't make my voice cooperate with me. Performance videos have been few and far between recently, but I am confident that I'll rebound.

___________

Well I don't know why I came here tonight,
I got the feeling that something ain't right,
I'm so scared in case I fall off my chair,
And I'm wondering how I'll get down the stairs,

Clowns to the left of me,
Jokers to the right, here I am,
Stuck in the middle with you.

Yes, I'm stuck in the middle with you,
And I'm wondering what it is I should do,
It's so hard to keep this smile from my face,

Losing control, yeah, I'm all over the place,
Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right,
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you.

Well you started out with nothing,
And you're proud that you're a self made man,

And your friends, they all come crawlin,
Slap you on the back and say,
Please....Please.....

Trying to make some sense of it all,
But I can see that it makes no sense at all,
Is it cool to go to sleep on the floor,
'Cause I don't think that I can take anymore

Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right,
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you.

Well you started out with nothing,
And you're proud that you're a self made man,

And your friends, they all come crawlin',
Slap you on the back and say,
Please....Please.....

Well I don't know why I came here tonight,
I got the feeling that something ain't right,
I'm so scared in case I fall off my chair,
And I'm wondering how I'll get down the stairs,

Clowns to the left of me,
Jokers to the right, here I am,
Stuck in the middle with you,
Yes, I'm stuck in the middle with you,
Stuck in the middle with you.

Heads and Tales

I’d like to share a story from my college days. I’ve never written about what follows before this moment because the memories of it are frustrating. No long living in the state of my birth, I’ve been hearing the stories of others who went to colleges far more liberal than my own. They have at times made me jealous. When it comes to a matter of basic resources, I’ve recognized how shortchanged I was. And this doesn’t just pertain to me.

This is the case for others who felt passed over, taken for granted, or made to feel unimportant. In particular, I always feel envious of those who had the ability to take part in specific groups, groups designed to build strength and community around a common identity. With many, the infrastructure had long been in place. Accordingly, others saw a need and filled this need appropriately.

Gay/Straight Student Alliance, or GSSA as it was often called, was supposed to be an outlet for LGBTQ students and a way to partner with heterosexual allies. Unfortunately, it was badly advertised by the university and suffered from exceptionally poor leadership. The group was led by an enthusiastic, openly queer faculty member, who lamentably did not have the necessary skills to be much more than a cheerleader. In an ideal world, groups like these would not be strictly social events. They would also focus on substantive issues pertinent to the LGBT community. Without this guidance, an exclusionary attitude sprang up that gave birth to cliques. No one greeted me upon my arrival, though I was rather vigorously appraised for my value in physical attraction.

The group became an impromptu dating service and sometimes a service for other needs. One of my good friends in college was an out lesbian, and she never found much value in GSSA, either. In her words, “I felt like a piece of meat on the market.” Know that in sharing this aspect of the group, I am not saying that gay men are hormonal beasts marking time for their next sexual conquest. That’s a stereotype I have no desire to perpetuate. But what I am saying is that any gathering with an open-ended, non-directed, rambling focus is going to eventually resemble a party. It’s college. That’s just part of the deal. It would happen with heterosexual students, too.

One rather massive side observation is this. As is the case in other cultural aspects, gay men comprised the majority of the membership and the leadership roles. We may make assumptions about their inherent masculinity, but all who are socialized as men benefit from male privilege. Women in attendance, regardless of sexual orientation, were also in short supply. We may make any number of conclusions from that data if we wish.

Before I criticize this group too harshly, there are other substantial pieces to this problem. The university administration was at best, apathetic, or at worst, dismissive to the needs of queer students. When I was a student, a non-discrimination policy which pertained to hiring practices and same-sex partner benefits was still being debated. It took years to be formally adopted, this after significant effort on the part of a few very committed people, which is normally how such reforms are eventually enacted.

But in those days, that policy was still on the table. In a conservative state, those who identified as LGBT did so, and still do so very quietly. Closeted faculty members would never agree to lead such a group, fearing guilt by association. And few people, regardless of sexual orientation, understood the need for LGBT student outreach. It has taken a rash of suicides for the lightbulb to go off in many corners.

When I was a student, an LGBT center had been recently proposed, but it since the groundbreaking ceremony was not even in the planning stages, one had to make do with what we had. The faculty advisor kept a wealth of knowledge in book, DVD, and magazine form in large file cabinets in her office. Someday they would be found on shelves, but for now, that was the best that could be done. I contributed four or five books to the collection, and somewhere still I’m sure a sticker inside each of them thanks me for doing so. A friend of mine who now is a professor in a usually red state does much the same thing to store Feminist resources. When any group or academic focus is a low priority, these sorts of things have to suffice.

I realize my story is not unusual. Universities and colleges in conservative parts of the country are often unlikely to have queer studies or women’s studies majors, to say nothing of courses. LGBT students are some of the most vulnerable. They, as we finally have realized, are often the most likely to feel alone and misunderstood. Being deprived of the community they need should be considered cruel and unusual punishment. But even in more liberal locales, the courses of study noted above are the first to be cut in times of budgetary famine.

I think that knowledge is empowering, but classroom study must be coupled with a sense of real kinship. I can read about bisexuality all I like, but until I speak with someone who shares my feelings, it will always be something of an abstraction. In all of our energetic passions, righteous indignation, and thunderous pronouncements, we must view ourselves as part of a much greater cooperative spirit. But neither can this begin nor end with us. We require assistance from collective unity.

We have two ends with a common link,
With one we sit, with one we think,
Success depends on what we use –
Heads we win, tails we lose.

-Anonymous

Religious Tolerance and the 9/11 Anniversary

In roughly a month from now, we will commemorate the tenth anniversary of the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks. It is a date that has been associated in the minds of many with nonexistent weapons of mass destruction and draconian policy decisions. Islamophobia remains a potent force here, but arguably an even stronger one in Western Europe. Both, though no one would admit it, are coupled with a belief in national ethnic purity. To many, Americans look and sound a particular way. This is also believed about Germans or Swiss.

The English Civil War was a time not only of political and military upheaval; it also gave rise to several religious movements that challenged every aspect of the Church of England. What would eventually be known as the Religious Society of Friends developed out of this period of often violent uncertainty. George Fox, the founder of this new faith, found himself elbow to elbow with other competing groups. Each was trying desperately to win converts and legitimacy. Fox took an approach that is objectionable today, but made sense nearly four centuries ago.

Fox went as far as to state that his new brand of Christian Mysticism was the truest, purest form available. All other world religions are in vain, he stated firmly. Liberal Friends like me do not believe in this exclusionary view. Even our theologically conservative fellow Quakers, Evangelical Friends, wouldn’t go quite this far. These days, such beliefs exist only within Fundamentalism, and have caused extreme anger and agitation. When I say I am a Christian, I always have to sharply distinguish that I’m not like those Christians. My faith allows for people to form their own conclusions. No one is force fed dogma or doctrine.

But the matter of Fox’s choice in language does raise an interesting argument. At a time where we are arguably less religious, there are nonetheless any number of religious options available to us. I sometimes hear a person of faith disparage another’s religious group. People I know have criticized Fundamentalist Christianity or Fundamentalist Islam. In so doing, they’ve acted yet again like the founder of Quakerism, who told Muslims that their religion was subordinate to Christianity. Fox said that Muslims had been deceived by their own founder and needed to worship the one true God. And to be fair, there were many in England at the time who believed that Quakers were a heretical subversive sect that was certainly not Christian. As for me personally, I think that those of us who are members of Abrahamic faiths do worship the same God.

Fox has many redeemable characteristics. He went to the trouble to read and document pertinent passages in the Koran to bolster his argument against a Turkish sultan, one who had been persecuting Christians. His larger point was that a true Muslim followed Jesus’ command to love one’s enemies and that this sultan was not being faithful. He was correct. Jesus is an important figure in Islam. Radical Islam then and now disregards the teaching of those it says it follows. Instead of a religion based on peace, some have transformed it into a reductionist faith that preaches violent revenge. We must not forget this in the midst of all the bloviating and hatred. The impact of September 11 is still being felt, though its memory has begun to fade into the background.

Article first published as Religious Tolerance and the 9/11 Anniversary on Blogcritics

It Ain't Fair

It ain't fair, John Sinclair
In the stir for breathing air

Won't you care for John Sinclair?
In the stir for breathing air

Let him be, set him free
Let him be like you and me

They gave him ten for two
What else can the judges do?

Gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta set him free

If he'd been a soldier man
Shooting gooks in Vietnam

If he was the CIA
Selling dope and making hay

He'd be free, they'd let him be
Breathing air, like you and me

They gave him ten for two
What else can the judges do?

Gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta set him free

They gave him ten for two
They got Ali Otis too.
Gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta set him free

Was he jailed for what he done?
Or representing everyone

Free John now, if we can
From the clutches of the man

Let him be, lift the lid
Bring him to his wife and kids

They gave him ten for two
What else can the bastards do?

Gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta set him free

Loving Our Enemies, Healing Our Bodies

Trauma manifests itself in different ways for different people. What I have felt has rarely been rage, outrage, and anger. More often than not, I feel fearful, anxious, constantly hyper vigilant. I’m also highly strung. While waiting at the bus stop, should someone blow a car horn or any loud noise be heard, I am likely to jump three feet up in the air. I startle and frighten easily. My trauma therapist has noted that this is an indication of abuse. I suppose if anyone has a right to feel righteously indignant and to forcefully vocalize said indignation, it would be me.

When I read the testimonials of women who have experienced rape, street harassment, sexual harassment, or some violation of both trust and boundaries, I look for commonalities with my own story. The parallels are there, except that men who have been abused often respond differently. Sorrow and shame were my default feelings, and still are. For not being able to fight back, I have felt less masculine. And I have never been able to be angry at the man who sexually assaulted me. Instead, I project my suffering in a different direction altogether.

The trauma produced a collection of several connected issues of which I can hardly keep track. They lay underneath the surface, so obvious that it makes perfect sense why they exist. Once, earlier in life, I got myself angry enough to fight another man and found I simply could not hold onto my rage long enough. I can be riled up enough to contribute to an argument, but even that ability usually passes after a while.

I recognize that I am not a member of a group who has been historically silenced, nor have I been made to feel that my voice should be passed over and disregarded. It must feel satisfying and empowering to speak out, to violate a societal taboo. I did go for years before I spoke out about what happened to me. As is true for many in the same boat as me, there is much I do not recall because those memories have been deliberately repressed. Piecing together after effects is the only available method. In this case, the experience has, subtly and sometimes obviously, negatively affected relationships, friends, and even my day-to-day life. It is that pervasive. Learning new details is a bit like being part of a forensic science team trying to uncover a murder. The residual traces are very often all that one can analyze.

My faith says this: ”You have heard that it was said, ‘You must love your neighbor’ and hate your enemy. But I say to you, love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you.” This is an attitude greatly at odds with my fellow feminists, and, to be fair, the rest of the world around me. I have tried to forgive the person who molested me, with minimal success. But still I try. My trauma therapist concedes that she understands why it is so difficult and does not insist that I forgive him for the moment. Still, I know it will probably be much for the best when I can reach that apex. After all, he is also a victim, a product of a father who abused him. His anger is what was turned upon me.

This is indeed a sickening cycle of anger. In this situation, a child, particularly a boy, processes ongoing violence by lashing out at the world. I myself did, and felt the constant pain of my father’s leather belt as a result. Some boys never move beyond this stage, becoming men by way of biology but still children in how they respond to the world. We often express consternation at those whose threatening, aggressive conduct towards women is (here’s that word again) unforgivable, especially when it seems that they have not served their fair share of punishment in jail. Punishment is necessary, but I’d rather seek to explore why these men act the way that they do. If I knew more details, I’d try to understand why the father of my abuser was an alcoholic sociopath. Each of us is a victim of a fallen world, which is why it is our responsibility to redeem it to the whole of its great potential.

Quote of the Week

Some say the world will end in fire;
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

-Robert Frost

Early Quaker Views on Islam

The question of Islamophobia is one being debated heavily today. Both politically and theologically, Islam appears in the general discourse of multiple countries and faith groups around the world. Seeking to know what Early Friends felt about the matter, I did some research. What I read and now share with you is likely to be controversial, but I would like to say before I proceed any further that I have no agenda to advance. What follows are the exact words of George Fox, the founder of Quakerism.

I suppose one who is setting up a new faith must differentiate it from those already extant. George Fox's perspective and tact differs considerably between passages. The 17th century wording sometimes takes a little while to understand, but it's not impossible to read.

_______________

From Vol. 4, The Works of George Fox, Doctrinal Books I

Friends,—...And this is the command of the Lord God to you, and you all, who rules kingdoms and kings with his mighty hand, which is his mighty power, as he does the waters...who sent his Son, who is the life of men, the Saviour of the world, the great and mighty prince of peace, the covenant of God with mankind...that he will be worshiped in spirit and in truth: the spirit that mortifies sin, the truth, the devil and sin is out of, for by your Muhammad have you been deceived, which saint is set up; therefore is the dreadful presence of the Almighty God, the everlasting Father of life appeared among you, and to you; unless you regard and embrace his voice, his power, his command, [the] mighty God of power, of dominion, and of dominions, who rules over all nations, heaven and earth; [unless you regard all of these, God] will seize upon you, and surprise you, and take you at unawares, and bring his judgments and dread upon you, which is now appeared in this the day of his Son; and the hour of his judgment is come, and coming upon all the world, of the mighty God of heaven and earth, of the mighty righteous God of heaven and earth, who in righteousness reigns, and in truth and equity.

______________

Early Friends, due to their persecution, believed that they were living in the End Times. This is why they embraced language in the Gospels seemingly speaking directly to it. Here, Fox, asserts that Islam is not an authentic religion and that Muslims ought to get right with God before it is too late. This was a not very uncommon view of a Christian group to take in those days. Offensive these days, it would not have seemed out of place. And it should be noted that Fox believed in the Conversion of the Jews, most often a Catholic belief, and one that was not completely disowned until the Vatican II reforms of the 20th Century.

_________________

An answer to the speech or declaration of the great Turk, and others by George Fox

A Modern Answer to the Muslims' Belief That They Serve God By Killing Christians and Jews

Sultan Muhammad,

I find in a paper, which is said to be thy declaration, directed to Leopold, the German emperor, dated the 25th of March, 1683, viz.

...You say you are a ‘possessor of the sepulcher of your God,’ to wit, the Christians. And that you are a great persecutor of the Christians.

Now, here is something in answer to the words of sultan Muhammad, the emperor of the Muslims, saying, he is a great persecutor of the Christians...but all things are naked and open unto the eyes of him, with whom we have to do, who are the true Christians, in scorn called Quakers, who do fear, serve, and worship the great God that made us, who is a consuming fire to the wicked. And where ever men do turn themselves, there the face of God will meet them; his divinity extends through the whole world. Therefore you are to fear his divine majesty, as you do confess in your Qur'an; for the great God, the creator of all, does know all in the heavens, and in the earth, both what is done in secret, and openly, and all is naked before him, who will reward every man and woman, according to their words and works, whether they be good or evil, for God is a consuming fire to the wicked; and who shall dwell with everlasting burning, but the just and holy?

And, Muhammad said in his Qur'an, Chapter 3, page 34, that Jesus said, ‘Who shall sustain the law of God in my absence? And the apostles answered him, we will sustain the law of God in thy absence;’ and that ‘Jesus shall be a witness in the day of judgment against such that obey not his law,’ &c.

Now see how you Muslims do obey the law or command of Jesus, for Jesus said, ‘Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, pray for them that despite fully use you, and persecute you, that you may be the children of your Father which is in heaven.' Mat 5:44-45

Now if the Christians were the Turks' enemies, according to the command and law of Jesus, the Muslims are to love and bless them that curse them, and do good to them that hate them, and pray for them that despitefully use them and persecute them; so then the Muslims are not to be persecutors, if they do obey the command of the Lord Jesus Christ, and if they be the children of God the Father which is in heaven.

____________________________

Apparently radical Islam has existed for quite a while. Here, a Turkish sultan is persecuting Christians. Noting passages in the Koran, as well as Islam's inclusion of Jesus' ministry, Fox states that Muslims aren't being faithful if they aren't following Jesus' teachings. In this case, this means loving one's enemy.

In a time where many Christian groups sprung up simultaneously and fought for converts, Fox calls his faith "the true Christianity". Many faith groups since then have argued this indirectly, some even now. Quakers no longer believe this.

Dealing With Obama Fatigue

For months, formally enthusiastic supporters of Barack Obama have sought to assuage their disappointment by means of deft explanation. The truth is that no compelling explanation or description for Obama’s numerous successes and failures in office has yet been proposed and adopted wholesale. The narrative and trajectory of the Obama Administration remains a mystery. Evident with both critics and apologetics alike, those who seek to make sense of it all have consistently tried and failed.

Follow the link below for more.

Article first published as Dealing with Obama Fatigue on Blogcritics.

Saturday Video

Sounding especially 1994.

Another head hangs lowly
Child is slowly taken
And the violence caused such silence
Who are we mistaken

But you see it's not me
It's not my family
In your head, in your head
They are fighting

With their tanks, and their bombs
And their bombs, and their guns
In your head
In your head they are crying

In your head
Zombie
What's in your head, in your head
Zombie

Another mother's breaking
Heart is taking over
When the violence causes silence
We must be mistaken

It's the same old theme since 1916
In your head
In your head they're still fighting
With their tanks
In your head they are dying

In your head, in your head
Zombie
What's in your head, in your head
Zombie

Health

Show and tell for me today
is three liters worth of
refrigerated urine

The pop quiz to follow
I ace with flying colors

blabbing away
in the short essay section

in quieter times
I bubble so darkly that
the lead nearly punctures the paper

Veering away from the textbook answers
seeking dark, dusty corners
fusty smelling information

Trying to establish a suspect
no one ever discovers a motive

A ring of likely candidates
must be discovered
and exposed one-by-one

The adrenal gland has been known
to squeal loudest

but the code of silence
is my foremost challenge now.

The Cortisol Test

What follows may be a little gross, so I'll be fairly clinical about it. As I talked about the other day, I've been dealing with extended periods of fatigue. The only way to detect whether my body is producing excessive or insufficient amounts of Cortisol is to track bodily function for 24 hours solid. This test shows how primitive modern medicine can be, since I'm being asked to provide a full day's urine sample, as well as to refrigerate said sample in between. I have another specialist's appointment mid-day, so taking everything with me is going to be a chore. But since it's at a hospital, I doubt it'll be anything they can't accommodate.

I can't pour the recently urine into the container itself, as it contains boric acid. Getting that on myself would not be good. Still, having just started the process, I see how cumbersome it really is and will be from start to finish. The total collected sample is in the form of an orange plastic jug that I must also refrigerate whenever possible. Cortisol levels change frequently throughout the day, and the issue here is whether or not the trajectory is normal or abnormal. I would opt for abnormal. And if I had to point a finger at any culprit, it would probably be the thyroid gland, which already showed evidence of abnormality during an ultrasound a few months back.

What is being tested here is whether I have Cushing's Syndrome, an adrenal tumor, or excessive production of a pituitary-secreted hormone called ACTH. A tumor could be involved there, too. At this stage in the game, I am far less likely to entertain the worst case scenario. If I had to self-diagnose, I'd believe that there's something about my adrenal gland that is causing it to overproduce or underproduce cortisol. When I had the MRI of the pituitary gland performed in November, the odds were more likely that it might be something serious. The doctor who provided the order was extremely concerned that I might have cancer, which is why I flipped out the way that I did. This is not the case here.

It's also possible that two drugs I take to treat bipolar, Seroquel and Lithium, are either the cause or are making an existing condition much worse. I suspect there may be a correlation between Lithium and mild outbreaks of Psoriasis. Within the last three months, I have discovered two places on my chin that become red and a little scaly. I apply a steroid gel prescribed for that purpose and within two days it is fully healed. Again, the complexities of the human body means that sometimes drugs used to treat existing conditions provide unwanted and unforeseen side effects. Someday they might be able to develop treatments that didn't create other problems and I embrace the future for this reason.

It's very strange. Seemingly the moment I turned 30, everything went wrong. But as I think back, I know that some of these problems had been evident since my mid-Twenties. They just weren't severe enough to be detected by lab tests or even doctor's intuition. It is unfortunate that things have to blow up before they can be properly treated. This was also true with depression for me when I was 15. My first diagnosis was Attention Deficit Disorder. It took severe outbreaks of debilitating depression before the proper combination of medication was ever even attempted. And even then, it took close to a decade before the right cocktail was ever established. I try not to think about how much I must rely daily on expensive, complicated substances produced in a lab to simply be able to function.

But once again I turn to my faith. By myself, nothing I have accomplished recently would have been possible. Scripture is full of stories, stories of people with disabilities and limitations who God uses to perform great good. I think were I not so handicapped, I might miss that completely or ascribe my success to the wrong source. I know that this is not the end of greater spiritual growth or growth in more secular spaces. Earlier in life, I didn't understand the concept. It seemed like group deception, but when God reveals himself to you, believe me, you listen.

___________

I guess I could be pretty angry about what happened to me, but it's hard to stay mad when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much. My heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst. And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it. And then it flows through me like rain. And I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my silly little life. You have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm sure. But don't worry, you will someday.

-American Beauty

Hope is Our Responsibility, Too

When people talk about Washington, DC, they often forget to mention that in addition to housing the seat of government, people also live there. I am one of them. Should you make your residence in the District, you realize before too long that the news stories, pictures, and live video constantly beamed out focuses on a very small section of town.

Capitol Hill is its own parallel universe, if you will, and one is either wholly beholden to it or views it as a separate entity. Many rely heavily upon the decisions Congress makes as part of their occupations, but they could not be more separate from the actual decision making made by the partisan beehive a few miles away.

What troubles me about the recently passed debt reduction plan is that it shows how irresponsible we as a country have been financially. A kick-the-can-down-the-road approach may be politically expedient, but it is not responsible lawmaking. The District, to cite one example, is infamously known for major issues with ancient, decaying water mains. Once every month or so, it seems, a pipe bursts, flooding everything close by and sometimes causing damage to homes in its path. Some of the mains are over a century old, and some even older than that. There isn't much one can do to fix the entire system, the money just doesn't exist for a complete repair. So if there is any good news about this situation, it is that at least the decrepit main can be replaced with something brand new.

The Metro public transportation system, once a crown jewel of my city, has also lost much of its luster in recent years. It expanded rapidly in the 1990's, increased ridership as a result, and had every right to be a source of civic pride. Now, two years after a fatal rail collision thought to be caused by the failure of aging equipment, insufficient reforms in infrastructure have deteriorated that reputation. Escalators and elevators in stations break down constantly, necessitating extensive and time-consuming repairs. In the midst of a sweltering summer, some older cars don't even have air conditioning.

The entire system is in need of complete refurbishment, not for a course of Botox or a few sessions at the tanning bed. The best solution that has been offered is for older cars to be removed from service and for more workers to be assigned to fix escalators. A new slick ad campaign makes a lot of promises, but Washingtonians above all other people know to be suspicious of expensive campaigns that provide lots of promises.

This is what we have come to in this country. Though the cost seemed massive at the time, the controversial stimulus package did fix and is still fixing roads, interstate highways, and bridges. Because it is spread thinly across the United States, it's difficult to discern the total impact, making it easy for others to be skeptical.

I myself agree with some economists that the stimulus was too small. Metro, in particular, needs a massive infusion of capital to regain its former status. Until then, fares will be increased, bus routes will be eliminated, needed expansions to the system will be put on hold, and workers will not take pride in their jobs. Our country has reached the same state as a formerly stellar, but now less than ideal mass transit system.

An infuriatingly piecemeal approach to governance and problem solving is all we have been offered. Massive structural reforms are what are needed most, but either the money simply isn't present, or those solutions would grind government down to a screeching halt, never winning anyone's approval. We who are not legislators and government figures must find a way to avoid any barely adequate resolution. In the previous two examples I have mentioned, that superficial solutions only make matters worse with time. We may act as though we are grateful for that which we have, fearing we might lose even that should we register a complaint. But dysfunctional systems cry out for change. It was for this reason that we voted in our current president. And if we have learned anything in over two and a half years, it is that government cannot save us.

Direct participation beyond simply marking ballot sheet is the only solution I see. Marching in the streets is not my intent here; responding to a crisis with innovative solutions is more along the lines I'm suggesting. Necessity is the mother of invention, and there is no reason we ought to feel we need to stick with a failing model if we can come up with something better on our own. But we must believe in ourselves first, which is what has tripped all of us up time and time again. When public servants cease to be servants of the public, then we ought to question the system.

We can rail against lobbyist contributions and the corruption of the office, but I think a much better attitude is to place faith in ourselves first. The civility and decorum President Obama has sought to bring to government have been the downfall of his legislative agenda. Even with a solid majority in both the House and Senate, passing and enacting major portions were protracted, unsatisfying, and heated affairs. The t-shirts so many of us wore that were labeled "Hope" showed the face of a man we elected to lead us. I'd have much rather they showed our faces, instead.

Article first published as Hope is our Responsibility, Too on Blogcritics.

How It Goes Today

With the piece I just finished writing, I've given exclusive rights today to where I've started posting in the past two weeks or so. This is my first time to restrict what I've written to one particular site, and I'll see if that produces more substantial financial gain, or perhaps a more timely editor approval. Should this work, on days that I do opt for my content to be the exclusive domain of only one place, I'll post a hyperlink in place of the full piece, like I would normally do.

I'm still getting used to this. Based on the way things have run before, expect a link late in the afternoon into the early evening.

Health Update

I think it's finally time again to document my health woes. In some ways, they've improved but in some ways, I'm still seeking an adequate overall diagnosis. The most pressing issue is this one. I've been experiencing short, but intense periods of extreme fatigue. About every two weeks, I'll become so tired that even walking short distances is a chore. The worst of it lasts two to three days. But even when conditions improve, I still become tired far too quickly. This is new and very troubling.

When at the gym, an hour and a half workout with weights leaves me feeling wiped out. I stumble up the stairs, having just showered and dressed. I used to be able to snap back easily, and that hasn't been the case for a year or so. Never the most graceful soul on two feet, now that my body and legs are tired, I am even more clumsy than before. This is just one side effect of an excessive level of cortisol. I've also, in the past year, caught a severe cold at least once every two to three months, which would also indicate cortisol irregularity. I have a documented anxiety disorder. Constant stress is just part of my life and this, too, can also cause problems with cortisol.

Tomorrow I begin a cortisol test. Apparently there are very specific instructions to follow, but nonetheless I am still going to have to pee into a jug for a full 24 hours. Attaining an accurate cortisol profile insists that a full days adrenal action be properly documented. Though I rarely make predictions, in all of my research, I think this test is really going to reveal that something's up with cortisol. As for where we go then, I guess I'll have to confront it then.

Without a Title

A clairvoyant I know told me yesterday to expect that timetables and focus will be off until Friday. This is why, apparently, writing does not come easily today, nor does recording a performance video. So having said that, accept this poem instead.

_____________

I think I should have loved you presently,
And given in earnest words I flung in jest;
And lifted honest eyes for you to see,
And caught your hand against my cheek and breast;
And all my pretty follies flung aside
That won you to me, and beneath your gaze,
Naked of reticence and shorn of pride,
Spread like a chart my little wicked ways.
I, that had been to you, had you remained,
But one more waking from a recurrent dream,
Cherish no less the certain stakes I gained,
And walk your memory's halls, austere, supreme,
A ghost in marble of a girl you knew
Who would have loved you in a day or two.

-Edna St. Vincent Millay