Dance, Partners

We danced that one time,
(was it Salsa?)
taking turns with the roles
naturally curious, both of us explorers.
Then talking as we drove home
reflections on the instructor, the other students, ourselves.
“I’m surprised…following was better for me.”
A clear contradiction to my normal way in the world.
And you?
Leading came with such grace – we both felt it.
Sometimes a yes is so clear, the question ceases to exist
(serving only to birth more questions)
This one stands before me now:
how is it that your lead, my follow, is our most awkward movement?
(something so natural – why are we so damn bad at it?)
Is it as simple as inexperience?  as pathological as resistance?
are we hopelessly mismatched despite all our dreams?

There is no escaping the demand for our mastery:
your expertise, your desires, your boundaries, your vision,
each day asks only more.
[It's so tempting to think:
I could follow if only you would...]

But back to Salsa (or was it a Rumba?)
What did I learn?
…seek my excellence in the steps that are mine
…be substance to your flow (that’s how we are form)
…ask only this:  what is this beauty we create?
Curiosity, exploration – there is no other way.
How do I remember this now
with deadlines and anxieties
and the misdirections of my mind?

If the deadlines are the tempo
and our goals are the beat
and you are the lead
how do I know my part?

Those dance lessons…they weren’t Tango or Foxtrot or Waltz.
(or did we waltz, for just a bit?)
But the lessons – what were they?  Samba maybe?
I cannot recall.

But that day -
that day I knew.
And that day – we danced.
Once again, the lesson is the same:  it helps to know intent.
(It’s the music that’s the cue.)

High Noon – Men and Boys

Through a lifetime of loving westerns, I had never seen High Noon, perhaps because both my parents were more John Wayne than Gary Cooper – fans, I mean - and I didn’t get around to Mr. Cooper myself until recently.  In any case, it was not what I expected.  I expected a fairly standard, if high quality, shoot ‘em up western.  Instead I got a wonderfully rich examination of what makes a man rather than a boy, of what makes a woman, and of duty.

These have all been on my mind for quite some time, partly because I met and got to know a few men who were noticeably different from other men of my acquaintance, who held a different kind of maturity and centeredness, and who seemed perfectly comfortable interacting with me and other women.  I had been so used to guys who were charmingly boyish – and rather unreliable, as well as awkward in one way or another around women (worshipping, on the make, ignoring) – that I had stopped considering the possibility of other options.  And then suddenly there they were.  I must say, it was very sexy.

So, I found myself completely fascinated. 

Gary Cooper’s Kane, who has just married Grace Kelly in her first major film role (manner of speaking), has only some initial hesitation about where his duty lies when a killer he sent to prison is set free and returning on the noon train, bent on vengeance.  His new wife’s begging, threats, and eventual departure don’t sway him, because he knows he is right.  He’s not belligerent or angry or defensive about it; he’s  just quietly – and regretfully – certain. 

Can you imagine marrying Grace Kelly and then finding out moments later that you’re likely to be shot to death before you have a chance to – well - enjoy it?  What might a boy do in that situation – run away with her, and hope the bad guy can’t find them?  Take her off to the barn and shag her, quick before the train comes?  Whine?  Drink?  Lash out?

Fortunately, there’s the “boy” character in the film (Lloyd Bridges as Harvey), and the wonderful Katy Jurado (as Mrs. Ramirez) to point out to all of us – and to Mrs. Kane in particular – the difference.  Mrs. Kane eventually sees the light – and the beauty of a man who knows what he requires of himself and holds to it.

Kettle Calls Self Black; Pot Denies Caring, Accuses Kettle of Roundness

“I think it’s important to realize that I was actually black before the election.” Pres. Obama on David Letterman, 9/21.

“If we’re not able to criticize his policy because he’s black, we’ve lost our country. Us sitting here having to defend having this different view and we’re talking about race shows how effective that tactic is. Because we’re sitting here now having to talk about race rather than the issue. And the issue is that we’re going socialist.”  Steve Fitts, Selma AL, on NPR’s Morning Edition, 9/24.

Are we still racist?  Yes, of course.  Will we always BE racist?  Probably.  Maybe.  I don’t know.

I admire Jimmy Carter for his almost bizarre courage in speaking political truths (or, minimally, partial truths) that others shy away from.  It was quite bold of him to bring the race issue up around the health care debate, and I myself have no doubt that there is some foundation of truth in it.  On the other hand, it also seems clear that folks are more frightened about how their health care may be changed than they are about the race of the president.  The race issue likely adds a certain spice to the mix, but it’s not the whole stew.

Just what is the meat that provides the body of this stew?  Fear of death and illness.  And the broth that everything is swimming in, that everything is flavored by, that encompasses and drowns the whole?  I don’t know what to call it, but it’s related to the quotes above: the tone of the debate,  the use of heavily emotionally loaded language and imagery, the steadfastly-presented feeling that the other side is just plain evil and must be smashed as quickly as possible, the with-us-or-against-us argument.

Every time we wield those hot button words – racist, socialist, Nazi, death panels, and so on – we diminish the chances of understanding each other.  And that’s the point of them, unfortunately: we’d rather win than come to an understanding.  We desperately need health care reform in this country – if you don’t trust the patients on this, just ask any doctor.  And yet, do we hear about the details of the proposals for change?  No.  We hear about Joe Wilson shouting “You lie!” at Pres. Obama.  We hear about “death panels.”  We hear about socialism.  And now, we hear about racism.  All of these could be enlightening discussions, but they’re just presented as titillation and emotional manipulation.

When will we grow up?

Health Care Reform – Resources and Analysis

It bugs the heck out of me that, even on supposedly serious news shows (radio, tv, cable), the main things we hear about the whole health care reform piece are the emotional manipulation and attention-seeking sound bites.  So, in an attempt to counter that, I am accumulating here a list of resources for information on the actual issues.

• The text of the bill: via openconvress.org (awfully SLOW); House bill 3200, certified by GPO
• The Obama administration’s perspective: http://www.healthreform.gov/ - reform advocacy
• The New York Times’ health care reform resource page
•  AARP’s debunking article, The Assault on Truth
• The Heritage Foundation’s analysis of costs and coverage of the Obama plan
• Physicians for a National Health Program on the costs of a single payer system

More to come, as I find them.  If you have suggestions, please comment or email me.

Forging the Samurai Sword – of Self

Tough into hard - how the Samurai sword blends the best of both.

A few nights ago, a friend inveigled me into watching a Nova episode called The Secrets of the Samurai Sword.  I had intended to do other things – some leftover work from the day (or week, or month…) was weighing on me a bit.  But it was irresistibly fascinating.

The first thing that caught me is one of my common questions: how did they ever figure that out?  Who, and how?  How did people come to know that cooking iron-bearing river sand in an incredibly hot oven (up to 2500 F) with charcoal for 3 days would produce the types of steel they needed for this?  How did they figure out that one type broke easily but held a very sharp edge, while another type was much more flexible but didn’t sharpen well, and so putting the flexible into the sharpen-able would produce a resilient and still deadly sword?  How?

The next thing that caught me was the degree of discipline, expertise and patience that goes into each step of the sword-making.  There are 3 segments to the making of a superior sword: the creation of the proper steel, the forging of the steel into a sword, and the finishing (polishing and honing).  Each is its own specialty.  Each demands consistent attention to the process over a significant period of time.  There is no shortcut to the production of a quality Samurai sword.  Men (and yes, they do seem all to be men) train and develop these skills over a lifetime.  It is their livelihood, their pride, their legacy, and part of their spirituality.

And then, still wandering about impressed as all get-out with those things, I began to think about character refinement and how like the creation of a Samurai sword it is.

Stage 1: The oven.  There are things we have to learn, things that must become a part of us.  We’re not going anywhere until we learn those lessons, or perhaps skills.  If you’ve ever been caught in a cycle of bad relationships, bad jobs, bad habits (including all addictions), or unproductive ways of thinking about things (the world, other people, yourself,…) that kept you stuck, you know the oven.  Once you hit that place of never going back to your old form, you’re done with it.

Stage 2a: Removing the slag.  In this stage, the steel is heated and pounded, folded, heated and pounded more.  The pounding actually squeezes impurities out of the steel, leaving (remarkably!) only iron and carbon.  This process is very much like what we do once we are on a self-growth path.  We know we want to change, and we do what we know how to do to remove the “impurities” – that is, those things that no longer work for us, that impede us from doing what we deeply desire to do.  I’ve also heard this called “peeling the layers of the onion.”  The repeated heating, pounding and folding serves exactly the same purpose: we test ourselves, challenge ourselves, observe what’s there and refine it, look at it differently, and begin again.

Stage 2b: Forging the sword.  This critical phase of the process is one I had not thought explicitly about before, but it hits home for me.  See what you think.  By now we know ourselves pretty well.  We know which parts of us are or can be sharp but fragile, and which parts are perhaps blunt but quite resilient.  From the sword forging process, it is clear that both parts are necessary.  With only the sharp but fragile parts, we will shatter under pressure; but with only the blunt, resilient parts, we will never cut through to the truth.  And so we must find a way to blend the two, to make use of the best qualities of both.  In the sword, the tough (more flexible) steel goes on the inside, and that makes sense for us as well.  Our internal resilience, our ability to bend and not break, comes from the inside and strengthens the outside.  Our sharp edge, our ability to see clearly and accurately and cut through pretense (our own or others’), we direct at least partly externally. 

Stage 3: Honing and polishing.  The polishing and honing of the sword of our self, the quest to fulfill to promise of our uniqueness, our own individual beauty.

A couple of years ago, I had a dream in which one of my teachers said to me, “I am constantly sharpening my sword.”  That has taken on new, more profound meaning now.

Kung Fu Panda and “The One”

I wasn’t intending to see this movie, but then someone I respect recommended it highly.  And then, it was on HBO, making it all so easy.  (Thank goodness for that!)

Well-executed and entertaining, it nevertheless fell neatly into my “The One” movie category.   In these movies, the character destined to be “The One” is some kind of underdog or even goofy-off, though often with a secret passion.  Someone – a fairy godmother, a master, a mysterious man in sunglasses – lifts the poor sap out of obscurity by designating him or her as “The One.”   Next comes a process of transformation, followed by the final testing – which “The One” invariably wins – and “The One” is placed in the duly earned spot of honor.  See The Matrix, or Star Wars, or Buffy the Vampire Slayer - or Kung Fu Panda.

In Kung Fu Panda, Po is a big, goofy panda with no kung fu training.  He is chosen by the old turtle master as “The One” to defeat the fearsome Tai Lung, a big, muscular, orange-eyed white tiger with evil in his heart – who, incidentally, has been training his kung fu for his entire life.  Po goes through about 1 day of training, and he destroys the tiger.  Why?  Well, because he’s “The One,” and because he believes in himself.

It’s such a seductive idea.  No matter who we are, how goofy we are, how little we’ve worked at becoming what we truly want to be, there is always the chance that someday someone will recognize our true worth and point to us as “The One,” destined to save the universe (or be a princess, or whatever).  And, in fact, there’s no real reason to work at things, because those poor slaving saps are always the ones who THINK they’re going to be “The One” and end up getting passed over for the goofball panda.  In fact, not only do they get passed over, they end up BOWING to the goofball panda.  Why work your ass off when you know the only result will be having to bow to the goofball?  You NEVER get to be “The One” by working your ass off.  How much easier – and better, more legitimate - just to wait for the mysterious master to notice you and pluck you from the crowd?

Oooooh, ouch.  How self-defeating is that? 

Anyone else susceptible to this?  I know I am.  It took me quite a while to recognize my internal knowing of when and where I was “The One” – and despite finding that, I still occasionally find myself waiting.

Susan Boyle

I got links from several friends recommending I watch the inspiring video, something really beautiful.  I did.  And yes, I found her singing quite beautiful, and she seemed a real character.  But I wasn’t left with a feeling of inspiration – at least, not unadulterated inspiration.  Actually, I was – well – enraged.

I gather this has been so popular because her voice is not what one would expect from someone with her appearance .  No one expected it, and they (everyone?) were brought to an abrupt and profound realization their own prejudice based on appearance.

As a woman who has never really fit the standard definition of beautiful, and who has chosen (I admit it – from laziness, among other things) to leave my eyebrows wild and woolly, my first question was, if she had been beautiful, would she have made anywhere near the splash she did?   Or did her combination of ”frumpiness”  and talent just create in people a combination of guilt (“I pre-judged her wrongly!”) and self-importance (“But now I realize how wrong I was, and how wonderful she is, and I’m not prejudiced anymore!”)?  How long will the enlightenment last?   Can we look forward to a new era of average-looking people, or even ugly people, being more generally noticed for their talents and other good qualities, the way movie stars have been?

That would surprise me a lot more than the beautiful voice that came out of Susan Boyle’s mouth.  This is one of the reasons for my reaction.

Did no one in her 47 year lifetime realize she could sing?  Or did they just not care?   This is another reason for my reaction.

And does this mean that the spectacle of cruelty, which is part of the appeal of shows like Britain’s Got Talent and American Idol, will now be passe?  That people who are average to frumpy, moderately or not at all talented, will now be shown a larger measure of respect, because we now know they probably have wonderful qualities we’re just not aware of yet? 

That would be very gratifying.  But I’m not holding my breath.

Now, she’s dyed her hair and had her eyebrows shaped, and people are frantically worrying that she won’t seem as authentic, and will lose her popularity.  Or is it that they may no longer have the frumpy/talented dichotomy to bolster their feelings of virtuousness?   Why is it such a big deal?

Unfortunately, it all seems to be a piece with, and not a break from, our society’s fixation on appearance.   I would love to continue to see and hear Susan Boyle, as she develops her talent and goes through whatever changes this experience will bring to her.  I would also love to see and hear other people, who don’t quite look like Angelina Jolie or Britney Spears or Jamie Foxx or any of the other good-looking and talented people, develop their own talents.   And I’d like to see it all treated with respect, not like a freak show.  As my former boss used to say, “Don’t act so surprised.”

Saving the Wild of the World

Thoreau said, “In wildness is the preservation of the world.”  That quote gets distorted, replacing ‘wildness’ with ‘wilderness’ as in the forests and jungles and deserts of the natural world.  But it has as much to say about our internal landscape:  the ways our untamed self  is capable of creating life and passion and all that sustains the essence of living.

Yet the bulk of too many days and nights is devoted to taming that wildness within – making it acceptable, making it fit, making it play by the rules, making it go away.  This is the destruction of  natural resources that most endangers us, truly threatening our extinction.

The world will not be saved by doing things right.  It can only be preserved through the ways we are fierce and stormy, feral and threatening, undomesticated, uncultivated, rowdy.

Conservation is not accomplished by the act of containment.  Life is viscerally made of change; the act of creation is the only contribution that counts.  And our creative core is exactly where we are undisciplined and unmanageable, not to be controlled.

We will only make it through this day, this recession, this decade, this rolling tide of humanity across time and space when we demand this wildness of ourselves and each other.  And yes, it is dangerous – for all the reasons we can name.  But danger lurks with any choice and becomes the greater threat when we pretend otherwise.

How do you save the wild within you? How do outrageous unruly desires and dreams whisper to you, calling you to be?  How do you honor and encourage the wild nature of those you call into your world?  How?

A Bitter After Taste

I’ve just joined a new club. This is what it takes to be a member:

Eat something.
Notice you have a bitter after taste in your mouth.
Notice it’s not going away. (And it’s really annoying!)
Notice that you’re not really enjoying eating other things.
Notice that eating triggers and intensifies the bitter taste.

Start to wonder what the heck is going on.
Start to wonder what’s wrong with you.
Start to wonder what’s wrong with your food.
Throw some food out.

Start to not be very interested in eating.
Mutter about it to your friends and family.
Fret about it an increasingly distracting rate.
Wonder if there’s any information about having a bitter taste in your mouth on the internet.

Search on terms like “bitter taste in mouth” and “unpleasant taste in mouth”.
Click on medical advice and medical diagnosis sites.
Wonder if you have an ulcer.
Wonder if you have a hernia.
Reassure yourself you don’t have heartburn.
Wonder if you have pneumonia.
Be reassured you’re not coughing up blood.
Wonder if you have oral cancer.
Convince yourself its more likely you have a cavity.
Think about going to the dentist.

Continue to find eating really unpleasant. It’s day 2 of it now.

Do more internet searching.
Go on forums and discussion sites.
Discover your people – there are others like you!
Discover the secret: pine nuts.
Wonder if you ate pine nuts recently.
Remember that you did!

Read Wikipedia about pine nuts.
Tell your story on the forums.
Thank everyone for helping you know you’re not crazy.
Thank God that you live in an internet age.

Tell the people that had pine nuts with you that night.
Commiserate. (Or not.)

Wonder why pine nuts never did this to you before.
Wonder if it matters if you eat them raw or cooked.
Wonder if it matters if you eat a few or a lot.
Wonder if it matters what country they came from.
Wonder if it matters what genus they are.

Wonder if it’s the pesticides.
Wonder if they were rancid.
Wonder if the store that sold them to you should be notified.
Wonder if you should sue.

Continue to find that food is STILL unpleasant. Dang it! This is no fun.
Wonder if there is a remedy.
Do some more internet searching.
Find no remedies.
Commiserate with your people.

Consider the hidden benefits of enforced dieting.
Be reassured that it does go away.
Count the days. (Praying your a 2-3 dayer, not a 2 weeker.)

Write a blog entry about it.

The Square Root of Bugger All

A really good expletive (n. an exclamation, often profane [<L ex- completely + plere to fill]) has certain requirements, in terms of how it comes out.  It must be short.  “Supercalifragilisticexpialadocious” would never do.  It must have, as the derivation suggests, some sense of filling completely, to the point of the dam breaking with the weight of it all.  Some expetives, like the perinnial favorite “fuck,” do this with the filling happening through the word, the pressure building through the “f” sound, then bursting at the end when we reach the wall of the “k”.   With others, the filling-up is implied – that is, it happens before the word begins – and the expetive itself begins with the bursting.  For example, when we say “Damn it!” or “Darn!” or “Turkey legs!” or “Bugger!” we are crashing through the dam with that very first consonant.

Just saying these words is satisfying.  It doesn’t matter in the least what they really mean or where they came from - at least, as far as the physical satisfaction of verbal expression goes.

But then, one day, we want more.  We want, not just the physical satisfaction of expressing that bursting, but also some mental satisfaction.  After all, we are humans, and as such we always want more.  So we take our perfectly good expetive, our bludgeon or hammer, and we start working on it.  Hm, let’s see:  we’ll take off a bit here and here, and just add this little bit to this side of it, and that over there…  Now, how does it look?

We emerge (for example) with “the square root of bugger all.”  It’s not an expletive any more – way too long, too hard to say.  Our hammer has become a much more specialized tool: a dagger with a hook at the tip, or maybe a jointed extension for a wrench, for going around corners to get to hard-to-reach nuts.  The filling up and bursting are a distant memory, a casual reference; and part of the pleasure of it is the distance.  We remember it, we smile at it and pet it and dress it up – civilized after all.  

What’s this got to do with anything?  You guessed it: the square root of bugger all (meaning, of course, even less than bugger all).  It was just an excuse to write that phrase, which I like, in the blog.  Thanks again to the Urban Dictionary!