Policed by toxic masculinity, an entire nation like a battered wife, twitching with PTSD and suppressed anger. Politicians praising the abusers, enabling, perpetuating, celebrating the evil and demonizing the victim. Judges and courts ready to find the technicality that can set a murdering cop free. Churches cheering white supremacy and patriotism as conjoined twins never to be parted. America is a broken home unleashing her traumatized children on an astonished world. © 2020 Deb Moore, All Rights Reserved
I’m reading a book about communists (poet’s disclaimer: I am not a communist, though I’m not sure if it says more about me or our society that I feel I must disclaim; I don’t dislike communists, and in fact, I could almost be one if push came to shove, but I’m not, you see, just a plain old run-of-the-mill Democrat and proud of it, though I have good friends who are conservative Republicans, and they are, generally, quite lovely people) and in this book so many of the people profiled speak about THE MOMENT, the moment when they saw clearly and heard the clarion call of the ideal and felt connected to those who also believed, and it was beautiful, and it was life-changing, and they never forgot it, and nothing since has ever come close, and I thought how very much like religion it sounded, like a Damascus road experience, blinded by the light and all, and then I thought about today and how we’ve all become evangelists for something, and I’m not saying that we shouldn’t stick to our convictions, but maybe, just maybe we could consider how fully we ate of the flesh and drank from the cup of our personal gospel.
© 2020 Deb Moore, All Rights Reserved
(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.