It's January, which means my Idaho legislature is in session. It's Wednesday, which means a group of us stand outside on the capitol steps in prayer--whatever form that may take for each one of us--for the people inside to have the courage to create laws that reflect our values. We are the Interfaith Equality Coalition, an alliance of faith communities working together to bring equality, justice, and dignity for all people through our compassionate witness, education, and advocacy.
As I stand on the steps, my prayer usually takes the form of a meditation, a focus, or a song in my head. Today, what kept popping up for me was irony. Maybe dichotomy. Maybe duality.
I am a person of faith, yet I do not want to live in a country with a religious government. A theocracy. Is that what the term is? However, the kind of world I want to live in sort of defines what most people consider religious values--decency, compassion, love. Ironically, most of the so-called religious folks running the government don't seem to be operating under those values. But it doesn't escape my thoughts that one doesn't need to be of any faith tradition for the values of decency, compassion, and love to be your guiding ideals.
A lot of people, including one man who encountered us today, say they don't think it's government's place to intrude on the lives of citizens by forcing everyone to pay for the things we think should be inalienable rights. I guess that issue comes down to what we see as the role of government.
I see the role of government as protecting the citizens, not just from military or terrorist threats, but from injustice, inequality, and need. For me, it is indeed self evident that all beings are created equal, and I think it is the role of government to define and protect those rights. So instead of making laws that leave out vast swaths of humans, the laws should include everyone. In my mind, that means people from other countries, from all races and religions, from all gender identifications and sexual orientations, and all socio-economic origins.
What that looks like in practice, for me, is that everyone pays enough in taxes so that injustices brought on by lack of healthcare can be made just with all people being provided that healthcare univserally. It means that those who have been excluded or marginalized by society in the past should be specifically named in our equal rights protections--just to make damn sure who is entitled to those rights. It means that we fund housing strategies to provide a place for everyone, that we make sure education is there for everyone. This shouldn't be lefft up to the charitable feelings of a few, but should be a mandatory part of living in our society--we ALL pay for and ALL receive the benefits of this free society.
I find irony in the politics of people who vote for leaders who cut healthcare, cut education funding, and cut funding for veterans' or senior programs, but then tout their religious goodness of "serving" these folks. Part of serving is to hold all of society accountable for those in need.
I find it ironic that our society sees fit to imprison people who have no homes because it is illegal to camp on the sidewalk. Shouldn't it be illegal for us a society to allow people to have nowhere but the sidewalk to sleep? We should be the ones imprisoned for neglecting our fellow humans. If a parent allowed a child to fend for themselves outside in the winter nighttime, that is what would happen.
Because of my activism, I fortunately see hundreds and hundreds of folks, religious or not, who want to see a world where people are housed, where people's heathcare needs don't bankrupt their families, where greed on an exponential scale is reined in from destroying the earth, and where justice and equality form the basis for all our laws. Unfortunately, I don't see the leaders of the country aiming for these same goals. Quite the opposite at times, it seems.
That is why I have made it my practice to stand on these steps and meditate every week. I hope our elected officials can come to see the wisdom of a path that values all and serves all, rather than the path in which we let people die of homelessness, insufficient healthcare, a toxic earth, and the cruel greed of the very rich.
Showing posts with label activism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label activism. Show all posts
Sunday, February 18, 2018
Thursday, January 26, 2017
Intersectional
At the Women's March weekend and in several other settings involving activism, I have been hearing this word "intersectional." It seems to be a sort of buzz word of late. At first, I let it just slide past in my hearing, not really thinking about its meaning. But each time I hear it, I think a little harder about what it means, and more specifically what it means to me.
I realized after much thought that the word is so much a part of my way of being in the world, that it never occurred to me that it needed to be called something or defined. But now that I have begun thinking about it, I understand that not everybody thinks of the world this way, and while that's foreign to me, I get that other people go through life differently than I do.
So, I did what I always do--I turned to words, my friends. I think intersectionality is what John Donne meant in his poem:
No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend's
Or of thine own were:
Any man's death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind,
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.
Now, I'm no John Donne, and my poetic attempts may not be so eloquent, but after the march, I wrote this poem to try to express the word, the point of the march, the way I view the world in this respect.
It's called:
Intersectional
As in, our lives intersect so much so that whatever happens to anyone, happens to me;
As in, women's rights are human rights, are LGBT rights, are refugee rights, are immigrants' rights, are black rights, are rights;
As in, violence toward one begets more violence to all;
As in, geographical, political boundaries are myths that cannot divide us;
As in, we either rise together or we fall together;
As in, we have all been strangers in a strange land, all in need of welcome;
As in, the water in North Dakota, and Flint, and flooding homes, and pushed by tsunamis is all the same water;
As in, we exist as only a tiny part of an enormous ecosytem, but we are soiling our own bed--even dogs know better;
As in, art and music and literature are how we understand our connectedness;
As in, educating your child is just as important to me as the education mine already received;
As in, all religions teach us to love one another, a concept so fundamental that even those with no religion intuitively know this;
As in, social justice for one does not take away anything from another, but expands justice for all;
As in, there is enough for all when greed gives way to generosity and power gives way to humility;
As in, we are all dreamers, whether we are laid off coal workers, struggling farmers, loggers, DACA children, corporate giants, or writers;
As in, we are all formed from the same stardust, and we will all return to it;
As in, the whisper you start in your heart becomes the rousing roar of the earth;
As in, if we bring forth what is within us it will save us, and if we do not bring forth what is within us, it will destroy us;
As in, we exist in an infinite spiral around each other and we can reach out to hug, help, heal, and house the whole world;
As in, tug on one thread and the whole piece/peace unravels.
I realized after much thought that the word is so much a part of my way of being in the world, that it never occurred to me that it needed to be called something or defined. But now that I have begun thinking about it, I understand that not everybody thinks of the world this way, and while that's foreign to me, I get that other people go through life differently than I do.
So, I did what I always do--I turned to words, my friends. I think intersectionality is what John Donne meant in his poem:
No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend's
Or of thine own were:
Any man's death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind,
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.
Now, I'm no John Donne, and my poetic attempts may not be so eloquent, but after the march, I wrote this poem to try to express the word, the point of the march, the way I view the world in this respect.
It's called:
Intersectional
As in, our lives intersect so much so that whatever happens to anyone, happens to me;
As in, women's rights are human rights, are LGBT rights, are refugee rights, are immigrants' rights, are black rights, are rights;
As in, violence toward one begets more violence to all;
As in, geographical, political boundaries are myths that cannot divide us;
As in, we either rise together or we fall together;
As in, we have all been strangers in a strange land, all in need of welcome;
As in, the water in North Dakota, and Flint, and flooding homes, and pushed by tsunamis is all the same water;
As in, we exist as only a tiny part of an enormous ecosytem, but we are soiling our own bed--even dogs know better;
As in, art and music and literature are how we understand our connectedness;
As in, educating your child is just as important to me as the education mine already received;
As in, all religions teach us to love one another, a concept so fundamental that even those with no religion intuitively know this;
As in, social justice for one does not take away anything from another, but expands justice for all;
As in, there is enough for all when greed gives way to generosity and power gives way to humility;
As in, we are all dreamers, whether we are laid off coal workers, struggling farmers, loggers, DACA children, corporate giants, or writers;
As in, we are all formed from the same stardust, and we will all return to it;
As in, the whisper you start in your heart becomes the rousing roar of the earth;
As in, if we bring forth what is within us it will save us, and if we do not bring forth what is within us, it will destroy us;
As in, we exist in an infinite spiral around each other and we can reach out to hug, help, heal, and house the whole world;
As in, tug on one thread and the whole piece/peace unravels.
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
All Things Being Connected
I'm not one for making New Year's resolutions, and it is getting well past New Year's anyway. I do like to use these moments in the year to look back over the past year and look to the time in front of me. I like to observe the symbolism of things and how they all come back around.
Last year was a weird one, marked in a very personal way for me by the death of my dad, and in a very public way by the election of a person whose name I refuse to type.
But as my kids have noted, there were some really lovely things about the year. For me, finishing the first draft of my current book was a big one. This is a work of the heart and one I am increasingly proud of. As I started out the year, my plan was to create my own publishing cooperative with other interested authors. But as I explored that it became clear to me the enormity of the time involved to publish books. I chose instead to put all of that time and energy into my work and craft. I opened myself up to learning more--and I did. A lot, actually. I think that focus has made my writing so much stronger and deeper. So I am continuing on this path of making the writing the focus. I have let go of the urgency to be published and find the urgency in the writing. That is an awesome feeling.
The death of my dad was huge for our family. And as these things tend to, it brought us closer together, and for me personally forged my life plan for the foreseeable future. When he died, I was at a writing retreat, and that night we did a guided meditation in which we built a cairn in our minds. This was a powerful meditation for me, and in fact, when we had dad's memorial service, I used that meditation as my memorial talk for him. (I don't remember if I posted it on this blog, but I know I posted it on my facebook page, so if you're curious, feel free to go back and read it.)
The cairn has become a strong symbol for me in so many ways. Cairns have been used since ancient times to mark a path or stand as a memorial. As I wrote the poem after the guided meditation that I later used at dad's service, some things began to click in my consciousness. Utmost of the notions that resounded there for me was the concept of HOME. The cairn marks a path toward home. My dad was the strong presence of home in our family. My dad gave us a home in the national parks, a very special and meaningful foundation for all that I am. So, the cairn, essentially, shows us the way toward home.
When I came home to Boise after the service, I built several cairns in my yard as memorials to dad. As reminders that I have that strong foundation of home. A childhood home. And an adult home. A home--whether it's a place, a family, a person, a thought, a belief system--is foundational to life.
I have always felt a deep connection and desire to help those who are homeless, a passion that grows deeper with time. Last year, I expanded my commitment to work harder to end homelessness in my community. Not just to serve meals or provide temporary shelter--although these are continuing and pressing needs, worthy of our time and valuable to those who have no homes. I spent the year exploring, acting, and learning as much as I could about ways I can help create homes and housing affordability here where I live. And this work will be something I keep on with for the rest of my life. Home, a way there, a foundation for a life.
It is no coincidence that most of my novels have strong themes involving home--what it means, who is there, and how to find it. My latest novel's working title is Show Me the Way to Go Home. The cairn's purpose. It's set at Tule Lake internment camp during WWII, with eerily similar echoes to the racism and nationalism we've seen more and more of since the election of 2016.
I, like millions of others, have dedicated myself to greater engagement in whatever is necessary to prevent this coming presidency from destroying our freedoms, our earth, and our fellow humans. I have become a monthly donor to the Sierra Club, the Southern Poverty Law Center, and to ACLU Idaho and joined in to volunteer specifically with the ACLU and Planned Parenthood, as well as increased dedication to the work I've already been doing toward ending homelessness, working with the Idaho Humane Society, and trying to get four important words ("sexual orientation" and "gender identity") added to Idaho's anti-discrimination laws.
It can be discouraging, the amount of work there is to do politically, environmentally, locally and globally. I choose to focus on the actual things I can DO right where I am. Here at home.
I don't mention this activity to point out how great I am or get kudos. I mention it because for me, it all comes back around to the cairn, to home, to my dad. It's a multi-dimensional spiral that I can't fully comprehend or explain. How everything is so connected and important. How what has meaning in one realm of my life bleeds over into all the other areas of my life. How my life really isn't divided into compartments, but rather is one continuum of expression. How powerfully one simple meditation at a writer's retreat can become a symbol for my whole existence.
I will write more on the power of the cairn, because it warrants more in-depth exploration. For now, as my new year's present to myself, I wear a necklace of a cairn as a symbol of this coming year for me.
Last year was a weird one, marked in a very personal way for me by the death of my dad, and in a very public way by the election of a person whose name I refuse to type.
But as my kids have noted, there were some really lovely things about the year. For me, finishing the first draft of my current book was a big one. This is a work of the heart and one I am increasingly proud of. As I started out the year, my plan was to create my own publishing cooperative with other interested authors. But as I explored that it became clear to me the enormity of the time involved to publish books. I chose instead to put all of that time and energy into my work and craft. I opened myself up to learning more--and I did. A lot, actually. I think that focus has made my writing so much stronger and deeper. So I am continuing on this path of making the writing the focus. I have let go of the urgency to be published and find the urgency in the writing. That is an awesome feeling.
The death of my dad was huge for our family. And as these things tend to, it brought us closer together, and for me personally forged my life plan for the foreseeable future. When he died, I was at a writing retreat, and that night we did a guided meditation in which we built a cairn in our minds. This was a powerful meditation for me, and in fact, when we had dad's memorial service, I used that meditation as my memorial talk for him. (I don't remember if I posted it on this blog, but I know I posted it on my facebook page, so if you're curious, feel free to go back and read it.)
The cairn has become a strong symbol for me in so many ways. Cairns have been used since ancient times to mark a path or stand as a memorial. As I wrote the poem after the guided meditation that I later used at dad's service, some things began to click in my consciousness. Utmost of the notions that resounded there for me was the concept of HOME. The cairn marks a path toward home. My dad was the strong presence of home in our family. My dad gave us a home in the national parks, a very special and meaningful foundation for all that I am. So, the cairn, essentially, shows us the way toward home.
When I came home to Boise after the service, I built several cairns in my yard as memorials to dad. As reminders that I have that strong foundation of home. A childhood home. And an adult home. A home--whether it's a place, a family, a person, a thought, a belief system--is foundational to life.
I have always felt a deep connection and desire to help those who are homeless, a passion that grows deeper with time. Last year, I expanded my commitment to work harder to end homelessness in my community. Not just to serve meals or provide temporary shelter--although these are continuing and pressing needs, worthy of our time and valuable to those who have no homes. I spent the year exploring, acting, and learning as much as I could about ways I can help create homes and housing affordability here where I live. And this work will be something I keep on with for the rest of my life. Home, a way there, a foundation for a life.
It is no coincidence that most of my novels have strong themes involving home--what it means, who is there, and how to find it. My latest novel's working title is Show Me the Way to Go Home. The cairn's purpose. It's set at Tule Lake internment camp during WWII, with eerily similar echoes to the racism and nationalism we've seen more and more of since the election of 2016.
I, like millions of others, have dedicated myself to greater engagement in whatever is necessary to prevent this coming presidency from destroying our freedoms, our earth, and our fellow humans. I have become a monthly donor to the Sierra Club, the Southern Poverty Law Center, and to ACLU Idaho and joined in to volunteer specifically with the ACLU and Planned Parenthood, as well as increased dedication to the work I've already been doing toward ending homelessness, working with the Idaho Humane Society, and trying to get four important words ("sexual orientation" and "gender identity") added to Idaho's anti-discrimination laws.
It can be discouraging, the amount of work there is to do politically, environmentally, locally and globally. I choose to focus on the actual things I can DO right where I am. Here at home.
I don't mention this activity to point out how great I am or get kudos. I mention it because for me, it all comes back around to the cairn, to home, to my dad. It's a multi-dimensional spiral that I can't fully comprehend or explain. How everything is so connected and important. How what has meaning in one realm of my life bleeds over into all the other areas of my life. How my life really isn't divided into compartments, but rather is one continuum of expression. How powerfully one simple meditation at a writer's retreat can become a symbol for my whole existence.
I will write more on the power of the cairn, because it warrants more in-depth exploration. For now, as my new year's present to myself, I wear a necklace of a cairn as a symbol of this coming year for me.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Helping Haiti
Disasters always have a way of bringing the best and worst in people. I've been impressed this last week with the best. All kinds of people are helping in ways big and small. It's heartwarming really, despite the horror of the earthquake and the aftermath. Here are some sweet ways people I know are using their skills to hold benefits and raise money:
--a friend of Peter's, Emma, who is having a birthday party today asked that her friends not bring presents, but rather money to donate to Haiti relief.
--a chess playing kid named Luke Velotti is challenging other chess players to play him--he's a champion chess player. They pay for the challenge, and the money goes to Haiti relief.
--my brother Pat, who has a coffee roasting business, has found a supply of Haitian coffee beans that he can purchase. He's gathering donations from family and friends to buy the beans so he can roast them. All sales of these beans will benefit an orphanage that was damaged in the earthquake.
--my friend and fellow musician, Paul, is arranging a benefit concert at Cathedral of the Rockies on Feb. 14. All proceeds will be sent to help Haiti.
There are more like this. I hear of schools in the area holding bake sales, gathering coins, and more. Artists, musicians, writers are all doing what they can.
My question for everyone is this: (And this applies to myself as much as anybody. I fall way short of my ideals on a daily basis.) Why do we wait for disasters to spur us on to do what we should be doing all the time? It's not like we didn't know that Haiti is tragically poor, so much so that the people eat dirt patties because they have no food. It's not like other places on our planet don't suffer every moment. Every 15 seconds, a child dies in this world because of lack of clean drinking water.
I'm proud of all the people helping in this crisis. But there are crises times ten every single day in our world. Let's vow to keep working this hard all the time.
Peace,
Neysa
--a friend of Peter's, Emma, who is having a birthday party today asked that her friends not bring presents, but rather money to donate to Haiti relief.
--a chess playing kid named Luke Velotti is challenging other chess players to play him--he's a champion chess player. They pay for the challenge, and the money goes to Haiti relief.
--my brother Pat, who has a coffee roasting business, has found a supply of Haitian coffee beans that he can purchase. He's gathering donations from family and friends to buy the beans so he can roast them. All sales of these beans will benefit an orphanage that was damaged in the earthquake.
--my friend and fellow musician, Paul, is arranging a benefit concert at Cathedral of the Rockies on Feb. 14. All proceeds will be sent to help Haiti.
There are more like this. I hear of schools in the area holding bake sales, gathering coins, and more. Artists, musicians, writers are all doing what they can.
My question for everyone is this: (And this applies to myself as much as anybody. I fall way short of my ideals on a daily basis.) Why do we wait for disasters to spur us on to do what we should be doing all the time? It's not like we didn't know that Haiti is tragically poor, so much so that the people eat dirt patties because they have no food. It's not like other places on our planet don't suffer every moment. Every 15 seconds, a child dies in this world because of lack of clean drinking water.
I'm proud of all the people helping in this crisis. But there are crises times ten every single day in our world. Let's vow to keep working this hard all the time.
Peace,
Neysa
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