Tilt

Sometimes the world feels tilted,
like we might fall off the edge
of roundness,
like the earth is a motorcycle
on a dirt road
driven by a dare-devil
with an addiction to
danger,
like the voices of conspiracy
get louder and more disjointed,
like they are so many whack-a-moles
popping up faster and faster
and unwilling to stop
and unwilling to
listen,
like politicians speaking only
the language of logical
fallacies,
like they are blinded to
the science,
like they had their hearts and minds
and consciences
ripped out by an evil villain
and replaced with adding machines,
like capitalism wasn’t eventually
going to find its Mr. Hyde
like every other ism has,
like somehow we could
keep all this going
without tilting,
without listing
to one side
like a ship
that has already
grazed the iceberg
but hasn’t yet
sunk.  

© 2020 Deb Moore, All Rights Reserved

 

Party of One, Your Table’s Ready

(Photo: Members of Nashville in Harmony, an LGBT and Friends City Chorus, lead marchers in Nashville,TN, for the Women’s March on Washington, 01/21/2017.  This picture was on the front page of The Tennessean and also in The New York Times.)

So, yesterday there was this little march.  You might have heard about it.  Somewhere in the neighborhood of 14 bejillion women (and men) around the globe came together to stand for equality and diversity.  It was a beautiful thing.

I think it’s fair to say that most of the people who attended these marches were liberal and likely vote Democrat.  But, I know more than one Republican friend who was also in attendance, marching proudly, passionately convicted about women’s rights and the rights of all others as well.   What courage it must take in our current social climate to march in the midst of those with whom you politically disagree, but with whom you share a basic alignment of principles and core values.  (Side note: If you believe that it’s impossible for Republicans to care about Civil Rights or Women’s Rights or even LGBT Rights, then you might just be living in as solid a news silo as you likely accuse the “other side” of living in.)

I attend a church where a significant majority of congregants vote Democrat.  But, there are some Republicans in our midst.  These are people I respect and with whom I feel a strong spiritual kinship.  They are my tribe.

I’ve watched them sit quietly as statements are made from that place of assumption.  You know that place, the one where we believe that everyone who shares one similarity with us will also align with everything else we believe. It’s the place where white people feel empowered to tell a racist joke in front of other white people.  It’s the place where a co-worker tells a gay joke because surely they don’t know any of those people.  And it’s the place where Democrats and/or Republicans speak out regarding political issues with unbridled confidence and, often, smugness.  Because they assume ideological homogeneity, their tone naturally becomes self-righteous; unfortunately, what sounds like certainty to those who agree takes on the stench of pomposity to those who don’t.

These microaggressions happen constantly.  We’ve all engaged in them at some point or another, most of the time unknowingly.  It may not be a true sin of commission, but it’s not helping.  We have to at least admit, it’s not helping.

Perhaps you say, “Well, tough shit.  That’s the way of the world.”  Or perhaps you say, “I can’t tip-toe around on egg shells being constantly concerned about hurting someone’s feelings.”

Well, to the first, I say: We are the way of the world.  To the second, I say: You don’t have to if you stay focused on the principles and not the politics.

If we keep our eyes on the love and the equality and the justice, then following closely on their heels is the mercy and the forgiveness and the healing.  If we remain focused on the bigger picture, we can stop examining the other side’s every twitch and tic under a microscope of judgment.

And if we can do this, we’ll create a new kind of politics.  Politicians will begin to learn that it no longer works to divide us and to train us to demonize the other side.  Their tricks simply won’t work on us anymore, and we might just drain that big ole’ swamp after all.

But, let’s still march now and then, ’cause, you know, that was fun.

This Little Light of Mine

(Image: “The Energy Flow of Meditation,” by giorjoe.  Source: DeviantArt)

This post was supposed to be about politics.  I made a few notes over the past couple of days with the intention of writing about politics as our national religion.  One note said, “Until politics is no longer our religion, until our party is no longer our sect, we will continue to wage a holy bipartisan war with each other.”  I had several pithy comments rolling around in my brain about the altar call of biased media, the evangelical fervor of party leaders, and the heaven or hell choice each side paints the positions to be.  I was chewing on a truly remarkable idea about the crucifixion of conscience while a herd of Pontius Pilates washed their hands and a gang of Judases counted their money.  It promised to be a jeremiad of legendary proportions.

And then I went to church.

Today we installed the new leadership council at Unity of Music City.  Fifteen people (fourteen of them women) stood on stage holding a candle and singing, “I am a light in this world.”  It was a moving and transformative experience.  Describing it cannot do it justice, for what was most profound was the energy in that moment.  Our entire spiritual community is focused on being a force for good in this new year, and I was privileged and humbled to be standing shoulder to shoulder with those who would hold the sacred space for that vision to become action.

I was, quite frankly, riding a little high.  I came home from church and checked the mail I had ignored since earlier in the week.  Inside was a present from some good friends, and they don’t yet know how perfect it was.  As I was walking into my apartment, I received a text message.  It was from my decades-long BFF who I don’t really see anymore and who I rarely talk to, but I know is always there.  The text said, “Just wanted you to know I was thinking of you.  Love you.”

Then I meditated.

Now I’m baking an apple pie.

Do I really need to close the circle of logic for you here?  I have absolutely no energy for a discussion of politics.  Not even a detached, enlightened one where I play at being observer and not participant.  Not even a theoretical one.  Not even a funny one.

In churches and schools and clubs and organizations and movements and NGO’s and various other tribes the land over, people pick up the mantle of leadership and love and duty and calling every single day.  In any given moment, a significant army are devoting themselves to be a force for good.   Those are the people I want to talk about.

Let me make one thing clear — this isn’t about burying heads in the sand and ignoring reality.  Being a force for good means you are ready to stand and march and advocate.  But I know that I know that I know that attention is the fertilizer of reality.  What we focus on grows.

So I’m not writing about politics.  I’m writing about love and intention.

There is another note I have in my journal.  My good friend and minister, Denise Yeargin, shared this with us this morning in church.  “No matter how dark an experience might be, I look up and experience the light.”

I have the choice.  I choose the light.

How an Election Set us Free

I’ve spent a considerable amount of time wondering why Donald Trump is the President-Elect of the United States.  This is not the kind of “why” that is actually asking “how.”  I’m not contemplating what did or didn’t get said by the Trump Camp or the Clinton Camp to Rust Belt workers or West Virginia coal miners or disillusioned Bernie-or-Busters.

No, this is a true why.  If every development in life has meaning (and I believe it does), then what is the meaning here?  If every event has purpose (and I believe it does), then what is the purpose now?  In other words, why?

I believe there are probably scads of answers to the why, maybe one for each of us.  I may have landed on one that works for me, though.

There is a concept called “American Exceptionalism.”  It is the belief that America’s history (including her world-changing Revolution) and democracy (which the rest of the world needs, of course) place this nation in a superior position.  It is the belief that the United States is truly exceptional, truly better than the rest of the world.  This belief is so widely held in political circles that President Obama was “accused” by Louisiana Governor Bobby Jindal of not adhering to it, a claim that might be considered “fightin’ words” to many on Capitol Hill.

This sense of American Exceptionalism oozes from the pores of our society.  We see it in the cocky strut of an NFL player scoring a touchdown.  We hear it in the chants of “USA! USA! USA!” at the Olympics.  Any teacher can vouch for the unearned level of confidence displayed by a student population that ranks unremarkably in the middle of the worldwide pack in science and math.

The truth is we’re not exceptional.  This is especially true for those, like me, who believe in the unity and equality of all humanity.  Yes, we had a remarkable Revolution and established an early model of modern democracy.  I know how profound all of that was; I teach it on a fairly regular basis.  But we didn’t invent democracy, the Greeks did.  And we didn’t win a revolution on our own; the French helped considerably, as did others.  And in the midst of lofty ideas of civil liberties were the more base motivators of taxes, trade, and economy.

No, we’re not exceptional.  We’re another link in a long chain of human evolution.  We have some truly admirable qualities; we also have many that are not.

In 1630, John Winthrop preached a sermon to Puritans on board the Arbella.  The sermon was called “A Model of Christian Charity,” and in it he referred to the society they would form in the New World as “a city upon a hill.”  The phrase comes from Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, but since Winthrop, it has been synonymous with first the colonies and then the nation.  The concept maintains that this “city upon a hill” is a model for the world.   It was not merely a 17th century idea.  John F. Kennedy, Ronald Reagan, George H.W. Bush, and, yes, Barack Obama all made references to it during various speeches.

And that brings us back to Donald Trump.  During the 2016 Presidential Campaign, Mitt Romney made this statement about Trump:  “His domestic policies would lead to recession; his foreign policies would make America and the world less safe.  He has neither the temperament nor the judgement to be president, and his personal qualities would mean that America would cease to be a shining city on a hill.”

And there’s my why.  We’ve thought we were hot shit quite long enough.  We’re not.  We sometimes make terrible mistakes.  If we can manage some humility, we might learn something through this.  At the very least, we can finally put down that heavy mantle of greatness we’ve lugged around for so long.