| April 2003 Despite the pall of gloom that hangs over us today, I'd like to file a cautious plea for hope: in times of war, one wants one's weakest enemy at the helm of his forces. And President George W Bush is certainly that. Any other even averagely intelligent US president would have probably done the very same things, but would have managed to smoke-up the glass and confuse the opposition. Perhaps even carry the UN with him. Bush's tactless imprudence and his brazen belief that he can run the world with his riot squad, has done the opposite. He has achieved what writers, activists and scholars have striven to achieve for decades. He has exposed the ducts. He has placed on full public view the working parts, the nuts and bolts of the apocalyptic apparatus of the American empire. -- Arundhati Roy Therapy was kind of heart breaking. All of the people in my group are dealing with relationship breakups. Except me. Everyone in group is at a different place on the spectrum of partnered. But we are dealing with not really having a partner.
I don't really talk about not having a partner. And, in truth, that's because part of me believes I never will. So far the only thing I can do to deal with that belief is to try and ignore it and keep my heart open.
But last night when everyone was talking, and crying, I felt it all in a different way. I guess I want to hope that there is kindness in the world. And passion. And I know that relationships are work. But right now it feels like fear dominates. And love. Well. I just don't know.
I have a lot of love in my life. And there isn't a day when I'm not thankful for that love. And ... there is this other kind of love. And I just don't understand why it has to be so hard.
On Thursday I meet with the advisor I'll be working with on THE BOOK. Yesterday I took it out and picked at it a little bit. It is kind of done. It needs work. But I'm at a point when I can't see it clearly. So it'll be good to work with Stephen. And then I have to decide if I'm going to self publish.
So I wake up in the difficult world. And begin again.
Craig and Adrienne were having fun yesterday. I came home from school in a foul mood and they helped me to turn it around. I wasn't feeling the whole April fools thing but it did feel good to laugh.
There's been a discussion on another blog about the efficacy of protesting. It got carried to other blogs. There was something about the tone of the conversation that put me in a spin. I'm not going to link it up because I just...am not feeling all the arguing.
Or maybe I am.
One of the things I felt right after 9/11 was an awareness of how aggressive I am. this morning I woke up thinking about some things I heard yesterday and thinking about how mean people are and thinking I'm just not that mean. Within five minutes I was having some really mean thoughts about someone.
I'm usually suspicious of people who are too nice. I don't trust people who control their anger or avoid their sadness. I guess I try to hold my anger, sadness and my joy. Although I'm not sure what I mean by that. But I try to be reflective when I'm feeling things. And I can't always be. And I don't worry about that. It's all a process.
But these days I feel the ways in which we aggress one another in a heightened manner. I know people are talking about the ways in which they lash out at their friends and family these days. And later they realize that it was out of proportion.
I was, and maybe am, feeling like taking a lot of links off my blog roll. I'm not sure it will matter that much. the people I'm reacting to don't really read me. I doubt they'd notice. And I doubt their stats will fall off as a result. I'm not doing it because it feels like reaction. It feels like a mean thing to do. Even if no one notices. I just don't like where it's coming from.
My life is on the page these days. I write here. I write in THE BOOK. I write for school. I read and read and read.
Via Ampersand. US military beats independent journalist.
I've been wanting to smoke again. Yesterday I bummed a smoke and went out to the patio at school and smoked. I was staring at this grey tree. Three thin trunks winding toward and away from each other. The tree was in front of a grey cement wall. And there were tiny little green leaves beginning to pop. There were so many shades of grey. And these little specks of green. It was all so beautiful.
Peace Back in the day we all said peace. All us hippies. We said peace instead of goodbye. What did we all mean when we said peace? I doubt we meant the same thing. Some of us were trying to affirm that we were not part of the war machine. We were not with those others who were sending our friends and our brothers and our fathers off to a war that we knew had nothing to do with dominos. I remember so many conversations about how to stop the war. And the revolution. And there were people who wanted to tear down the system and there were people who wanted just wanted to get high and get laid.
Peace.
I wanted to change the world. I wanted to end the war. I wanted us all to love each other and live in peace. I wanted to make love not war.
And then some of us became yuppies and some of us did cocaine and some of had break downs and some of took too much of one thing or another and died and some of us got married in the park and had babies and moved into the suburbs and some of were elected and some of us were selected and some of us went to India to find Peace.
And the war did stop. And some of us think we had something to do with that. And maybe we were just high.
We said peace and we didn't know what we meant. But it was what you said if you wanted to be in the revolution. The revolution that was going to change the world.
Yesterday I printed out the pile of pages that is my testimony. I took it to my advisor and we talked about how we were going to do the work. I love holding the pile of pages. I love feeling like I've written A Thing. A whole Thing.
We talked about how I am trying to avoid the arc. The story line that has a come to Jesus moment and then a way to be that made it all OK. But there is no arc in my life. I have lived through a million come to Jesus moments and woken up the next day and felt like I was in the happy ever after time and a week and a month and a year later I was looking for a new Jesus.
I've always thought I was getting it wrong. That there was a way to think or feel or be that would feel like I was sitting under a tree, in a full lotus, eyes half closed, half smile, calm. Peace.
But it's Friday morning. My country, the country I live in, the country I can not deny, is engaged in act of violence. I feel powerless and angry. I have to write something to hand in on Tuesday. I have to read stuff for Wednesday. My hip seems to be out of place or something and walking is painful. I have no health insurance. I need to do laundry and clean the apartment. The big project of my life is a pile of papers which is now in someone else's hands.
I don't think I'm getting it wrong.
I'm saying peace again. I'm locating myself in that assertion. Sometimes I sit and half close my eyes and take a few deep breaths and try to find some silent inner calm. And then I do the dishes and the laundry and put some herbs on my aching joints and cry about the boy who is not going to call and read someone else's story and write another paper and read another book and write another letter. I am restless and agitated and I want to change the world. Peace I don't have health insurance but I do have lovely friends. Suzanne took me to Barbara who adjusted my hip and made it all better. I got some writing done on the piece for Tuesday. I still need to do laundry but I may wait till Monday. I'm not sure about pushing the hip thing by going up and down the stairs.
I'm not sure how Bill Moyers gets away with all he does on his show. Last night he devoted the show to media issues like war coverage and media consolidation. And he talked with Susan Sontag. It's such a relief to see something on television that has so much substance.
Reading Ampersand is a relief. Barry does some of the best feminist thinking I've ever read. I am mindful that a man writing something with this level of insight strikes me as so remarkable. Women write these things every day. But it is true that I feel relief when I find a man who gets it. Wednesday is cartoon day.
Barry points to a post on Silverrights. Talking about Pfc. Jessica Lynch. Yesterday I heard a discussion on MSNBC (I think) about women in the war. Do we really want to see women coming back from the war bloodied or dead? No. We don't. And we don't want to see our men coming back bloodied or dead. It was a through the looking glass moment for me because I found myself wanting to defend the rights of women to go to war. And I do.
Sigh. It is all so fraught.
And when I die. and when I'm dead There'll be one child born and a world to carry on -Laura Nyro Peace Some days I wake up blank. I read through the blogs hoping to be sparked into thought. It just ain't happenin today. Which isn't to say that there isn't some wonderful stuff on the blogs. But I'm in a drifty dreamy wordless place.
I don't really know what happened with my hip. I was in an accident when I was nineteen. My right foot was pulled under the wheel of a truck. I have a huge scar but no pain. Still, I know I lean on my left hip in deference to the right foot. And now the left hip is cranky. Maybe it's bursitis. Or Arthritis. But it felt like it wasn't where it was supposed to be. And now it's better. Except for a twinge or two. Peace I should not EVER watch main stream TV. It is true that I too often have TV on for background noise. Usually 26 or CSPAN or one of the (cough) news channels. But the other night I was going from channel to channel looking for something to watch. I knew there was nothing. But I kept looking. I came up on a show called Am I Hot? Or something like that. I'm not searching for a link because I don't want to look at it again. I'd seen it once before. After two minutes of watching I clicked away in horror. But when I saw it again I paused for a few minutes. They were telling a young woman that she had a body that was built for sex.
What the fuck?
I've been thinking about this ever since. So, generally speaking, all of us have the physical organs needed to have sex. Most of us have desire and longing for sex. At least sometimes. And of course some people have sex so that there will be more of us around. But only that woman has a body that was BUILT for sex.
Picture me shaking my head.
Then Last night I got sucked into a show about the central park jogger. I watched the WHOLE show waiting to see how they would talk about the young men who went to prison for a crime they did not commit. She was prompted by Katie Couric to say this was not about race it was about the attack of a woman. If they were falsely accused it was just part of the tragedy of the evening.
Huh?
Why does she get to own the tragedy? I think what happened to her was horrible. I think her recovery is wonderful. I think her story is beautiful. But this is about race. The way the stories of the young men of color was dismissed in this show was appalling. It was implied that we just don't know for sure that they weren't part of her attack. Again. They were impugned.
I have the same feelings about how much I am hearing about pfc Jessica Lynch and how much I'm not hearing about pfc Lori Ann Piestewa. Maybe I'm not watching enough TV but I really am not hearing about pfc Piestewa as much.
There is a way in which the stories of the triumph of young, thin white women are dominating. And I don't want to take away from their triumph. I'm glad that they came through the horror that they found themselves in. But let's not spend a minute imagining that this isn't about race.
I just should not watch it at all. I always end up feeling like we are too far gone.
And then there was the Clinton/Dole (cough) debate on 60 Minutes. In which they both, each in their own way, talked about how we should all support the president in this time of war. Debate? Two party system? Not.
These are dark days. The Red Cross is horrified by the number of Iraqi casualties. The Red Cross. Is horrified.
Today is a day of direct action in the Bay Area. Despite the criticism that the peace movement is getting I take some heart in these actions. I understand that we need to have a plan for what we do now. I understand that we are at war. The peace movement did not stop anything. But I take heart in the people who are continuing to agitate and say no.
Politically I am hoping the Democratic party gets some courage and gives me someone that I can vote for. In the meantime if I have to chose between toxic TV culture or the culture of dissent I'm going for the latter. Peace When I was swimming on Sunday I did hip rotations and stretches and felt pretty good during and after. Later in the evening my hip started to ache again. So I'm feeling some pain. I pulled out an ice pack and some Wobenzyme and some Super Blue Stuff and I'm trying to make it better.
The thing about pain is that it makes me cranky. I loose patience faster. I am less tolerant. It takes more effort for me to give a shit about where another person is coming from.
So.
I keep talking about my use of the word peace. And it probably doesn't hurt to keep talking about it. I try not to use words without thought. In fact these days I spend a lot of time trying to find the best words to say what I feel. And peace is a problematic word. It is a word that is oppositional. Ironically oppositional.
And the idea of a peace movement is probably simplistic. There is not one unified movement. In fact a criticism of the protest movement is that every gathering becomes diffuse with agendas. I'm not too worried about that. I don't feel the need for a uniform flank of people saying one thing. For me every protest event demonstrates diversity. There is not one kind of peace person. Or peace blog. Or a peace movement.
For me saying peace is a way of holding on.
Is there ever a good war? Maybe. Read the Gita. But this particular war is the one I'm concerned with. Because this particular war has no moral ground. And it is the beginning of a dark likely hood of profit and empire. Wonder why we aren't concerned about the Kurds in Turkey.
I do support the troops. I am sorry that their commander in chief put them in harms way. I want them home with their families. And I want them to have the support of the administration that sent them into battle. It does not seem to me that the way to support them is to remain silent.
And the folks who did the direct action today. Was their experience peaceful? Not exactly.
I know a lot of people who never want to feel upset. They suppress their anger. They avoid their sadness. They do not want to feel upset. And I don't blame them. Everyone needs to know how much they can handle. No one needs to be shamed into dealing with things in ways that they aren't up to.
It is true that I push myself. I feel a need to witness and understand. I feel the need to hold the awareness of complexity and avoid bifurcation. I try to hold some sense of balance. And it is also true that I go too far and I wear out. And then I need to have a moment of simplicity. I need to say peace. I need to feel into what that might mean. It's an intention.
Perhaps I should use the word change. Perhaps it is more apt. Perhaps it describes what is needed with more precision. But I guess I know that change will happen. Change is inevitable. It is the quality of change that concerns me. We do need to think in terms of what to do next. And it will not be simple. And we do need to think in terms of the qualities that we want to see in our culture, our economic systems, our relationships, both personal and global. The enormity of it is overwhelming. So I just try to focus on the next moment. The next thought. Peace Of all the ways that people describe my body over weight is the one that bugs me the most. It's such an assumption. It assumes a right weight. Am I fat? Yes. I am. It's OK. We can say it out loud.
I received an e-mail with the new improved language for the resolution to form the previously mentioned task force on childhood nutrition and physical activity. The language is better. Two notable sections:
WHEREAS, It is important that a health-centered solution is implemented that does not lead to the stigmatization or harassment of young people; and, WHEREAS, A health-centered approach that focuses on the whole child – physically, mentally, and socially - can shift the emphasis to living actively, eating healthily, and respecting all children and their health and well-being at whatever size they may be;
Both section go farther than just removing the words over weight. They affirm the idea of health at "what ever size they may be."
I am still worried because the list of people who will be seated on the task force is full of medical professionals. And it just worries me. There is one spot being held open for a person from the health at every size community.
I just ...
I'm not ...
I don't know.
Dealing with my hip has reminded me how I avoid the medical community. I'm lucky to know Barbara. I have sought out health care providers with a size neutral perspective.
And even without the size related issues there is the money.
Part of the mission of this task force could be to build a new model for how we talk about bodies to kids. And adults.
And we could talk about the love of how beautiful food occurs. We could talk about bio diversity. We could talk about slow food and taste education.
And we could get kids dancing and walking and swimming.
We'll see. I'm not sure what's next. Peace I was reading Big Fat Blog and Paul posted a link to a story about fat kids and quality of life. And then there are comments to the post. Some of which are concerned with what we do for fat kids who are suffering and some of which talk about the idea that we can't change society, or even if we can it will take a long time. So what do we do? And, of course, in the mood I'm in those comments hit me in the heart.
There are no easy answers. It is harder to be a fat kid.
But there are some things you can NOT do. You can NOT imagine that making them afraid of their bodies and their appetite is a good thing. You can NOT buy the pharmaceutical company poison. You can NOT be passive about the wrong ideas that they are being tortured with.
What if you told fat kids how great they look? Spontaneously. Every day. What if, when you heard a fat joke, you said something, like, "I really don't find that kind of humor funny." What if you engage all kids in conversations about how different people have different bodies? What if you held the school accountable for making sure that fat kids are not teased? And when they say hapless things like kids will be kids what if you challenged that idea? What if you said kids are in school to learn. Let's teach them about diversity.
Am I saying give them ice cream all day and let them play commuter games and never move? No. I am not. Talk to them about food. Make sure they have a variety of things to choose. And go for a walk WITH them.
There are parents who are working two jobs and they are exhausted and it takes all the running they can do to keep up. And if a kid is pushing them to have candy instead of fruit... and they're too tired to argue ...so what? I think we need to hold the space for a variety of issues. Everything isn't going to go well all of the time.
And there are the kids who are just going to want to read. Let them. Don't imagine that their worth is bound up in some hopped up version of athletic achievement.
Thanks Monica and Angela. I may be on the task force. But I'd rather see someone with more experience with kids representing heath at any size. I am staying aware of the whole project.
I'm.
I don't know.
I'm feeling a little tense.
Or something. Peace Cowboy Kayhill had a nice idea. He wants to have a day of silence on the blogs to demonstrate respect for the people who are in pain. I thought about it. I thought about it because, frankly, it's been hard to post lately. My emotions are all over the place. It feels like I'm spending too much time explaining myself. It is hard to say something that isn't simplistic and rhetorical. But the idea of holding silence wasn't supposed to be for me. It was supposed to be for them. And I'm not sure how to hold silence on a blog.
The obvious thing is to post an image. Or leave the space blank. We'll see. Some people are doing it today and some on Friday. Cowboy Kayhill says he'll do it when there is a cease fire.
People tell me to stop watching CNN and MSNBC. No one had to tell me yesterday. It took about two minutes of the victory dancing in the streets images and I turned off the television. The pulling down of the statue was dubious. I don't give a shit about the statue but the first thing that the marines who helped to pull it down was to put a US flag on it.
I can't imagine that anyone is sad that Saddam is gone. If he is. But the way this was done makes me sad and angry and fills me with shame. And those Kurds that we were so concerned with a few days ago in my comments. Let's hope that now that they've helped us we make sure they aren't hurt by Turkey.
Since I've been thinking about kids lately I remembered a time, years ago, when I had taken a friends kid to a toy store and given him some money to buy anything he wanted. He picked a bad of toy soldiers and I didn't really want to buy him a war toy. we had a long debate about the fact that I'd said anything he wanted. So there I was. Stuck between two ethics. Did I hold to my no war toys conviction or the fact that I'd said anything he wanted. It was clear to me that he cared less about the toys and more about holding me to my word. He got the soldiers. After a long talk about war that made no sense to him. He was more interested in getting the thing that held me to my word.
I remembered it this morning while thinking about kids and food. You know if candy is always a bad thing then ... hey ... I want the candy. If candy is just another choice. Well. Maybe it's still desirable but it doesn't have the extra charge of the forbidden. But. Ya know. Kids are in a culture. The culture is pitching to them all the time. It's tough for parents.
And somehow all that musing about kids and desire brought up this memory of a five dollar bag of little plastic green soldiers. And the glorification of war.
I've always loved kids. I wanted to have kids. And I do have a goddaughter who is the most beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, creative, best, best, best, being in the universe. But I don't think that women are the ones who love the kids. In fact I resent the idea. I want the relationship between men and their children to be acknowledged and valued. And there will be some men and women who don't want anything to do with kids. And I'd hate to think that a woman and a man who really didn't want a kid would have one because that what they're "supposed" to do. I think that's probably something that happens a lot. And no one is served by it, least of all the kids. Peace I love Aaron Shurin. We had a reading from the teachers in our program. Lowell, my workshop teacher, read a masterful and fun bit from a novel he's writing. There were teachers I didn't know. It was pretty great. But I just love Aaron. He takes great delight in the natural world and he articulates his delight in a way that feels spiritual, political and so, so, beautiful.
It was the last reading that I will go to as a student. I'm almost done with school. Unless I decide to do a PHD. In what? I dunno.
It must have hit me because I had a crazy dream about not being sure what to do and I was staying with my mom, or my aunt, or some folks who I rented a room with (it kept changing) and I had a small job and they had found me a room to rent but it was somewhere in the east coast and I didn't want to be there. It was one of those dreams that was layered with images and mixed metaphors. But it felt like I had no where to go.
Which I guess I feel. In some ways.
Tomorrow there will be demos in SF and in DC. The idea that the war is over amazes me. Occupation is not liberation. And it isn't over. Peace
This isn't going to be a peaceful post. As I start to write it I keep thinking about the folks who are putting on their raincoats (it's raining here in SF) to rally and speak out against the war. It seems like I should be posting something more ... uh ... profound. Er sumthin.
But I just read a little post on Mood swings and I'm pissed off.
So Leslie Katz has a web site if you scroll down to March 27th you read that she asked Chris Pirillo to link to her since she links to him and he said he would when she had a REAL blog. A real blog is powered by some kind of "blogging software" and had a talk back feature (comments).
Uh huh.
Leslie Katz took it very well. She seems to have a positive relationship with Chris. When I first read the post at Mood Swings I thought it was about Willa. Which may have explained my immediate flush of irritation. Willa, who is always polite, simply says "Hm." I probably don't need to get too crazy behind this but it pisses me off.
When did we decide on what makes a REAL blog? One of the things I love about blogging is the chaos of it. It is SELF publishing And SELF is a many splendored thing.
Willa has always had a journal and a blog. More than one blog actually. April does the same thing, journal and blog. A lot of people do I guess. It has always seemed tidier somehow. More precise. I admire it but I've never been that neat. I write this mess of stuff all lumped together.
I remember when I figured out how to add comments and thanks to Dorothea I have perma links. So did I get more and more real? Will the final moment of my ascension into the ranks of real be the day I get MT?
Fuck that.
I might agree that Blogger blogs and MT blogs and Greymatter blog have a look and a feel and an interactivity that is part of what gives blog a certain feel. And the journal sites have a slightly different feel. Maybe. But all of those lines have been blurred. And that's what's so thrilling. Blogging is about everybody getting into the mix. By any means necessary.
I really do have enormous resect for the designers. I am hanging on by a thread with the design aspects of having a page. And I have preferences, in terms of how things look and read and feel. But when did we decide that there was a REAL blog? Is there a check list? Do folk with no comments get points taken off? Why does it always feel as if, as more and more people begin to do a thing, more and more people begin to own the thing and create hierarchy?
I don't know Chris. I've jumped to his page a few times from other people. He's no doubt a very nice man who really knows what he's doing. But I don't vote for his idea about what makes a blog real. I'm going to hope that blogs remain chaotic and SELF defined. I'm going to hope that more and more people who don't know what they're doing hit the web with personal writing about their lives and their passions and their politics and their art and their cats. And Leslie Katz is now on my blog roll. For what that's worth. Peace (or something like it )
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