All this talk of trees, on and on for the phallic market
Strategies of an oily snake for leafage sales (once his hanging
Globulars were taken). Sublime awareness must be more
Than a petty lesson from a parent uncomfortable
With the shape of fruition, death more complex
Than effect catalyzed by theft of figgish ‘apple’, or …
Lest we ruin another ancient secret, the swords still whirl.
But there was a gift, a scion, benevolent mutation,
An ancient cousin, less fond of the veil game,
Connections ‘r us – in moderation, not that there’s anything
Wrong with that. Playfully, the vine invites us:
‘Yes. Take, eat, suckle, nibble, drink’ – a homeopathic dose –
The measured amount that nourishes just enough,
(Just barely enough) on the wastes of flesh, for the new
Sinuous snake of wordflesh to spread, and
Not to burn. Note the nice black snakeskin cover.
What is good? What is evil? Forget fruits, we have
The BOOK. Stroke it. Hold it in your hand. Yes, it’s a fetish.
No fast-talker, this, but a breed of medusa. Don’t look!
Or not so closely that you get lost, but turn a mirror back
On the endless reflexivity. There is a back door.
A glimpse we have, and still unguarded,
A taste of the kiss of veritas. Glory seed, it waits
In cold confining, firmly packed and heavy,
Odorous manure of word, tradition, interpretation,
Community’s spores – embedded soldiers –
Shovel it, and spread thick muddy mundacity, while busy
Microbial servants work endlessly, and so, so fruitlessly,
To keep things clean. But they can’t stop it.
Reaching out, tendrils wisp and unfurl – beauty!
Out of the pungent darkness, a tiny finger
Crawls out of its tunnel and is born into the light. Free but rooted,
Held but yearning, the spirit of the vine.
Was there ever a more pleasing green?
Though it would, the vine cannot touch the sky.
It must – at its limit – extend horizontally, like
The famous crossbeam on the hill. Infected by the spirit,
You are, but the blood of it might not be what you expected.
Watch out for stomping peasants.
Rambling through the billion intersections
Of light and darkness and twilight and moonrise,
Absorbing rain and glare and breezy accidents
Of hills state and province, all with vineyard care
into a shimmering feedback loop, it forms
An eternal recurrence, the golden mean in fractal path,
Perfect, perfect imperfection. Like the face of
The lover, experience marking the quality
Of the vintage, the bouquet… the aftertaste.
The very sunlight is touched, and lovers
Everywhere feel it, as they lie intertwined
With and around and within each other
Under the bluer sky. You might not like
The hoofed Dancer, but those pipes were jazz.
Rhythm and melodic joy brought them up to
Dance and love and feel the world worlding,
Silly, erotic, full of life – even violent –
Just as (un)truthful, maybe (un)lying.
But some still choose to whisper “dieâ€
Painting nature’s music the devil, the adversary,
Only to find themselves pulled by karma’s trowel,
Just dour weeds, withering now so close
Touching close, to the vibrancy
Of what they refused to know
While they lived by the scythe.
I wonder how many Christians regularly visit prisoners to offer consolation and comfort anymore? I’m not talking about ministers or special group missions, but regular laypeople of the many congregations in all their many denominations all over the country. Somehow I think that the ones who call for punishment and torture and war probably don’t do that.
A prisoner is someone who is held against their will in… a prison! Oh, you can call it a penitentiary, a correctional facility, a camp, a containment center or a detention center, but the thing is what it is: it’s where individuals have been physically confined, deprived of freedom of movement and other freedoms, and are treated as subhumans. Why? Because they have been convicted (it is to be hoped the conviction was established through a through a legal and ethical process) of doing a terrible awful thing, or even several terrible awful things.
Of course, prison may also function as political tool, and that is a sign of a move toward a more authoritarian regime. In such societies, the detention of enemies of state and other political prisoners is common. Prisoners of conscience and religion, people imprisoned because of ethnicity, cultural difference, sexual preference, birth nation, or being in the wrong place at the wrong time – we can all think of examples of this kind of thing. The incarceration and interrogation of prisoners of war – and what we now euphemistically call “detainees” instead of prisoners – is common during times of war and other conflicts. We used to have some laws and standards about that, remember? Many other countries still do.
The social psychology of this century reveals a major lesson: often it is not so much the kind of person a man is as the kind of situation in which he finds himself that determines how he will act. – Stanley Milgram, 1974
For a deeper understanding of a few of the social dynamics involved, I recommend taking a look at one of the most famous psychological experiments ever done: Stanley Milgram’s obedience experiment. Also take a look at the related Stanford Prison Experiment.
Within the context of the society that has the power to imprison, prisoners are considered to be a danger to others. This is often true enough, although much can be debated about the process – in any country – by which certain people are imprisoned and other people are not. There is also a very strong ideological debate, of course, about the merit and effectiveness of ideas about punishment/vengeance as opposed to rehabilitation.
I find much to loathe in certain kinds of criminality, but I also find much that is detestable about the ways that we choose to deal with prisoners. In some circumstances, cruel treatment – and even torture – has been condoned and approved of by many Americans.
One of every 100 Americans is incarcerated. In the United States of America, there is now a thriving private prison sector. We impose the death penalty, although almost all European nations (not to mention Australia, New Zealand, Canada, and most of Latin America) have abolished it.
Some of the people who are most enthusiastic about the punishment, torture, and killing of prisoners profess to be Christians.
Isn’t that strange?
It seems to me that following Jesus is all about interrupting cycles of violence, not perpetuating them. I don’t understand how someone can say that they are following Jesus and then ignore everything he ever said and did. Doesn’t that miss the whole point – the “good news” part?
There are clear directives not to judge or condemn others. Who can ever forget Jesus confronting the would-be executioners of an adulteress in John 8? Sure, start throwing stones, just as soon as one of you is without sin or fault! Right! Now take a deep breath and chill. Do you know that there are people who call themselves Christians who would like to bring back stoning? And when will they give UP on controlling women? It’s tiresome.
God knows what we need before we even ask, but we should pray for forgiveness for the wrongs we have done, and remind ourselves every day that we must first forgive others. Only insofar as we have forgiven those who have wronged us may we be forgiven our own wrongs. There have been times, I admit, when my prayer has been to be released from that obligation. Sigh.
If you, then, bad as you are, know how to give your children what is good for them, how much more will your heavenly Father give good things to those who ask him!”
But how does that chapter (of Matthew 7) start?
Pass no judgment and you will not be judged. For as you judge others, so you will yourselves be judged, and whatever measure you deal out to others will be dealt back to you.
It’s all about measuring – and that takes a bit of mindfulness and humility. It sounds a lot like conscious karma, and it’s certainly a very wise piece of guidance for the soul’s path.
Yet, for someone who knocks, the door will always, always be opened – that is grace. That is the gift, and it is open to all.
God’s gifts are irrevocable.
One very important way to understand what some of those gifts can be (and how to practice them) is to model the way you’d like to be understood and loved in your relationship with others. When you offer yourself in service to others, even in a kind of “secret service,” you are blessed in turn. It just happens.
Christians are not meant to be vengeful. It only escalates violence into never-ending cycles of death.
Over and over, the biblical Christian texts tell us to leave vengeance to the Lord, to turn the other cheek (to make them think?), to care for the least among us – the poor, the downtrodden, the detested, even to call down blessings on our enemies and persecutors! That last bit is a little over the top, but maybe the writer had an affection for flourish. At least, I hope so.
To be joyful with the joyful and mournful with the mournful, to be humble and caring and moved by love (not by hate) – to me, that’s the heart of a Christian. The whole law, Jesus believed, was completed in Love.
Not only wasn’t he the fully Anointed King of Israel that they were expecting (to usher in a messianic age of war and then a time of peace) but he even forgave the ones who were crucifying him! Nobody was ever expecting that. Seems like lunacy on the face of it. I don’t know. I only wonder how important these things really are that we fight about.
Who are you to say that you know for sure who is and who is not accepted – or acceptable – by God?
Maybe God loves everybody, even if they’re a jerk. You don’t know. Maybe there is no God – maybe it’s all about power after all. Maybe God has God’s own ways of deciding things without consulting your interpretation. Maybe God is that which is greater than anything that you can think, or that can be thought. Maybe God is Love. Maybe God is an abyss with a big eye looking back at you. Maybe God is an alien. Maybe God exceeds our expectations. Maybe God is nothing at all like anything we think.
But America, brought down so low as to forget that we are all human – or to remember but be too complacent to believe it, or to be too busy trying to live to think about it at all.
You so-called Christians that condone or cheer for the abuses at Guantanamo Bay, Abu Ghraib, and other places like them, who turn a blind eye to our prison-for-profit systems and detention centers and extraditions for torture…
You who will not look at photographs because “images are too disturbing” while you let the actions that you have no spine to observe continue … it’s too easy to blame someone else…
You who think that it’s so macho and even sexy to hurt and dehumanize others…
You hypocrites and compartmentalizers, you sociopaths lacking empathy and simple human understanding…
When is the last time you visited someone in prison to console them?
When was the last time you showed kindness to someone that others in your little in-group might find detestable?
Are you so sure that your smug dehumanizing arrogance is pleasing to God? If you really are sure, give us a wee hint – how can we make you less sure? You’re destroying us.
It’s time for Christian assistant shepherds to recall their flocks to the meaning of the message. Cool, clear water of life, ratch ‘ere.
How can torturers and greedy war-mongers and spreaders of lies and fear have become so triumphant that they can brazenly assume that any real Christian could or would be a part of their “base”? How can Christians support such degrading and oppressive corruption as this? It’s a culture of fear and death.
We’ve gotten into ruts in our thinking – it’s all full of ideology and false oppositions and judgments that aren’t based in reality but on dark fantasies and projections.
Don’t dehumanize others – that’s where it all starts. Counter terror with justice, not sadism. Yes, there are reasons for prisons, but there is never a reason to degrade another human being, to invade them, to rape them, to torture them, to kill them.
And yes, I realize that I’m strident. There is an irony here, I know.
I try to understand and even to love those who hate just as much as I can. It’s a major challenge, and so perhaps the board of Benevolent Deities Inc. is having a little laugh watching me here in Georgia. For now, it’s about daily practice, trying – one person at a time – to understand how it happens, and to plant small seeds of its undoing while my imaginary guitar of the spirit gently weeps (the guitar is a permanent installation designed by John Lennon).
My assessment is that American pseudo-christians need to de-familiarize themselves again – to step away from their customary ways of thinking about religion so that they can hear and see and form their own insights again.
Agape love is a powerful way to inspire creative confrontation, restitution, and reconciliation.
Americans also need to remember and uphold the standards that we tell ourselves that we hold dear and which have been sold far too cheaply.
Ok, that’s all rather heavy, isn’t it? It all came out in a rush.
“My mind’s been going places without me lately”…
And after I truly finished the first draft, I went outside to see that the sky was an unearthly yellow.
Ok, it’s a first, but I was in a celebratory mood. We went to see a show at a Baptist church in Stone Mountain. John wasn’t feeling that well, but he still went with me (thank you, my sweet hubby).
I didn’t know where the venue was, and all day Friday I was trying to find where “The Bridge” could possibly be at Stone Mountain Park. The covered bridge? It seemed unlikely. Finally (and thanks for the link, B!) I found out – ah! – The Bridge at Mountain Park, in Stone Mountain the city, a small auditorium connected with the First Baptist Church. Oh. Well, despite my studies in religion and my mystical imperatives I have to admit that a Baptist community – especially in Georgia – is not a place that anyone would normally find me, even in curiosity and exploration. Baptists are just too close to the Jehovah’s Witnesses in their literalism and such. Still – I had to go. Kevin Max was playing.
Kevin Max has been my Facebook friend for a while (and he’s the only friend ahead of me in Vampires). I love his voice, and we share some interests in common. I suspect that his God is something very close to mine. And I think we both understand some aspects of darkness and lightness, and transcendence – although it may be that he is more apocalyptic than I am. We’re both poets, and I really enjoy his poetry, too.
It was a blast. Not that many people turned up, but that just made it all the more cozy and enjoyable for me. We got there early, and I stuck my head in and saw the Nick Savage Band practicing. At first, from a distance, I thought Nick was Kevin (John was amused. “That guy has no idea who on earth you are.” Enough said.)
Nobody was around yet so we couldn’t pick up the tickets I had ordered, but it didn’t look like there was going to be a huge crowd so we went down the street to a seedy-looking bar and had a beer. Two older guys at one end of the bar were discussing when it was that humans first had written language. One of them had an almost supernaturally deep voice. They were interrupted by a husky-voiced and still fairly attractive older women who stood between them and proclaimed, “I’m the rose between two thorns.” I love listening in to bar conversations. There is something almost universal about it. I was hit on twice on my way to the rest room. It was that kind of a place. And there is something so quintessentially American about the church and the bar existing side-by-side.
When we went back to The Bridge, a very cordial but semi-official looking man greeted us at the door. He introduced himself and shook our hands and assured us that we were at the right place.
Everything was very informal after that, and I have to say that I didn’t get any bad vibe there at all. I really shouldn’t let my religious scar tissue continue to affect my expectations so much. At the end of the concert, the young pastor encouraged everyone to choose this as our church, mentioned the next in the concert series, and wished us a blessed night. Nothing wrong with that – I liked it. So that’s one less closed place in my heart. Very good.
It must be strange to be an overtly Christian musician. One obstacle is the crowd. A crowd like this – supersensitive to sin and suspicious toward any kind of fun – doesn’t seem able to feel comfortable enough to enjoy the music. Maybe they do – they certainly knew Kevin Max – but they do it in a very restrained way. They were a bit stiff, unsure. At any other kind of venue I would have been moving to the music, but I couldn’t be the ONLY one dancing. Well, not anymore (grin).
Kevin’s voice is truly amazing. He’s got a great range and that certain kind of timbre that really appeals to me. I’ve been listening to his songs for months now, but live music is always different and I enjoy it more. I was sitting in the front row, rapt.
While he was singing “What if I Stumble” I was worried the whole time that he would stumble! There were big bulky grey cords all over the place, including where he was standing.
At a crucial point in the middle of “Stay,” Eric Cole’s guitar string did not stay. It went BOIINGG!
Eric kept playing – rather heroically – until they just gave it up, laughing. Nick Savage jumped up on stage and offered him the other guitar that you can see in the picture.
And then the mike failed!
Kevin made a comment about not backing down in the face of opposition (grin), and there were no further performative ironies.
At a certain point I stopped taking photographs because I got signals that the flash had become a bit distracting. I wasn’t the only one taking photographs, but I was right there in the front row. Here are a few more for your enjoyment:
The warm-up group was the Nick Savage band. Nick Savage was terrific on guitar and he had a good voice, although not as versatile or strong as Kevin’s. Nick also has a very sweet and endearing smile that I didn’t capture in the photographs. Although I tried, it was too fleeting.
I liked the faster songs better than the couple of slow ones that they played.
One musician in the band went from playing sax to flute to harmonica to some instrument I didn’t even recognize. He was very impressive. The whole band was fun. These are guys that care about music qua music – you can tell.
I’m also on board with the kind of “love missions” that 1) leave the business of salvation up to God, and 2) try to raise money for interesting films. They seemed to have a good time jammin’ even though the venue had some limitations. As a fund-raiser, the concert was probably a waste of everyone’s time, but I feel especially fortunate to have been there sending out waves of appreciation. These guys put their talent – and their hearts and souls – out there, and it really is a service of love. Thank you.
100:4.6 You cannot truly love your fellows by a mere act of the will. Love is only born of thoroughgoing understanding of your neighbor’s motives and sentiments. It is not so important to love all men today as it is that each day you learn to love one more human being. If each day or each week you achieve an understanding of one more of your fellows, and if this is the limit of your ability, then you are certainly socializing and truly spiritualizing your personality. Love is infectious, and when human devotion is intelligent and wise, love is more catching than hate. But only genuine and unselfish love is truly contagious. If each mortal could only become a focus of dynamic affection, this benign virus of love would soon pervade the sentimental emotion-stream of humanity to such an extent that all civilization would be encompassed by love, and that would be the realization of the brotherhood of man.
This is going to be one of those stream-of-consciousness posts. I’m not sure what to write, so I’m just going to start writing. There is something that wants to come out, and I’m not sure what it is, so let’s see…
I spent much of the day yesterday going up and down the front hill with a weed-whacker, but everything looks great now. The roses are blooming, and the vinca is putting out flowers too. The back deck is covered with jasmine and honeysuckle (yes, on purpose). I still have two big trashbags full of monkeygrass to plant, and some trimming to do, and sometime soon I’m going to have to get into that pond and pull out all the leaves, and trim back the yellow irises that have fallen down.
Note to self: Still to do – replace the screen door, change the basement lock, figure out why we don’t have good water pressure in the house, paint the kitchen before the new floor is installed.
I’m not doing any of that this weekend. I’m sore from head to toe, and more sore in some places than others.
There are serious constrictions on blogging about work, but I can say that I’m really enjoying the company and the job. I’m surrounded by some very talented and fun people, and I’m learning a lot every day. It’s been very good for my sense of well-being. I feel that I’m contributing something worthwhile, and after this upcoming professional conference, I’ll have some new tools to do even more.
I’m also very happy with Comcast, despite all the bad press they seem to have. I’ve been able to get good customer service, and I have all the cable channels I want, plus faster internet, and good phone service. I’m still looking for the best cellular phone deal – this AT&T GoPhone I’ve got is pretty expensive. There are some local services, but I want good coverage.
I’ve been doing my usual reading and playing on Facebook and listening to my iPod and playing with Ben and doing laundry and all those other kinds of things. John and I have been re-watching Twin Peaks, and that’s been fun. I had forgotten how utterly obsessive and haunting it was. It makes me miss Bev, though, since we watched the original together in Iowa City.
I’ve been posting some news items on the Facebook page, but lately I somehow haven’t felt inspired to blog. Some of it is probably fatigue. Although I appreciate how many more people can be involved in the political process when the Democratic candidate hasn’t been chosen, I’m starting to become a little tired of the whole thing. So irresponsible of me, I know, but all the petty micro-stories don’t address anything of importance to me. I’ve been more interested in the stories that don’t get as much coverage – there do seem to be little signs of hope here and there in the way some things are being handled. It just takes so long…
One of the signs that my life is going well is that I’ve gained ten pounds. When I’m miserable I get bone-thin because I don’t eat. Well, not a problem now, so I guess I must be relatively happy. On the other hand, I can’t afford any wardrobe shrinkage, so I’m on my every-once-in-a-while strategy of paying a little attention to what I eat. My weight seems to go up and down rather effortlessly – even now, even as I’m a bit older – so it’s not really any big deal unless I keep gaining.
It’s springtime, and I’m hoping that before long the poetry bug will hit me again. It’s strange the way it comes and goes.
There is a feeling of the uncanny surrounding me lately. In one way, it’s a very simple thing. I’m pretty happy overall, and I’m not sure how to actually absorb or process that because it is still a bit unfamiliar, but it’s also recognizable – if in a slightly unheimlich way – if I stop to notice it. The pains I still have are sweet pains – bittersweet, and so — and thus — worthy and valuable in their own ways. I wonder how long it can last, but meanwhile, I’m sending all praises to the board at Benevolent Deities, Inc, and bowing in humble gratitude before the dear mercy of the One. I shall at least have moments to remember and recall, and habits of being to whirl up again after whenever that big boot decides to arrive and stomp on my head. I know that hope and faith and love will sustain me.
As cynical as I can sometimes be, I do deeply appreciate every moment of life, each moment, moment by moment. The quality of the moments and episodes that shimmer make everything worthwhile to me. What more reward could I possibly desire than the ability to make choices through the sublime heights, and the meaningful depths, and the sparking fragments, and the interpenetrating worlds?
Whether in solitude or in relation, in detachment or immersion, through reflection and transcendence and multi-vocal reflexivity, through the sacred spaces within or the artificial carving-up of realities without, conceptualizing and imagining and sensing and feeling, in dialogue or in wordless calm standing-there, as a vital component of the being-between and the negotiation and navigation of the gaps, through the sometimes-leaky boundaries, in diverse modes of human being and non-being – and hospitable towards the other-within and the other-without and even the totally Other, even in lack of understanding, even in frustration, it is good. Despite every challenge, it is all good. The trivial and the profound are all bound up together. Smiles and laughter and joy are all allowed. I allow myself – at last – just to be. Just to be, for a little while.
“Just to be?” That’s what I couldn’t see? That’s what wanted to emerge? I’m an idiot. Of course! (Whacking the side of my head)
