The Virtue of Honesty

**Originally posted on OK Cupid as a journal post (same date)**

For those who have read the first line of my About Me section, you know that I believe honesty to be a virtue.  But it isn't only a virtue that I expect myself to have: it's something I want in the people I date as well.  Honesty doesn't mean saying the first thing that comes to your mind, nor is it being a smart ass just because you can (and you feel like if you are not acting like a smart ass, then you're not being "honest").  Rather, it means divulging information that is relevant to a given scenario and doing it not for the sake of ego, but for the sake of the other person (or even, perhaps, for the sake of relieving yourself of a guilty conscience...whatever the case may be).

I am tempted to go over the recent event which prompted me to write this entry, but I feel that it wouldn't do much good.  What's done is done.  I held my ground when I found out the truth and acted accordingly.  I don't need to dish out crap when it isn't warranted.  The person who made the mistake is decent and kind, but made a serious error in not being upfront.  That's all that needs to be said on that count.

All I can say is, to anyone out there reading this: if you're planning on witholding information, it will catch up with you, and it may not end well.  Granted, we don't want all of our skeletons to be revealed within the first few dates; but when it's pertinent information, don't hide it behind the curtain.  Yes, you may be rejected by someone you like because of your chosen honesty, but what's worse in the long run?  Deceiving someone (even with the best of intentions) for a long period of time, and possibly hurting that person in the end, or being upfront from the start with the strong chance of getting your ego bruised?  No one likes getting their ego crushed for sure, but I don't think anyone likes to hurt other people that they could possibly care about either.  And that's what you have to consider: the bigger picture.

We all want someone who will accept us for who we are in our entirety.  (Ok, maybe some of us are on here strictly for the casual sex.  I am not one of them, but, to each their own.)  And if that's really what we want, we should act accordingly.  Honesty may not get you everywhere you want to go, but it will get you to the places that really matter.  Lying only gets you so far, and usually ends up going nowhere.  Take your pick.

The Cost of Freedom

"Find the cost of freedom buried in the ground.  Mother Earth will swallow you.  Lay your body down." ~Find the Cost of Freedom~ Crosby Stills Nash and Young

I'm writing this entry on Memorial Day weekend.  Usually people make use of this three day weekend to get great deals at local retailers, get together with family and friends for a barbeque, or just take advantage of a day where they get to sleep in.  I admit, I'm guilty of this as well.  But this year, for some reason, I got to thinking.  There is so much propoganda around this holiday, both related and unrelated.  The related propoganda comes in the form of "Honor those who have fought for freedom."  I have no trouble honoring a good majority of service men and women.  It truly is a form of service that I know I wouldn't be able to do.  But my beef is with the idea that they are fighting for freedom.  What does that mean exactly?  What does someone fighting over in Iraq have to do with my civil liberties?  (And frankly, haven't our civil liberties been somewhat diminished since this whole war on terror started?)   What freedoms are they protecting?  Who exactly is threatening these freedoms?  While I will gladly honor those who have fought in past wars and even in the current ones--though I do not agree with the motives in which those wars were and are being fought--I have a difficult time swallowing the sound bite of "fighting for freedom."  If they are fighting for freedom, does that mean they're fighting against the bill that was passed in Arizona which makes it easier for police to target brown people?  Are they fighting for the rights of LGBT people to have their marriages legally recognized?  Are they fighting for a woman's right to low cost health care?  Are they fighting for people to be free from the oppression of poverty? 

The answer to these questions is, obviously, no.  The freedom that is mentioned in that line of propoganda is abstract.  While some may sum it up as, "They're fighting so that I can continue to live my life as I please and don't have to worry about someone coming in to tell me what I can do or say" it isn't clear exactly how fighting in a war is the best insurance policy for those rights.  Furthermore, as alluded to by the questions above, exactly which freedoms are they upholding?  I honestly believe that those in uniform are not fighting for freedom, but against some potential (yet unspoken) threat to those freedoms.  In today's events, that threat may look like Muslims who want to take over our way of life by way of Caliphate.  So of course, we need to pass state laws that forbid Sharia law.  And we need to engage in wars in predominantly Muslim countries (except Saudi Arabia, cuz...you know...they're the good guys).  You get the idea.  This isn't about a fight for freedom, at least in the case of the wars we are currently engaged in.  This is about a perceived threat.  Maybe not even that.  Maybe it's something that's only been vocalized as being perceived without actually consciously perceiving it.  In other words, it's been said that this threat is perceived, but no person with an adequate amount of brain cells would actually perceive that to be an actual threat.

When I think of people who have fought for freedom, I think of the Freedom Riders, the people who marched in Selma, Ida B. Wells, Susan B. Anthony, Frederick Douglas, Rigoberta Menchu, the Zapatistas, Cesar Chavez, Howard Kunstler, Jesus, Moses, and many countless others who have fought and continue to fight on the side of the oppressed.  Because if anyone is in need of freedom, it is certainly those who are oppressed--whether directly by a malicious dictator, or indirectly through laws passed by governments or even citizens themselves. 

The bumper sticker that says, "Freedom Isn't Free" is true in a very literal sense.  Many people have paid with their lives in the struggle for freedom, both in this country and throughout the world.  But what is also true is the quote, "No one is free while others are oppressed."  Think about it.  If men and women in uniform are willing to lay down their lives for some greater cause (i.e. freedom, or as discussed above, the perceived threat to freedom), and yet our own government continues to chip away at our rights, then what exactly are they fighting and dying for?  We honor our soldiers with federal holidays and yet the government constantly takes away health care (including mental health care) for veterans.  We proudly display American flags, and yet women recruits and soldiers are raped and sexually assaulted by their peers, and have very little support within the structure of the military to press charges; not to mention that should these women become pregnant as a result and choose to terminate their pregnancies, their abortions will not be covered under their insurance provided by the government.  Again, what freedoms are being upheld?  What freedoms are people dying for?

What I am about to say next may anger some, but I'm willing to take that risk.  While I know that it may never happen, I do not think that Memorial Day should be just about those in uniform who have lost their lives in combat.  I think it should be about remembering all of those, both known and unknown, who have fought against oppression and have died as a result.  And it shouldn't be just for those who have died in our own country, but from all over the world.  Perhaps the weight of known and unknown names will give us pause before we light up the barbeque or head out to that three day sale at Macy's. 

Ok, I know this won't happen.  It won't.  And if it did, it would probably end up being commercialized just like everything else that's appropriated by the mainstream.  "Be sure to come in and get your free Ghandi gift bag with a purchase of $50 or more!"  My point is that, in the current state of things, the real cost of freedom is losing the very notion of what freedom is.  By honoring those who have supposedly fought for it, we buy into the illusion that we are free from oppression, as well as being protected from those who would serve to take our current freedoms away.  We have let the earth swallow up our conscience, our awareness of how things really are, and we have erected an abstract and false idea in its stead.  Should we continue to worship this idea blindly, a new form shall be erected: a simple marker, much like a headstone, which reads: Memores libero.

This Doesn't Make Sense

It's amazing what Facebook can do.  It lets you find that old friend from elementary school.  It allows you to get in touch with and make amends with people you have wronged.  It lets you post anything and everything of interest, from the mundane to the hilarious to the fascinating.  You get to tell your current partner that you no longer want to be with them just by changing your relationship status (who said breaking up is hard to do?).  And, of course, you get to "stalk" your exes.  But on Thursday evening, I got the shock of my life when I learned that a former classmate, commrade and friend was murdered in her home that morning.

Her name was Melanie.  She was 27, full of life, love, passion, and joy.  And this beautiful life was cut short by the man she was dating, who decided that her life was something he wanted to possess and destroy because he thought so little of his own.  He stabbed her.  I don't know how many times.  I don't even know what led up to it.  But he stabbed her, and then left.  Someone in her house (or possibly herself), called the police who then arrived at the scene before 5:30am.  She was taken to the hospital and pronounced dead.  That was it.  Mel was gone.

Even describing it now seems unreal.  It just doesn't seem possible.  Who could do that to anyone, let alone her?  I hear it all the time on the news: someone in this city was gunned down, there was a drive by in this area, a robbery gone wrong in this neighborhood.  On and on and on.  These are tragedies for someone, but they have never been for me.  I love watching CSI (Las Vegas, never Miami), and watching everyone connected with the murder victim come in for questioning and try to figure out "Whodunnit?"  But now, I know who it was, I know what happened (mostly), and I know she's gone.  And somehow it still doesn't make sense.  I can't wrap my brain around the idea that I won't ever see her again.

She and I weren't close, but I always enjoyed her company whenever I was around her.  She had a happy personality, and she was real.  There was no b.s. with her, no faking it.  Just Mel.  She had a passion for social justice, too, and I loved having her around at meetings.  I don't remember anything specific about any one meeting in particular, but I remember I always liked having her there.  It wasn't until about a day after I heard the news that I remembered there was a picture of us together after we both graduated from De Anza College (she graduated with honors, btw).  I remember posing with her, and how after we hugged each other, we said we'd stay in touch.  We never did.  Then Facebook came along, we were added to each others' friend list, and still there wasn't much contact.  I took her presence for granted.

I'm not going on some kind of guilt trip here.  I'm just realizing that life is unpredictable and to not take anything for granted.  Trite, I know...but it's true.  Mel wouldn't want me to feel guilty.  I think she would want me to know that she's all right where she is, and that, while what happened to her wasn't fair and shouldn't have happened, the fact remains that it did.  And now it's up to us who are holding the weight of grief in hearts to decide what to do now.   

On one of my friends' statuses, a few of us began discussing issues of domestic violence (since this was one of those incidents, as someone pointed out).  Someone else said that they would make an effort to honor her at the Womyn's Day march next month.  On her wall where someone left a condolence message, two people who hadn't seen or been in contact with each other for more than 20 years reconnected.  I dedicated my yoga practice to her the following evening, and was able to find some sense of peace in knowing that she was all right.

This was and is a tragedy.  There was absolutely no sound reason for this beautiful, young and vibrant woman's life to be ended so soon.  It makes no sense whatsoever.  I've heard a lot of times people saying that God has a plan.  Honestly, I don't buy it.  If tragedy and severe hardship are part of God's plan, then we believe in (and worship) one sadistic cosmic asshole.  I believe that God's plan is for us to find our truest and most authentic selves.  It's when we deny that process of exploration that tragedy like this occurs.  People make choices every day.  The choice that her murderer made, for whatever reason, was a poor one that has affected many.  And I hope he lives with it.  I hope he finds his own authentic self and can take responsibility for what he has done.  I hope he realizes that the life he took was well on its way to being authentic and true, if it wasn't there already.  I hope we never forget her light.  I hope we never forget our own light, and how, even in this dark and difficult time, we can let it shine.

Vulnerability and Worthiness

I'm still processing, so for now, I'm going to let this speak for itself.

Where Were You

The following are the lyrics to a song by Sweet Talk Radio called "Where Were You":

I am throwing punches in the air
I can sweat and curse but nobody's there
You said you'd find me no matter how I got lost
Where were you when I needed you most

I am standing at the corner again
Watching two roads cross, twist and bend
You stood behind me no matter which way I chose
Where were you when I needed you most
Where were you when I needed you most

It is easy to lie together at night
In the darkness, trouble is easy to hide
You said you'd stay here until the daylight rose
Where were you when I needed you most
Where were you when I needed you most


I first heard this song in an episode of Joan of Arcadia, which was incidentally featured in my previous post "Connection".  In case you missed it, you can see it here.  When I first looked at the lyrics, and put it within the context of the Joan clip, I thought that the song was about feeling God's abandonment.  I think you'd be hard put to find a believer who hasn't felt God's absence at one point or another, and so the song seemed apt for that kind of experience. 


Looking at it from another perspective, it could also very well be read as being written to a lover who has abandoned the writer in her time of need.  It's easy to see it that way, especially given the last stanza.  However, when looking at the description for the YouTube video, it says "This is a song Kathrin [Shorr, one of the members of Sweet Talk Radio] wrote to her 'better self' when she didn't show up."  While it seems like my initial reading of the lyrics is completely off, in my mind, it isn't.

This "better self" is our most authentic self.  One which one of my yoga teachers constantly refers to.  (Actually he refers to it as the "highest self" but it's pretty much the same thing.)  This "self" is the one that wants what is best for us.  It wants us to act in ways that are beneficial for us and for those around us.  And this self is not at all unlike God.   

When we screw up, or feel like we have screwed up, it's easy to get mad at ourselves.  It's easy to start thinking the worst: "How could I be like this?", "What's wrong with me?", "No one could ever be as fucked up as I am", "Who would want me like this?", etc.  I've said these very things to myself, over and over and over, until I developed a well worn path of self loathing. This, of course, makes it that much harder for that authentic self to show up, and then we get mad when it doesn't.  Complete contradictory nonsense.  And yet, it makes perfect sense.  Go figure.

When things go wrong, when we screw up (or, again, feel as if we have), it's easy to get mad at God.  "Why didn't you stop me when I had the time?", "Why didn't you tell me this was going to happen?", "Why did you bring that person into my life for no good reason?", "Why can't you stop this pain I'm feeling now?", etc. ad nauseum.  I've asked these questions, too.  And, not unlike the authentic self, the presence that I find in the midst of these questions is supremely and utterly patient.  It understands the pain, suffering, self loathing, self hatred, and knows that it's only temporary, even while simultaneously knowing that it doesn't feel that way to us.  It's there to hear our questions, our anger, our fear, and somehow pulls us through to the next stage, if we let it.  

I honestly don't remember where I was going with this whole entry.  I start out with a brilliant idea in my head, and then try to get it all down on paper, and find that in the midst of writing, I've lost certain pieces.  Sometimes I'll stop, telling myself I'm just going to take a break and recoup, hoping that I'll get back what I started to lose.  It usually never works out that way.  So, then I have a decision to make: take a new approach or abandon the piece altogether.  Either way, it never turns out how I wanted it to be.  The eternal struggle of the artist.

So where was I?  Oh yeah...better self, God, struggle, blah blah blah.  This song touched me.  I identified with it, mostly because I thought it was about God, but it fits in with what I'm going through now, too.  I'm searching for that authentic self, and trying not to be afraid to let her show up when I feel her close by.  Sometimes I push her away because her ways aren't what I'm used to.  And then I end up back in that place, "Where were you when I needed you most?"  So I guess this is my theme song for when I screw up, not as a way to wallow---but as a way to realize that this is my constant struggle, and not to shy away from it.  And I hope, in the end, it'll make me a stronger person.

The Sailboat (re-edited version)

Once, on a day like every other, I met a boy in a sailboat.  He was far off, and I did not even know he was a boy around my age until I came closer.  When I got up close to him, I saw that our boats were amazingly similar: the paint was peeling, there were gashes and scratches on the body, even the sails looked worn in the same ways.  His was a good little boat, and I knew he could sail in it just as well as I could in mine. 

In no time at all, we began to talk for hours, each sitting in our own boats, the bows touching occasionally.  With our legs crossed and chins resting in our hands, we told each other stories of the places we had been to, of the storms we had gone through and how we had survived.  With each line, our stories recreated every mark, every scratch, every chip of paint missing from our boats.  It made us realize how strong our little boats really were.  And it made us realize their beauty, even if no one else saw it.

Finally, he said, "Hey!  I have a rope here.  Maybe if we used it to tie our boats together, we wouldn't have to be alone when another storm comes."

"Does it mean that our boats won't get as hurt either?"  I asked.  The boy thought for a moment.  "No," he said at last.  "But I think it'll make things less scary and less lonely."  So I agreed to tie my boat to his using the rope he offered.  From that day on, we never parted.

The days passed, sunny and breezy, light and fun.  We told more stories, played games, laughed, sang silly songs, and slept beneath the stars.  In a way, he was right: I was all right if I was on my own, but the knowing that I was with another boat, one very much like mine, made things better.  It made the times before seem dull in comparison.  The water looked bluer, the sun shone brighter, and I even felt better about the way my boat looked.  It was no longer shiny and new, but I now appreciated all that it had to show. 

Then, one day, the boy was standing up near the bow, a telescope pointed to the horizon.  His brow furrowed and his eyes clouded over.  Something was wrong.

"What is it?" I asked.  "Clouds," he answered.  "Big ones.  Dark ones.  I think a storm is coming."

"Oh," I said.  I was a little frightened, but I knew it would be all right.  I had been through storms before and knew what to do.  Besides, I would have my friend right next to me so I wouldn't have to go through it alone.

"I...I think I should go now," he said, looking away from me.

"What?!" I exclaimed.  Thunder rumbled somewhere far off, and I could smell the electricity in the air.  My words became stuck in my throat like anchors in mud.  "But...but you said...I don't understand.  If you're leaving, then why...why can't we go together?"

"The storm's coming too quickly.  We wouldn't be able to get away fast enough if we were tied together.  My boat can't handle too much damage.  It's weaker than it looks."

I looked to the horizon.  The storm clouds were getting thicker and heavier, and the wind was beginning to kick up.  White caps were forming on the waves that rocked us.  I didn't want to be alone, but what could I do?  His mind was made up.  With my eyes filling up and my hands shaking a little, I untied his rope from my boat.  Looking down so he wouldn't see my tears, I handed it to him.  "Thank you," I whispered around the lump in my throat." 

"If you find me after the storm, we can tie our boats together again," he offered.  I knew he was sorry to be leaving.  But somehow I knew that if we ever met again, it would not be the same as before.  Still, I nodded to show that I had heard him.  He waved his farewell as he steered his boat away from the fast approaching clouds.  I watched him go, all the while hoping he would change his mind and turn back.  It wasn't long before he became a speck in the distance.

As soon as he was out of sight, the wind blew more fiercly and the waves began to splash up against the sides.  I hurried to get ready for the inevitable storm, knowing that I would be all right on my own.  Even so, the rain inside of me poured down my cheeks as I knew that my friend would not be there with me.  I missed him terribly, and wondered if he would be able to avoid all of the storms that would come his way.

***

The storm came and went.  I was drenched at the end of it, but waited patiently for the sun to come out so that I could be dry again.  My boat suffered little, and the waters were calm again before I knew it.  I looked around for the boy and his boat, hoping that since the storm had passed, he would come back.  He was nowhere to be found.

The days seemed longer without my friend.  There was no one to talk to, no one to pass the time with.  I was lonely.  Every day I kept hoping to see him, but he never came.  Maybe he had not escaped the storm after all.  Either way, my friend was lost to me for good.  I had no choice but to carry on through each day, one after the other.

One day, when the sun was almost about to begin setting, I spotted something on the horizon.  It was so small, it was hard to tell if my eyes were playing tricks. I moved closer and closer.  The tiny form became bigger and bigger.  I began to see its shape.  A large, worn, white triangle sat taut against the blue sky, which was now turning hues of purple and orange and red.  The boat below it was much like mine: scratched, gashed, the paint chipped and peeling.

I joyfully called out to my friend.  His face brightened like the morning sky.  I felt so elated, I didn't know what to say.  I tried to come closer, but my hands trembled with such excitement that I could not seem to steer my boat.  Finally, I called out, "Throw me the rope!"  It took him a minute, but at last, a long white cord came sailing out to me.  I caught it and held it in my hands.  My fingers rubbed it slowly as I looked down at it.  Something was different.  The rope; it was not the same one as before.  The other one was rougher, sturdier.  This one was softer, thinner, and not as sturdy.  I was confused.

When the boy pulled me closer to him, he saw my face.  "What's wrong?" he asked.  I told him.  "The rope...how...what happened to the old one?"

"Oh."  His face reddened a little.  "I lost it," he answered.  "In a storm?" I asked.  He said nothing, but shrugged his shoulders instead.  I peered into his boat.  The whole floor was covered in coils of rope of all kinds.  Some were thinner than the one I held in my hand, others were thicker and sturdier like the one before.

"Well, we could always use one of those other ones, I guess," I said as I pointed to the sturdier coils.

"Th-this will work fine," he stammered.

"What are those other ones for then?"

"Oh, umm...they're for...for, um...other boats."

"Other boats?" I asked, slowly.  "Why would you need them for other boats?  I thought...I thought you were...I thought you wanted to be tied to-to my boat."

"I do!  I do, it's just that sometimes...well, I can't always be tied to you.  I need to go find other boats to...to use the different rope on, see."   All of this he said without meeting my eyes.

I did see.  I saw that my friend, my boy in his boat, had indeed been lost in the storm and would never come back.  The silence seemed to never end.  I stood there, rope in hand--a flimsy rope, but a rope nonetheless--wondering what should be done now.  Let go and be left alone once again?  Or hold on, for however long, and accept what I held there in my hands?  The boy never knew, but I had longed for such a rope in times past.  But now that I had it, I realized how inadequate it was to what I had before.

"I'm sorry," I said at last.  "But I can't use this.  I can't stay."

"What?" he asked softly, though I could hear the surprise in his voice.

"I can't...I can't use this now.  I can't forget what I had before.  You cannot ask me to settle for something less."  He nodded, his face stoned with silence.  I could feel the tears welling up again, and my throat began to feel clogged.  This wasn't fair, but it was what was happening.  I had to make a choice.  I handed him the rope, just like before, only this time the pain sank in much deeper than before.  I tried to not let it show.

"Well.  Goodbye then," he said, as he averted his eyes yet again.  He placed the rope back into the bottom of his boat, and sailed off.  This time I could not watch, knowing it would be the last time I would ever see him.  Instead, I sat there, my head buried in my arms, and thought about all I had gained and all I had lost.  I thought about my boat as I softly ran my hands over its roughened wood: the storms it had weathered, the days it had seen, how it held me wherever I went--connected to another or no.  It wasn't perfect, but it was who I was.  It was all I needed.

I lifted my head and felt a breeze brush the back of my neck like a loving hand.  I saw birds flying near the setting sun and I could hear their calls.  The smell of salt flowed to my nose and I felt the gentle waves caress the sides of my boat.  I may have felt lonely, and I certainly felt the pain of his absence and would feel it for some time, but it was then that I knew I wasn't alone.  Not really.  

THE END

"I am not afraid of storms for I am learning to sail my ship."  Louisa May Alcott

The Sky Is Burning!

Have you ever seen a sky so amazing that it almost looks like the apocolypse is coming? You can't see the sun anywhere, but its light touches the clouds in such a way that it almost looks like the sky is on fire, or at least has burning embers somewhere just below the horizon, and it's enough to warm up the clouds. I don't see a sky like this very often, but I saw it last night. And it was speechlessly, breathlessly, and indescribably beautiful. I was very lucky to have my camera on hand.

These are only some of the 40 pictures that I took with my digital camera. (Insert footnote here: If my 17 year old self could meet my 27 year old self, she might be very disappointed. For the longest time, I passionately advocated for film photography instead of digital. However, I have since, as my former high school photography teacher put it when I showed adamant resistance, "grasped the future." End footnote.) I had already snapped some photos from my balcony, but as I was walking down my street on the way to choir practice a few minutes later, I couldn't stop taking these shots. I kept wanting to get more detail of the clouds, sharper silhouettes, and to capture the fire that seemed to be taking over the sky. It felt (and looked) as though God was making Her presence known and I didn't want to miss a second of it. I once wrote a poem (which I have since deleted) called "I Cannot Remember Clouds" which attempted to describe or explain why it was difficult for me to remember these vaporous forms that often create so much beauty in tandem with the sun. It's true...I cannot remember clouds, nor sunsets. I certainly didn't want to forget this one.

But this sunset was not the only amazing thing that I encountered last night. As I stood on one of the street corners, trying to capture this ethereal moment in time, a car rolled to a stop even though there was no stop sign. The woman inside the car looked at me, smiled and pointed to the skyline, almost as if to say, "Can you believe we're seeing this?!" She took out her iphone and snapped a picture or two and drove away. Not too long after, after I moved about a block in five minutes, another car came down the hill near to where I was standing. He, too, had the same reaction as the woman: looking at me, pointing, and smiling. "I know, right?" I said. He nodded, snapped his picture and went on.

These encounters were literally momentary. Much like sunsets. Much like clouds. But unlike the former two, I'll remember them. People remember those strangers that they shared traumatic moments with, but the same can be said for moments of joy and awe. The fact that I was able to share this sunset with a couple of strangers made it that much more memorable. I'm grateful that I had my camera with me, but I'm even more grateful that I wasn't alone to share the view.