let kindness win

Your doubt will never become my reality.

Your fear will never destroy my dream.

Your facts and reason will never topple my knowing.

Peace is possible.

 

 

 

photo compliments of MJ Novick

 

People are challenging the principles of nonviolence. They tell us nonviolence has failed. And at first glance it would be easy to agree.

It could be easy to believe that our nature is violent. Yet if that were true how were Gandhi, Mandela and King able to find their way out of violence?

I am of the firm belief that if one of us can do this we can all do it. If one of us can move to a higher vision of humanity then that is all the verification we need to try.

Nonviolence has not failed. We have failed nonviolence. We have been satisfied by saying, “There it is done,” rather than saying, “Now I must do it.”

One of the greatest deterrents to nonviolence is our need for a leader. The path to nonviolence is not an external one. It is an internal journey that does not require the influence nor the prodding of another. No one can walk for us. No one can carry us. We have failed nonviolence because we have not taken our own steps or satisfied our own soul’s search for peace. We have failed to unshackle ourselves from the compromises that make us less human.

We do not need to be rescued. We need to wake up.

The game is afoot. If we allow people to say, nonviolence is dead, then we will surely die with it. It will take great courage and clarity to navigate the waters of ignorance that we have allowed. The darkness is no longer elusive and hiding in shadows, it is readily found in our politics, in our religions, in our businesses, in our homes. Yes, in every aspect of our lives.

Perhaps it is titillating to play with fear, to be the bully, to court revenge. Perhaps centuries of greed have taken its toll on humankind.

Yet for those with the eyes to see, if not now, then when will we stand before the darkness of our nature and say unhand me.

We have failed nonviolence. But it is never too late. The path is within us and we can chose to walk it.

“The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.” – Mandela

 

 

Photo compliments of Noho

In this (r)evolutionary* moment, we don’t need another hero. The path has been cut. The conviction has been demonstrated. Clarity has touched us long enough to breathe Life back into us. We know what freedom feels like even in a prison cell. We know that what is true and good is true and good for all humanity. We know that every time a person is abused, left to starve, forced from their land, traded as slaves, it is our own humanity that is lost. We know this. And yet we avert our eyes and wait for another Martin. This is not a moment to celebrate the man and forget what he gave.

In doing so we demonstrate that while we may have heard the words we have not felt the passion. It is not an easy walk, being true to oneself. It is not an easy walk to stand up to injustice as others turn away. It is not an easy walk, knowing that hate is almost as powerful as love and waiting. Almost.

I did not know Martin. I know him now. I know him because I have begun to understand the effort that it takes to be true to yourself. There is no time to waste, there are no more Martin’s to lose. We can awaken to the reality of the fire in our hearts. We can find and hold tightly to the cord of love that runs through every living breathing human being. We must not believe but instead we must know that the “arc of the moral universe is long but it bends toward justice.”**

Stop obsessing about time. Where there is Love there is no time. We have now. The torch has been passed. We are alive and to claim our humanity we must shed the personal doubt that we can do this. Because we can.

If we can dream a man on the moon and see it happen, we can envision peace and make it so.

Don’t sleep through this precious Life. In “Remaining Awake Through a Great Revolution”*** Dr. Martin Luther King invited us to a higher humanity. Accept the invitation.

We are more powerful than we know. Thank you Dr. King.

 

*http://graceleeboggs.com/

**http://optimisticquotes.org/the-arc-of-the-moral-universe/

***http://www.oberlin.edu/external/EOG/BlackHistoryMonth/MLK/CommAddress.html

Seems anger has been in the news a bit lately. Governor Haley (S. Carolina) asserts that we should not follow angry voices. Trump accepts the anger “mantle” she apparently donned upon him and admits he is “very, very angry”. And so the drama plays.

Let’s talk. When we are angry we make mistakes. We act in ways that harm ourselves and others. We don’t listen; we can’t. We judge too quickly and often inaccurately. I’ve heard it called “premature evaluation” and if the shoe fits…

Anger has gotten to be pretty popular in America. We like our heroes (of any variety) better when they are angry. Chest thumping is alive and well. Anger is our current trend.

And putting politics aside, I have a hunch that while feeling anger is inescapable, living in anger is incompatible with life. We hate the way it feels.

Now I am not talking manners. I am not encouraging blind acceptance. I am simply saying that if we feel anger it is a “tell”. Somewhere we have allowed a compromise that is incompatible with who we are and that compromise is harming us and must surely be rectified. Otherwise we become “very, very angry”. And say very, very stupid things.

I’d also like to point out – through decades of personal experience – that anger does not bring clarity. Clarity is an entity unto itself always available and missed when anger is taking the microphone.

So it would follow that anger may not be our friend. It might be wise to uproot it at its core by rectifying the source of the anger – before we act. In saying this I agree with Governor Haley. We should not follow angry voices, but the angry voices we need to rise above are our own. If we do this we will not fear nor follow the angry voice of another.

 

photo compliments of NOHO

 

We have recently taken in a red headed woodpecker that had been injured. In subzero weather he has warmth, seeds, suet, water and even some branches to peck at and climb on. We will release him again as soon as he is capable of flight. Yet, regardless of the care that he has received, he remains on alert and ready to attack.

I understand him. He is true to his nature. The kindnesses afforded him might make him comfortable, but they will never replace his will to live in the wild.

True to his nature, full of conviction and life. So beautiful in his defiance…and teaching me as I reflect upon him, “Am I true to my Self?”

 

I recently saw a post on FB from an old acquaintance that read “The game is rigged”. She was referring to the economics and politics of our time. She intimated that there was little to no use trying to change things. The game is rigged. Instead of trying to bring change, play the game.

If you play the game well, it is of little consequence that it is rigged. If you play the game poorly, you can believe you are unworthy or incapable. A modern version of The Emperor’s New Clothes (Hans Christian Andersen, 1837).

Personally, I am weary of this paradigm. I am bored with the discussion and the procrastination that inevitably ensues. It is an excuse woven for anyone willing to accept less than what Life offers.

What if Anderson had written a sequel? In the sequel, after he puts on real clothes, the Emperor gives his crown to the child who called out his nakedness and wisdom runs the show for a change? How would that have influenced the generations that followed?

No, instead we were left with this inevitable dread that ignorance would continue to lead. Fear of losing position silences us.

We have been trained to not see. We have been told to remain silent. But what if the game is rigged in a way that we have not yet imagined? What if all that has ever been needed is to not be afraid? What if the “clothes” of the world as we know it is nothing more than a charlatan’s trickery? And all we must do is call it out?

Better still, what if we live as if the game is already won? Because it is. We are alive.

This is our time. A time for new narrative. A time for humanity. Keep having fun.

Thanks to NOHO for the photo.

 

I had the opportunity to meet with a dear cousin who I rarely see. During our conversation, she blurted out, “Don’t ask me to give up my guns”. For a very rare moment I was speechless. I hadn’t said a word about guns. I realized how much was riding on my next statement. I asked myself, “Do I want her guns? Did I really want her to give them up?” As I sat looking at her and her husband, knowing them to be kind, generous, “God fearing” people that I love, I had to understand, what is this great divide between us? Then I got it.

“I don’t want your guns, I am not asking you to give up your guns. I am asking for people who carry guns to consider a change in attitude.” A potential communication shut down was averted and the conversation continued.

“You know why I have guns? Because Muslims are coming.” Another rare moment of speechlessness. The fear was palpable. I thought of my Muslim friends, of their smiling faces and greetings of “Salam, Shalom”, of the kindnesses that we have shared… I count it as my good fortune to have these friends, and I asked, “Have you ever met a Muslim?”

Not surprisingly, she said, “No”.  And I said, “Maybe that would help.” And she said, “Yes”.

*Printed with my cousin’s permission.

Reason must rise above belief. Reach out, take time to understand, and create community with those around you. Allow the strength of our common humanity to outshine our differences. This will help eradicate the loss of spirit and mental strife that haunts many. No set of laws will change the course of violence without the exercised will of all of us. Let courage and clarity replace your fears. If we have allowed this hell, we can surely allow this heaven.

Grip of fear

Betrayer of humanity

Loosen your hold

So Life’s Breath can reclaim

What has been lost

 

 

 

Ah, the good life. I want my children to have a good life. Living the life…and on the story goes.

When my mother first visited our small community farm, she was quick to show displeasure. “You are going backwards,” she said, “This all left when your grandmother died.” My grandmother had grown their food, baked bread in an outdoor oven and sold it for a meager income to keep the family together. She lived in Little Italy, surrounded by other immigrant families who had come to escape the poverty of Europe. They brought with them village life and as a child I thrived on the garden goodies, the fresh fruit from trees they planted and their camaraderie.

It took years before my Mother saw the wisdom of the community life I helped to create. Before she passed she was extolling a life where, “you know where your food comes from, you know where your water comes from and you are surrounded by people who love you.”

The good life? My mother’s initial distain for living off the land or being different in any way is not uncommon. It seems we have moved so far away from ourselves, the land and each other that simplicity is foolish. We have equated monetary wealth, accumulation of gadgets and a propensity for being buzzed – take your pick on the legal or non-legal escapes – as the good life. We have allowed fear of other to usurp community. We use religion as a battering ram. And civility in politics no longer exists.

The good life.

We struggle with the litmus of standards set for us. Post WWII ushered in dramatic changes, the least of which was the rise of agri-business, commercialized and processed foods, father knows best, don’t nurse your babies, and the calculated fear produced by the cold war, the rise of nuclear power and the industrial military complex. This “melting pot” was determined to “Americanize” the people who found their way here, a continuation of the attempt to purge the Native Americans of their “Indian-ness” and African Americans of their dignity.

The good life.

There is indeed a good life but it cannot be measured by the arbitrary and ever changing standards we have set. It can and needs to be felt. Every human being regardless of stature, wealth or education has the ability to feel it. My mother did. As she accepted her own, she was able to rejoice in mine.

Cut a path for the good life. Make it a good life. Rural, urban, nomadic or some yet undefined existence. Love yourself, make room for “others” and let gratitude guide you. Enjoy and rejuvenate the precious earth that holds you. Cut a path for a good life. It is waiting.

With a mountain of work on my desk and the very first sunny day in a long while ahead, I made the choice to hang out with Beauty. Beauty is one of four mules we rescued about five years ago. I had only wanted two, but that is another story. Never having worked with horses, mules and such, the learning curve has been steep. And of course there are countless reasons given – both inside and outside my head – why “you can’t do that.” If you read Can’t Do That part I, you know my habitual response to neh saying is “uh, huh” and then I keep moving right along.

The first time I tried to “train” Beauty, I stepped into a circle corral with him – and he let me know right away that wasn’t his plan. I moved faster than I had in 40 years. The second time, he ran off and made his way to a horse camp, pestering all the mares. After great effort, much shenanigans and cries from the men, “Anyone got a 45?” we captured him and returned him home.

Learned a lot that day. For one, a mule, though sterile, still has impulses that apparently only castration can curb. Aggression is among them. So we had a veterinarian come and do the deed and I preceded with what most considered the impossible.

Apparently everyone but me knows that mules are tough to “train”. Some mules, who just happen to look a lot like Beauty are the hardest to “train”, I keep being told.

Can’t do that.

Uh-huh.

For city folk, of which I was one, a mule is a cross between a horse and a donkey. The type of mule depends on if the mother or father was a horse. Literal followers of the Bible consider mules an abomination. I kind of like having an abomination in my front yard.

But the front yard got flooded by unusually wet December rains, and while Beauty is sporting his harness these days, he is still a long way off from being “trained”. It took a bit of effort to rework his space getting him to higher ground especially with his propensity for curiosity.

So today was our day and as I moved along his new space with him in tow I mused at the relationship we have cultivated. Oh, and the reason I use quotations around the word “trained”, I think the word should be removed from our language especially when it comes to human beings. And as I get to know my family of animals it feels as though we are in one another’s keeping. “Training” just doesn’t fit. When asked, “What are you hoping to do with him?” I simply reply, “Do? I just want to be his friend.” And so it goes, and it is possible and we can do it, Beauty and I.

Kathy L. this one’s for you…keep getting better!