I recently received a phone call from a former roommate of mine. When he used to live at the house, he and I would engage in discussions, usually having some opposing views. He would assert his views as "the truth" in some form, which I would brush off as being symptomatic of his 19 year old arrogance. (Hey, we all go through it.) So when he called to tell me that he was starting a "psychological revolution", I braced myself for an interesting conversation.
The concept of his revolution was this: What does everyone want? They want attention. So give it to them. Listen to everyone, no matter what. Sounds simple enough, right? Even compassionate. But while I agreed that we should make more of an effort to listen to people, especially the voices of those which the dominant society attempts to suppress, I also recognized that listening to everyone wasn't always possible, nor always helpful to our own selves. If we listened to everyone, where would our own voice be? And what about listening to those who released within us psychological triggers? Would that be helpful to us personally, to sacrifice our own psychological well being for the purpose of the greater "psychological revolution"?
Throughout our brief discussion, I realized that something was not right with this person I was speaking to. I had an inkling at the beginning, but as it began to unfold, I saw more and more that this person was pretty much off his rocker. He attested that what he was doing at that moment, i.e. listening to me, was revolutionary. I told him that while it could be a revolutionary act, depending upon the context, it was not in an of itself a revolution, nor would such a large scale revolution occur. When I asked him why he was doing this, trying to start a revolution, he replied, "Because I'm a megalomaniac." (I actually had to look the definition up because I had forgotten what it was. Courtesy of The American Heritage Dictionary, here is the definition of megalomania: "A mental disorder characterized by delusions of wealth, power, or omnipotence.") I don't know for sure if he is a megalomaniac (though he defined his state of being as "someone who stirs up the pot, starting revolutions and inciting anarchy."), but he certainly seemed manic. It was clear to me that the conversation was not going anywhere constructive, and I ended it by telling him that he needed professional help. I was completely serious. "Ok. Later, Beth." And that was it.
So what does this preamble have to do with someone named Kunstler? Well, nothing directly. I'll tie everything together at the end, I promise. But for now, I'll move on and tell you who William "Bill" Kunstler was. (And if you already know, you can skip this section if you wish.)
Kunstler was an American lawyer during the 1960s through the early 90s, who famously began championing civil rights along with Dr. King Jr. Not only that, but he defended nine people who stole and burned draft files in protest of the Vietnam War. Furthermore, he defended eight people who were on trial for inciting a riot during the 1968 protest of the Democratic National Convention in Chicago, which included Bobby Seal (one of the members of the Black Panther Party). He stood with the American Indian Movement (AIM) when they occupied Wounded Knee. He also negotiated with the prisoners at Attica prison in New York after the prisoners took over, not in order to be freed, but that their physical conditions may be improved upon. (That situation, unfortunately, ended in tragedy. Over 30, mostly black, prisoners were killed, along with nine prison guards, by the police who came in shooting, no questions asked.) Later in his career, he took even more controversial cases, such as defending an Arab man who shot and killed a leader of a radical Jewish movement which preached hatred against Arabs. He defended people who were defined as terrorists and criminals (such as John Gotti).
Regardless of whether you agree with his actions, whether altogether or in part, there is no denying that this man was amazing. He was a powerhouse, a legend. He stood up against an unjust social and political system and cried out, "Power to the people!" He took the stance that violence committed by the oppressed cannot fully be called violence because the true violence was perpetuated by those who were the oppressors. He asserted that all white people, including himself, were racist by virtue of being born into a system of privilege. This man was, in his own way, a revolutionary. He worked within the legal system in order to expose its injustices. Many may have set out to do the same in their own careers, and have failed. Kunstler succeeded.
Unfortunately, he died at the age of 76. But this entry is not an obituary for a revolutionary. Rather, this man's professional, and in a way personal, life is the inspiration for this entry. I only just learned of Kunstler tonight from watching a documentary that was put together by his daughters called "William Kunstler: Disturbing the Universe." It was in viewing this documentary that I began to reflect on the state of revolution and activism in our present day.
Before I go into that, I would like to briefly return to a scene in the film. It's footage of Kunstler giving a commencement speech shortly before his death. In it, he speaks of Michaelangelo's statue of David. I never knew this until now, but that statue is actually about the choice to act. The pose that David is shown to be in is right before he decides to slay Goliath. He has a stone in his right hand, a sling over his shoulder, and he's contemplating what to do. Kunstler used this image as his inspiration, and in his commencement speech sought to inspire those who were graduating. He said that all would encounter moments in their life where they would be called to act. Those moments would most likely not be in the public view, but rather internally, which made it all the more easy to not act. "But," he said, "When the time comes, I hope that you will decide to act, if your time has not come already."
It gave me pause and made me think about when my moment might be, or whether it had already come. Maybe there's more than just one moment for each of us. Some moments are seminal, catapaulting us into a new way of being. Sometimes it is only a moment, or a brief period of time that can shift us minimally until the next time we are called. At any rate, I also started to think about the state of activism now.
The 60s and 70s are long past, and activism has changed significantly in some ways, especially here in the U.S. People still gather in the streets, but this is seen as "symbolic" (and if it's seen as anything else, it's usually as a riot...the recent Oscar Grant protests come to mind). And now, mainstream activism, while still held as "collective", is anything but. It's individuals donating money to their favorite causes, signing petitions online or on the street, sending one word texts to organizations in support of some cause. Direct action has lost its power.
I honestly thought we were getting it back during the Obama campaign. I had hope that we were seeing a revolutionary campaign, that our nation was finally starting to heal from the tyranny and injustice of the Bush adminstration. I really thought that we were going to see a lot of changes happening. Even when Obama promised that it was going to be slow, I wasn't expecting what we have come to see. Yes, some change has occured, but I realize now that we are settling for crumbs when we hoped for a feast. We have started to back down under the pressure of the conservative right wing nuts who want to co-opt the anniversary of The March on Washington. The BP oil spill has destroyed a vital part of an ecosystem (and is STILL destroying it), and no one is out in the streets to protest off shore oil drilling, or to protest judges who have had investments in BP and are letting the big guys at the top off the hook. I know I myself have had to look away and mentally block out what is going on in the Gulf. (And whether you agree with it or not, I have to admire those folks who gathered on the shore to pray. It may not have "worked" but at least it was an effort in the right direction, in the sense that they were putting their energy out into a desperate situation, whereas the rest of us want to turn a blind eye. They at least looked the monster in the face.)
So, now it's time to (attempt) to tie it all together. My former roommate is still clearly off his rocker, and I do sincerely hope that he gets help. But I understand his motives in a way. He wants to DO something. He's tired of the way things are, he sees people are in need of being listened to, and he wants others to start listening. We are a nation that has turned deaf, or at least has selective hearing. We have been this way for quite a long time, but during the time of the 60s and 70s, even though it was a time of intense struggle, there were people who listened. And it did change things to an extent. Where I feel we are now as a whole is in a state of apathy and hopelessness. We're tired and our movements have been co-opted by the powerful. Power no longer rests with the people but with the consumer who can buy that shirt from the GAP so that the money goes to support AIDS relief...or who can buy that plastic bottle made from plants so they can feel good about themselves for helping to "save" the planet...or who can buy fair trade coffee from Starbucks in order to "support" worker's rights.
This is the political and social state of things. In spite of this, I am not calling for a revolution. Honestly, I think with any revolution that occurs, the end result will be far different than what people originally envision. Honestly, I don't exactly know what I want to happen. I guess I want our actions of fighting for what's right to actually MEAN something. That they won't be merely symbolic but show our real power as a collective. I guess I want what my former (now slightly megalomaniac) roommate says every person on the planet wants: I want the voices of the oppressed to be listened to. More than that, I want things to change as a result of listening.
But who's going to make that happen?
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Consolation, Desolation, Remembering and Dismemberment
*Originally posted as a blog entry on MySpace on 9/11/2008; edited on 7/10/10*
You're in luck because this entry was inspired by notes that I wrote on a brown paper bag from Walgreens while on the BART train going home. Oh joy. Actually, this entry was inspired by real events, plus the not-so-surreal events in a novel called "Kleinzeit" by the ever-brilliant Russell Hoban, and the viewing of various clips from the now cancelled show "Joan of Arcadia" while on YouTube. These inspirations led to mental musings, which led to the notes being written on said brown paper bag from Walgreens while on the BART train going home.
I suppose we shall start with the subject of Consolation, since that is the first word in the title of this entry. For this, we shall go to a scene from a "Joan of Arcadia" episode. Joan's mother, Helen, is explaining to her husband what a priest told her about the concept of consolation. It's described as a period of grace: when everything is flowing, when we are in touch with the universe/God, and what it/He/She wants from us, when we know exactly who we are and how we fit in to it all. I have had these moments. Several times, in fact. I know it sounds wonderful, and it can be. But those supposedly wonderful moments, they're also scary. I say this because in the moment they are happening, I feel like I am losing my sanity. I am in touch with, in communication with, the Universe, or the Creator of the universe, or the Universe as Creator...whatever you want to call it, I have been in touch with it and feel like I have lost touch with what we know as Sanity. But when it happens, somewhere deep down, I know that it's all right, because it's never led me wrong. I feel comforted, taken care of, listened to, when in this period...all of this is mixed in with feelings of fear and even annoyance, because the Universe/God just won't shut up. There can be peace of spirit, but never peace of mind. It's hard to describe if you've never been in it.
I'm going to skip over Desolation for the time being, and move on to Remembering since it is related to Consolation. Remembering in this sense comes from Hoban's work, Kleinzeit. The story itself doesn't matter...it would be too hard to describe at any rate. What does matter is what the title character comes to realize: that one must RE-member oneself. We are all what I like to term "organized messes"--bits and pieces of things thrown together and torn apart again and again. We so rarely are able to feel "whole", if ever. Our "members", bits and pieces of our psychic bodies, are torn apart and thrown overboard and everywhere else. We must RE-member ourselves: put ourselves back together again, even if momentarily, before we are ripped apart once more.
The following may not be the best example to illustrate what I have said thus far, but it will at least give you some insight into the inspiration for this entry. This is from Kleinzeit:
"What're you waiting for, said Hospital. You've remembered yourself, haven't you.
I supposed I have done, said Kleinzeit. But it came and went so fast.
How long do you expect a moment to last, said Hospital.
But to have only one moment! said Kleinzeit.
Rubbish, said Hospital, and rang up Memory. [Hospital asks Memory for Hall of Records, and then asks Hall of Records for Kleinzeit's "moments".]
Moment, said Hall of Records: Spring, age something. Evening, the sky still light, the street lamps coming on. Harmony took place.
I remember, said Kleinzeit.
Moment, said Hall of Records: Summer, age something. Before a thunderstorm. Black sky. A piece of paper whirling in the air high over the street. Harmony took place....
Moment, said Hall of Records: Autumn, age something. Rain. The sound of the gas fire, Sister naked. Atlantis. Harmony took place...
Moment, said Hall of Records: Winter, age something. In hospital. Feeling of circle inside self, sweet rhythm. Harmony took place.
Kleinzeit waited.
Will there be anything else? said Hall of Records.
Place of dismemberment? said Kleinzeit.
Everywhere, all the time, said Hall of Records."
What Hoban is describing here in Kleinzeit are those moments of consolation. They are only moments...short periods of grace, but they occur nonetheless. As I stated before, I have experienced this, usually in longer periods and in different ways. Still, the experiences listed above are familiar in a sense. I have experienced these moments, too, and they are only moments that, once they are recognized for what they are, have passed and gone. "Too much like the lightening 'ere one can say, 'It lightens!'"
And now, we go to desolation, the place where I currently reside.
Going back to Joan, desolation is described by Helen as a place of fear, confusion, and things not working right without any explanation. A moment, a period of grace, and then...silence. Clarity, then confusion. Strength, togetherness, courage; then fear, seperateness and weakness. As for me and my relationship with this divine universal creation/creator, this is where I am.
A year ago, I knew exactly where I was that I wanted to go. I had plans for seminary and the priesthood in the Episcopal church. Nothing was clear cut, but I knew that's what I wanted to do. I was set in my path and went about to tackle the formalities of going on that path. But something stopped me. Doubt began to settle in, and God went silent. Actually, God began to slowly disappear. S/he would appear out of the corner of my eye, but would never come into full view. I could hear barely audible whispers, but no real words of clarity. And then, one day, it stopped all together. I'd hear the voice, but never really sure where it was coming from or if I should trust it. Seminary has been put off indefinitely, and since that time when I made the decision, all conversation with God has ceased. I am angry because where I thought I was being led turned out to be different than what I expected. I feel alone because now I am not being told where to go. The guidance that I was receiving before is no longer here and I feel as if I am moving about haphazardly, like fumbling in the dark for a light switch.
I have been contemplating this state of being that I have found myself in. I am well aware that it is something that is experienced often. As Hall of Records said to Kleinzeit's request for moments of dismemberment: "Everywhere, all the time." St. John of the Cross referred to it as "the dark night of the soul," and it was "discovered" more than ten years after her death that Mother Teresa went through an extremely long period of desolation. No one is immune, it seems. And so I have contemplated as to why this happens. You must forgive me if this explanation seems trite and puts down humanity, for that is not my intention by any means.
While I am not an essentialist, and I hesitate to use this word, I believe that we are in more periods of dismemberment and desolation because of our finite "nature." God is infinite, and we are not. True, we are made of matter, and matter is neither created nor destroyed, and so matter is infinite in nature. But our own understanding is not infinite. Our consciousness is not infinite. There are realms that our minds cannot reach, no matter how much we try. (I will not assert any reason for our finite "nature." The whole theory---if it can be called that---of original sin and our fall from grace is a load of rubbish/hogwash, and is in no way an intelligible explanation. I actually don't feel that our finite nature needs an explanation. It's a mere fact, and I am comfortable in letting it be so. ) And so, the fact that some of us are capable of communicating and feeling in touch with an infinite being, even if it only in brief periods of time, is really quite remarkable.
There cannot be any known purpose for desolation. We can try as we might to understand it, put forth the question, "Why me?" In the end, I believe all we'll come up with is, "Why not?" and find that in order to know consolation and remembering, we must experience desolation and dismembering. It is all very circular, I know. But despite the explanation of purpose, I think it is more important to remember (as it were) to accept these periods of desolation. To be in it, without trying to get out of it. The more we try to escape from our uncomfortable experiences, the more we come to deny them. We don't want them to happen, so we try to stop them from happening even as they unfold. We are afraid that if we accept them that this means we are accepting our fault, our guilt, for having been there. But this is not so. Knowing, and accepting, where we are is our consolation. We must know that what we experience in these times is occurring "everywhere, all the time" and to savor the other moments, the moments when we remember ourselves, when we are feeling consoled, for however long they happen to last.
You're in luck because this entry was inspired by notes that I wrote on a brown paper bag from Walgreens while on the BART train going home. Oh joy. Actually, this entry was inspired by real events, plus the not-so-surreal events in a novel called "Kleinzeit" by the ever-brilliant Russell Hoban, and the viewing of various clips from the now cancelled show "Joan of Arcadia" while on YouTube. These inspirations led to mental musings, which led to the notes being written on said brown paper bag from Walgreens while on the BART train going home.
I suppose we shall start with the subject of Consolation, since that is the first word in the title of this entry. For this, we shall go to a scene from a "Joan of Arcadia" episode. Joan's mother, Helen, is explaining to her husband what a priest told her about the concept of consolation. It's described as a period of grace: when everything is flowing, when we are in touch with the universe/God, and what it/He/She wants from us, when we know exactly who we are and how we fit in to it all. I have had these moments. Several times, in fact. I know it sounds wonderful, and it can be. But those supposedly wonderful moments, they're also scary. I say this because in the moment they are happening, I feel like I am losing my sanity. I am in touch with, in communication with, the Universe, or the Creator of the universe, or the Universe as Creator...whatever you want to call it, I have been in touch with it and feel like I have lost touch with what we know as Sanity. But when it happens, somewhere deep down, I know that it's all right, because it's never led me wrong. I feel comforted, taken care of, listened to, when in this period...all of this is mixed in with feelings of fear and even annoyance, because the Universe/God just won't shut up. There can be peace of spirit, but never peace of mind. It's hard to describe if you've never been in it.
I'm going to skip over Desolation for the time being, and move on to Remembering since it is related to Consolation. Remembering in this sense comes from Hoban's work, Kleinzeit. The story itself doesn't matter...it would be too hard to describe at any rate. What does matter is what the title character comes to realize: that one must RE-member oneself. We are all what I like to term "organized messes"--bits and pieces of things thrown together and torn apart again and again. We so rarely are able to feel "whole", if ever. Our "members", bits and pieces of our psychic bodies, are torn apart and thrown overboard and everywhere else. We must RE-member ourselves: put ourselves back together again, even if momentarily, before we are ripped apart once more.
The following may not be the best example to illustrate what I have said thus far, but it will at least give you some insight into the inspiration for this entry. This is from Kleinzeit:
"What're you waiting for, said Hospital. You've remembered yourself, haven't you.
I supposed I have done, said Kleinzeit. But it came and went so fast.
How long do you expect a moment to last, said Hospital.
But to have only one moment! said Kleinzeit.
Rubbish, said Hospital, and rang up Memory. [Hospital asks Memory for Hall of Records, and then asks Hall of Records for Kleinzeit's "moments".]
Moment, said Hall of Records: Spring, age something. Evening, the sky still light, the street lamps coming on. Harmony took place.
I remember, said Kleinzeit.
Moment, said Hall of Records: Summer, age something. Before a thunderstorm. Black sky. A piece of paper whirling in the air high over the street. Harmony took place....
Moment, said Hall of Records: Autumn, age something. Rain. The sound of the gas fire, Sister naked. Atlantis. Harmony took place...
Moment, said Hall of Records: Winter, age something. In hospital. Feeling of circle inside self, sweet rhythm. Harmony took place.
Kleinzeit waited.
Will there be anything else? said Hall of Records.
Place of dismemberment? said Kleinzeit.
Everywhere, all the time, said Hall of Records."
What Hoban is describing here in Kleinzeit are those moments of consolation. They are only moments...short periods of grace, but they occur nonetheless. As I stated before, I have experienced this, usually in longer periods and in different ways. Still, the experiences listed above are familiar in a sense. I have experienced these moments, too, and they are only moments that, once they are recognized for what they are, have passed and gone. "Too much like the lightening 'ere one can say, 'It lightens!'"
And now, we go to desolation, the place where I currently reside.
Going back to Joan, desolation is described by Helen as a place of fear, confusion, and things not working right without any explanation. A moment, a period of grace, and then...silence. Clarity, then confusion. Strength, togetherness, courage; then fear, seperateness and weakness. As for me and my relationship with this divine universal creation/creator, this is where I am.
A year ago, I knew exactly where I was that I wanted to go. I had plans for seminary and the priesthood in the Episcopal church. Nothing was clear cut, but I knew that's what I wanted to do. I was set in my path and went about to tackle the formalities of going on that path. But something stopped me. Doubt began to settle in, and God went silent. Actually, God began to slowly disappear. S/he would appear out of the corner of my eye, but would never come into full view. I could hear barely audible whispers, but no real words of clarity. And then, one day, it stopped all together. I'd hear the voice, but never really sure where it was coming from or if I should trust it. Seminary has been put off indefinitely, and since that time when I made the decision, all conversation with God has ceased. I am angry because where I thought I was being led turned out to be different than what I expected. I feel alone because now I am not being told where to go. The guidance that I was receiving before is no longer here and I feel as if I am moving about haphazardly, like fumbling in the dark for a light switch.
I have been contemplating this state of being that I have found myself in. I am well aware that it is something that is experienced often. As Hall of Records said to Kleinzeit's request for moments of dismemberment: "Everywhere, all the time." St. John of the Cross referred to it as "the dark night of the soul," and it was "discovered" more than ten years after her death that Mother Teresa went through an extremely long period of desolation. No one is immune, it seems. And so I have contemplated as to why this happens. You must forgive me if this explanation seems trite and puts down humanity, for that is not my intention by any means.
While I am not an essentialist, and I hesitate to use this word, I believe that we are in more periods of dismemberment and desolation because of our finite "nature." God is infinite, and we are not. True, we are made of matter, and matter is neither created nor destroyed, and so matter is infinite in nature. But our own understanding is not infinite. Our consciousness is not infinite. There are realms that our minds cannot reach, no matter how much we try. (I will not assert any reason for our finite "nature." The whole theory---if it can be called that---of original sin and our fall from grace is a load of rubbish/hogwash, and is in no way an intelligible explanation. I actually don't feel that our finite nature needs an explanation. It's a mere fact, and I am comfortable in letting it be so. ) And so, the fact that some of us are capable of communicating and feeling in touch with an infinite being, even if it only in brief periods of time, is really quite remarkable.
There cannot be any known purpose for desolation. We can try as we might to understand it, put forth the question, "Why me?" In the end, I believe all we'll come up with is, "Why not?" and find that in order to know consolation and remembering, we must experience desolation and dismembering. It is all very circular, I know. But despite the explanation of purpose, I think it is more important to remember (as it were) to accept these periods of desolation. To be in it, without trying to get out of it. The more we try to escape from our uncomfortable experiences, the more we come to deny them. We don't want them to happen, so we try to stop them from happening even as they unfold. We are afraid that if we accept them that this means we are accepting our fault, our guilt, for having been there. But this is not so. Knowing, and accepting, where we are is our consolation. We must know that what we experience in these times is occurring "everywhere, all the time" and to savor the other moments, the moments when we remember ourselves, when we are feeling consoled, for however long they happen to last.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
For You
Why is it that my creative juices start flowing at the most inconvenient times? Five minutes before I have to leave for work, while I'm on the bus without a pen, while I'm trying to be focused at work, or while I'm about to fall asleep. I guess creativity works best when you're relaxed. At any rate, usually when these moments of inconvenient inspiration come to me, I let them pass me by. But last night, I didn't. I jerked myself out of bed, turned the light back on, grabbed a pen and a little notebook and started writing. I don't know if it was worth it, but I wrote some verses to a song. I don't know how to write songs, though I do consider myself to be musical to an extent. I guess it doesn't really matter in the long run. I wrote it, revised some of the lines today, and now I'm posting it here. Done and done.
Below are the lyrics. If you want to get an idea of how the music is supposed to go, just think of some song by Coldplay or Keane...it's close enough. Anyway, this is called For You.
You've fallen asleep at the wheel again.
Trying to outrun your sins
Times are tough
And the road is never long enough
For you.
Chorus
For you the walls are caving in
The room is starting to spin
Burning bridges and too many loose ends
I cannot save you
Just hold my hand
Can't decide what you want to be real
Open your heart and fear what you feel
Shut down and taste goodbye
Like one last meal
Must be hard to feel alive
When you're afraid to fly...
. . .You know I'd fly for you. . .
Chorus
For you the walls are caving in
So hard to know where to begin
Burn bridges and tie up those loose ends
Put your hands upon the wheel...
See where the road bends.
Below are the lyrics. If you want to get an idea of how the music is supposed to go, just think of some song by Coldplay or Keane...it's close enough. Anyway, this is called For You.
You've fallen asleep at the wheel again.
Trying to outrun your sins
Times are tough
And the road is never long enough
For you.
Chorus
For you the walls are caving in
The room is starting to spin
Burning bridges and too many loose ends
I cannot save you
Just hold my hand
Can't decide what you want to be real
Open your heart and fear what you feel
Shut down and taste goodbye
Like one last meal
Must be hard to feel alive
When you're afraid to fly...
. . .You know I'd fly for you. . .
Chorus
For you the walls are caving in
So hard to know where to begin
Burn bridges and tie up those loose ends
Put your hands upon the wheel...
See where the road bends.
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