Dobra Teahouse
Taste of Kashmir tea
Medicine Ball (dessert thingy... it has chocolate)
Let's see, quick update...
I've been sick. I got the flu on Valentine's night. It's alright. Greg had already passed out on the couch while I was putting the boys down. Yay, parenting! I'm still recovering, though. The active being sick part is pretty much done, but things have not cleared out and I'm all eeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhh... Hopefully, tea will help.
I'm also plodding away with the book stuff when I can get time alone with the computer. People often think that if you're a stay-at-home parent you get all this extra time to work on stuff. Totally not true. Maybe some people can do that, but I think it requires different kids. Or different furniture. And additional people. At any rate, it's not good think time when I can actually sit in front of a screen uninterrupted. It's still distracted time, because I'm still "on deck" ready to break up a fight or wipe a bottom or argue over whether or not it is actually snack time.
It's also a problem that I still don't have a computer - this is Greg's, and I have to pry him off of his own computer if I want to get any work done, and by then it's later than I should be up. And that's how someone who "doesn't work" can only write for a couple of hours one day a week and get no sleep. Ever.
But you still do it. There's a Rumi quote that goes, "If all you can do is crawl, start crawling." Which is a lot more poetic than my, "Go stand on your treadmill!"
Some explaining.
Once upon a time, I bought a used treadmill with my little tax refund. And like most home treadmills, it mostly sat around and did nothing. It was in the living room corner, and I would look at it and think, "I should be walking on that thing, but I really don't want to put on shoes... or real clothes. I hurt. I'm tired... I don't wunna." So I made a deal with myself: every day, I would just get up and stand on it. Often with no shoes, no shirt (the curtains were closed). But I would get up there and stand on it. And if I got up there and stood on it, I'd probably start walking for a little bit. And if I was going to walk, then I'd walk for five minutes. And if I walked for five, I knew that I could walk for 12 minutes, because that was usually when my body would finally start to feel okay and I could walk for the 20 minutes I was supposed to walk.
So all I had to do to walk for 20 minutes was to stand on my treadmill. All the work was done in the standing.
There are two kinds of energy I learned in school: potential and kinetic. Potential - static, contained, waiting. Kinetic - moving. Energy in motion. That's what I want myself to be. No more waiting, no more same cycle repeating. I want to be living. And when it comes to friction - the force that opposes motion - static friction is the hardest to overcome.
And that brings me to tattoos! I got some more. While I was contemplating what words or quotes I wanted to finish the thought bracelets around my wrist, I gravitated towards three words I had tweeted for the new year in 2014: Peaceful. Kinetic. Wise. But another word struck me and resonated: Lovingkindness. It's actually a particular meditation for Buddhists, focusing on developing and practicing sincere love for all human beings. So, also for the sake of spacing, I settled on "Kinetic~Lovingkindness" on my left wrist. With a treble clef and an 8-point star (from an Eric Carle book) to divide it from the "Bliss in the Is..." phrase already there.
So what went on the right wrist? The second sun from the Moby doodle (I also recolored the first sun), and Rumi. Not the quote from above, but another one in Arabic script. Why in Arabic? First, space availability. Second, it's lovely script. Third, it deepens the meaning of the translation which is (I really hope, Google Translator), "Every story is us."
All of us have a unique story. No matter how similar to another, it is always in some way different. And that is why there is always some value in every single human story. And yet, we are all human. We are all made from the same star stuff. Even though we cannot all live the same story, we all share in each other's story. We are all born with our own unique genetic make-up, surrounded by the environment and people that will shape us. So we can't say when you look at another person that you, as you were born, could have actually become that other person. And yet, every other person on this earth, I consider to be another manifestation of myself.
No matter how grand and benevolent and peaceful and wise... And no matter how brutal, how truly evil and inhuman... In some way, they are mine. Because a human being is a human being is a human being. I happen to be this human, but the stuff that made me, made them, too. And that's all very difficult, especially staring into the eyes of someone truly evil. I don't want to own them. But I feel that I have to. I have to own their story, too, or I can't see them. And if I can't see them, I can't understand.
My husband and I diverge on this point. He, like many, was deeply affected by the September 11th attacks. But he has no interest in understanding why someone would want to fly a plane into a building and slaughter innocents. He just wants to see them gone. Gone from the face of the earth so they can't hurt anyone else. And if Hell exists, so much the better, because it's waiting for them. He does not believe in changing minds, he does not believe it is possible.
I, on the other hand, think the most important thing we can do is understand why someone would fly a plane into a building. Because we make ourselves monsters, and if we don't understand why, then we will simply keep making more. I cannot imagine myself having the impulse to do something like that, but I have to try to think that this person who did this is also me. What would it take to bring me to that place? How could we un-make that monster?
Every story matters. Every story of suffering, of tragedy, of success, of mediocrity... it all matters. Truth, insight comes from anyone, anywhere, in every tongue. Every story, every perspective... it all has value. If we didn't think the stranger's story was about us, would we listen?
This may be easier for me because I am a very sensitive, empathetic person. And I kinda thought everyone understood that we are all connected to each other. But then I was reminded by a really terrible adaptation of Ayn Rand's "Atlas Shrugged" that some people are not born with this understanding, or are talked away from it. If Ayn Rand wasn't a biological sociopath, then her early childhood experiences certainly pushed her that way. That woman had zero empathy, and also zero understanding of those who do. It's not social control to say that we're all connected and cannot be wholly selfish beings. She just swung way too far to the other end of the spectrum.
But even her story is mine. She wasn't wrong about everything she wrote about, though I disagree with most of her stuff that is wielded like a cudgel against anyone who isn't a "successful entrepreneur" or whatever you want to call the selfishly rich. Not people who are rich. Just the rich who believe in elitist thinking and the relative worth of human beings, and therefore manipulate the system to protect and increase their own wealth and influence.
Oh, what a bunch of poppycock.
Come, have tea with me, those of you who think I'm wrong, who think you know who I am... who do not know I am you, too. I may not change your mind, but perhaps, you may just begin to see me, and to see yourself here, on the other side of the table.
Much love. Hippy - out!
Sunday, February 22, 2015
Monday, February 2, 2015
Discuss! Kindly...
Downtown Grounds
12oz Soy Mocha
Taos Mountain toasted coconut energy bar
I am trying not to blog at all so that I can focus on finishing up the book. Hopefully, I will have actual book in hand when I journey south again with the boys in March. But something has been on my mind, and I may well piss some people off, but I feel I have to put my two cents out there.
Let me tell you about today...
One of my favorite coffee shops was vandalized over the weekend, so I am working from here in solidarity. Before coming here, we took the boys to get caught up on their last vaccination (chickenpox - which the school system is battling in our area). Before sending Henry to his class, I had to make sure to wipe the peanut butter off his face because the school has asked that parents not only avoid bringing nuts to school, but also scrupulously clean the hands and faces of their children so that there are no traces of any nuts on them when they arrived to play with their classmates. Today also happens to be the 20th anniversary of me ending my virginity.
What does all that have in common? Let me start in reverse order.
When I realized that this was the 20th anniversary of me deflowering a Jehovah's Witness, I started tweeting some reflections with the hashtag "20yrsofnookie". One of those central reflections was that even smart people will do very stupid things under the influence of sexual arousal. I could add to that people will do very stupid things when the consequences are distant and abstract.
Stupid things like not wearing a condom and risking premature parenting and worse. Things like smashing the window of a small business to get to a trivial amount of money left in the cash register. Things like not taking care of the environment, or not supporting measures to slow the human impact on the climate. Things like not supporting a living wage and cutting social programs (as I have bitched about extensively already). Things like not vaccinating yourself or your kids.
And that is why, I would like to ask all my pro-vaccination friends to stop being so hostile for a bit. I'm not asking you to not feel angry. I'm not asking you to shut up. But even I, who obviously support vaccination, cannot stomach the barrage of snark and contempt that is clogging up my social media right now. If your goal is to get people to change their mind and get their kids vaccinated, then you are (mostly) going about it the wrong way.
I admit that I have been flippant about some things, and a little hostile, even. But most of the time, I hope I do not come across like that. I try to reign it in enough to show that I am open to hearing the other side. When you throw around contempt and condescension, all you do is get people's backs up and shut down their willingness to listen. You drive them further into their corners instead of bringing them to your side.
We have a cultural problem where all topics seem to get driven into this binary positioning of either for or against. And people are encouraged to take it personal, whatever their position is. Many years ago, I was in a relationship with a former debate team champion. Meanwhile, I was the math/science major. When we argued (which was a lot) these two backgrounds became really apparent. The object of my arguing was to employ logic and listening reach a mutual understanding. His objective was to win the argument by whatever means worked, including logic, yes, but also tactics like interrupting or flustering your "opponent" by provoking emotional responses.
I confess, after we had been in an escalating argument where I had been successfully keeping a cool stream of point-by-point logic in the face his erratic, inflammatory statements, I did end up chucking a water bottle at him after he called me irrational. Not my best moment.
My point is just that "debates" try to win the audience, while "discussions" try to win the people taking part in them. It's hard when you have a righteous anger, but it's important to try to extend your compassion to the person making you angry. Try. Try to remember that the person across from you made their decision for any number of reasons, including their love for the people most precious to them. Challenge them, yes. Ask them to go back to the reasons that brought them there, to listen to the responses to their concerns, to consider things from other perspectives. Remember that they have a mind and it can be changed. Offer to embrace them as an equal instead of battling them into submission, and you are more likely to see them move out of their corners and listen.
I understand that some people think that giving people the chance to opt out of vaccinations is coddling paranoia, and is now too dangerous to be allowed. I understand that view. I understand that their choice presents enough of a risk that unvaccinated kids may have to be kept out of the regular school system. Someone else posted something like, 'If my kid can't bring peanut butter to school, your kid can't bring preventable diseases.' I still don't believe that the choice should be taken away from them.
Just imagine that it's not some anti-conformist, hippy parent you're arguing with. Imagine it's an anti-government, open-carry, Bundy-Rancher type parent who doesn't want to get their kid vaccinated. How do think a mandatory vaccination edict would go over with them?
I've written before that scientists are not infallible, and there have been terrible mistakes in public health over the years, from Thalidomide to lead paint to lobotomies and hysterectomies as mental health treatments to the whole process of hospital childbirth in the first half of the last century (look it up - oh my god). And there have been some terrible things done by governments, including this government, like forced sterilizations of black Americans, also in the first half of the last century. So, it is not wholly irrational that people could find reason to not do something that would benefit their child, especially, as I said before, when the consequences are distant and abstract.
However, the consequences are becoming tangible now... tangible and tragic. But this is a winnable argument. Maybe it's going to take PSAs and even health classes in the schools and seminars for the parents. But the preponderance of the evidence shows clearly that it is much safer - for everyone - to vaccinate. I have also said before that there is a middle ground to this discussion, but "middle" was a wrong choice of word. There is room for discussion, more that we could know about the production process and such that could make people more comfortable with the choice. But until then, as parents we gotta go with what we got.
The boys have arrived to pick me up. Time to go! No time for edits.
Discuss!
12oz Soy Mocha
Taos Mountain toasted coconut energy bar
I am trying not to blog at all so that I can focus on finishing up the book. Hopefully, I will have actual book in hand when I journey south again with the boys in March. But something has been on my mind, and I may well piss some people off, but I feel I have to put my two cents out there.
Let me tell you about today...
One of my favorite coffee shops was vandalized over the weekend, so I am working from here in solidarity. Before coming here, we took the boys to get caught up on their last vaccination (chickenpox - which the school system is battling in our area). Before sending Henry to his class, I had to make sure to wipe the peanut butter off his face because the school has asked that parents not only avoid bringing nuts to school, but also scrupulously clean the hands and faces of their children so that there are no traces of any nuts on them when they arrived to play with their classmates. Today also happens to be the 20th anniversary of me ending my virginity.
What does all that have in common? Let me start in reverse order.
When I realized that this was the 20th anniversary of me deflowering a Jehovah's Witness, I started tweeting some reflections with the hashtag "20yrsofnookie". One of those central reflections was that even smart people will do very stupid things under the influence of sexual arousal. I could add to that people will do very stupid things when the consequences are distant and abstract.
Stupid things like not wearing a condom and risking premature parenting and worse. Things like smashing the window of a small business to get to a trivial amount of money left in the cash register. Things like not taking care of the environment, or not supporting measures to slow the human impact on the climate. Things like not supporting a living wage and cutting social programs (as I have bitched about extensively already). Things like not vaccinating yourself or your kids.
And that is why, I would like to ask all my pro-vaccination friends to stop being so hostile for a bit. I'm not asking you to not feel angry. I'm not asking you to shut up. But even I, who obviously support vaccination, cannot stomach the barrage of snark and contempt that is clogging up my social media right now. If your goal is to get people to change their mind and get their kids vaccinated, then you are (mostly) going about it the wrong way.
I admit that I have been flippant about some things, and a little hostile, even. But most of the time, I hope I do not come across like that. I try to reign it in enough to show that I am open to hearing the other side. When you throw around contempt and condescension, all you do is get people's backs up and shut down their willingness to listen. You drive them further into their corners instead of bringing them to your side.
We have a cultural problem where all topics seem to get driven into this binary positioning of either for or against. And people are encouraged to take it personal, whatever their position is. Many years ago, I was in a relationship with a former debate team champion. Meanwhile, I was the math/science major. When we argued (which was a lot) these two backgrounds became really apparent. The object of my arguing was to employ logic and listening reach a mutual understanding. His objective was to win the argument by whatever means worked, including logic, yes, but also tactics like interrupting or flustering your "opponent" by provoking emotional responses.
I confess, after we had been in an escalating argument where I had been successfully keeping a cool stream of point-by-point logic in the face his erratic, inflammatory statements, I did end up chucking a water bottle at him after he called me irrational. Not my best moment.
My point is just that "debates" try to win the audience, while "discussions" try to win the people taking part in them. It's hard when you have a righteous anger, but it's important to try to extend your compassion to the person making you angry. Try. Try to remember that the person across from you made their decision for any number of reasons, including their love for the people most precious to them. Challenge them, yes. Ask them to go back to the reasons that brought them there, to listen to the responses to their concerns, to consider things from other perspectives. Remember that they have a mind and it can be changed. Offer to embrace them as an equal instead of battling them into submission, and you are more likely to see them move out of their corners and listen.
I understand that some people think that giving people the chance to opt out of vaccinations is coddling paranoia, and is now too dangerous to be allowed. I understand that view. I understand that their choice presents enough of a risk that unvaccinated kids may have to be kept out of the regular school system. Someone else posted something like, 'If my kid can't bring peanut butter to school, your kid can't bring preventable diseases.' I still don't believe that the choice should be taken away from them.
Just imagine that it's not some anti-conformist, hippy parent you're arguing with. Imagine it's an anti-government, open-carry, Bundy-Rancher type parent who doesn't want to get their kid vaccinated. How do think a mandatory vaccination edict would go over with them?
I've written before that scientists are not infallible, and there have been terrible mistakes in public health over the years, from Thalidomide to lead paint to lobotomies and hysterectomies as mental health treatments to the whole process of hospital childbirth in the first half of the last century (look it up - oh my god). And there have been some terrible things done by governments, including this government, like forced sterilizations of black Americans, also in the first half of the last century. So, it is not wholly irrational that people could find reason to not do something that would benefit their child, especially, as I said before, when the consequences are distant and abstract.
However, the consequences are becoming tangible now... tangible and tragic. But this is a winnable argument. Maybe it's going to take PSAs and even health classes in the schools and seminars for the parents. But the preponderance of the evidence shows clearly that it is much safer - for everyone - to vaccinate. I have also said before that there is a middle ground to this discussion, but "middle" was a wrong choice of word. There is room for discussion, more that we could know about the production process and such that could make people more comfortable with the choice. But until then, as parents we gotta go with what we got.
The boys have arrived to pick me up. Time to go! No time for edits.
Discuss!
Sunday, January 25, 2015
The Black and Blue Dramedy Tour
Rogue Valley Roasting Company
Americano
Vegan Pumpkin Bread
This past December 31st, my grandfather past away. We had known he was sick, and we've been planning a long-haul trip with the boys down to SoCal in March so they could meet him while there was still time. There was supposed to be more time. But there was a secondary infection that was found too late and we lost him. He was 88 years-old and he lived an amazing, full life. It's hard to complain, to say he should have had more time, but still, we wished he'd had more.
So, we were able to wrangle a few extra days off at the last minute so that I could fly down for the service this past weekend. (This was decided before I remembered, Oh, yeah, I'm terrified of flying.) If you read the "Recalculating..." post from last year, when I did a long, crazy drive down to SoCal to attend my step-grandmother's memorial service, you'll know what I mean when I say this trip was in much the same spirit. I overpacked again - and since everything I threw in had to be a possible candidate for funeral-ware, I ended up with a suitcase full of exclusively black and blue clothing. Hence, I dubbed this trip from the outset The Black and Blue Dramedy Tour.
I almost didn't get the rental car - I shouldn't have, but I was able to walk that fine line with the managers when I was appealing my case: respectful, somewhat stricken and definitely stranded, but with enough supporting arguments and documentation to convince them - very reluctantly - to go through with the reservation. Fortunately, this time around, I didn't get the car towed. And I finally made it to Griffith Observatory - but not without paying a price for the detour (p.s. fuck you, 210 freeway - fuck you).
I arrived about 2 minutes before the start of the service the next day.
Every time I head anywhere near the town where I grew up, I get Steely Dan stuck in my head: "And I'm never going back to my old school..." Weirdly enough, someone from my old school found me after the service. And I saw family I haven't seen in years, including my father (who instilled in me a love of Steely Dan). Inside the church, I had sat behind him with my stepmom and had had that horrible insight that someday I would be in the front pew with my siblings and I would have to go through this for him. I suppose every child must have that same thought under the same circumstances.
And then I remembered how annoyingly healthy my father is and I reassured myself that he's going to outlive the cockroaches and there's no need to think about that right now.
Tangent...
When my mother turned sixty a few years ago, I called her up and asked, gently, "So... how are you doing?" She was taking it fine, though I found out that my brother had called her up and asked outright if she had cried. When my father turned sixty a little later, I called him and asked how he felt to be sixty. He said he felt twenty-five. Damn it, I said. "I didn't feel 25 when I was 25."
But that's my dad. The brilliant, unconventional thinker who looks like the long-lost lovechild of Leonard Nimoy and Alan Alda and who will outlive the apocalypse. I hope.
Anyway. I eventually found my way back to my grandparent's house - the house I had grown up in, though they had not been living there with us for most of that time.
I made it back there by muscle memory past changed facades and new construction. I didn't know Caterpillar Canyon could fit so much salable real estate. The mountains across the valley are the same, though there's too many damn hedges now to call it the same view. And I remember more snow on the peaks, especially in January. Though I had been so unhappy in that house when I was young, it feels completely benign now. Warm, even. But it hasn't been my house in a long time.
Going back is wonderful and completely sucks. I was reminded of how much love is available if I just reach out for it, even if it dwells in hearts hundreds or thousands of miles away. But I was reminded, too, of how different I thought I would be by now. I had feared getting stuck, but I didn't think I would feel this destroyed.
I think it's easy to forget how much potential and how much worth we possess when we look around and see only where we are.
My grandfather was a tremendous person, with a booming laugh that embarrassed his children in movie theaters. He was a bass section unto himself in the church choir. He took me to see my first concerts at the L.A. Philharmonic, and I ache at the thought that I can never sing with him now. He had an insatiable thirst for learning and continued to accumulate professional credentials, in psychology and in religion, throughout his life. So many people stood to tell stories of his compassion and acceptance and encouragement, whether he touched their lives through the ministry or psychodrama or his crossword troupe.
It feels daunting to imagine trying to live up to such an amazing person. I feel so far from that right now, though if I can track my time by his lifeline, I've got a good 52 years to catch up. What gives me some solace is the thought that, with all the lives he touched, there should be more than enough of us to each contribute some small measure of goodness to the world, and, altogether, we might just amend for his absence.
With love, and gratitude...
Americano
Vegan Pumpkin Bread
This past December 31st, my grandfather past away. We had known he was sick, and we've been planning a long-haul trip with the boys down to SoCal in March so they could meet him while there was still time. There was supposed to be more time. But there was a secondary infection that was found too late and we lost him. He was 88 years-old and he lived an amazing, full life. It's hard to complain, to say he should have had more time, but still, we wished he'd had more.
So, we were able to wrangle a few extra days off at the last minute so that I could fly down for the service this past weekend. (This was decided before I remembered, Oh, yeah, I'm terrified of flying.) If you read the "Recalculating..." post from last year, when I did a long, crazy drive down to SoCal to attend my step-grandmother's memorial service, you'll know what I mean when I say this trip was in much the same spirit. I overpacked again - and since everything I threw in had to be a possible candidate for funeral-ware, I ended up with a suitcase full of exclusively black and blue clothing. Hence, I dubbed this trip from the outset The Black and Blue Dramedy Tour.
I almost didn't get the rental car - I shouldn't have, but I was able to walk that fine line with the managers when I was appealing my case: respectful, somewhat stricken and definitely stranded, but with enough supporting arguments and documentation to convince them - very reluctantly - to go through with the reservation. Fortunately, this time around, I didn't get the car towed. And I finally made it to Griffith Observatory - but not without paying a price for the detour (p.s. fuck you, 210 freeway - fuck you).
I arrived about 2 minutes before the start of the service the next day.
Every time I head anywhere near the town where I grew up, I get Steely Dan stuck in my head: "And I'm never going back to my old school..." Weirdly enough, someone from my old school found me after the service. And I saw family I haven't seen in years, including my father (who instilled in me a love of Steely Dan). Inside the church, I had sat behind him with my stepmom and had had that horrible insight that someday I would be in the front pew with my siblings and I would have to go through this for him. I suppose every child must have that same thought under the same circumstances.
And then I remembered how annoyingly healthy my father is and I reassured myself that he's going to outlive the cockroaches and there's no need to think about that right now.
Tangent...
When my mother turned sixty a few years ago, I called her up and asked, gently, "So... how are you doing?" She was taking it fine, though I found out that my brother had called her up and asked outright if she had cried. When my father turned sixty a little later, I called him and asked how he felt to be sixty. He said he felt twenty-five. Damn it, I said. "I didn't feel 25 when I was 25."
But that's my dad. The brilliant, unconventional thinker who looks like the long-lost lovechild of Leonard Nimoy and Alan Alda and who will outlive the apocalypse. I hope.
Anyway. I eventually found my way back to my grandparent's house - the house I had grown up in, though they had not been living there with us for most of that time.
I made it back there by muscle memory past changed facades and new construction. I didn't know Caterpillar Canyon could fit so much salable real estate. The mountains across the valley are the same, though there's too many damn hedges now to call it the same view. And I remember more snow on the peaks, especially in January. Though I had been so unhappy in that house when I was young, it feels completely benign now. Warm, even. But it hasn't been my house in a long time.
Going back is wonderful and completely sucks. I was reminded of how much love is available if I just reach out for it, even if it dwells in hearts hundreds or thousands of miles away. But I was reminded, too, of how different I thought I would be by now. I had feared getting stuck, but I didn't think I would feel this destroyed.
I think it's easy to forget how much potential and how much worth we possess when we look around and see only where we are.
My grandfather was a tremendous person, with a booming laugh that embarrassed his children in movie theaters. He was a bass section unto himself in the church choir. He took me to see my first concerts at the L.A. Philharmonic, and I ache at the thought that I can never sing with him now. He had an insatiable thirst for learning and continued to accumulate professional credentials, in psychology and in religion, throughout his life. So many people stood to tell stories of his compassion and acceptance and encouragement, whether he touched their lives through the ministry or psychodrama or his crossword troupe.
It feels daunting to imagine trying to live up to such an amazing person. I feel so far from that right now, though if I can track my time by his lifeline, I've got a good 52 years to catch up. What gives me some solace is the thought that, with all the lives he touched, there should be more than enough of us to each contribute some small measure of goodness to the world, and, altogether, we might just amend for his absence.
With love, and gratitude...
Monday, December 29, 2014
The Santa Gift and my armpit hair...
Mix Bakeshop
Soy cappuccino
Chocolate Fox-shaped Cookie
A few thoughts before the end of the year...
Book stuff is coming right along. I have just over 100,000 words. It's crazy. I hope to have actual copies in hand when we head down to SoCal in March. Hold me to that! It also means that I will continue to be scarce. I still have tons to say, and I still will from time to time, but for the sake of publishing an actual hold-in-your-hand book, I have to shut up sometime.
Second, I stopped shaving about a month ago. It was weird at first since I associate stubble with not having gotten a shower recently. I got over that really fast, though. This is the first time I have ever let my body hair fully grow out, and it just feels completely normal and not the least bit unattractive. Of myself and my husband, however, I am the only one who feels like this. He's dealing with it with very little commenting, though, and, since I know some of you are wondering, it has not been a roadblock to intimacy.
Others of you are wondering why the hell I am sharing this. Moving on...
I shared this little bit on my Facebook wall, earlier this month...
Quick thought on handling Santa stories...
They're still young to understand it all, but we are not telling the boys that Santa is real. We are saying that there was a real person who lived a long time ago who was very kind and who did give little gifts to the children where he lived. And we do give them one "Santa Gift" at Christmas to remember that kind spirit of giving. We explain that the stories they hear are just fun stories people tell to celebrate, and the Santa they meet in the mall every year is another person that is helping people celebrate the season. We are also explaining that some people will still tell them that Santa is real, and that a lot of kids would be very sad to hear otherwise. Just because some grownups get carried away with the stories, that doesn't mean we should go around making kids cry by telling them Santa isn't real - that would go against the spirit of kindness. So we just "make room" for people to believe how they want to believe.
We'll get into the Jesus (and Mithras) stuff later.
I'm thinking of trying to convert this idea into some kind of childrens book. Know any good illustrators?
Also regarding Christmas, this year I went out to see Into the Woods on Christmas Day. I try not to abuse the privilege of the theatres being open on Christmas, but I had to make use of it this year as an offered public service. Mommy was done and needed to get the hell out of there for the good of the whole family. It did what I needed it to do. I got out of my head for a little while, and came back calmer and more able to deal with the Christmas Night chaos.
So, before I close this out, my New Year's wish for all of you is the same as ever: just a little peace and love and understanding.
And damn fine coffee.
Happy holidays and every days. Good night!
Soy cappuccino
Chocolate Fox-shaped Cookie
A few thoughts before the end of the year...
Book stuff is coming right along. I have just over 100,000 words. It's crazy. I hope to have actual copies in hand when we head down to SoCal in March. Hold me to that! It also means that I will continue to be scarce. I still have tons to say, and I still will from time to time, but for the sake of publishing an actual hold-in-your-hand book, I have to shut up sometime.
Second, I stopped shaving about a month ago. It was weird at first since I associate stubble with not having gotten a shower recently. I got over that really fast, though. This is the first time I have ever let my body hair fully grow out, and it just feels completely normal and not the least bit unattractive. Of myself and my husband, however, I am the only one who feels like this. He's dealing with it with very little commenting, though, and, since I know some of you are wondering, it has not been a roadblock to intimacy.
Others of you are wondering why the hell I am sharing this. Moving on...
I shared this little bit on my Facebook wall, earlier this month...
Quick thought on handling Santa stories...
They're still young to understand it all, but we are not telling the boys that Santa is real. We are saying that there was a real person who lived a long time ago who was very kind and who did give little gifts to the children where he lived. And we do give them one "Santa Gift" at Christmas to remember that kind spirit of giving. We explain that the stories they hear are just fun stories people tell to celebrate, and the Santa they meet in the mall every year is another person that is helping people celebrate the season. We are also explaining that some people will still tell them that Santa is real, and that a lot of kids would be very sad to hear otherwise. Just because some grownups get carried away with the stories, that doesn't mean we should go around making kids cry by telling them Santa isn't real - that would go against the spirit of kindness. So we just "make room" for people to believe how they want to believe.
We'll get into the Jesus (and Mithras) stuff later.
I'm thinking of trying to convert this idea into some kind of childrens book. Know any good illustrators?
Also regarding Christmas, this year I went out to see Into the Woods on Christmas Day. I try not to abuse the privilege of the theatres being open on Christmas, but I had to make use of it this year as an offered public service. Mommy was done and needed to get the hell out of there for the good of the whole family. It did what I needed it to do. I got out of my head for a little while, and came back calmer and more able to deal with the Christmas Night chaos.
So, before I close this out, my New Year's wish for all of you is the same as ever: just a little peace and love and understanding.
And damn fine coffee.
Happy holidays and every days. Good night!
Monday, December 1, 2014
The Weapon of the Enemy
The living room
Sleepytime Sinus Soother Tea
Pumpkin pie (expired)
I'm starting this at home. Will probably finish elsewhere.
This is why I never finish my housework. Well, this is partly why. Anyway.
If you think about it, there's only one true sin in the Bible. Everything else is only a sin under certain circumstances. Sex is not a sin, just premarital sex. Killing someone is not a sin, not at all. There are numerous passages delineating under what circumstances and by what method someone shall be put to death: female sorceresses, back-talking children, women who are raped who don't cry for help, but only if they live in the city because women who are raped in the country might not live close enough to someone who could have heard them so it's okay if they just didn't bother.
You can even steal someone else's land if you say God really wanted you to have it.
No, the only act that appears to be inherently sinful is disobedience. Everything else seems to have an asterisk. You can even put your beloved son on the alter if the big G tells you to. Obeying the command to kill your child is - in a biblical context - the righteous act. More righteous than obeying the standing order to not kill anybody (except where explicitly commanded to do so) because it was a direct order.
Even our military and police forces are expected to not obey a direct order if it conflicts with the laws established in the Constitution.
Oh, military and police forces... how you have so often failed to disobey... How often you have protected those among your ranks who have defiled their sacred obligations. Instead of casting these criminals out of your body, you have so very often closed in around them and formed a protective cyst, a tumor, and doomed your body to sickness.
Again and again and again...
Mix Bakeshop
Americano
Pumkin-something Macaroon
Biscotti
...And that's where I left it when the boys got home. Let's see if I can finish this before closing time.
Today, we went to the library. As the boys played with the Thomas the Train set in the kids section, we heard chanting and shouting outside. From the window we could see another Ferguson rally marching across the street, blocking the crosswalk for a time to address the stopped traffic, then continuing on to the heart of downtown.
"No justice! No peace!"
"Hands up! Don't shoot!"
As their voices receded Oliver began crying. He was upset because he had wanted to throw something into the recycling bin but Daddy had done it first. I thought how lucky we are that that's all he has to cry about. When I posted that later - the picture of the marchers and Oliver's incongruent despair - a friend of mine replied with "#FirstWorldProblems".
Amen, sister.
We live in another Gilded Age. As before the Great Crash, the news buzzes about the extraordinary wealth of our age, the billionaires being churned out by Wall Street. And the seeming normalcy of Middle America is only achieved through massive debt - student loans that may or may not be paid off before your children are ready for school, and the 30 year mortgage you had to refinance to get the loan to pay for the car repairs on that 2 door subcompact you were supposed to trade-up before you had the 2 car seats in the back, but now you can't afford to replace it so you have to string it along, and you can't put it on the credit card because you maxed it out on 4 crowns and 6 fillings - and that's with insurance! - and the Black Friday specials you sacrificed your Thanksgiving for because they told you it was your only chance to get it cheap enough and you could pay it off when you got your tax refund but then they cut the Earned Income Credit you were banking on so your interest rate just got jacked up to a rate you didn't know was legal. But you sure look comfortable. When everyone looks so comfortable, it's easy to think that it's your fault.
God forbid you get sick.
God forbid you're the victim of a hit and run while you're marching down to the Plaza for those among us who are dying in this Age of Gilded Freedom. That's your ER bill. Good luck.
This country is most definitely not well, but the worst part is that we cannot have the conversations we need to have to fix it because reality is obscured by the gilding of lies. Equal opportunity? Not a bit. Not economically, not legally... We don't even have an equal opportunity to stay alive just walking down the street.
Around the country, some of those who see the injustice, especially those who have been the victims of it, have taken to the streets to grieve, to demand change - they march. And some, they scream their grief, their frustration - their fear - they riot.
Song lyrics come to mind... "I need something to break!"
On the right, they have been stoking fear of the president, of immigrants, and those "thugs" who just happen to, ya know, bounce less light in the sun... Frankly, calling Obama a "tyrant" is an insult to the people of Syria and Libya and anyone else who has really lived under a tyrant. But the fearful shall defend themselves. They have been stockpiling their bunkers and talking openly of insurrection for years.
They want something to break, too.
What we do when we are afraid, when we are threatened... that is when we earn our humanity, or when we fail it.
When Henry David Thoreau saw the injustice of American aggression in his time, he simply stopped paying for his share of it. And he happily went to jail for it. He disobeyed, civilly. That was the righteous thing to do.
But what about today?
We do need change. A lot of it, on many fronts. You could use the term revolution. But I wouldn't go too far with that. I certainly would not say insurrection. So long as the basic structure remains in tact, we need to try to work within it.
I've known people who say we need to tear down the whole system and rebuild on whatever survives. I don't think highly of that kind of nihilism. I think of it as an immature human mind, the intellectual equivalent of a toddler's tantrum. So it's hard? So it's frustrating, and slow? So what? It's a lot harder to bury your sons and daughters sacrificed on the alter of revolution. And the societies built upon the ruins of revolutions most often do not survive, let alone thrive.
There are exceptions. But there is also a cost. Always a cost, not the least of which is our humanity.
I have no disrespect for someone who defends themselves or their families, but only when it is necessary. In the case in Ferguson, the only way Wilson might have needed to shoot Mike Brown dead from 150 feet away is if he mistook Mike Brown for Luke Skywalker and had a reasonable expectation that Mike Brown would imminently use The Force to steal his gun. Which is silly, of course, because Brown could have just choked him before Wilson could reach. Or tossed his police cruiser.
Which makes me think of burning witches. How stupid is that logic? If she's a witch, don't you think she could get out of it? In which case, the only people you'd end up burning would be innocent. Oh, the folly of the righteous... Committing obvious sins in the name of God. Murder, torture, destruction, violence... whatever... for the Greater Good.
Didn't we learn anything from the Lord of the Rings? You never use the weapon of the Enemy.
If killing someone, on purpose, is wrong, then it doesn't stop being wrong if you change the scenery or put the trigger in another person's hand. Injustice must be answered, and in a meaningful way, but you don't go outside the system you're trying to fix if there is any path at all left open. There is no social system that will ever be free of corruption. The strength of the institution comes from the ability to address and amend injustice within itself.
In Ferguson, there was clear abuse of power and corruption - and there are still paths left to address those trespasses of justice. And more broadly, there is wide-spread racial injustice and abuse of police authority - and that, too, can be addressed. There are white allies, and those in positions of power - yes, even white police officers, too - who see and will march alongside those seeking justice.
And even those of us who may only march our fingers across keyboards in suburban coffeehouses, we are doing our best to scrape the fool's gold off the bullshit that's being oversold, hand over bloodied fist, to keep us from seeing that one simply truth: There's no such thing as Other People. We're all in this together, and we can change things for the better and be our higher human selves.
I am such a damn hippy. Coffee shop is closing. Time to go.
I love you all.
Sleepytime Sinus Soother Tea
Pumpkin pie (expired)
I'm starting this at home. Will probably finish elsewhere.
This is why I never finish my housework. Well, this is partly why. Anyway.
If you think about it, there's only one true sin in the Bible. Everything else is only a sin under certain circumstances. Sex is not a sin, just premarital sex. Killing someone is not a sin, not at all. There are numerous passages delineating under what circumstances and by what method someone shall be put to death: female sorceresses, back-talking children, women who are raped who don't cry for help, but only if they live in the city because women who are raped in the country might not live close enough to someone who could have heard them so it's okay if they just didn't bother.
You can even steal someone else's land if you say God really wanted you to have it.
No, the only act that appears to be inherently sinful is disobedience. Everything else seems to have an asterisk. You can even put your beloved son on the alter if the big G tells you to. Obeying the command to kill your child is - in a biblical context - the righteous act. More righteous than obeying the standing order to not kill anybody (except where explicitly commanded to do so) because it was a direct order.
Even our military and police forces are expected to not obey a direct order if it conflicts with the laws established in the Constitution.
Oh, military and police forces... how you have so often failed to disobey... How often you have protected those among your ranks who have defiled their sacred obligations. Instead of casting these criminals out of your body, you have so very often closed in around them and formed a protective cyst, a tumor, and doomed your body to sickness.
Again and again and again...
Mix Bakeshop
Americano
Pumkin-something Macaroon
Biscotti
...And that's where I left it when the boys got home. Let's see if I can finish this before closing time.
Today, we went to the library. As the boys played with the Thomas the Train set in the kids section, we heard chanting and shouting outside. From the window we could see another Ferguson rally marching across the street, blocking the crosswalk for a time to address the stopped traffic, then continuing on to the heart of downtown.
"No justice! No peace!"
"Hands up! Don't shoot!"
As their voices receded Oliver began crying. He was upset because he had wanted to throw something into the recycling bin but Daddy had done it first. I thought how lucky we are that that's all he has to cry about. When I posted that later - the picture of the marchers and Oliver's incongruent despair - a friend of mine replied with "#FirstWorldProblems".
Amen, sister.
We live in another Gilded Age. As before the Great Crash, the news buzzes about the extraordinary wealth of our age, the billionaires being churned out by Wall Street. And the seeming normalcy of Middle America is only achieved through massive debt - student loans that may or may not be paid off before your children are ready for school, and the 30 year mortgage you had to refinance to get the loan to pay for the car repairs on that 2 door subcompact you were supposed to trade-up before you had the 2 car seats in the back, but now you can't afford to replace it so you have to string it along, and you can't put it on the credit card because you maxed it out on 4 crowns and 6 fillings - and that's with insurance! - and the Black Friday specials you sacrificed your Thanksgiving for because they told you it was your only chance to get it cheap enough and you could pay it off when you got your tax refund but then they cut the Earned Income Credit you were banking on so your interest rate just got jacked up to a rate you didn't know was legal. But you sure look comfortable. When everyone looks so comfortable, it's easy to think that it's your fault.
God forbid you get sick.
God forbid you're the victim of a hit and run while you're marching down to the Plaza for those among us who are dying in this Age of Gilded Freedom. That's your ER bill. Good luck.
This country is most definitely not well, but the worst part is that we cannot have the conversations we need to have to fix it because reality is obscured by the gilding of lies. Equal opportunity? Not a bit. Not economically, not legally... We don't even have an equal opportunity to stay alive just walking down the street.
Around the country, some of those who see the injustice, especially those who have been the victims of it, have taken to the streets to grieve, to demand change - they march. And some, they scream their grief, their frustration - their fear - they riot.
Song lyrics come to mind... "I need something to break!"
On the right, they have been stoking fear of the president, of immigrants, and those "thugs" who just happen to, ya know, bounce less light in the sun... Frankly, calling Obama a "tyrant" is an insult to the people of Syria and Libya and anyone else who has really lived under a tyrant. But the fearful shall defend themselves. They have been stockpiling their bunkers and talking openly of insurrection for years.
They want something to break, too.
What we do when we are afraid, when we are threatened... that is when we earn our humanity, or when we fail it.
When Henry David Thoreau saw the injustice of American aggression in his time, he simply stopped paying for his share of it. And he happily went to jail for it. He disobeyed, civilly. That was the righteous thing to do.
But what about today?
We do need change. A lot of it, on many fronts. You could use the term revolution. But I wouldn't go too far with that. I certainly would not say insurrection. So long as the basic structure remains in tact, we need to try to work within it.
I've known people who say we need to tear down the whole system and rebuild on whatever survives. I don't think highly of that kind of nihilism. I think of it as an immature human mind, the intellectual equivalent of a toddler's tantrum. So it's hard? So it's frustrating, and slow? So what? It's a lot harder to bury your sons and daughters sacrificed on the alter of revolution. And the societies built upon the ruins of revolutions most often do not survive, let alone thrive.
There are exceptions. But there is also a cost. Always a cost, not the least of which is our humanity.
I have no disrespect for someone who defends themselves or their families, but only when it is necessary. In the case in Ferguson, the only way Wilson might have needed to shoot Mike Brown dead from 150 feet away is if he mistook Mike Brown for Luke Skywalker and had a reasonable expectation that Mike Brown would imminently use The Force to steal his gun. Which is silly, of course, because Brown could have just choked him before Wilson could reach. Or tossed his police cruiser.
Which makes me think of burning witches. How stupid is that logic? If she's a witch, don't you think she could get out of it? In which case, the only people you'd end up burning would be innocent. Oh, the folly of the righteous... Committing obvious sins in the name of God. Murder, torture, destruction, violence... whatever... for the Greater Good.
Didn't we learn anything from the Lord of the Rings? You never use the weapon of the Enemy.
If killing someone, on purpose, is wrong, then it doesn't stop being wrong if you change the scenery or put the trigger in another person's hand. Injustice must be answered, and in a meaningful way, but you don't go outside the system you're trying to fix if there is any path at all left open. There is no social system that will ever be free of corruption. The strength of the institution comes from the ability to address and amend injustice within itself.
In Ferguson, there was clear abuse of power and corruption - and there are still paths left to address those trespasses of justice. And more broadly, there is wide-spread racial injustice and abuse of police authority - and that, too, can be addressed. There are white allies, and those in positions of power - yes, even white police officers, too - who see and will march alongside those seeking justice.
And even those of us who may only march our fingers across keyboards in suburban coffeehouses, we are doing our best to scrape the fool's gold off the bullshit that's being oversold, hand over bloodied fist, to keep us from seeing that one simply truth: There's no such thing as Other People. We're all in this together, and we can change things for the better and be our higher human selves.
I am such a damn hippy. Coffee shop is closing. Time to go.
I love you all.
Sunday, November 23, 2014
Cozy in my uncertainty
Rogue Valley Roasting Co.
16oz Coffee
Vegan Pumpkin Walnut Bread
Some people have a very dismissive or negative view of agnosticism. I've heard people refer to agnostics as if they were just indecisive or afraid to commit. I say "they" but I mean "we." I have said numerous times that I am agnostic. If you want a good understanding of what the term means, I recommend visiting its Wikipedia page. In a nutshell, the term means "without knowledge," and since it is usually used to describe someone's religious views, that generally means that the person has no knowledge to give them a belief in any kind of deity.
The nuances of that meaning diverge from that point. Some will say "I don't know - can't know - and neither can anyone else." I keep it a little more close. The concept of god, by definition, goes beyond the typical objective reality with which we are familiar. That is not to say god is not part of our reality, just that god doesn't function in a way that we can define in our usual physical terms. In other words, old-school miracles - like the creation of all existence - cannot be duplicated in a laboratory.
And yet, that which used to seem miraculous to our ancestors has been revealed to be very normal, predictable phenomena. It's good to remember, sometimes, that most all religious texts were written before human beings understood the water cycle (evaporation, condensation, precipitation, all that). If any religion was truly inspired by divine words, remember that they flowed through human messengers.
For myself, I believed in God as a child because everyone around me talked about God as if He was a done deal. I asked my father why, then, were there other religions if everyone knew about these miracles Jesus had performed. Surly, with so many witnesses, there would be extensive contemporaneous accounts to validate that these had, in fact, taken place (yes, I was a weird 8 year-old). So my father explained that these accounts were recorded by just a couple people decades after Jesus' death, and there were not the innumerable written or oral accounts I would expect, so people have to choose to believe or not believe that these things had taken place.
Oh, these are stories?!
And I became an atheist, because it was too much to be asked to believe these stories of spectacular miracles unless there was some really strong evidence that they had actually occurred.
But I got older, and I kept thinking and pondering and listening to the great thinkers and ponderers of human history. And I softened my views a bit. Because how do I know there isn't a god, anyway? Maybe human beings are screwy and can't get the story straight, but maybe there's a god in spite of all that.
The point is what we know and what is knowable. Right now, I can't see a way for the human mind to be able to know with demonstrable certainty that god exists. I have heard the smartest people in modern society argue with authority that it's illogical to think there is no god. And I have heard equally brilliant minds argue that it's illogical to think that there is a god. The problem is that logic doesn't have an imperative when it comes to how the divine is or isn't. At least, none that I can see. Perhaps someday we will find a way to know definitively one way or another.
Most people who believe, it seems to me, believe because they feel a personal connection to the divine. They have opened themselves to the Holy Spirit(s) and have felt a divine presence. And it doesn't matter which religion you're talking about, from the outside, every practitioner sounds the same. They know The Truth. All the other religions are actually false and their practitioners are deceiving themselves, or are being deceived. Once they, and I, leave behind these self-deceptions and open our hearts to The True Religion, we'll know the difference; we'll Know. The. Truth.
It all sounds the same from here. But epiphanies, as I've said before, can be the most true and least reliable form of knowledge. Maybe one of these groups has it right. I can't say they are wrong or right from the outside. But you can't convert me based on your certainty. And, as I said before, logic breaks down. So, what's left? Empiricism? You want me to believe my lyin' eyes?
Empiricism used to "prove" spontaneous generation, proof of god, because you could see meat miraculously turn into maggots. When it was shown that it was not an act of the divine, that maggots were actually fly larvae, religious minds resisted the truth because they thought it invalidated the existence of God. Likewise, many refused to believe in any kind of micro-biology in spite of the fact that... oh, what's his name... proved that women were dying in childbirth needlessly because doctors were not washing their hands in between deliveries. Or after eating. Or pooping. Or ever. The point is that what you see, what you hear, what you feel in the most intimate crevices of your senses, does not necessarily mean what you think it does.
And yet... we exist. There is ...stuff. Why is there something instead of nothing? Even if we are nothing more than a dream in the mind of some slumbering divine entity and all we see or feel or experience is an illusion - we are still the dream. The dream is. I am okay not knowing all the answers. I don't know if there is a greater purpose to all this. I'm okay not ascribing grand notions of purpose or grand destinies if I don't feel a compelling certainty in them.
I am open to listen to what you believe is true. But I am not seeking some answer. Try not to be too disappointed if you try to say, for example:
1. I have problems.
2. I am not a Christian.
3. Ergo, I should be Christian.
And I will reply with:
1. You're right - I have problems.
2. I am not a Buddhist.
3. Ergo, I should be a Buddhist.
Actually, Buddhism has a lot to offer. But so do most religions, to an extent. They tend to break down when you get to dealing with people who don't follow the same religion or who deviate within the religious order. But the 'be kind and respectful to others' part - that's pretty solid. I am willing to accept the parts of any religion that I feel hold true outside of the confines of that religion. If a particular doctrine is consistent with reason and empathy, I have no reason to reject it. I just don't embrace it solely because it was given by an authority figure.
To those who still think that agnosticism is weak or non-committal or wishy-washy, you still misunderstand. It is commitment the pursuit of truth that keeps agnostics from going any further. The scientific mind says only what it can say. This is what we know, this is what we know is knowable, and this is what can be said given that. That doesn't preclude there being more than that. That doesn't mean we won't be able to know more someday. We just don't try to make things fit to make the world more comfortable for us. That would be faithless and false.
What about the afterlife? What if there is a god and its followers have been trying to tell me the grand Truth but I have rejected it this whole time? It's not so much rejection as much as not accepting it without reason. But aren't I afraid of going to some hell? Aren't I afraid of some divine punishment? Frankly, I don't think much of any deity who would condemn me to eternal suffering for having a reasonable doubt and not bearing false witness.
Damnation for utilizing the spectacular mental faculties we have been gifted with? What a douche!
Fear of divine wrath is not a reason for believing in the divine. That falls under "incentive." Like, in the checkout aisle at the grocery store, if I buy two pieces of candy, I can get two more free! That's an incentive. But the reality is: I need no candy.
If there is some kind of afterlife, I will have to accept whatever consequences await me. Maybe I just think more highly of god, but I don't tremble in fear for not following some other person's dogma, no matter how popular. Maybe there is an afterlife, maybe there is nothing. Maybe the remnants of our holographic mind continue. Maybe they dissipate. Maybe we are reincarnated. Maybe we just turn into mulch.
All I know is that who I am now ends at my death. If a part of me continues, it will be in some other form. I will not again walk in this body and be just as I am now. If I exist in spirit, I am still not quite the same as me now - I will know things unknowable now. If I am reincarnated, then who I am will continue to change and evolve. I can never live this story of me, exactly, ever again.
So, why wait for the answer of what is beyond this life? All I can do is make this life the best that I can. If you've ever met me and wondered why I often wear an ankh (sorry, not a cross, folks) it's because it is the symbol of life. I wear it to remind myself to live while I'm alive. Because agnosticism is not living without morality or fear of eternal consequence. It is living with the accountability of your earthly actions. It is not disregarding any possibility of the after. It is about truly living within the now.
I feel like I've said all of this before. Apologies for my redundancy. And love to all.
16oz Coffee
Vegan Pumpkin Walnut Bread
Some people have a very dismissive or negative view of agnosticism. I've heard people refer to agnostics as if they were just indecisive or afraid to commit. I say "they" but I mean "we." I have said numerous times that I am agnostic. If you want a good understanding of what the term means, I recommend visiting its Wikipedia page. In a nutshell, the term means "without knowledge," and since it is usually used to describe someone's religious views, that generally means that the person has no knowledge to give them a belief in any kind of deity.
The nuances of that meaning diverge from that point. Some will say "I don't know - can't know - and neither can anyone else." I keep it a little more close. The concept of god, by definition, goes beyond the typical objective reality with which we are familiar. That is not to say god is not part of our reality, just that god doesn't function in a way that we can define in our usual physical terms. In other words, old-school miracles - like the creation of all existence - cannot be duplicated in a laboratory.
And yet, that which used to seem miraculous to our ancestors has been revealed to be very normal, predictable phenomena. It's good to remember, sometimes, that most all religious texts were written before human beings understood the water cycle (evaporation, condensation, precipitation, all that). If any religion was truly inspired by divine words, remember that they flowed through human messengers.
For myself, I believed in God as a child because everyone around me talked about God as if He was a done deal. I asked my father why, then, were there other religions if everyone knew about these miracles Jesus had performed. Surly, with so many witnesses, there would be extensive contemporaneous accounts to validate that these had, in fact, taken place (yes, I was a weird 8 year-old). So my father explained that these accounts were recorded by just a couple people decades after Jesus' death, and there were not the innumerable written or oral accounts I would expect, so people have to choose to believe or not believe that these things had taken place.
Oh, these are stories?!
And I became an atheist, because it was too much to be asked to believe these stories of spectacular miracles unless there was some really strong evidence that they had actually occurred.
But I got older, and I kept thinking and pondering and listening to the great thinkers and ponderers of human history. And I softened my views a bit. Because how do I know there isn't a god, anyway? Maybe human beings are screwy and can't get the story straight, but maybe there's a god in spite of all that.
The point is what we know and what is knowable. Right now, I can't see a way for the human mind to be able to know with demonstrable certainty that god exists. I have heard the smartest people in modern society argue with authority that it's illogical to think there is no god. And I have heard equally brilliant minds argue that it's illogical to think that there is a god. The problem is that logic doesn't have an imperative when it comes to how the divine is or isn't. At least, none that I can see. Perhaps someday we will find a way to know definitively one way or another.
Most people who believe, it seems to me, believe because they feel a personal connection to the divine. They have opened themselves to the Holy Spirit(s) and have felt a divine presence. And it doesn't matter which religion you're talking about, from the outside, every practitioner sounds the same. They know The Truth. All the other religions are actually false and their practitioners are deceiving themselves, or are being deceived. Once they, and I, leave behind these self-deceptions and open our hearts to The True Religion, we'll know the difference; we'll Know. The. Truth.
It all sounds the same from here. But epiphanies, as I've said before, can be the most true and least reliable form of knowledge. Maybe one of these groups has it right. I can't say they are wrong or right from the outside. But you can't convert me based on your certainty. And, as I said before, logic breaks down. So, what's left? Empiricism? You want me to believe my lyin' eyes?
Empiricism used to "prove" spontaneous generation, proof of god, because you could see meat miraculously turn into maggots. When it was shown that it was not an act of the divine, that maggots were actually fly larvae, religious minds resisted the truth because they thought it invalidated the existence of God. Likewise, many refused to believe in any kind of micro-biology in spite of the fact that... oh, what's his name... proved that women were dying in childbirth needlessly because doctors were not washing their hands in between deliveries. Or after eating. Or pooping. Or ever. The point is that what you see, what you hear, what you feel in the most intimate crevices of your senses, does not necessarily mean what you think it does.
And yet... we exist. There is ...stuff. Why is there something instead of nothing? Even if we are nothing more than a dream in the mind of some slumbering divine entity and all we see or feel or experience is an illusion - we are still the dream. The dream is. I am okay not knowing all the answers. I don't know if there is a greater purpose to all this. I'm okay not ascribing grand notions of purpose or grand destinies if I don't feel a compelling certainty in them.
I am open to listen to what you believe is true. But I am not seeking some answer. Try not to be too disappointed if you try to say, for example:
1. I have problems.
2. I am not a Christian.
3. Ergo, I should be Christian.
And I will reply with:
1. You're right - I have problems.
2. I am not a Buddhist.
3. Ergo, I should be a Buddhist.
Actually, Buddhism has a lot to offer. But so do most religions, to an extent. They tend to break down when you get to dealing with people who don't follow the same religion or who deviate within the religious order. But the 'be kind and respectful to others' part - that's pretty solid. I am willing to accept the parts of any religion that I feel hold true outside of the confines of that religion. If a particular doctrine is consistent with reason and empathy, I have no reason to reject it. I just don't embrace it solely because it was given by an authority figure.
To those who still think that agnosticism is weak or non-committal or wishy-washy, you still misunderstand. It is commitment the pursuit of truth that keeps agnostics from going any further. The scientific mind says only what it can say. This is what we know, this is what we know is knowable, and this is what can be said given that. That doesn't preclude there being more than that. That doesn't mean we won't be able to know more someday. We just don't try to make things fit to make the world more comfortable for us. That would be faithless and false.
What about the afterlife? What if there is a god and its followers have been trying to tell me the grand Truth but I have rejected it this whole time? It's not so much rejection as much as not accepting it without reason. But aren't I afraid of going to some hell? Aren't I afraid of some divine punishment? Frankly, I don't think much of any deity who would condemn me to eternal suffering for having a reasonable doubt and not bearing false witness.
Damnation for utilizing the spectacular mental faculties we have been gifted with? What a douche!
Fear of divine wrath is not a reason for believing in the divine. That falls under "incentive." Like, in the checkout aisle at the grocery store, if I buy two pieces of candy, I can get two more free! That's an incentive. But the reality is: I need no candy.
If there is some kind of afterlife, I will have to accept whatever consequences await me. Maybe I just think more highly of god, but I don't tremble in fear for not following some other person's dogma, no matter how popular. Maybe there is an afterlife, maybe there is nothing. Maybe the remnants of our holographic mind continue. Maybe they dissipate. Maybe we are reincarnated. Maybe we just turn into mulch.
All I know is that who I am now ends at my death. If a part of me continues, it will be in some other form. I will not again walk in this body and be just as I am now. If I exist in spirit, I am still not quite the same as me now - I will know things unknowable now. If I am reincarnated, then who I am will continue to change and evolve. I can never live this story of me, exactly, ever again.
So, why wait for the answer of what is beyond this life? All I can do is make this life the best that I can. If you've ever met me and wondered why I often wear an ankh (sorry, not a cross, folks) it's because it is the symbol of life. I wear it to remind myself to live while I'm alive. Because agnosticism is not living without morality or fear of eternal consequence. It is living with the accountability of your earthly actions. It is not disregarding any possibility of the after. It is about truly living within the now.
I feel like I've said all of this before. Apologies for my redundancy. And love to all.
Thursday, November 20, 2014
A hard and beautiful thing
The Humbling Abode
Vanilla Honeybush Tea
This is overdue, both the blog and the topic. A friend asked me to ponder what it means to be a mom - to choose to be a mom at all. I've been ruminating on the topic since. There's so many ways to answer that.
For one thing, everybody's sick all the time and that's going to throw off your blogging days from time to time. But then you also get those gems, in that three-year-old lisp:
Tttthhhhbbb-ttthhhbb-ttthhhhbbbpt.
"Ovi, are you tooting?"
"No, Mommy! It must have been a helicopter... in my butt... that made that sound!"
And then there are the buttons missing from the keyboard as I struggle to type this on my husband's computer because my computer can no longer be moved without the screen disconnecting and going black... all courtesy of my little fucking angels.
The one thing that has really hit home for me, one thing that I had not really thought out, is that there is a difference between being a "single mom" and being a "solitary mom." Single moms might still have family and close friends who support them in the raising of a child, even if it's just by keeping them from going crazy while raising a child. I can't imagine trying to be a mom without my husband helping me. I lean on him - heavily. But he's also almost all I have to help me here.
We are hundreds of miles from the nearest family. We're also transplants to the area and, though we have some friends, we never established those kinds of... daily... friendships before starting our family. The kinds where people come over and hang out, and just check in and bring you coffee. Even the few friendships we've made with neighbors haven't been that close. We might chat for a while coming from or going to the laundry room, we might get a knock when someone's locked out or needs to borrow something. Mostly, our neighborly visits have pertained to "hey, could you keep it down - the baby's trying to sleep."
Those are not the kind of friendships we would have if we had grown up in the area - and our friends and family had stayed in the area, too. And if I were just better at cultivating friendships. I'm a very friendly person, and the friends we have have often said we could call on them whenever. But I tend to keep my crap to myself. I've been head-down, trying to get it together. How do I call someone up, or strike up a conversation for the sole purpose of dragging someone into my crazy? Or to drag me out of it, really.
It would be nice if I were religious. Churches are one of the few socially acceptable places where you can walk up to a stranger and say, "I need some help." But I'm not religious, nor am I seeking any religion be a fix for my earthly problems. I'm sure they'd probably be happy to chat with me anyway, but it never felt right, or at least, comfortable. Seeking therapy was more to the point, and more effective while I had it.
But even therapy can't fix problems like being stuck at home all day without so much as a lunch break. Eating lunch is not the same as getting a lunch break. When you take a lunch break at work, you generally get to clock out. At least, you get to hide somewhere and power through your sandwich before someone rings a bell and you're on deck again. No such luck at home. Even when the boys are playing by themselves, I'm still on duty. The noise - the noise - is still going, and I must be ready at a moment's notice to separate them or save one or both from imminent injury. Naps? Ha! Nap time is fight time around here and I have finally given up trying.
Naptime elicited tweets from me pining to be more like a cartoon mom because, "Miss Spider doesn't lose her shit over naptime."
But this is me and we know that I have more going on than a lot of people would normally have to deal with. There's the postpartum depression and anxiety stuff, there's the fibromyalgia, the financial woes (okay, most of us that have that crap, but I've had the court kind, too), and now we know we've been trying to cope with a child with autism. I don't want to scare anyone off with my grousing. Nor do I want to diminish the struggles a couple with just one totally healthy, developmentally normal child may experience.
One child is hard. One child under the best of circumstances is hard. Don't let anyone who was a single parent and raised 5 kids while working 3 jobs and earning 2 degrees tell you that you have nothing to complain about. But a lot of things that are hard are doable. But... should you do it? That is a much harder question.
I have so many friends with so many stories. Many of my school friends ended up getting pregnant while still in school, or shortly afterward. My older brothers both started their own families very young. The results of all these early families has been mixed. Many are still struggling today, but I can't think of a single one saying they would go back and not have that child they have borne and raised. Once that child is there in your arms... As my mother told me years ago, while I struggled with the decision of whether or not to continue my first pregnancy, you just won't be able to imagine your life without your children.
I might still question if I made the right choices, to be a mother at all, I might wish I had done things differently. But given the opportunity, I could not choose to not have my boys. In unromantic fairness, by choosing this family, I have chosen to not have the other children that might have been - I've still got plenty of eggs, after all. But two is plenty. For us, and, frankly, more than enough for the planet.
But there are so many more stories... stories of couples who desperately want to conceive but can't, those who've had a multitude of miscarriages or even stillbirth... It's a harrowing experience. It is such a forceful biological drive for most of us, once it has been triggered... to have it denied... That's something I can only imagine, and I try not to if I can.
For some, it is a deliberate choice to not have a child. Sometimes a person can come to see themselves as someone who would struggle to be a good parent. Sometimes that's a physical challenge and sometimes mental. Only they can say whether or not that's a fair conclusion.
But sometimes the choice is only to delay until such and such is better, the situation more stable. Often completing your education and getting a career established is the rationale. And that seems perfectly sound logic. Sometimes that takes longer than expected. Relationships change, and sometimes the fertility clock has already chimed by the time a person feels situationally ready to start a family. It's not impossible for older couples to get pregnant, even without fertility assistance. But biology starts to work against you, and even youth is no guarantee.
The question is: do you need it? Is it worth it? Is it right for you?
Okay, that's several questions. Some people who remain childless, whether because they were unable to conceive or because they found some reason they felt was more compelling to not conceive, they often find some peace with the situation. I hope they do, anyway. They may find fulfillment in a life's work, some passion that they recognize would make it difficult for them to pursue and be a good parent as well. Or, they may find their peace in some kind of surrogate relationship, raising or mentoring a close family member or friend.
Sadly, I know that that often isn't enough. A pain remains, more deeply for some, that I simply can't speak to.
My husband talks about our children as his "immortality." I roll my eyes at this. When he and I kick off - we're done. Our children will have their own lives and destinies. They will bear the mark of our parenting, for better or worse. But we will not own them. They alone will own themselves. And who cares about immortality anyway? It's a damn overrated concept.
People (okay, I'm looking at you men of old) have been so flipping fixated on their name and their "seed" carrying on. Who cares? Okay, on some genetic diversity level, sure, it's sad to have that special little batch of DNA out of the mix. But the world will get over it. Sorry. Yes, your desire to reproduce is healthy and normal and I'm not being dismissive of that. But get over yourself. At least, when it comes to your perpetuity.
Gah. It's late, and I have hardly spoken of adoption and step-parenting and those special people who occupy the role of a parent without any official title. I don't want to leave this as if they were not also parents, too.
And the money! Our beaten down wages and our absurd health care system and our chaotic and pathetic public assistance programs and our lack of mandatory paid maternity leave - are huge hindrances to even becoming a parent in the first place, let alone being able to be a good parent once you've brought a child into this overburdened world. And that brings me - at last - to choice.
Everyone should have as much support as we can muster to choose for themselves whether or not to start a family and who and how many get to join it. It is, perhaps, our most innate and compelling instinct. But this is the world we live in, and it's just not an easy choice to make. Someday, if we don't all voluntarily choose smaller families, or adopting instead, we will not have the luxury to choose for ourselves. Limited resources for a crowded planet will make the choice for us. But for any size of family, it's exhausting, excruciating, hilarious, frightening, joyous and trying.
It's a hard and beautiful thing to be a parent.
Vanilla Honeybush Tea
This is overdue, both the blog and the topic. A friend asked me to ponder what it means to be a mom - to choose to be a mom at all. I've been ruminating on the topic since. There's so many ways to answer that.
For one thing, everybody's sick all the time and that's going to throw off your blogging days from time to time. But then you also get those gems, in that three-year-old lisp:
Tttthhhhbbb-ttthhhbb-ttthhhhbbbpt.
"Ovi, are you tooting?"
"No, Mommy! It must have been a helicopter... in my butt... that made that sound!"
And then there are the buttons missing from the keyboard as I struggle to type this on my husband's computer because my computer can no longer be moved without the screen disconnecting and going black... all courtesy of my little fucking angels.
The one thing that has really hit home for me, one thing that I had not really thought out, is that there is a difference between being a "single mom" and being a "solitary mom." Single moms might still have family and close friends who support them in the raising of a child, even if it's just by keeping them from going crazy while raising a child. I can't imagine trying to be a mom without my husband helping me. I lean on him - heavily. But he's also almost all I have to help me here.
We are hundreds of miles from the nearest family. We're also transplants to the area and, though we have some friends, we never established those kinds of... daily... friendships before starting our family. The kinds where people come over and hang out, and just check in and bring you coffee. Even the few friendships we've made with neighbors haven't been that close. We might chat for a while coming from or going to the laundry room, we might get a knock when someone's locked out or needs to borrow something. Mostly, our neighborly visits have pertained to "hey, could you keep it down - the baby's trying to sleep."
Those are not the kind of friendships we would have if we had grown up in the area - and our friends and family had stayed in the area, too. And if I were just better at cultivating friendships. I'm a very friendly person, and the friends we have have often said we could call on them whenever. But I tend to keep my crap to myself. I've been head-down, trying to get it together. How do I call someone up, or strike up a conversation for the sole purpose of dragging someone into my crazy? Or to drag me out of it, really.
It would be nice if I were religious. Churches are one of the few socially acceptable places where you can walk up to a stranger and say, "I need some help." But I'm not religious, nor am I seeking any religion be a fix for my earthly problems. I'm sure they'd probably be happy to chat with me anyway, but it never felt right, or at least, comfortable. Seeking therapy was more to the point, and more effective while I had it.
But even therapy can't fix problems like being stuck at home all day without so much as a lunch break. Eating lunch is not the same as getting a lunch break. When you take a lunch break at work, you generally get to clock out. At least, you get to hide somewhere and power through your sandwich before someone rings a bell and you're on deck again. No such luck at home. Even when the boys are playing by themselves, I'm still on duty. The noise - the noise - is still going, and I must be ready at a moment's notice to separate them or save one or both from imminent injury. Naps? Ha! Nap time is fight time around here and I have finally given up trying.
Naptime elicited tweets from me pining to be more like a cartoon mom because, "Miss Spider doesn't lose her shit over naptime."
But this is me and we know that I have more going on than a lot of people would normally have to deal with. There's the postpartum depression and anxiety stuff, there's the fibromyalgia, the financial woes (okay, most of us that have that crap, but I've had the court kind, too), and now we know we've been trying to cope with a child with autism. I don't want to scare anyone off with my grousing. Nor do I want to diminish the struggles a couple with just one totally healthy, developmentally normal child may experience.
One child is hard. One child under the best of circumstances is hard. Don't let anyone who was a single parent and raised 5 kids while working 3 jobs and earning 2 degrees tell you that you have nothing to complain about. But a lot of things that are hard are doable. But... should you do it? That is a much harder question.
I have so many friends with so many stories. Many of my school friends ended up getting pregnant while still in school, or shortly afterward. My older brothers both started their own families very young. The results of all these early families has been mixed. Many are still struggling today, but I can't think of a single one saying they would go back and not have that child they have borne and raised. Once that child is there in your arms... As my mother told me years ago, while I struggled with the decision of whether or not to continue my first pregnancy, you just won't be able to imagine your life without your children.
I might still question if I made the right choices, to be a mother at all, I might wish I had done things differently. But given the opportunity, I could not choose to not have my boys. In unromantic fairness, by choosing this family, I have chosen to not have the other children that might have been - I've still got plenty of eggs, after all. But two is plenty. For us, and, frankly, more than enough for the planet.
But there are so many more stories... stories of couples who desperately want to conceive but can't, those who've had a multitude of miscarriages or even stillbirth... It's a harrowing experience. It is such a forceful biological drive for most of us, once it has been triggered... to have it denied... That's something I can only imagine, and I try not to if I can.
For some, it is a deliberate choice to not have a child. Sometimes a person can come to see themselves as someone who would struggle to be a good parent. Sometimes that's a physical challenge and sometimes mental. Only they can say whether or not that's a fair conclusion.
But sometimes the choice is only to delay until such and such is better, the situation more stable. Often completing your education and getting a career established is the rationale. And that seems perfectly sound logic. Sometimes that takes longer than expected. Relationships change, and sometimes the fertility clock has already chimed by the time a person feels situationally ready to start a family. It's not impossible for older couples to get pregnant, even without fertility assistance. But biology starts to work against you, and even youth is no guarantee.
The question is: do you need it? Is it worth it? Is it right for you?
Okay, that's several questions. Some people who remain childless, whether because they were unable to conceive or because they found some reason they felt was more compelling to not conceive, they often find some peace with the situation. I hope they do, anyway. They may find fulfillment in a life's work, some passion that they recognize would make it difficult for them to pursue and be a good parent as well. Or, they may find their peace in some kind of surrogate relationship, raising or mentoring a close family member or friend.
Sadly, I know that that often isn't enough. A pain remains, more deeply for some, that I simply can't speak to.
My husband talks about our children as his "immortality." I roll my eyes at this. When he and I kick off - we're done. Our children will have their own lives and destinies. They will bear the mark of our parenting, for better or worse. But we will not own them. They alone will own themselves. And who cares about immortality anyway? It's a damn overrated concept.
People (okay, I'm looking at you men of old) have been so flipping fixated on their name and their "seed" carrying on. Who cares? Okay, on some genetic diversity level, sure, it's sad to have that special little batch of DNA out of the mix. But the world will get over it. Sorry. Yes, your desire to reproduce is healthy and normal and I'm not being dismissive of that. But get over yourself. At least, when it comes to your perpetuity.
Gah. It's late, and I have hardly spoken of adoption and step-parenting and those special people who occupy the role of a parent without any official title. I don't want to leave this as if they were not also parents, too.
And the money! Our beaten down wages and our absurd health care system and our chaotic and pathetic public assistance programs and our lack of mandatory paid maternity leave - are huge hindrances to even becoming a parent in the first place, let alone being able to be a good parent once you've brought a child into this overburdened world. And that brings me - at last - to choice.
Everyone should have as much support as we can muster to choose for themselves whether or not to start a family and who and how many get to join it. It is, perhaps, our most innate and compelling instinct. But this is the world we live in, and it's just not an easy choice to make. Someday, if we don't all voluntarily choose smaller families, or adopting instead, we will not have the luxury to choose for ourselves. Limited resources for a crowded planet will make the choice for us. But for any size of family, it's exhausting, excruciating, hilarious, frightening, joyous and trying.
It's a hard and beautiful thing to be a parent.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)