37days

Come, let's ride brightly painted inner tubes, you and I

If you have watched TV commercials for the new teeniny microscopic MacBook Air, perhaps you will recognize this song by Yael Naim. Come, let's ride brightly painted inner tubes, play cymbals in a field of sunflowers, sing with a gorgeous Israeli-French accent, and realize that there is a whole big world out there, ripe for the dancing and for the floating. That's real air.

A is for advocate

We fight for men and women whose poetry is not yet written. –Robert Gould Shaw, abolitionist

In 2008, I will be a better advocate for those who need—and want—my advocacy.

Long ago on a faraway planet, I once worked in an organization where I sat through a management meeting every Monday. Dante’s Ninth Circle of Hell no longer scares me. Been there. No, actually, it wasn’t that bad. I learned a lot. But sometimes…

One memorable Monday morning, the debate centered on what kinds of notices employees could—and, more importantly, COULD NOT—put on the employee bulletin board in the break room. Nothing sparks a good week at work like legislating the behavior of people you presumably trust enough to represent your organization on CNN to the entire universe, to spend the organization’s money by the thousands, and to write your news releases. Just can't trust 'em with that employee bulletin board, no-sirree-bob.

The debate centered on the appearance of a notice about a gay-friendly picnic that was being held the next month. Up to this point, all had been right with the world, what with all the notices for yard sales and pet sitters and used bikes, until the “gay” word appeared. Add “picnic” and presumably the world as we know it is ending.

I listened incredulously as my peers debated for more than an hour whether this, in fact, was an appropriate use of the employee bulletin board. Hmmm…let’s see. An employee put the notice on the employee bulletin board about something that obviously meant a great deal to the employee. I’m not sure how many more times we can use the word employee in that equation.

One vice president in particular was agitated by the very idea. The debate raged on: “What if?” and “What if?” and “What if?” as I thought to myself, “Man, what if I get hit by a bus on the way home. I’m gonna be really pissed that I spent my last two hours on earth like this.” “What if a picnic is just a picnic,” I thought, continuing my internal reverie. “And what if gay people are as fully human as you are?” I screamed inside my head.

“What if this is just a way to recruit people to be gay?” I heard him say loudly and angrily. “I guess if the KKK wanted to put up a recruitment poster or a notice for a march, we’d let them, too!”

I fell out of my chair. My eyeballs popped out of their sockets. I lunged for his throat.

B is for "be FOR something"

There is no virtue in being uncritical nor is it a habit to which the young are given. But criticism is only the burying beetle that gets rid of what is dead, and, since the world lives by creative and constructive forces, and not by negation and destruction, it is better to grow up in the company of prophets than of critics. -Richard Livingstone

In 2008, I won’t be against something if I can’t offer something to be for instead.

It is so very easy to criticize. It comes naturally, quickly. “What a lousy conference,” we might say. It is harder to solve, change, make better, offer constructive suggestions. We don’t take the time to fill out the conference evaluation in the kind of detail that would offer suggestions for the next time around; we’d rather just complain. It's easier! More fun!

I worked for years for a man who expected I would tell him the real truth. When others kissed up to him, he’d more often than not appear at my office door and say, “well, what did you really think.” And I would tell him.

One day, he appeared in my office door to ask that question, but he started by jokingly saying, “well, I’ve come to ask our office cynic a question…”

Hmm.

I didn’t see myself as the office cynic, but I knew in an instant from the sharp pain I felt at his words that it was, in fact, true. Sure, I was creating more than I was complaining, but I did fall on the critical side of the continuum. I had to acknowledge that while I knew why I was being intellectually critical (that is, critical of ideas and not people, though, well, what the hell, I did plenty of that too)—to move the organization to greater heights—I began to realize that looking deeper and holding us all to a higher standard often sounded negative. I would sit in endless meetings that felt mindless and center-less and make pronouncements at the end, sounding like the Lord of Doom. I was right sometimes, but even so, I often only made pronouncements and not suggestions. I needed to be for something, and not just against things.

What would love do?

Sometimes we get the message we need. Reading zena musings this morning, I found Carla's link to this: What would love do? It was written for me. And, perhaps, for you?

[perhaps a knitted heart is the perfect image for this message, considering the ways in which knitting can ravel, or not. Image from here]

H is for human rights

Most people, no doubt, when they espouse human rights, make their own mental reservations about the proper application of the word ‘human.’ –Suzanne LaFollette

In 2008, I will fight for the rights of human beings I see being dismissed and excluded and not listened to. And killed for who they are.

And I will remember that H is for human rights. Not white, middle upper class, straight, fine brick home rights, but human rights.

Not different-but-enough-like-me-that-I-feel-comfortable rights, but human rights.

Not multicolored-but-white-inside rights, but human rights.

I will believe in equality, not just with my superiors—which is easy—but with those people I judge as inferior to me. I will believe in equality, not just with people who agree with me--which is easy--but with people who don't agree with me--which is more difficult.

I will remember that it takes action to ensure the human rights of others, not weariness, and not just talk. That it takes being for something, and not just being against something.

And I will remember that being neutral isn’t. As Paulo Freire reminds us, “Washing one's hands of the conflict between the powerful and the powerless means to side with the powerful, not to be neutral."

I was delighted to hear a college professor of mine, Jerry Caris Godard, speak this past Sunday. What a joy to reconnect after these many years out of school, to come to know former professors as adults, each of us grey-haired now. His topic was William Blake; he offered ten “angles of vision” into his “passionate entanglement” with Blake. It was number eight, among others, that caught my eye: “As my lifelong openness to others is amplified, I recognize (more explicitly than Blake) that ardent advocacy of gender equality is a necessary but not sufficient condition to set sexism aside!”

“So too,” he remarked, “with racism.”

It is not enough to want something.

It is not enough to want a portion of something. As Desmond Tutu said, “I am not interested in picking up crumbs of compassion thrown from the table of someone who considers himself my master. I want the full menu of rights.”

And it is not enough to look away from what is right in front of us, as Carl Rowan reminds us: “It is often easier to become outraged by injustice half a world away than by oppression and discrimination half a block from home.”

Intentions: Let’s start here. Now. Consider yourself part of the solution. Grant specificity and humanity to the Other.

From the last alphabet challenge: H is for horse

I is for inside looking

Man need only divert his attention from searching for the solution to external questions and pose the one, true inner question of how he should lead his life, and all the external questions will be resolved in the best possible way. - Leo Tolstoy

In 2008, I will end each day by inside looking.

Naikan (nye-kahn) is a Japanese word which means €œinside looking€ or œintrospection€--seeing oneself with the mind's eye. Naikan is a structured self-reflection developed by Yoshimoto Ishin, a devout Buddhist of the Jodo Shinshu sect in Japan.

Naikan offers three questions for us to ask and answer:

What have I received from others?

What have I given to others or given back to others?

What trouble and bother have I caused them?

J is for jijnasu

Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known. -Carl Sagan

In 2008, I want to be a jijnasu, a seeker of wisdom, an inquirer.

When I was preparing to talk with Billy Collins the other day (doesn’t that sound casual?), Mr Brilliant was holding the paper bag while I hyperventilated, metaphorically speaking, helping me think about what questions I wanted to ask the dear poet of my dreams.

“Ask him what his favorite word is,” he said, excitedly. Mr Brilliant is a great cataloguer of such information.

I blinked at him.

Tess ran by. “Tess!” he shouted as she sped by. “What’s your favorite word?”

“WHY!” she yelled without stopping, making a tiny circular path from living room to family room to dining room and back. Just as Mr Brilliant started to answer her, she shouted again: “WHY IS MY FAVORITE WORD!”

He beamed.

“What a fantastic favorite word,” he murmured, contentedly. “You should tell Billy Collins that ‘why’ is your four-year-old’s favorite word.”

I blinked at him.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll do that right after I pass out when he answers the phone.”

Becoming Larger Than Our Skin Allows

And no, that title isn't a reference to overeating.

In the U.S., today is Thanksgiving Day (and my friend Karrie Manson's birthday, so a shout out to her for being so powerful that the nation stops when she ages). This year, I'm not spending Thanksgiving at a long table full of vegan alternatives to turkey, but hunched over a computer screen like a madwoman, panicked at my book deadline next week and snarking at my family when they breathe too loudly. What was I thinking?, I'll be thinking, in one of those beautiful infinite regresses of thinking, the fear that emerges from finality, essays congealed into book form.

Soon, I'm sure I'll give in to the overwhelming urge to eat cranberry sauce from a can, as detailed last year this time on 37days,and will pop the Tofurky into the oven. But not before being thankful, and deeply so, for all of you who come here and read my few words and email and comment and hold me up when I'm falling. My deepest thanks.

My glorious friend Sid Jordan sent a Thanksgiving message this morning that I'd like to share with you this fine day. Let us lift each other up.

Becoming Larger Than Our Skin Allows

We seek metaphors
To describe our friendships
But alas, even these fall short of our true emotions
So we joke, tell stories, and hold each other
Accepting the inner weaving of our connections
As part of the evolving tapestry of our lives

What is amazing to me
Is how little it takes to impact another human being
In profound and deep ways
Simply by being present
By witnessing each others stories
By honoring each others thoughts and feelings

It is physically possible to lift each other up
And hold each other under a starlit sky
Enough to feel the power of the universe enfold us
Wrapping us up with simultaneous feelings of love and immensity
Yes, we are only a speck in the whole of things
Yet, our love mingled with the love of others
Is more immense than we can ever intellectually know

Our ability to tap into the collective energy of the world
Allows us to transcend our language
Each of us becoming larger than our skin allows
Each of us finding power
From the source of our humility and awe
But mostly from each other
As our hands work to lift each other higher

-Doc Klein

Release a dove for Meta

Dear Friends,

Meta's story touched many people. Her too-young death and the extraordinary leave-taking given to her by her family and friends brought lessons and insights to me, to many.

On February 25th at 5pm EST, her family and friends will gather in the mountains to release a dove in memory of Meta and in celebration of her 21st birthday, which will be the next day.

I'll be too far from home to join them, but have committed to Meta's mother, Mary Anne, that I will light a candle at that same time, to send energy to them all - and to the world - in Meta's memory. Please join me if you can in memorializing Meta and holding her family in peace and in love at 5pm EST on Sunday, February 25th. Mark your calendar, join me.

If you'd like to send a birthday greeting to Meta, leave a comment; I'll gather them all and send them to her family.

Read more poetry

Two years ago, I attended the North Carolina Writer's Network annual conference. I was amazed to find hundreds of writers there, all talking about writing.

It had never occurred to me that so many people write or that, in fact, people actually study how to write. Go figure. Just think of all the time I've wasted, not in a writing group or studying with a teacher.

It was a real moment of clarity - I decided that it might be a good thing to take a writing class or twelve, to get work in front of others for their comment, to explore whether a writing teacher could see the architecture of the pieces that I couldn't see, not yet.

At the last moment, and at the last session of that conference, I decided to attend a workshop on memoir. For some reason when I walked in, I felt that the teacher was someone who would be significant in my life--I didn't know how, and I knew it didn't really matter if we continued our connection past the end of the workshop, but for that moment, his influence would be significant. And it was. I'm still figuring out how. It doesn't have to do with proximity, as so many things do.

His name was (and still is) Sebastian Matthews. A poet and memoirist, he teaches classes in which we read and listen to other writers, explore the structure of our pieces, and workshop the works of others in the course. I'll begin my next class with him on February 14th.

It's important to support writers, don't you think? Sebastian has a new book of poetry out - a perfect Valentine's Day gift, perhaps? You can find out about it here.

And guess who has written praise for Sebastian's work? Yep. None other than my beautiful Billy: "Music and musicians run through most of these poems—Louis Armstrong to the Beach Boys and many in between—but Sebastian Matthews has his own poetic music, which is poised, tuneful and able to shift from major to minor so nice you hardly notice. We Generous is a terrific collection, an assembly of smart and evocative moments." —Billy Collins