in the course of a day, hour, or sometimes minute.
I feel at peace. I feel confident in y/our decisions, and assured that my so-often-spouted cliche wisdom of "everything happens for a reason" is true. I feel that I will grow into a better place- though not without work. Not without much, much work.
This is all so easily scratched away- a thin silver coat that peels off in delicate sheets if disturbed or nudged just so. Beneath lies a smarting layer of pink anger. Like skin assaulted, glowing red and hot. This layer is sometimes rational and justified, empowered and cathartic. But far more often it is the anger of an animal- leg caught in trap. The rage of a small creature overwrought with fear and blinding pain. This rage gnashes it's teeth blindly at anyone encountered, even those coming to assist.
Not far beyond this, enmeshed and interwoven, lies the fear. Fear of the new, fear that I am now too old, too fat, too unlovable. Fear that I am somehow damaged beyond repair, and that I have been afforded a glimpse of my future: a groundhog-day existence of falling, loving, trying, pushing, ignoring, failing, weeping. Each day coming full circle- beginning and ending with self-blame, self-flagellation.
It's a fear older than my first memory. It is my greatest fear. My fear of being alone.
Not being alone in an everyday sense. I actually enjoy "alone time." I am generally an independent and solitary person. No, I mean alone forever. Dying alone. Being alone in the way that my father is alone.
Pushing aside the calm, the pride, the anger, the fear, lies the sadness. Sadness and loneliness feel the same, but they are not. The sadness is grief. Mourning for what's been lost, for what might have been but will now never be, mourning for my hopes and expectations of us and of myself.
The loneliness is my foundation. I feel as though without it I would not know how or where to stand, how to breathe, how to exist in this time or place. It is older than I am. Uncomfortably comforting. Familiar. So familiar. It is the melancholy grey of a rainy fall day. A sun-less dreary week, cloud-cover impenetrable. It is a vicious place, though I fear it can be described no better than: Alone.
I feel as though it is the root of my existence. I would not know who to be, or how to be, without it. It is me. It has always been me. It has been there long before, and will remain long after, me.
And then you enter the room. I look at you and I feel a spark of light. I feel a tinge of happiness and hope. I feel all the cells of my body awaken, my skin exclaims with joy the way a child does when hearing the Ice Cream Man's jingle. My skin feels your phantom touch. My hands feel the gentleness, the exquisite softness of your fingers. My body pulls yours close and is nourished by the warmth and the your comfort. I look at you and my only thought, my only feeling, is the desire to be near you. I see you... and for just a moment I feel so much less hopeless.
Our reality brings me crashing back- falling down through the layers of silver and pink, of blue, grey and black.
But for a moment... for a moment I just see you.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
birds of a feather
It was nearly a month ago now that I intended to write this blog. And I think about writing it every day as I drive to and from work. Why I push aside the thoughts that are important to me, and make room for ones that are not, I will never know.
A month ago I was driving to work when I noticed a Canadian goose in the median between the on-ramp of Route 2 and Interstate 95. Of course this is not unusual, as these gentle aves are plentiful in New England all year-round. But this goose was unusual in that it was alone.
My heart immediately sank in my chest. I knew why the bird was alone. I had seen this before.
I must have been close to 7 or 8 when a goose-driven drama unfolded across the road from my childhood home. We lived across from the "town ponds," a grouping of five small ponds that served at the town's water supply and home to many small creatures including muskrats a variety of water birds. A mated pair of geese had made a nest here, but summer had turned into fall before their eggs were laid, and they were the only ones of their kind remaining in Southern Colorado. We watched them care for each other, and work together to keep the eggs safe. They took turns hunting for food, sitting on the eggs. The male usually took charge when chasing away a predator, or leading it off with a dramatic honking calamity.
As human nature is truly a mystery to me, I will never understand why someone stopped by the side of road and gunned down this male goose. But the gravity of this situation became clear to us as snowflakes began to fall and soon only the female's head was visible. She was unable to search for food, leaving their eggs unattended, and my father took on a bit of a protective role for her- at least in the sense that he shot the neighbor's dog when the black lab set his sights on the feathered mother-to-be.
By some small miracle the mother made it through the winter with at least some of her young. And she returned, year after year. Alone.
As I looked at this bird in the median I remembered this poor goose I had watched 20 years earlier, and I remembered the unfortunate flurry of crushed feathers I had seen on the highway the day before- this birds mate, I was sure. The other geese had flown on to another feeding spot, but this one remained.
Day after day I drove to work and looked around as I drove the overpass. Each day I spotted the goose in a different place, sitting in a different median near this interchange, staring at the cars. And each day I felt saddened, wishing that he or she would go to join their own kind in a pleasant field or tranquil lake somewhere. I wondered if the bird understood death, and knew that it's partner was dead. I wondered if the bird was sitting there in grief, wondering what to do next. Or if the bird was simply confused by it's partner's sudden disappearance and was waiting for the mate to return to this spot where they had been separated.
Sadly, realistically, I knew that this bird wouldn't be able to keep up this vigilance for long. And on the fourth or fifth day of looking for this bird each morning, I looked and saw her lying just inside the outbound guard rail, lifeless. My heart fell again, but I profess I felt some relief for this poor bird.
The concept of "mating for life" is one that humans flirt with, but often don't seem to grasp. I've often debated with intellectual friends about the topic, expressing my opinion that every species either definitely "is" or "isn't" a species that mates for life. More than 90% of birds, for example, are monogamous. Black vultures, in fact, discourage infidelity so handily that birds who are caught philandering are attacked by the rest of the flock. Red-backed salamanders also punish those with a wandering eye. French anglefish are monogamous, and wolves are another species that often spends their entire lives with one mate, maintaining a nuclear family... but they are one of the rare mammals who do so.
Only 3% of mammals are monogamous. Gibbons, beavers (sure, insert joke here), most otters, the tiny dik-dik antelope, prairie voles (males stay with the female that takes their virginity), coyotes and even California mice (a breed, not mice living in California) make the cut- but humans are not a part of this small group.
I theorize that our alleged "superior intelligence" has created within us a great moral dilemma... which we have responded to by professing monogamy and exalting fidelity. Monogamy is a cultural and/or religious construct for us. It is a theory that we have mixed opinions and beliefs about. And it is also a conscious choice. It is not a biological drive or a behavior that "just is," as it is with all other animals. I think our ability for abstract thought counteracts any deeply buried primitive predilection we may have towards monogamy. Is all this "superior intelligence" really so great?
Cynicism aside, I do believe that some humans are naturally more suited for fidelity than others. I have always considered myself a monogamous creature, despite the pitfalls of my human-ness. I simply feel that I am not built for infidelity... but this too comes from my complex thought processes and notions about love and devotion and God and so forth.
Though I would hope that I would not be spending the rest of my days sitting forlornly in interstate traffic, I must say I admire this type of devotion I have witnessed in geese. I imagine that I would feel much the same way should my mate disappear one day.
When I was young, there was a cemetery just outside of Monte Vista that we used to pass regularly. For many years we drove by and saw a young man sitting by one particular grave. Any time you passed, there was a good chance you would see him and his silver car... and see the well-worn path from his car to the grave. In winter, his footprints in the snow. He sat by the grave on what seemed like a near-daily basis. In rain, snow, heat. We said, "that poor man." It was years before he stopped. Why he stopped, I don't know; perhaps he found a new mate, or he flew to find the rest of his flock. Perhaps he finally succumbed to the traffic- I don't know. But we didn't see him by the grave any more. The well-worn path in the grass grew over and time moved on.
But as sure as I am about anything in this world, I'm sure that a love like that made it's mark on this planet. In some way it made a mark on every person who drove by him day after day. It affected the world, it made it better. It affected more than just that one soul he was attempting to commune with in the grass. That love, and that grief, is too pure, too good, too right.
That type of love is too great to let all this thinking get in the way.
A month ago I was driving to work when I noticed a Canadian goose in the median between the on-ramp of Route 2 and Interstate 95. Of course this is not unusual, as these gentle aves are plentiful in New England all year-round. But this goose was unusual in that it was alone.
My heart immediately sank in my chest. I knew why the bird was alone. I had seen this before.
I must have been close to 7 or 8 when a goose-driven drama unfolded across the road from my childhood home. We lived across from the "town ponds," a grouping of five small ponds that served at the town's water supply and home to many small creatures including muskrats a variety of water birds. A mated pair of geese had made a nest here, but summer had turned into fall before their eggs were laid, and they were the only ones of their kind remaining in Southern Colorado. We watched them care for each other, and work together to keep the eggs safe. They took turns hunting for food, sitting on the eggs. The male usually took charge when chasing away a predator, or leading it off with a dramatic honking calamity.
As human nature is truly a mystery to me, I will never understand why someone stopped by the side of road and gunned down this male goose. But the gravity of this situation became clear to us as snowflakes began to fall and soon only the female's head was visible. She was unable to search for food, leaving their eggs unattended, and my father took on a bit of a protective role for her- at least in the sense that he shot the neighbor's dog when the black lab set his sights on the feathered mother-to-be.
By some small miracle the mother made it through the winter with at least some of her young. And she returned, year after year. Alone.
As I looked at this bird in the median I remembered this poor goose I had watched 20 years earlier, and I remembered the unfortunate flurry of crushed feathers I had seen on the highway the day before- this birds mate, I was sure. The other geese had flown on to another feeding spot, but this one remained.
Day after day I drove to work and looked around as I drove the overpass. Each day I spotted the goose in a different place, sitting in a different median near this interchange, staring at the cars. And each day I felt saddened, wishing that he or she would go to join their own kind in a pleasant field or tranquil lake somewhere. I wondered if the bird understood death, and knew that it's partner was dead. I wondered if the bird was sitting there in grief, wondering what to do next. Or if the bird was simply confused by it's partner's sudden disappearance and was waiting for the mate to return to this spot where they had been separated.
Sadly, realistically, I knew that this bird wouldn't be able to keep up this vigilance for long. And on the fourth or fifth day of looking for this bird each morning, I looked and saw her lying just inside the outbound guard rail, lifeless. My heart fell again, but I profess I felt some relief for this poor bird.
The concept of "mating for life" is one that humans flirt with, but often don't seem to grasp. I've often debated with intellectual friends about the topic, expressing my opinion that every species either definitely "is" or "isn't" a species that mates for life. More than 90% of birds, for example, are monogamous. Black vultures, in fact, discourage infidelity so handily that birds who are caught philandering are attacked by the rest of the flock. Red-backed salamanders also punish those with a wandering eye. French anglefish are monogamous, and wolves are another species that often spends their entire lives with one mate, maintaining a nuclear family... but they are one of the rare mammals who do so.
Only 3% of mammals are monogamous. Gibbons, beavers (sure, insert joke here), most otters, the tiny dik-dik antelope, prairie voles (males stay with the female that takes their virginity), coyotes and even California mice (a breed, not mice living in California) make the cut- but humans are not a part of this small group.
I theorize that our alleged "superior intelligence" has created within us a great moral dilemma... which we have responded to by professing monogamy and exalting fidelity. Monogamy is a cultural and/or religious construct for us. It is a theory that we have mixed opinions and beliefs about. And it is also a conscious choice. It is not a biological drive or a behavior that "just is," as it is with all other animals. I think our ability for abstract thought counteracts any deeply buried primitive predilection we may have towards monogamy. Is all this "superior intelligence" really so great?
Cynicism aside, I do believe that some humans are naturally more suited for fidelity than others. I have always considered myself a monogamous creature, despite the pitfalls of my human-ness. I simply feel that I am not built for infidelity... but this too comes from my complex thought processes and notions about love and devotion and God and so forth.
Though I would hope that I would not be spending the rest of my days sitting forlornly in interstate traffic, I must say I admire this type of devotion I have witnessed in geese. I imagine that I would feel much the same way should my mate disappear one day.
When I was young, there was a cemetery just outside of Monte Vista that we used to pass regularly. For many years we drove by and saw a young man sitting by one particular grave. Any time you passed, there was a good chance you would see him and his silver car... and see the well-worn path from his car to the grave. In winter, his footprints in the snow. He sat by the grave on what seemed like a near-daily basis. In rain, snow, heat. We said, "that poor man." It was years before he stopped. Why he stopped, I don't know; perhaps he found a new mate, or he flew to find the rest of his flock. Perhaps he finally succumbed to the traffic- I don't know. But we didn't see him by the grave any more. The well-worn path in the grass grew over and time moved on.
But as sure as I am about anything in this world, I'm sure that a love like that made it's mark on this planet. In some way it made a mark on every person who drove by him day after day. It affected the world, it made it better. It affected more than just that one soul he was attempting to commune with in the grass. That love, and that grief, is too pure, too good, too right.
That type of love is too great to let all this thinking get in the way.
light years
Perhaps my memory fails me, but I feel as though I used to engage in some sort of mental processes when taking a walk or seeking a moment of silence. Perhaps that all wishful thinking, but I feel as though epiphanies and clarity used to spring up from my footfalls and float down to me as I stared into the sky. But these days it seems I could stare into the night for hours without so much as one profound thought. During these times I think about the Buddha, who refused to move from beneath the bodhi tree until he reached enlightenment. I'm unsure if even 49 days would bring me enlightenment today.
On days like this one, when at work it feels as though I'm struggling to treat a political juggernaut of an institution all alone, and I feel as though I'm disengaged from my own perfectly fulfilling personal existence, my mind is blank. It's thick, tired... waterlogged with a milky substance that keeps me stuck somewhere between ambivalence and apathy. Continually catching glimpses of my definitive thoughts, directions, beliefs through the fog... but never quite capturing them. On days like today it feels a bit like the dreadful 2007 version of The Mist. Without the disturbingly tragic ending (hopefully). Visually it's quite apt: I'm forever unsure of what is lurking in the impenetrable white fog ready to snatch me off the earth and tear me to a bloody mist... or of whether or not it is going to abruptly clear just beyond my sight into a green utopian haven. Birds chirping, dogs playing. It causes apprehension on most days- dumb courage on the best, blind panic on the worst.
I find myself sitting in the rocks, comfortably sinking into a crevice, staring quizzically into the stars and searching for even one definitive thought to hold on to. But the harder I run after them, the quicker they flee. So I sit and stare into the White.
I left Del Norte in 2000. Ten years ago. I left at a run, middle finger in the air, never looked back, and never for a moment regretted leaving.
Greeley was a place of growth and learning, the best years of my life perhaps. It was the first time I was ever told this and found it quasi-believable, anyway. But by the time I was done there my heart was positively shattered and I was a wounded, needy, sexually confused and on the fast-track to alcoholism. I felt the same urge I had felt so many times before: to run.
So I ran. I ran far across the country, this time to the big city. Without a one thin dime, without an acquaintance to dine, I sat on the floor in the corner of my empty bedroom and asked myself aloud, "Oh God. What have I done? I've made a terrible mistake." I felt homesick but had no specific home to miss.
And I hadn't made a mistake. It was the best move, second to the aforementioned, of my life. It was the place that I would be able to call home- more so than any place had ever been before. But I recall the black leather couches in the corner of the Greeley Borders cafe, and the words I wrote in my journal there. "Will I ever stop running? Will it ever be enough? Where will I run next? And after that? And where is left after that?"
I suppose I should consider it surprising that I have felt so content for so long, and avoided the uproarious voice in my head that has repeated the same words to me over and over since I was twelve years old. "It's not enough. You're not doing enough. You are supposed to be doing something greater."
Recently in passing I have expressed to my partner my urge to go, to help. "I wish that I had the money to just go whenever there is a crisis. Whenever there is a Haiti, or a Katrina or a Gulf spill. To just go. Show up and say, I'm here to help." I say, "I signed up to volunteer with the Audobon Society and the Coalition to Restore Coastal Louisiana. I will go if they call me." And I fully intend to. Why I feel that this servitude will be any less frustrating to me than my current daily employment, I don't know. The novelty of it, perhaps. Mostly I feel the urge to give everything of myself, day after day, in order to be personally fulfilled. It's not altruism, by no means. There's no such thing. I want to dedicate my life to the servitude of others for my own reasons. Whatever the point of this existence, that must be as close as we can get to getting it right. Right?
I think often about the Peace Corps. But I would be content (I have no reason to think this, really), by being able to go and help the needy when needed.
My rational brain, the angel-bird on my shoulder, tells me that doing good works is going and doing them every day, not when a disaster strikes and there is an outpouring of assistance. Truly doing good is to help the homeless and needy on our own street corners that we drive past daily and constantly choose to turn away from. Those who are just as needy but have become invisible to us, blending into the landscape of Central Square or City Hall Plaza.
I feel heart broken and enraged by the Gulf disaster, and the lack of importance we give it. The lack of thought, the lack of media coverage... the lack of understanding. Do we not understand what we have done? Do we not care? Do we feel it's just another abominable trespass in our litany of offenses, none worse than any other? Or do we just not want to know? We have snuffed out creatures undoubtedly far nobler than ourselves, forever.
I fear for the world. I fear for any children I may have. God I fear for them. They may grow up in a world without clean water, without sea life. A world where America is a police state and "give us your poor, your tired, your huddled masses wishing to be free" is replaced with "all trespassers will be shot." A world where history is rewritten to cover the sins of the Aryan people, denying the very existence of any others. I fear for my children, I do.
I acknowledge the chaos around me daily numbs me at times. And makes me quite raw at others. The lack of human empathy, the lack of humane treatment. The cutting and the bleeding and the threatening and the jangle of chains and clicking of metal cuffs. The noose-tightening and the frustrated tears and the blind unchecked rage.
Yes, there are those living in the midst of this who state that they are "blessed." They do. They find joy within the confines of these walls and they work harder than I ever could every day. They battle to fight off this fog around them and maintain their sanity, to better their minds and amend their sins. How they are not lost in this place I surely do not know. But if they can stay afloat, I surely have no excuse. They are marvelous to me.
Still, my question of "when will it be enough?" rings in my ears. I suspect it would become an addiction- whether struggling to move rubble after an earthquake, scrubbing oil off of rocks with a toothbrush, or digging a ditch in a remote third-world village, I suspect that I would never have enough of it. And that would be fine. Good, even. As long as it fills this void inside of me. As long as this thirst, this pulling sensation in my chest subsides. As long as it helps me to see through this fog even a little better. As long as it quells this feeling of "not enough," and makes me feel as though I am fulfilling my destiny and obligation to the earth and whatever creator looks over it. Whatever Creator looks over it. Perhaps therein lies the true issue.
Another blog... for a day with less fog.
On days like this one, when at work it feels as though I'm struggling to treat a political juggernaut of an institution all alone, and I feel as though I'm disengaged from my own perfectly fulfilling personal existence, my mind is blank. It's thick, tired... waterlogged with a milky substance that keeps me stuck somewhere between ambivalence and apathy. Continually catching glimpses of my definitive thoughts, directions, beliefs through the fog... but never quite capturing them. On days like today it feels a bit like the dreadful 2007 version of The Mist. Without the disturbingly tragic ending (hopefully). Visually it's quite apt: I'm forever unsure of what is lurking in the impenetrable white fog ready to snatch me off the earth and tear me to a bloody mist... or of whether or not it is going to abruptly clear just beyond my sight into a green utopian haven. Birds chirping, dogs playing. It causes apprehension on most days- dumb courage on the best, blind panic on the worst.
I find myself sitting in the rocks, comfortably sinking into a crevice, staring quizzically into the stars and searching for even one definitive thought to hold on to. But the harder I run after them, the quicker they flee. So I sit and stare into the White.
I left Del Norte in 2000. Ten years ago. I left at a run, middle finger in the air, never looked back, and never for a moment regretted leaving.
Greeley was a place of growth and learning, the best years of my life perhaps. It was the first time I was ever told this and found it quasi-believable, anyway. But by the time I was done there my heart was positively shattered and I was a wounded, needy, sexually confused and on the fast-track to alcoholism. I felt the same urge I had felt so many times before: to run.
So I ran. I ran far across the country, this time to the big city. Without a one thin dime, without an acquaintance to dine, I sat on the floor in the corner of my empty bedroom and asked myself aloud, "Oh God. What have I done? I've made a terrible mistake." I felt homesick but had no specific home to miss.
And I hadn't made a mistake. It was the best move, second to the aforementioned, of my life. It was the place that I would be able to call home- more so than any place had ever been before. But I recall the black leather couches in the corner of the Greeley Borders cafe, and the words I wrote in my journal there. "Will I ever stop running? Will it ever be enough? Where will I run next? And after that? And where is left after that?"
I suppose I should consider it surprising that I have felt so content for so long, and avoided the uproarious voice in my head that has repeated the same words to me over and over since I was twelve years old. "It's not enough. You're not doing enough. You are supposed to be doing something greater."
Recently in passing I have expressed to my partner my urge to go, to help. "I wish that I had the money to just go whenever there is a crisis. Whenever there is a Haiti, or a Katrina or a Gulf spill. To just go. Show up and say, I'm here to help." I say, "I signed up to volunteer with the Audobon Society and the Coalition to Restore Coastal Louisiana. I will go if they call me." And I fully intend to. Why I feel that this servitude will be any less frustrating to me than my current daily employment, I don't know. The novelty of it, perhaps. Mostly I feel the urge to give everything of myself, day after day, in order to be personally fulfilled. It's not altruism, by no means. There's no such thing. I want to dedicate my life to the servitude of others for my own reasons. Whatever the point of this existence, that must be as close as we can get to getting it right. Right?
I think often about the Peace Corps. But I would be content (I have no reason to think this, really), by being able to go and help the needy when needed.
My rational brain, the angel-bird on my shoulder, tells me that doing good works is going and doing them every day, not when a disaster strikes and there is an outpouring of assistance. Truly doing good is to help the homeless and needy on our own street corners that we drive past daily and constantly choose to turn away from. Those who are just as needy but have become invisible to us, blending into the landscape of Central Square or City Hall Plaza.
I feel heart broken and enraged by the Gulf disaster, and the lack of importance we give it. The lack of thought, the lack of media coverage... the lack of understanding. Do we not understand what we have done? Do we not care? Do we feel it's just another abominable trespass in our litany of offenses, none worse than any other? Or do we just not want to know? We have snuffed out creatures undoubtedly far nobler than ourselves, forever.
I fear for the world. I fear for any children I may have. God I fear for them. They may grow up in a world without clean water, without sea life. A world where America is a police state and "give us your poor, your tired, your huddled masses wishing to be free" is replaced with "all trespassers will be shot." A world where history is rewritten to cover the sins of the Aryan people, denying the very existence of any others. I fear for my children, I do.
I acknowledge the chaos around me daily numbs me at times. And makes me quite raw at others. The lack of human empathy, the lack of humane treatment. The cutting and the bleeding and the threatening and the jangle of chains and clicking of metal cuffs. The noose-tightening and the frustrated tears and the blind unchecked rage.
Yes, there are those living in the midst of this who state that they are "blessed." They do. They find joy within the confines of these walls and they work harder than I ever could every day. They battle to fight off this fog around them and maintain their sanity, to better their minds and amend their sins. How they are not lost in this place I surely do not know. But if they can stay afloat, I surely have no excuse. They are marvelous to me.
Still, my question of "when will it be enough?" rings in my ears. I suspect it would become an addiction- whether struggling to move rubble after an earthquake, scrubbing oil off of rocks with a toothbrush, or digging a ditch in a remote third-world village, I suspect that I would never have enough of it. And that would be fine. Good, even. As long as it fills this void inside of me. As long as this thirst, this pulling sensation in my chest subsides. As long as it helps me to see through this fog even a little better. As long as it quells this feeling of "not enough," and makes me feel as though I am fulfilling my destiny and obligation to the earth and whatever creator looks over it. Whatever Creator looks over it. Perhaps therein lies the true issue.
Another blog... for a day with less fog.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
inauguration
I've decided to create a new blog primarily because I've fell victim to a nearly year-long writer's block. And having a good rant now and again gets the creative juices flowing.
Which sounds very dirty. And unfortunately isn't.
But speaking of rants, Tuesday's Senate election gave me ample fodder for one.
First off, it frightens me.
No, not the Republicans. Not the affront to Teddy Kennedy's memory or even appalling number of apparent red voters in this allegedly blue state... yes those things are very frightening to me. But what really frightens me is my own rage.
I remember walking around for months just seething with a sort of blind rage during the 2004 Presidential election. The issues made me so angry that I really wasn't even able to watch TV, or read about it, or educate myself at all. I wasn't well informed, because every time I heard a phrase like "weapons of mass destruction" or "don't ask don't tell" or "axis of evil" or "sanctity of marriage," I could only turn red, grind my teeth and feel my blood pressure go up. The commercials, the bumper stickers, the sight of our former president all brought out a rage in me that is almost never awakened. It was... it is... visceral. Primal. Primitive. It's my id.
In 2004 I was enraged because I was afraid. Because I was vulnerable. Because a constitutional ban on gay marriage was on the table, and I was facing the very real loss of my human and civil rights. That was terrifying. And I was furious, FURIOUS, that someone else, someone who's not even marginally affected by these issues, was going to decide the value of my life and my happiness! Someone who doesn't even know any gay people, wouldn't be affected by it at all, and doesn't know what the fuck they're talking about! Perhaps someone who's been divorced twice and cheated on his or her spouse... this person was eager to uphold the "sanctity of marriage."
Clearly, these are old but open wounds. I don't feel that gay marriage is in danger in Massachusetts- conservatives have already attempted to overturn it many times, and it's stood firm. Yes, Scott Brown is anti-gay, pro-life, and anti-health care reform... but, as President Obama said, "the voter's have spoken" right?
I'm actually more maddened by a few experiences that I am my friends have had this week. It all leads me to feel that the political climate in America will soon be too volatile to allow peaceful government function.
One of my bosses, the assistant director at my workplace, had a disturbing but quintessential experience Tuesday. Though I live in a generally very liberal state, I work in a state prison. Here, the very liberal and Democratic mental health team is surrounded by extremely conservative, Republican, gun-toting, well... redneck, correctional officers. As my boss was leaving Tuesday night, one of the officers at inner control "jokingly" said "I'm not opening the door until you promise to vote for Scott Brown."
My boss of course said, yeah right. The officer asked why and my boss stated that Brown's ideals differ with hers in three fundamental ways: "he's against gay marriage, he wants to tell me what I can and can't do with my own body, and he's against health care reform." His response?
"Well number one, you're not gay so what do you care? Two, you're married now so you should have a family, and 3, you work here, so you see the injustices of government [referring to the government paying for the medical care of inmates], so why would you want them in charge of health care?"
My bosses response? You'd better open this fucking door right now.
His thinking is exactly what drives me insane. The "it's not about me- so who cares?" approach. Don't they realize they aren't the only person on earth??
While watching a very eloquent and well-educated undergrad friend of mine debate with another far less-educated, more redneck friend of mine on Facebook of all places, I was appalled. The redneck friend's inital status post was "I agree, what occurred in Haiti is horrible. A Natural Disaster. Yet, in the United States, millions go hungry and without food daily. Why weren't these "emergency supplies" available for our own people on a day to day basis?" As my friend attempted to explain the difference between the United States and one of the poorest third-world countries (a concept that most all Americans, including myself, can never truly grasp without witnessing it first hand), and the fact that over 98% of our nonprofit resources go towards helping Americans, the redneck facebooker stated .... take a deep breath for this...
"As for Haiti, I have no problem with helping, I have a HUGE problem with the Mrs. President coming into my home, via the television, and asking me and everyone else to help Haiti. Those ads aren't free, quit wasting my money. There are hundreds of companies out there that specialize in assistance. The American Red Cross has it perfected. Let the experts do their thing. Haiti has no GNP - their total survival is based on people "giving them hand outs".
Naturally, after my amazing, well-educated and somehow still very calm friend explained that those commercials ARE soliciting aide for the Red Cross, and are actually paid for by the Ad Council (a non-profit agency), the redneck had more thoughtless non-sensical rebuttals.
I can't even re-read this without feeling a bit nauseous. Is this America? Are we now SO selfish and have our heads SO far up our own asses that during a cataclysmic disaster where potentially 200,000 - Two Hundred THOUSAND - people are left dead in the rubble... we choose this time to ask "why is no one helping us???" WHAT THE FUCK!
Help us with what?! With jobs? Oh wait we have those. With clean, potable water in excess? Ohhh yeah we have that too. With food? Shit, we throw away tons of that every day. With resources upon resources upon resources? We have that. Everywhere. Help us with what, exactly? Help us cure all the comparitively minor sins and strifes of a population that will never be made perfect, but has been pretty damn close for nearly a hundred years now?
"Quit waisting my money" on the dead and dying and starving in Haiti.
You're not in Haiti, so what the fuck do you care.
Right?
Not right. It's not right.
Do you remember what happened after 9/11? Not only did we blow up several other countries in blind retaliation (or planned retaliation, whichever you wish), multiplying our own death toll by hundreds for these other countries hoping to feel some sort of vindication... not only did we speak solely of that for not weeks but years, wailing in grief... not only did every other viable support in the world lend their assistance... but we are still able to cite it as the greatest disaster our country has ever known.
Consider Haiti for just a moment.
70,000 people have already been buried in mass, unmarked graves. If each one of those people knew just two others, that's 140,000 people who will never know what became of their friend, their mother, brother, sister, father, son, daughter... who will never see them again or even be able to appropriately grieve or bring flowers to a grave.
Outside of hospitals and in the street there are stacks of decaying bodies hundreds tall, being managed by bulldozers. Imagine it. Imagine looking out your window and watching it.
If just one small or mid-sized city in the United States gave everything they had to a country this poor... they would be okay. Just one! If they gave their money, resources, houses, businesses, hospitals, schools, land, water... the contents of one town would provide more wealth than a country like Haiti may ever have. And all of the people in that U.S. town? They would all be fine. They would get another job, buy another house. Insurance would replace everything, there would be a big fat charitable tax write-off waiting for them at the end of the year, and life would continue as planned.
If just one Wal-Mart Supercenter gave everything they had... these would be clothed and fed. People don't understand our excess. And I'm certainly no better. I'm as wasteful as any American. But the least I can do is to use my vote... and defend humanity, perhaps to no avail, to Americans as ignorant as this.
But to even do that, I'll have to learn to quell the rage that ignorance such as this provokes within me.
Which sounds very dirty. And unfortunately isn't.
But speaking of rants, Tuesday's Senate election gave me ample fodder for one.
First off, it frightens me.
No, not the Republicans. Not the affront to Teddy Kennedy's memory or even appalling number of apparent red voters in this allegedly blue state... yes those things are very frightening to me. But what really frightens me is my own rage.
I remember walking around for months just seething with a sort of blind rage during the 2004 Presidential election. The issues made me so angry that I really wasn't even able to watch TV, or read about it, or educate myself at all. I wasn't well informed, because every time I heard a phrase like "weapons of mass destruction" or "don't ask don't tell" or "axis of evil" or "sanctity of marriage," I could only turn red, grind my teeth and feel my blood pressure go up. The commercials, the bumper stickers, the sight of our former president all brought out a rage in me that is almost never awakened. It was... it is... visceral. Primal. Primitive. It's my id.
In 2004 I was enraged because I was afraid. Because I was vulnerable. Because a constitutional ban on gay marriage was on the table, and I was facing the very real loss of my human and civil rights. That was terrifying. And I was furious, FURIOUS, that someone else, someone who's not even marginally affected by these issues, was going to decide the value of my life and my happiness! Someone who doesn't even know any gay people, wouldn't be affected by it at all, and doesn't know what the fuck they're talking about! Perhaps someone who's been divorced twice and cheated on his or her spouse... this person was eager to uphold the "sanctity of marriage."
Clearly, these are old but open wounds. I don't feel that gay marriage is in danger in Massachusetts- conservatives have already attempted to overturn it many times, and it's stood firm. Yes, Scott Brown is anti-gay, pro-life, and anti-health care reform... but, as President Obama said, "the voter's have spoken" right?
I'm actually more maddened by a few experiences that I am my friends have had this week. It all leads me to feel that the political climate in America will soon be too volatile to allow peaceful government function.
One of my bosses, the assistant director at my workplace, had a disturbing but quintessential experience Tuesday. Though I live in a generally very liberal state, I work in a state prison. Here, the very liberal and Democratic mental health team is surrounded by extremely conservative, Republican, gun-toting, well... redneck, correctional officers. As my boss was leaving Tuesday night, one of the officers at inner control "jokingly" said "I'm not opening the door until you promise to vote for Scott Brown."
My boss of course said, yeah right. The officer asked why and my boss stated that Brown's ideals differ with hers in three fundamental ways: "he's against gay marriage, he wants to tell me what I can and can't do with my own body, and he's against health care reform." His response?
"Well number one, you're not gay so what do you care? Two, you're married now so you should have a family, and 3, you work here, so you see the injustices of government [referring to the government paying for the medical care of inmates], so why would you want them in charge of health care?"
My bosses response? You'd better open this fucking door right now.
His thinking is exactly what drives me insane. The "it's not about me- so who cares?" approach. Don't they realize they aren't the only person on earth??
While watching a very eloquent and well-educated undergrad friend of mine debate with another far less-educated, more redneck friend of mine on Facebook of all places, I was appalled. The redneck friend's inital status post was "I agree, what occurred in Haiti is horrible. A Natural Disaster. Yet, in the United States, millions go hungry and without food daily. Why weren't these "emergency supplies" available for our own people on a day to day basis?" As my friend attempted to explain the difference between the United States and one of the poorest third-world countries (a concept that most all Americans, including myself, can never truly grasp without witnessing it first hand), and the fact that over 98% of our nonprofit resources go towards helping Americans, the redneck facebooker stated .... take a deep breath for this...
"As for Haiti, I have no problem with helping, I have a HUGE problem with the Mrs. President coming into my home, via the television, and asking me and everyone else to help Haiti. Those ads aren't free, quit wasting my money. There are hundreds of companies out there that specialize in assistance. The American Red Cross has it perfected. Let the experts do their thing. Haiti has no GNP - their total survival is based on people "giving them hand outs".
Naturally, after my amazing, well-educated and somehow still very calm friend explained that those commercials ARE soliciting aide for the Red Cross, and are actually paid for by the Ad Council (a non-profit agency), the redneck had more thoughtless non-sensical rebuttals.
I can't even re-read this without feeling a bit nauseous. Is this America? Are we now SO selfish and have our heads SO far up our own asses that during a cataclysmic disaster where potentially 200,000 - Two Hundred THOUSAND - people are left dead in the rubble... we choose this time to ask "why is no one helping us???" WHAT THE FUCK!
Help us with what?! With jobs? Oh wait we have those. With clean, potable water in excess? Ohhh yeah we have that too. With food? Shit, we throw away tons of that every day. With resources upon resources upon resources? We have that. Everywhere. Help us with what, exactly? Help us cure all the comparitively minor sins and strifes of a population that will never be made perfect, but has been pretty damn close for nearly a hundred years now?
"Quit waisting my money" on the dead and dying and starving in Haiti.
You're not in Haiti, so what the fuck do you care.
Right?
Not right. It's not right.
Do you remember what happened after 9/11? Not only did we blow up several other countries in blind retaliation (or planned retaliation, whichever you wish), multiplying our own death toll by hundreds for these other countries hoping to feel some sort of vindication... not only did we speak solely of that for not weeks but years, wailing in grief... not only did every other viable support in the world lend their assistance... but we are still able to cite it as the greatest disaster our country has ever known.
Consider Haiti for just a moment.
70,000 people have already been buried in mass, unmarked graves. If each one of those people knew just two others, that's 140,000 people who will never know what became of their friend, their mother, brother, sister, father, son, daughter... who will never see them again or even be able to appropriately grieve or bring flowers to a grave.
Outside of hospitals and in the street there are stacks of decaying bodies hundreds tall, being managed by bulldozers. Imagine it. Imagine looking out your window and watching it.
If just one small or mid-sized city in the United States gave everything they had to a country this poor... they would be okay. Just one! If they gave their money, resources, houses, businesses, hospitals, schools, land, water... the contents of one town would provide more wealth than a country like Haiti may ever have. And all of the people in that U.S. town? They would all be fine. They would get another job, buy another house. Insurance would replace everything, there would be a big fat charitable tax write-off waiting for them at the end of the year, and life would continue as planned.
If just one Wal-Mart Supercenter gave everything they had... these would be clothed and fed. People don't understand our excess. And I'm certainly no better. I'm as wasteful as any American. But the least I can do is to use my vote... and defend humanity, perhaps to no avail, to Americans as ignorant as this.
But to even do that, I'll have to learn to quell the rage that ignorance such as this provokes within me.
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