Pity the Nation

I went to the famous City Lights bookshop while in San Francisco and bought a copy of Howl by Allen Ginsberg. If there is a place to get Howl, it is the City Lights bookshop, I think. Anyway, there was a bookmark inserted inside and it was a poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti. Here's what it said:

Pity the nation whose people are sheep
And whose shepherds mislead them
Pity the nation whose leaders are liars
Whose sages are silenced
And whose bigots haunt the airwaves
Pity the nation that raises not its voice
Except to praise conquerers
And acclaim the bully as hero
And aims to rule the world
By force and by torture
Pity the nation that knows
No other language but its own
And sleeps the sleep of the too well fed
Pity the nation Oh pity the people
Who allow their rights to erode
And their freedoms to be washed away
My country, tears of thee
Sweet land of liberty!

Week 15: Practice Being Transparent

In the book The Transparent Self, author Sydney Jourard writes, "As soon as we become more transparent, we start to feel better." In the spirit of this quote, I encourage you to put into mindful practice the concept of transparency. In so doing, look for an opportunity for an act of kindness and then complete it.

Is it by being honest with someone when your temptation is to talk around the truth? If so, be honest using intelligence and tact. Is it by being honest with yourself, perhaps by recognizing a problem rather than pretending there isn't one? Or by saying no when you really want to say no, instead of saying yes?

In your journal, write about your experience this week and include the challenges you had. Were you able to be transparent consistently? Are there times when you really didn't want to be transparent? Be transparent in your journal.

Anand Giridharadas: A tale of two Americas. And the mini-mart where they...

Welcome

It turns out that welcome is solidarity. We're glad you're here and we're with you. This whole project called being alive, you finding joy? Well, we're in on that.

I learned early in sobriety that there were two points of view about me - how my close friends saw me, and how I saw myself. I figured it was obvious that I was a fraud, and kind of disgusting. My friends thought I was irresistible, profoundly worthy of trust. I thought at first that one view must be wrong, and I made the most radical decision, for the time being, to believe my friends. I welcomed my loveable self back, with a small party, just the cat, me, and imaginary cups of tea, which I raised with an outstretched pinkie.

This welcoming toward myself took a big adjustment, a rebalancing of my soul. There had been so much energy thrown into performance, achievement, and disguise. I felt I had gotten a permission slip for the great field trip, to the heart of myself, in the protection of a few trusted friends.

Frankly, I was hoping to see more white cliffs and beaches, fewer swamps and shadows, but this was real life, the nature of things, full of both wonder and rot.

As soon as I was able, my friends encouraged me to go back to reclaim the devious, dark part of me. I invited her in: Pull up a chair at the table, hon. We're having soup, tonight.

So our families were train wrecks: we've ruined the earth; kids die all the time. How do we understand that something welcoming remains, sometimes hidden, that we can still trust? When all seems list, a few friends, the view and random last-ditch moments of grace, like Liquid Wrench, will do. Otherwise, I don't know. We don't exactly solve this problem, or much of anything, although one can learn to make a perfect old-fashioned, or blinis.

I've discovered that offering welcome helps a lot, especially to the deeply unpleasant to weird. The offer heals you both. What works best is to target people in the community whom no one else seems to want. Voila: now welcome exists in you.

We want you, as is. Can you believe it? Come on in. Sit down. Let me get you a nice cup of tea. Would you like a lime juice bar?

Anne Lamott, Small Victories

Normisms

In conjunction with this trip to the US, and passing through Boston, and visiting Cheers, I am going to treat you to a selection of Normisms, over the next few weeks. Why? Because I can. And because I find him truly funny. A little Normism to brighten your day. Isn't that what this blog is supposed to be about?

Sam: What's shaking Norm?

Norm: All four cheeks and a couple of chins.

When You're in the Dark

When you're in the dark, you have to try to remember that it's a dance - dark, light, dark, light, dim. Or when you're in the sun but the clouds come, of course you instantly think Oh, God, now it's going to get cold and wet, and it's all fucked, but then you might remember that when it was all dark an earlier time, your friends shined a little thin light on it, and you remember one thing that sort of helped, one more step you can take, maybe one more thing you can try.

I was reminded of something my friend Tasha told me once, that when she and her friends hike in a group, they leave trail ducks for the stragglers, piles of rocks by the path to show that they've gone left here, or right. I had to laugh, standing there in the open door: If a map, directions, GPS, and numerous highway signs hadn't helped, would we have even noticed a duck made of rocks? Well, yeah: I think so, deep inside. We had gotten there tonight, with enough time, and there had been warmth and tumblers of cool water. The rocks that marked our path had been the desire in our hearts to be there for one another.

Anne Lamott, Small Victories

First Yoga Lesson

"Be a lotus in the pond," she said, "opening
slowly, no single energy tugging
against another but peacefully,
all together."

I couldn't even touch my toes.
"Feel your quadriceps stretching?" she asked.
Well something was certainly stretching.

Standing impressively upright, she
raised one leg and placed it against
the other, then lifted her arms and
shook her hands like leaves. "Be a tree," she said.

I lay on the floor, exhausted.
But to be a lotus in the pond
opening slowly, and very slowly rising -
that I could do.

(By Mary Oliver)