Going To Seed

The end of the summer my garden looks tired. The fullness of its summer glory has passed.
 Stems become spindly, the flower heads dry. As the air begins to cool, acorns plunk on the roof and maple seed 'helicopters' twirl silently to the ground. Dandelion wishes are carried away on the wind.

My grandmother explained the phenomenon when I was a kid. We would walk through her garden and she would pluck a seed pod from one of her lilies or morning glory vines. Opening it up and showing me all the little potentialities inside the husk, she'd say, "See, it's gone to seed." Then she would toss the handful of particles into the flower bed, where they'd rest, waiting for springtime to awaken them.

                                              Sunflower in varying stages of seed maturation
                               

I have always been fascinated by seed pods. They are unique and intricate works of art. Seemingly dead and inconsequential, they contain the miraculous.
Velvet Leaf, seed pod already emptied 1/2015

 Cattails 1/2015

 Hibiscus 2009

I see the connection we humans have to all of nature. Studying her helps me to understand how we are tied to the natural laws. We have our times of smallness, of feeling we do not fit in this big, bold world. We weather harsh seasons. Sometimes we are alone in the cold. We have spring time awakenings, physical, mental and spiritual. Opportunities to make life abundant come upon us. We create and we bloom. We have our summer of fullness. We are strong, well fed and we thrive in the heat. We work hard. We are rewarded. We get tired. Our blooming slows down, then stops. We have spent our stores of strength. We give from what we have learned. Thus, we go to seed in our own way, as does all of nature.

Canna Lily from the backyard 1/12/15


Within all of us are miracles lying dormant, gestating in the quiet darkness. The soil of the mind is a fertile place where we cultivate thoughts and ideas as the garden cultivates roses as well as poison ivy. We need to tend to the garden of the mind well, less it should become overgrown with the briars that prevent the beautiful things from flourishing.

Tending the garden is hard work. Tending the mind is infinitely harder. A whole lot of trouble can come from the most inconspicuous little thing. We are so easily deceived by beauty, abundance, charm. We listen, we hear what we like, we take it home and give it a nice place to root. Later, we find planting the little idea was a lot easier than digging it out.
Four years ago I found a gorgeous little purple flower in a field in the country. The seed pods looked like miniature string beans and strangely, it was producing flowers and seeds simultaneously. The seeds were round and black, the size of a single sprinkle on a birthday cupcake. I took a few home and tossed them into the garden, hoping maybe one would come up. In spring I was delighted to see the first blooms.

Purple Vetch Spring 2010  

By summer the plant was choking out the Yarrow. I began pulling it out of the ground but couldn't keep up with how fast it reproduced. I have had to diligently watch for its first sprout each spring. After four years it still manages to come up somewhere in the yard. Without the flower, there is no seed.  Thus the saying, "nip it in the bud." Invasive and poisonous ideas are similar.

1/2015

Jimson Weed, also referred to as Devil's Snare, seed pod revealing it's deadly seeds. All parts of the plant are poisonous. Jimson weed is invasive, which means it is one of the first plants to cultivate itself on newly cleared ground. The flower is beautiful, resembling a large white Morning Glory. Georgia O'keefe's rendering of it fetched the highest price ever paid for a female artist's work. At auction in September 2014 it sold for 44.4 million dollars.

My grandfather taught me the very best fertilizer is manure. Every year in spring, much to my Nana's disgust, he'd get a pickup truck load of cow manure from the dairy farm nearby. He'd spread it over the entire front yard. It smelled and looked appalling. By the end of May he had the greenest lawn on the street. What are we fertilizing in our thoughts? Goodness, kindness, mercy? A greener, happier existence for ourselves and our fellow man?
The negative Ism's love fertilizer too. Egotism, racism, sexism, alarmism.
The roots we nourish determine the harvest.

I could have saved myself a lot of trouble if I'd sought knowledge about that pretty, little, wicked vetch. I should have done the work. The work of seeking to understand. Why didn't I do that first? Naiveté, misjudgment, apathy, laziness? Beguiled by beauty? None are good excuses. I learned a valuable lesson.
Learn as much as you can before you place a seed in the ground or an idea in your mind. Seek to understand. The most vibrant gardens, and souls, are the ones daily tended by discernment.
We find solace in the presence of each.

My babies are having babies. It is surreal to say the least. My oldest is due with a little girl just at the mark of my fiftieth year circling the sun.
She has a baby registry I can view online. When I had her, online didn't exist.
I remember my mother at my baby showers remarking, "Wow. They didn't have that when I was having babies." There was no such thing as disposable diapers when I was a baby. My mom had 3 kids in 3 years. She told me recently that my dad came home from work one day dying to use the bathroom, but the toilets had soaking diapers in them and he had to go outside.
I thought the stuff of my babyhood was antiquated. Obsolete. I wonder if my daughter's think the same. There are things now I never used or even heard of. A nasal aspirator called a "snotsucker," a video monitor where you can see your child from another room, a bottle with a straw thingy in it that keeps the baby from getting gas in her tummy. New inventions abound.
Motherhood remains the same.

How do I break it to them that life from here on is immeasurably altered? How do I tell them they have no idea what they are in for? How do I explain how their hearts are going to expand beyond the limits of their bodies, their minds are going to find rest evasive, their compassion, love and empathy are going to stretch and thin just as the cervix does when birth is imminent. When one births a child one births a myriad of miraculous changes in one's self. The psyche surpasses its adolescence. We come through that night of pain and work, and we are never the same. Love takes on a meaning never before known and undefinable. Postpartum depression should surprise no one. The spiritual transition is profound and exhausting. New mothers need nurturing. They need someone to say, "It's a whirlwind, isn't it? I know. I remember well. You'll be okay. I'm here. I'll help you." But people today think it's no big deal. Have your baby, go home the next day. Go to work 4 to 6 Mondays from now. Life goes on. There was a time when birth and the newness of motherhood and infancy were cherished and protected. It was fragile and it was handled with care. It was given the luxury of time, tenderness and patience. It was nurtured by the best nurturers, the women who'd already traveled the way and knew the path. They taught us the pitfalls, the possible wrong turns and the blessed shortcuts.  Babies and new mothers are as newly sprouted fern fronds in the forest. Unfurling slowly as the sun warms the day. Tender, crushable, evolving. Getting stronger little by little. And like the butterfly emerging from the cocoon, they are not to be rushed, lest they be harmed.

Why I Marched

It's been seven days since I marched along side 60,000 people in Atlanta and joined spirits with hundreds of thousands marching with us around the world. The experience was profound and life changing. I've never done anything like it. My son asked me if it made me feel empowered. What it made me feel was validated.
Many of my family and friends support Trump and the disagreements on his ideas have been numerous and sometimes ugly. I have been called many names because of my opposing viewpoint. Libtard, Snowflake, Whiner, Feminazi.  I have been told straight to my face that I am stupid and don't know anything about the real world. More than one person has said that I am an embarrassment because of my anti Trump posts on Facebook. They've talked about me behind my back, snickered, gossiped and laughed because their candidate won and mine lost. Mind you, these people claim to love me. Most also claim to know and love God.
I am bankrupt of understanding why they are comfortable with the choice they made in light of the latter.

In the week since the march there's been a lot of controversy. People who don't understand say things like,
What's the point?
What do women want that they don't already have?
The whole thing is because they're afraid they won't be able to get abortions anymore as a form of birth control.
They're just demonstrating what a Feminazi is. A man hater.
They think they're going to change the outcome of the election by having a hissy fit in the street?

Some people really think that's the point. We're just mad because a woman didn't win the presidency.
Those people are wrong.

The march is a “stand on social justice and human rights issues ranging from race, ethnicity, gender, religion, immigration and healthcare." 
(From The Women's March on Washington website)

Everyone has their own story and their own reasons for marching. But, in a nutshell,
all the people marched for all the people.

I am not in danger of losing my healthcare.
I am not in danger of being banned from the country. 
I am not in danger of being deported. 
I am not in danger of losing access to birth control, prenatal services or cancer screenings otherwise unaffordable.
I am not in danger of being discriminated against because of my skin color.
I am not in danger of being placed on a registry because of my religion.
I am not in danger of having my marriage rights removed.
I am not in danger of discrimination because of my sexual orientation. 
I am not in danger of discrimination because my genitalia does not reflect the gender I inherently know I belong to.
I am not in danger of not being able to pay the bills if I take maternity leave to bond with and nurture my baby.
I am not in danger of dying in a war ravaged area of the world.
I am not in danger of drowning while trying to escape poverty and fear.
At least for now, I am not in danger.

I marched for those who are.

Toward the end of the march, when we were tired, thirsty and our bladders were about to burst, the Central Presbyterian Church welcomed us with a tent full of volunteers just outside their courtyard. They were passing out cupful after cupful of ice water at a fold out table. One of them said to me, "We have bathrooms if you need one." 
They opened their bathrooms to us. 
All 60,000 of us. 
Volunteers  cheerfully held the doors open. This was, quite literally, a Godsend. It had been a long time since we'd used the port-a-potties at the beginning and most places along the way, understandably, were not opening their doors to a crowd that size. 

It was at this time that I experienced the most profound moment of the entire march.
Standing on top of the table was a little boy. Likely, no older than three. His rain boots peeked out from beneath the hem of an orange apron that was much too big for him. On the apron was pinned a large button that said "Central Presbyterian Church Volunteer." The volunteers filled the cups and placed them on the table, and he would hand them to anyone in the crowd who was thirsty. His name, I found out later, was Danny.
I left the church 12 years ago, but the Holy Spirit did not leave me. When Danny handed me the cup the Spirit whispered.

Lord, when did we see You hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not minister to You?’

Then the King will answer, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for Me.’ 

Matthew 25: 44-45

 People will remember the largest march in United States history for many different reasons. I will remember it as a joyous standing together of people united for others. I will remember that love without action is not love at all and faith without works is dead. I will remember a little child handing me a a cup of water and God reminding me that when we turn our backs on others, we have turned our backs on him.

What We Leave Behind

In the beginning there is pressure and a crack appears. There is a breaking open. The light is let in, or let out, in this coming forth. It is always this way. The seed, the egg, the stars, the womb.  Swell, expand, crack, open, come forth. It is the way the universe began and how it continues. Observers, those who have the patience to watch, to wait and to consider, will all tell you everything is cycling. Water, air, seasons. Even the rocks are cycling, going down, down, down into the earth, being heated, melted, crushed, reformed and eventually rising out of it again, transformed into a new creation.

Eleven years ago when we moved in this house, there was a dying oak in the backyard. There was not much left of the grand being it had once been, just a fragmented part of its trunk struggling to hang on to life within a deteriorated stump. A few leaves. Miraculously, a few acorns. Eventually it gave in to the inevitable.

Soon nothing was left but a rotting stump. For the next winter a rat snake made a fine house underneath, cozy and safe.

I feel sure the snake had to move on because there is again an oak tree, standing eight feet tall in the same place the old one was. Its roots have grown deep and wide. It has encompassed and absorbed all the space and elements given to it. Before it died, the old tree dropped a small representation of everything it was made of in the form of an acorn. A nugget of DNA and the secret wisdom of the natural world. It rested in the heart of its giver, where decay nurtured it and brought it to life. A birth by way of death.

When the time was right, it cracked open and came forth.

 It is the way it always is.

 Human beings are made of the same elements. We are part of the same cycle. We come forth, we weather the seasons, we grow. We bring forth our own seeds, pass on our DNA and imprint
ourselves on those who shelter in our shade.

He has my eyes.
She has your smile.

She’s empathetic and artistic, like her mother.

He’d give you the shirt of his back. Just like his dad.

I’ll never forget that time. He let me lean on him when I needed someone trustworthy.

She could always make me laugh.

We just really got one another. Ya know?

The old tree died. But it is not gone. How can it be when it’s very own seed and the substance of what it was made of created the life standing in its place?  A life you can see and touch and looks in every way the essence of what came before.

It is that way with us too. When we give of ourselves in loving others, in reaching out to them and opening ourselves so they may find solace, kindness, generosity or hope, we leave ourselves here, nestled in the hearts of those we love. Memories cherished and tender moments unforgotten keep us here. And the more we give, the more of us remains.

This spring's tomato seed and the plant that came from it. A beautiful picture of what we create when

we give of our true self. It is November and the plant that came from this tiny seed is still producing

  fruit.

On Pyrotechnics and Not Being the Fun Parent

I was a sensitive child. I had a lot of anxiety. However, when I became a mother every worry I ever had jolted into high alert. Being fully responsible for small people who consistently and impulsively put themselves in danger was the hardest experience of my life.
Climbing could lead to stitches and broken bones. Stuffing inedible things in their mouths could lead to choking. Jumping in the pool with no flotation device could lead to drowning. As a parent of a lot of little kids, one is constantly looking out for the hazards children are blissfully unaware of. Cars. Strangers. Poisons. Fire ants. Bullies. A bone in the chicken nugget. The list is endless. Then there are the things you can't see. Viruses. Bacteria. Deadly insidious microscopic monsters. All of these things make a chill person uneasy, but they make a nervous person bat-shit looney. Alas, kids grow out of things, they learn the dangers of the world around them. They become more cautious.

Just kidding. This does not happen.

After that intense period of training and security you'd think they'd give you a break, let your overworked consciousness relax a bit. But you know what they do? They do scary stuff anyway. And lots of it.
They like moving fast. In cars, jet skis, boats, even on snow skis. They ride dirt bikes at speeds that make you want to cry. And then they crash and you do cry. Then they do it again.
They jump off cliffs into rivers, do back flips off 2nd story boat houses into the lake and swim further out into the ocean than you would ever do. They bungee jump off of bridges. They shoot guns and bows and arrows. They travel across the world to places you've never been, where you nor they know nary a soul, and there is no cell service more than half the time. They take unreliable trains and uncertain taxis. On a road trip, they stop to admire a biplane and within the next few minutes are in the clouds with a pilot whose credentials they know nothing of. They attend week long music festivals where they meet strangers. Then they go visit those strangers for the weekend.

They cannot do enough of anything you ever told them not to do. It's not danger to them, it's adventure.
God forbid life should get boring.

Once or twice a year, these offspring of mine, become temporarily crazed over their love for monstrously obnoxious fireworks. They then gather others whose adoration for explosives is equal to or greater than their own. This year it's their spouses. At this 'community outreach' you will also find a bonfire, barbecue, beer, Jim Beam, trucks named after dinosaurs, and a bunch of dogs who, like me, hate fireworks. If it sounds a little redneck, that's because it is. My husband is the ring leader of this fear-fest that they call a 'party.' The kids worship him for his generous gifts of "Death from the Sky" a giant box of TNT that promises a minimum charge of 500 Gs. Mostly, they adore him for his enthusiasm and his lack of fear. He's the FUN parent. Just look at what he got today. He didn't tell me anything about the purchase of this mother load, because he "wanted to surprise the kids."
That explains why, in his glee, he promptly texted this picture to my daughter and, in her glee, she promptly put it on Facebook and that's how I found out. SURPRISE!!!
I suspect there is another reason he didn't want to tell me. (It is easier to ask for forgiveness than agreement... or  something like that.)

I am not the fun parent. I wish I could be fun like him, but Motherhood has given me a type of PTSD. Sudden, loud noises, or certain noises in general, send me over the edge. Pyrotechnics bring back all those terrors of what might happen if I'm not intensely vigilant, or even if I am. Every fuse ignited gives me the feeling of doom. What if the fuse goes out and when someone goes to ignite it, it blows up? BOOM!What if one shoots through the crowd and not up in the sky? BOOM! What if one blows up in your hand? BOOM! Your face? BOOM! What if your clothes catch on fire? BOOM! What if the house, lawn or car catch on fire? BOOM! What if you lose fingers over what you call fun?! BOOM! It brings me back to the days of constant anxiety. The noise, the smoke, the fear. It's enough to send me looking for a dark, quiet corner with the dogs. I once read the teenagers the statistics of injuries from fireworks. Did you know sparklers could reach 2500 degrees and account for an incredible amount of emergency room visits every July 4th? They accused me of trying to ruin everything. "Why do you have to be such a downer Mom?"

"You worry too much," they say. "Everything will be fine" they say.
"Relax Mom. With no traffic, the hospital is only 35 minutes from here, and we could cut that in less than half if we take the Raptor instead of an ambulance."

Fundamentalism. No fun, just mental.

     Yesterday, a young father threw his 5 year old daughter off a bridge. A police officer witnessed the scene but was unable to rescue the child. Her body was recovered by divers in the middle of the night.  USA Today report.

Every day we hear unbelievably heart wrenching news.
162 people in the bottom of the ocean.
A baby dead in a dumpster, her parents murdered.
Twelve men gunned down at work.
Stories that make no sense and leave our minds clamoring for answers. We ask, why? Those who believe in the biblical God tell us he has a plan, he knows better than us how things should go, his ways are higher than ours.

You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand. John 13:7

 Now we see things imperfectly as in a cloudy mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely. 

1 Corinthians 13:12

For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, said the Lord. Isaiah 55:8

Band aids for amputations.

He is all powerful. All knowing. He has created a divine plan. 

The LORD Almighty has sworn, "Surely, as I have planned, so it will be, and as I have purposed, so it will happen. Isaiah 14:24

All the peoples of the earth are regarded as nothing. He does as he pleases with the powers of heaven and the peoples of the earth. No one can hold back his hand or say to him: "What have you done?" Daniel 4:35

I will have mercy on whom I have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I have compassion. Roman's 9:15

If we believe the literal words here, it was God's plan that Phoebe should be thrown off a bridge by her dad. God chose not to have mercy on either of them. Not the father's sickened mind nor the daughter's helpless body. He's going to do something great through it though. One day we'll all stand back and say, "Oooohhhh! Now we get it! It's all clear now! Yay God!" At some point, according to the Bible, we are going to understand that the murder of this child was in God's plan for a good purpose. Bullshit.

The one who causes our pain and plans our worst nightmares is also the source of all comfort. An abused child seeking comfort from the abuser is sick. But this is the way we are supposed to believe.  It doesn't make sense.

My problem isn't with God. My problem is with the idea that the Bible is perfect, to be taken literally and not questioned. One of the biggest issues surrounding the fundamentalist evangelical christian's idea of the Bible, is the one of picking and choosing. It's not allowed. One cannot say, "I accept this, but not this." For them the Bible is not a buffet at Piccadilly. It's a plate of comfort food and poison. Next to macaroni and cheese so good it'll make you cry, is something dead, crawling with maggots. And a cup of tea laced with arsenic. You're starving for comfort, but put off by the grotesque. The fundamentalists say if you are to have any of it, you have to swallow it all. Yet, even in the garden, which was perfection, there was picking and choosing. You can eat this fruit, but not that one.

Why, I wonder, is it so far fetched an idea that the Bible could be flawed? It wasn't written until people had inhabited the earth a long time. According to the scriptures, the Garden of Eden and Adam and Eve were the first living things God created. It was cozy and pristine. Except for that serpent God allowed in there. If God would allow deceit in the garden, why not the Bible? We are even warned biblically, to be careful of doctrine influenced by men. Is not the Bible influenced by men?

...having been firmly rooted and now being built up in Him and established in your faith, just as you were instructed, and overflowing with gratitude. See to it that no one takes you captive through philosophy and empty deception, according to the tradition of men, according to the elementary principles of the world, rather than according to Christ. For in Him all the fullness of Deity dwells in bodily form, Colossians 2:7-9 

Jesus, the Bible says, is the Word made flesh. We can read the Bible in it's harshness, or we can follow the bodily form of a man who never hurt anyone. A man who did not love one more than another, a man who loved his enemies, who healed the sick, who cried in pain because we hurt. A man who would never throw a 5 year old off a bridge or allow another to do so. That is not part of his plan. We are fools to think so. The God of the Bible and Biblical Jesus are said to be the same. They are not and anyone can see it is so. Jesus said that God is love. Jesus was love in the flesh. The way God and Jesus are unified is in Love. Which is in all of us. How do we know this? Because the spirit of love tells us so. "For those who are led by the Spirit of God are the children of God." Romans 8:14

The Bible says God is Love. It also tells us what Love is and isn't. In doing so, it tells us what God is and isn't. God is patient. God is kind. God is not jealous. He does not brag and is not boastful. He is not easily provoked. He keeps no record of evil. God rejoices in the truth. He endures all things. God never fails. 

There are verses in the Bible that contradict the above sentiments. 
God is VERY jealous, and says so. He is arrogant and boastful quite often. He is exceptionally easily provoked and he has a great big book listing the good the bad and the ugly.

How can both of these ideas be true? They can't be. Play all the brain games you want to. God can't be both jealous and not jealous, patient and peaceful, but also short-tempered and violent, a braggart who is also humble. We have to pick and choose.  If we are rational thinkers using the faculties of our powers of reasoning, we have no choice. Some like to say, it's a mystery. But it isn't. They pretend to understand. Most would never share their doubts. The naked emperor has fancy clothes on. You see them, don't you? 

Fundamentalism is causing pain and suffering all around. The literal adherence to scriptural texts combined with a spirit wishing to please God, gain his rewards and escape his punishment, is destructive. It destroys the freedom to choose good over evil. It hardens the heart, making mankind's differences reasons for division instead of unity. It fools people into choosing law over love. It is time for us to  be brave enough to ask  hard questions and to stop pretending that the answers we've  settled for are good enough.

Whatever is good

This morning I was disheartened to see a news story posted by someone on Facebook.  The photograph highlighting the article is of a pretty blonde woman with a battered face sitting  on a hospital bed. Her hair and face are soaked with blood. The title of the article reads:

Couple beaten with chains by Muslims on Christmas Eve.

According to the news source, the incident happened in Copenhagen, Denmark. The article has been shared 52,000 times on Facebook from this one site alone. It is featured on numerous sites. Most of them clearly sensationalist, exceptionally fundamentalist christian or simply anti-muslim.  Here are some red flags regarding the story's accuracy.

1. The boy mentioned as the initial attacker is said to be muslim. There is no information confirming this. Why?
2. The attackers are named as "Somali" youth, but no one was caught. How is it known they were Somalians? Do Somalians have some sort of distinguishing marks?
3. The couple, Nanna and Mads, were on their way home with his family. Nothing is mentioned about anyone in the family defending the boyfriend or getting attacked.  No one in the family is interviewed about what occurred. What did they do, stand and watch or run away?
4. The attacker was on a bicycle, but got off, somehow got a bottle and hit the boyfriend. Then "Suddenly several came up from a basement". Weren't they outside on the street? Where was this basement? Under a manhole?
5. The report was given by the bloodied woman to Ekstra Bladet. Who is this? A reporter in Copenhagen committed to truth and justice? Nope. It's the name of a sensationalist tabloid in Denmark. Sort of like The Star here. A hallmark of the tabloid is a naked woman on page 9 of every issue. A tradition since 1979. High brow news source right here.

    The human mind has deciphered DNA, navigated to the moon and back, and eradicated deadly diseases. It has incredible power of reasoning, the ability to analyze the most complex ideas and make sense of them. Skills most people are too effing lazy to use! The fact that people read stuff like this, suck in a shocked gasp and without hesitating, hit "share", infuriates and distresses me. False reporters carelessly spread the slop of hate and fear and all the hungry hogs run and suck it all up. Every little rancid morsel. Gorging themselves so fast they don't even realize how much shit and dirt they swallowed along with all. 

In order to get to truth, one must question. We ask Who, What, Where, When and How? But not many pigs at the trough are going to look at the farmer and say, "Did you get this at Whole Foods or are you giving us garbage again?" The main reason? They have an appetite for garbage. Filth and rot is what they crave. They're nourishing their minds with excrement. Because they like it that way.

The comments left by people under this article give me a feeling of hopelessness. They are mean, hateful, ignorant, violent. 

"Far cry from a peaceful religion....The goal of a Muslim is either you become Muslim or you die!"

"TIME for another religious war Europe stand against these Muslim dogs ..fight fire with fire where are the men of europe your people are being attacked by sand dwellers hell bent on destroying your civilization..FIGHT BACK."

Reply · Like · 278

"As long as you continue to let these muslim cockroaches live in your country and do as they please, this will always happen, exterminate them all"

Reply · Like · 18 

"The joys of diversity. Thank you politicians. It's just a shame though that more such joys aren't visited upon the politicians who made the choice to subject us to multiculturalism."

"They all need to face either mandatory deportation or summary execution; they will never change..."

"Reply · Like · 27 · 

• 
  

  "pffftttt for mandatory deportation.. they should know the consequences of this violent religious hate crime before they cross our borders. I don't want to pay to send them "home", i'd pull the trigger on an execution for free..."

  Reply · Like · 23 · 

  a

I want to believe we are getting better at accepting and loving one another. I want to believe we are striving to find our common humanity. I know many are, but reading these folks words makes me realize how far we have to go. Ironically, many of the people making these nasty comments claim to be christians. Christians whose Bible tells them in Philippians 4:9, Therefore, my brethren, those things that are true, those that are honorable, those that are righteous, those things that are pure, those things that are precious, those things that are praiseworthy, deeds of glory and of praise, meditate on these things.

Supposedly, the Copenhagen police confirmed the attack. If this was big news in the city on Christmas Eve, it stands to reason there would be reports in every Copenhagen news source for the next several days. I could not find it in any of the reputable papers. Out of the 13 I searched, it showed up in only one other than the tabloid above. The other paper, the Jyllands-Posten, is the same one that printed the cartoons making fun of Muhammed in 2005, causing a tremendous uproar. It is described as a popular paper with inserts tabloid-like in nature. It has a history littered with anti-immigrant and anti-muslim commentary.

I don't know what happened to Nanna and Mads. I wasn't there. I don't know who provoked what nor what followed. I have no idea who hurt them. But it doesn't seem anyone else does either. We have only one person's account of the incident. I'm sorry it happened. It's a terrible thing for anyone to commit violence against anyone. However, speculating and spreading false information fuels the flames of racism and bigotry, breathing new life into fires we've been fighting to put out for decades. 
While searching the newspapers, I tried many words in the search bars. I wanted to be as thorough as possible in getting the story straight.  Nanna, Mads, attack, Christmas Eve, Muslim, Somali. I found the story only once. In one of the more respected Copenhagen newspapers I also found this:

Muslim's Christmas invitation goes viral

Honorable. Precious. Praiseworthy.

When should we begin to meditate on these things?

Chicken of the Dark

On an early morning walk I was startled by a chicken. I was taking the driveway toward the river when the silence was shattered by a loudly squawking, erratically running mass of feathers with legs. Zig zagging and darting, flinging the dead leaves behind it, it was making a frantic attempt to escape a coyote. The coyote was so intent on its prey it didn't notice me. It caught the chicken in its mouth, clamping right over the bird's back. Then it saw me and stood stock still for a second. The chicken was still too, shocked and terrified, its legs sticking out stiff as sticks. I am the kind of person that catches flies in my hand to let them out of the house. I have compassion for the smallest of bugs. I even have compassion for the ones that sting and bite. I abhor killing and suffering. If something is in distress I'm going to rescue it. But on this morning, my desire for a dramatic photo suddenly overrode my compassion. I went against my nature and instead of attempting to save the chicken, I took pictures of its demise.

 I still feel guilty because I didn't attempt to save the chicken. It's possible I could have. I saved a chipmunk from a cat once. When I ran at the cat and screamed NO! loudly, the cat dropped the chipmunk and ran off. I held the chipmunk in my hands and thought it was dead, but it was only in shock. After a while, held against my warm chest, it revived and scampered into the woods. Recently, in the middle of the highway, a robin was standing on the dividing yellow lines. It had it's mouth open but wasn't moving. I think it must have flown into a car or been struck somehow. The traffic was bumper to bumper. I opened the door, picked up the bird and drove home with it in my lap wrapped in the lower portion of my sweatshirt. At home I gave it some water and held it like I did the chipmunk. Half an hour later it sang and flew from my hand into the sky. I have saved many creatures. I once brought a frog back from the dead. No lie. You can ask my son. He was there. The feeling of rescuing something is buoying. Like being a miracle worker. I could have at least tried for the chicken. Instead, I, savior of the helpless, became the opportunist throwing compassion to the wayside. I snapped the photos and the coyote bolted toward the woods to devour the poor bird. The pictures aren't masterpieces. They're morbid. You can see the chicken in the death grip and you can see its feathers flying off as it tries to free itself. I hate those pictures. They make me feel bad.

I realize this is ridiculous. It's the NATURE of things. The coyote's gotta eat too. I get it. I still hate it.

I eat chickens all the time. I just don't kill them myself. My hands don't wring any necks. I haven't been anywhere near a Tyson plant. I am not guilty. I am a kind, compassionate person dammit! All I do is buy a featherless, skinless, boneless, piece of white protein nicely packaged on white styrofoam. In that package at the grocery store, it doesn't resemble the animal it is, the sentient being it was. Not at all. I can tell myself it had as much of a life as a potato. I don't want to think it lived in a cage, force fed. I don't want to think it had babies that it cared for, perhaps loved. (Do chickens love? Dogs do. Can't chickens? I have a friend who had a pet turkey. It would run excitedly to the car when she got home, just like a dog. Anyone who knew her and the turkey's relationship would say it loved her.)
Had the nameless thing on the styrofoam tray suffered? Had it felt fear or pain? I'm certain the coyote's chicken was afraid. I saw it in it's eyes.

The reality, whether I like it or not, is I participate in the mass murder of chickens every day because I buy and eat them all the time, fueling supply and demand. Even if I'd saved that chicken, I've participated in the demise of thousands. My ideas of being the good savior would be lies. If I spent an hour in a chicken processing plant I'd probably never eat it again. But I'll never do this. I don't want to see what it's like in there because I'm sure it's horrific. So I comfort myself with the delusional potato theory, because fried chicken is the best thing to eat on this whole freakin' planet.

 I am aware most people's brains don't bang at these things so hard, but it brings me to think about things we rationalize the same way. We want what we want, even if it's at the expense of something or someone. The unfair treatment of something or someone we consider less than ourselves is fine as long as we are getting something we desire out of it. The way we do this, this rationalizing that pushes our discomfort of the reality of things to the far back recesses of our consciousness, this bothers the hell out of me. The truth that I possess these traits and know it should be enough to make me change it. What shames me is my weakness and lack of will power to just do the right thing.

 Similarly, every social injustice has, at its core, selfishness and a lack of empathy. A refusal to look into the darkness.
Slavery. Segregation. Sexism. Inequality. Inhumane treatment of any living thing.

Billionaires with 4 mansions and a private leer jet don't want to share the money they earned with the homeless and hungry. Because they've never known the darkness of being homeless or hungry.

Americans who earned their right to live here because their mother's vagina was in the right place at the right time, tell poor, fearful immigrants to take their kids and get out of our country. Because they've never known the darkness of being a poor, fearful immigrant.

Those who can afford a private concierge doctor, (yes, that is a real thing) aren't worried if others can't afford health care. Because they've never known the darkness of being sick without health care.

Those who will rape and wound our forests, mountains and rivers for profit. Because they do not know the darkness of a place stripped of its beauty and healing powers.

On and on and on and on. We don't see real change because we don't want to think about and understand the dark things. If we had to spend a day living as the one's we take advantage of, the world would be new the very next morning.

I wrote this post this morning. Mostly to work out things in my own head, not so much for others. As providence would have it, as soon as I finished I saw the video featured in the post in my news feed and added it. The story was on the front page of the NY Times today.

On the way home from visiting my grandmother in rural South Carolina this summer, a truck delivering chickens (I assume to the slaughterhouse) stopped next to me at a light. I was forced to look. And smell. Their condition was sickening. The undersides looked like the one's in the Perdue farmer's hen house.
I think it is time we all dare to start looking at things harder than we want to.

In retrospect, I think the chicken killed by the coyote lived a far better existence than the ones pictured below.

Radical Soul Food (Because post annihilation appetites are a bitch.)

   

Friends, I have wonderful news! Our biggest problems, 1) what to give our family and friends for Christmas and 2)how to survive the coming zombie apocalypse, have been solved!
We, the one's with sound minds anyway, are fully aware that while Kim Kardashian is distracting the universe with her giant butt and full frontal nudity, Obama is hard at work creating Ebola riddled zombies deep in the center of Mt. Ararat. Using Noah's Ark as a make shift lab, he is single handedly plotting the world's annihilation. Day and night Kenyans patrol the perimeter protecting not only these evil doings, but also his birth certificate. How can people just stand around talking about health care, homelessness, global warming and fracking for God's sake?? Fracking? What the fricking frick is fracking anyway? Just another liberal scare tactic that's what! Same as global warming! Stupid tree huggers. Trees were made for making guns, gun cabinets and baseball bats, not oxygen! Why are we wasting time yakking about clean air and water and the microscopic genes in corn kernels! Stop talking about GMO's idiots! We need all the corn we can store up! Grow it as fast as you can and fill the storehouses! The end is coming and when it does, I for one am going to be needing a lot of mother fucking nachos!
Speaking of end times and food, prepare to be amazed by the perfect gift for those who have everything. This year all of my loved ones are getting the Times of Trouble food supply tote designed by Jim Bakker, master of intelligence and creator of gastronomic specialties of biblical proportions. 
                                                   
 Jim knows what's going down right now and he's looking out for us, because you know, he loves us and the tote sells for $3,000. That's a bargain though, because it's five years worth of food! Five years I said! In one bright green plastic crate made in China are all the delicacies you need to eat like a king. Peel off the sticker, use a sharpie to label it "Christmas Ornaments", and put it in your basement. No one will know the difference! Disguising it will keep you from having to share with those people who were too little, too late. I know, I know, Jesus said share and love your neighbor .....blah blah blah. Look, it sucks for them, but in the End Times all the rules are gonna be different. Read Revelations if you don't believe me, or watch The Walking Dead. Think about this; zombies gotta eat too. If we're going to expect the reward of getting to stab them through the eye sockets and slice off their rotting limbs, we're going to have to make some sacrifices. I, for one, do not want to miss out on that. When this happens you're gonna need food. Thankfully, the Lord has provided. 


Not only does the Times of Trouble Tote come with 273 desserts, it is perfected with such delights as Tammy Sue's Fudge Brownies, Fern & Raleigh's Pancakes and End of the World Biscuits you can smother in...wait for it... End of the World Gravy! All we'll need is a little boiled squirrel and we'll have Heaven on Earth! All the stupid people, those who don't watch wealthy backwoods televangelists spouting doom, along with most of the liberals (because they have no guns), will be dead. God won't even have to deal with all the work of that tiresome Rapture thingy, he can just sit back, relax and enjoy watching us slay the undead! And we'll have enough nachos to share with him!

Refreshingly, there's no mention of GMO's, high fructose corn syrup or gluten in these meals. Don't you just get sick of hearing that nonsense? Time to celebrate and sing Halelujah!!!
 The best part of this plastic treasure chest of life giving goodness is, even if that stupid global warming stuff had any science behind it, the ice cream never melts! NEVER! I don't know how they created this stuff, but I'm thinking if you cubed old dish sponges and saturated them in Elmer's glue flavored with Kool Aide, you might be close. Pure, plastiky, gummy deliciousness, like the film on top of an old can of latex paint. Nom Nom!! Astronauts thought they were advanced, but their meals can't hold a candle to the culinary perfection Jim Bakker learned in the prison dining hall. Please be forewarned, there is already an 8 to 12 week wait time because of high volume sales right now. Get online and buy this before, as Jim solemnly tells us, "Do it while there's yet time." Waste nary another moment, in a twinkling of an eye that gravy could be ate up and gone! Get your bangin' End Times party box now!

Jim's other survival items for sale include a canteen kit, clothing and even enemas! Nobody needs their corpse killin' mojo hampered by slow plumbing, am I right? The man has thought of everything! However, if you buy Jim's special Black Bean Burger Buckets, I'm thinking you can probably bypass the enema.

Now y'all don't pussyfoot around! Catch up on all the ways to kill zombies in this dope video by Carl Poppa before the grid goes down! (Extra long screw drivers make excellent stocking stuffers, wink wink ;) 
Down there in our dank, sunless bunkers, free from zombies, big government, common core and mandatory childhood vaccines, we'll be safe and sound reveling in glory and delicious munchies! Not a thing to worry about! Except maybe, diabetes.

Merry Christmas and God Bless!

Bittersweet

     Target has six aisles of Halloween costumes and decor out already. I don't need a thing from that section of the store, but I found myself wandering through it anyhow. It drew me in with lights and glitter and battery operated doormats that scream when you step on them. I wasn't the only one. Walking down the costume aisle was a girl of about nine years old. She had her hands clasped together and tucked under under her chin, dreamily gazing at the tulle and polyester princess gowns. My kids remind me all the time that I am not supposed to talk to other people's children. "Mom, you're a stranger. Kids are not supposed to talk to strangers." I do it anyway. It's too hard for me not to. "Do you know what you want to be for Halloween?", I said. She looked up and smiled. "Oh, yes. I'm going to be the mean queen from Snow White and the Huntsman. I have my dress already. It's black and has gold sparkles all over. It's so pretty! Now I'm just looking for a crown."
"That sounds great", I told her. "Sometimes the evil queen is not very pretty. But that one is. You'll be perfect!" She gave me a big smile and then said, "Do you have children?" "What will they be for Halloween?". "Well, they are mostly too big for trick or treating. They are not little anymore." She looked sad for me, which made me sad for myself. I hate saying those words. I feel as if there is a stone in my stomach whenever I say them.  There is such finality in them. It's over. You will never see them like that again. They are not little anymore.
     When they were little I didn't think they would ever be grown. Some days seemed so long. I was always tired, always pregnant or nursing, always pulling someone off the counter top or table, always finding a sippy cup under the sofa with coagulated stinky milk, always trying to get home before the toddler fell asleep in the car seat and got just enough rest to keep him from taking the 2 hour nap I needed him to take, always in the kitchen, in carpool, in the doctor's office, in the grocery store, or the laundry room.  I fell into bed most nights only to have to get up for someone during the night. In public places people often asked, "Are they all yours?" Yes, they were all mine. And then, "Enjoy them. They grow up too fast." Older women told me that all the time. I didn't believe them. It felt to me it was going to take forever for them to be independent. But at some point time picked up speed. We got busier or distracted. Change crept up on us like a cat in the grass. Sometimes I feel like Rip Van Winkle. I haven't been asleep, but it feels as if I just tucked them in bed smelling of baby lotion and warm skin and they came down the stairs in the morning men and women. To be honest the younger two are not men yet. But they are not little. I am trying hard to not to treat the youngest as if he is a baby. All his siblings say I do. But it is slipping like oil through my hands. He is the last one and now I am painfully aware that it happens when we are least expecting it. That cat in the grass. This time last year his older brother was just a boy. In a few months time he got braces, facial hair and grew 4 inches. He is taller than me. His voice is changing. It is deeper with intermittent squeaks of the surrendering child breaking through in mid conversation. In a few months he gets his driving permit.
The baby does not have long before the same metamorphosis occurs. None of us can stop it. The stone in my stomach feels heavier.
     I wonder to myself why it is so hard. Do I feel I did a poor job? Do I wish I could have a do-over?
Yes. Sometimes. But only if I could get one with the knowledge I have now. I am happy with the people my children have grown to be. They are funny, smart, compassionate and tough. I like them. I enjoy my three adult daughter's company. We have a blast doing things together. The boys are sweet to me most of the time and make me laugh with the things they talk about. They have become comfortable  talking about all matters of things. I like the conversations, their ideas and thoughts about the world. I feel the kids are close and will take care of one another as the years pass. That's my greatest comfort, if something should happen to me, by which I mean death of course. There's a lot to be happy about.
Still. I'd like to have another day just to hold them, give them a bath. Snuggle up and read a favorite story. The ones that have been in the attic for years now. I'd gladly play Barbies or Legos or Candy Land. I have more time for that now, ya know? I'd look them in the eye and tell them what wonderful people they are going to grow up to be.  We could watch Charlie Brown and the Great Pumpkin and go trick or treating. And they would give me all the candy with nuts, because that was before they discovered nuts were good, and especially delicious covered in caramel and chocolate.