#45 - Thoughts of Pacifism on Memorial Day

BBC NEWS World Middle East Iraqis shot 'for wearing shorts'

Three athletes were shot dead dead today in Iraq for wearing shorts.

They were tennis players, one fellow was the coach the other two team mates.

Flyers had been distributed earlier in Baghdad warning people to not wear shorts.

These guys had just dropped off some laundry.

And then their lives were ended.

This is insanity.

This is the type of craziness that puts pacifism to the test.

What do you do with evil like this?

Yes, evil ... not the act of a righteously religious zealots.

The shooter dragged the coach's body out of his car, piled him on top of the two other fallen players and stole the car.

Children of God,

Children of the Divine...

no matter which sect they identify themselves with...

they just do not do such things.

Mahatma Ghandi had discovered on his journey to peacemaker that all of the major religions hold a kernel of wisdom that we share.

LOVE.

Love is Divine.

Not the Hollywood romantic nonsense.

Unconditional love.

Love that will never end.

Love that gives and grows each time it is given.

How do you love in the face of craziness that deems to murder over athletic wear?

If someone wanted your car, a true follower of Jesus would GIVE the car away. A gift. Not an object to be stolen.

If you can not let go of your material object, that object owns you...

you do not own the object.

Jesus told us to lay our lives down.

I do not think this meant to be a doormat, or coward.

Jesus was a renegade of His time.

During Jesus' lifetime, Roman soldiers could nab you and press you into service.

Jesus' response?

If you are told to walk a mile... walk two.

If someone asks you for a garment, give him more than he asked for... give him two items.

Why?

This response to what may appear to be an injustice is actually extremely powerful.

The power of the gentle.

If you walk two miles, you are no longer a servant to a Roman soldier... you volunteered... you took the power away from the soldier.

If you give more than you were asked to, you volunteered. You did not follow a command... you CHOSE to do more.

Take this way of living to the ultimate abuse of power... someone demanding your life.

GIVE your life, and you take the power away.

Jesus did that.

And look what happened from that deed.

His life did not belong to the Roman empire.

They could not take that away from Him.

And in the bravery of Jesus' deed, He taught His followers to not fear.

God's power, the power of the Divine courses through each of us and will be there for us if we pay attention and keep ourselves on the proper path.

Jesus did not kill other people to get them to walk His path.

Truth.

What would happen if a sea of humanity stood up and said to the killers, here take my life, and mine, and mine?

and so forth...

Would such an act satisfy the bloodlust?

Could you continue to murder and murder and murder a mass of people who refuse to kill you back?

Would you run out of ammunition?

Would you finally faint from the exhaustion of trying to slay people until your need for earthly justice is abated?

Would you become horrified?

Our soldiers represent all of us Americans to Iraq.

This is not good enough and this is not a solution.

I am sure the majority of our military do not want to be there in the face of the bloodlust that has spiralled out of control.

Actually the bloodlust in the former Garden of Eden (Iraq) has always been out of control. Just ask any Iraqi who has lived under Saddam's regime.

Like all oppressed people, sometimes no one cares about who is in charge, just as long that whoever is in charge will help families to be safe and prosper.

As a nation we have to ask ourselves, exactly who are we to demand anything from another nation?

Do we work together to help the people within our borders be safe and prosper?

Some folks say yes, but if you spend enough time with the working poor, and the people living in war zones throughout our nation... they would give you a definitive NO.

A fence spanning a manmade border does not equate safety.

Actually, that is pretty silly.

We could expend man power on so many other important tasks.


We invaded Iraq as if our intentions are pure.

As if our history past and present is not waist deep in the blood of innocent victims.

Who are we to be policing the world?

Who indeed?

We have our own factions of American citizens who believe in bloodlust to promote their causes. Some of the blood hungry ones even claim to belong to religious organizations. They create acts of violence regularly right here in the U.S.

Sometimes you may even hear about one or two of them on the news.

How would we feel if another nation invaded our borders to take control of all that... thinking that they could do a better job of it than we could?

Sounds pretty ridiculous, doesn't it?

But, isn't that we, the United States of America have taken upon ourselves?

I do not have answers.

I have loads of questions.

Questions, though, that need to be asked.

Questions that demand a response before people in governmental power lay the lives of our sons and daughters out to be sacrificed in foreign lands.

Even after reading today's act of violence in Baghdad... I am still a pacifist.

No, I do not have any answers right now...

But, I will tell you one thing...

War does not work.

No... it certainly does not work.

#44 - The Confederate Flag and Mother's Day

I just sat down at this computer about 30 minutes ago.

While opening a ton of fun e-mail with loads of warm fuzzy Mother's Day messages, I noticed strong deisel fumes rolling in through the open windows.

Our next door neighbor is having MAJOR construction work done on their home. And we have been vert supportive about that. Actually, because of the location of the work needing to be done... we have let the construction crew park and work in our driveway. Our homes are very close together, and it was easier for the crew to get their work done via access from our property.

I don't mind. Actually, I have enjoyed chatting from time to time with the main construction worker.

Yesterday he told me they are doing the finishing work which means the jack hammers, construction trucks and equipment.

"No problem," I told him.

And, thus, the diesel fumes wafting through the Cozy Cottage today.

So I go to shut the windows and as I look out to our driveway there is a pick up truck there.

A pickup truck with a CONFEDERATE FLAG prominently on display on the bumper.

Why do people do that?

Especially here... in New York State.

Whatever meaning that holds for those who feel the urge to display that flag... here's what it means to me... the mother of a biracial family.

RACISM.

Pure and simple.

That's the message that flag conveys, whether or not that was the intention.

The confederate flag is a symbol to many Americans of slavery. The confederate flag was used by the Ku Klux Klan. The confederate flag is embraced by the Aryan nation, Skinheads, and the American Nazi party.

I mean... need I say more?

I was upset when I saw that bumper sticker sitting in my driveway, so I went out there to find out what's up with that.

Unfortunately, the owner of the bumper sticker had quickly pulled out of my driveway . I asked the workers about that bumper sticker.

I don't do small talk.

I cut to the chase.

"The fella who owns that pick-up truck has a confederate flag sticker on his bumper. Is he a racist?"

The guys looked surprised.

They had not noticed the sticker. I guess you don't notice those things unless you have a good reason too. But, they were surprised. I hadn't expected that.

"No... he's no racist. He has a biracial son. Half Black... heh,heh,heh."

Of course, one of the guys had to put up the front... "and the South shall rise again."

I ignored that comment. I mean what are you supposed to say to something like that?

But, I was surprised too.

Why would you go about displaying the confederate flag when you love and cherish someone who is not 100% Caucasian?

Why indeed?

Symbols are incredibly powerful.

Symbols hold cultural information that often can not be expressed simply with words.

Think on these symbols:

Cross

Swastika

We know what these forms mean instinctively, even before our mind forms words.

But, the symbols hold different meaning depending on the beholder.

The cross can mean the symbol of Christ, or the ancient symbol of the tree of life, or something altogether different for people who feel persecuted by Christians.

The swastika makes many of us cringe, but that symbol is a bastardization of an ancient symbol used by Buddhism and the indigenous people of America.

So what to do?

Stop displaying a cross in order to not cause offense to those who have been harmed by those claiming to follow Jesus?

Wipe away the swastikas in Native American and Buddhist art the way the early Christians defaced the ancient sculptures of Rome?

Scrape that darn Confederate flag off of your bumper?

Here's a thought... CONTEXT.

A confederate flag flapping on the flagpole of a small community in upstate New York is really not appropriate. (Yes, we have a neighbor down the street who has that flag on his flagpole.)

We have a huge problem right now with an Aryan group trying to hone in on our nearby communities.

Seriously, they have been leaving flyers in shopping parking lots. They developed a compound on the Pennsylvania border not too far from where we live.

They like the confederate flag.

That flag in that neighbor's front yard just feels like an open invitation saying "Aryan guys are welcome here."

I can not describe how I am feeling this morning about the pick-up truck bumper sticker, but I do know that my thoughts of Mother's Day evaporated with the site of that vehicle.

My strong mother inner self jumped right into gear and I walked out and confronted that symbol of racism that had entered onto my property.

My message?

That symbol is not welcome here.

No.

So thoughts of Mother's Day drifted away as I acted like a protective Mom.

I am shaken.

I am sad.

Not angry, just confused by what the workers shared with me.

Were they serious or were they quick with a joke?

I just don't know.

I just don't know.

Read more about the confederate flag and racism here:

Community Action Against Racism - Confederate Flag is a Racist Symbol

#43 - Blogging Stephen Colbert

AOL reports that blogs are chattering about Stephen Colbert's address to the White House Correspondent's Annual black tie dinner.

TV News - Blogs Are Alive With Colbert Chatter - AOL News

Maybe bloggers are chattering away because traditional media news sources cowardly ignored the court appointed jester's ability to point out that our emporer is not wearing any clothes?

You can read more at Congressman, John Conyers, Jr.'s website:

John Conyers, Jr. -- ConyersBlog

Stephen Colbert is an intellectually gifted entertainer who has the ability to open people's eyes to the illusions created by the media in collusion with our government.

Humor is one of the best ways for us to receive the wake up call to what may be too painful to look upon in full.

Colbert's talent for providing revelations to the American public via his juxtaposition of the serious next to the ridiculous has been one of the healthiest doses of reality on television to date.

Learn more about Stephen Colbert's work here:

The Colbert Nation

#42 - Second Wave of 9/11 Victims

The towers came down and there was a huge blast of rubble and dust that engulfed the city.

Medical experts are now discovering a second wave of victims who are dying from the 2001 terrorist attacks:

Official worried about 2nd wave of 9/11 victims - More Health News - MSNBC.com

You can read more about the concerns of this second wave of victims here:


9/11 autopsy renews rescuers' health fears - More Health News - MSNBC.com

#41 - A New May Day is Born

Immigrants take a day to remind the people of the United States of our roots and responsibilities to the people of the world who come to our borders and shores:

NPR : Protesters Hail 'Day Without Immigrants'

#40 - Post Traumatic Nation

She walked into my office sitting down in the tradtional "therapy" chair.

She took in the whole room instantaneously, measuring the quality of the prints, the luxury of the carpetting, and eyes darting to every corner to assess any potential threats to her safety.

She pushed the chair back against the wall and positioned herself half-turned so that she could see my office door at all times.

Trauma has a way of doing that to a person.

She was beautiful, tall, powerful, outspoken, engaging, distrustful, wealthy, exhausted, distracted, anxious...

everything I had expected based on her clinical history.

"I'm famous you know."

I paused a moment to reply... careful not to trigger her into the spontaneous rages that had been causing the storms in her life over the past few years...

"Yes, you are famous, but not in here. "

"I am in the news all the time. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week!"

"Yes. I have seen you on the news, but I want to hear your story... not from others... from you. What you have to say is important."

She slumped in the chair, angry tears silently streaming down her face.

With gritted teeth she reminded me that she did not ask to be here today.

She has neglected her children. Some of her children died last autumn because she was not in town. She was engaged in a fight with her neighbors and neglected to be there for the kids, even though there were plenty of warnings that harm was on its way.

She had committed murder.

She snuck into her neighbors' yards, vengeful and raging. Many of her neighbors were too stunned to respond, but now they are angry... her life is in danger.

"I'm fine," she reminds me as I watch the tears dry on her face. She unclenches her fists to grab a cigarette and light up. She blows the smoke in my face without apology.

She turns ugly when she does that.

"What happened?" I ask.

Disgust flies into her eyes, then a quiet "click" as everything in her heart shuts down. She is there, but she is not.

We call that disassociation.

It happens when someone has been hurt really, really bad. Too much pain to bear, so the body shuts down... grows numb.

"You know what happened," she replies in a monotone... forgetting her cigarette as the ashes burn into the rug.

"Tell me."

"NO!" she shrieks...

"No," she whispers.

"No, no, no, no... oh dear God, no," she rocks and cries again.

Here is her story:

My life ended on a clear September morning. The sky was so piercingly blue, crisp and open to a bountiful autumn.

My life collapsed in a matter of hours.

Everyone watched, shocked, terrified... no one thought that something like this could ever happen to someone like me.

But it did.

And I want to kill him.

I want to kill the man who did this to me.

He gashed a hole in my body, he killed many of my family members, he laughed as he did this, and he raped my mind.

He is devious.

He made it happen so that all of my children could watch this unfold over and over again on the television.

I want him dead. I hate him, I hate his family, I hate his friends, I hate the very ground he lives upon.

So I decided to go out there and kill him.

I know, I know... I have heard over and over again that you should never make major decisions for at least one year after such a trauma. But, I couldn't stand feeling like this. I have never been helpless... and I have never been so shamed in such a public forum.

So I decided to get him.

I couldn't do it by myself, so I had to have many of my family members do this for me. I sent them far away to where that evil man was hiding. Some of my friends were willing to help too.

And they went.

I didn't care that he lived in a poor neighborhood filled with women and children and poor hard-working men. I didn't care that they were the poorest people on the earth. I told my brothers, my sisters, my friends... kill anyone that gets in your way.

And they did.

No one wanted to tell me what to do. They were trying to respect my grief, to give me some space to work things out. But, my friends were getting hurt... hurt real bad. Some of my friends died for my revenge. My brothers and sisters were dying too... but, not as much as those who lived where that predator lived... I didn't think about it too much.

I've been told I was in a state of shock.

The nightmares came. They played over and over again on the television every day.

I learned to ignore them... I didn't want to know. I couldn't stand to think about the suffering... all I could see was this anger. It was pure and clean... if only I could have my revenge, I could feel the release I so desperately longed for.

But, more problems arrived.

I got really scared. I was called paranoid by some. I started looking around and I could see my attacker everywhere. That man reminds me of him... so does that place, and that group of people... they're all out to get me. My family reinforced itself and moved to another land and went after that man too. There is a lot of wealth in that land. We are taking it. I tell them that we deserve this, after all we have been through.

I use my money to buy safety.

For a long time my children were so frightened that they never said a word. They trusted me. They believed that I knew what I was doing.

But, now they are angry at me too. They feel betrayed. They think I have made this trauma worse by my anger. Some of them won't talk to me anymore. They fight all the time with me and amongst themselves. Nothing ever gets done around here... we are exhausted.

The head of our household was traumatized too, and all of our elders. We didn't notice. We thought they would protect us. I didn't want to think, so I just did what they told me to do.

We used to sit down and discuss family decisions together. We always have argued a lot, but things got done.

But, since I was attacked... we are too frightened to disagree. The head of our household went adrift in the sea of our collective rage... and he had no anchor. He couldn't hear his own thoughts in the raging storm. He let others make decisions for him. He lets his friends do the job. His friends are not our friends. It is such a mess.

We had an opportunity to change that... to choose a new head of household... but too many of us were afraid of one more change. Some of the children just didn't care anymore... the trauma has made them apathetic.


And now I am in so much trouble that I can't see my way out.

I wonder if I have a death wish?


I am irritable, the nightmares are real, everyone is angry at me and fed up. They don't care anymore what happened to me. They tell me to shut up and put up... that I have been selfish acting like I am the only one in the world who has ever been hurt like this.

Some of my neighbors coldly tell me, "Welcome to our world... it's about time you woke up."

Hollywood bought my story. The movies are starting to pour out onto the screens. I don't know if my children should see this... is it too soon? Will this help? It's my story... do I want someone else to tell it?

My children hate me, my neighbors want nothing to do with me, my finances are a mess, my house is falling around me, and I am so tired... so very, very tired.

I have children screaming at me to get religion, and children screaming at me to stop doing what I have been doing. Some of my children don't recognize me anymore... and think that I am already dead.

My name is Liberty.

My friends named me Lady Liberty. I used to tell everyone:

Give me your hungry, your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free.

I am no longer a lady... I have now created the hungry, the huddled masses, the desperate people yearning to breathe free.

My name was Liberty, I was beautiful, powerful, generous and strong.

Can you help me?


Her story was finished for today.

Her eyes cleared and she looked up at me with that old famous visage of hers...

"Yes, Lady. I am here to help.

I can't do this alone...

Bring your family next time and we will begin...

we are going to have to grieve some more...

we are going to have to start talking with each other, and holding each other, and trusting each other... and remembering to work together again.

My wish for you this day is that you will find in your heart that place that is safe and trusting. That generous beautiful part of you that truly is not dead. We will feed the hungry once more. We will comfort the huddled masses. We will breathe freedom.

We must start by cleaning out your home first and tending to all the chores that have been ignored.

We must bury the children who have died along the way... we must make reparations, we must heal the relationships we have severed...

We must return what we have stolen.

We must turn that heart of stone back into the heart of flesh that made you so beautiful.

Are you ready to get to work, I am... and I know there are many others who are ready too."

"You're crazy," she smiled as she headed out the door.

"Yep... I surely am... and you can be too. Believe in the impossible and join me... what else can you do?"

#39 - Chuck E. Cheese Recruiting Little Soldiers

Chuck E. Cheese has taken up the patriotic frenzy by including a two minute video clip of soldiers in Iraq that is broadcast during little kids' birthday parties:

t r u t h o u t - Victoria Harper Babes in Warland

According to journalist, Dr. Michael I. Niman, the above story is , indeed, true, although some of the details are not exactly accurate.

Chuck E. Cheese is showing a two minute (not five minute) clip of American soldiers distributung toys and candy to Iraqi children and then sequencing to images of tanks and war planes.

The clip was not funded by the Department of Defense, Chuck E. Cheese Productions created this video segment on their own!

Would someone please tell me what the dink is going on?

Read more of Dr. Niman's work here:

Critical Media Studies Resources

#38 - Women in History - Eve - Word Origin

I have been prowling around the vastness of the internet in search of the word origin for evening.

My presumption has been that evening was named after our lovely sister Eve.

No such luck.

The word eveing was coined in c. 1440 and it originally looked like this:

cwildtid

Go figure.

The darn word doesn't even LOOK like evening!

And, of course, our Biblical Eve gets no credit for this lovely word... evening.

I have to do some more digging about.

In the meantime, if you do have an interest in word origins (entymology) please stop by here:

Online Etymology Dictionary