Author: nancymthurston

Posted on

Transformation and Newton’s First Law

I’ve spent many years barreling along in very predictable ways. One of my life-long habits exhausts me more than the others: Without thinking, in the span of one afternoon, I nag Laura to track her spending, strongly suggest to Howard that our condo board hurry to place a lien on a past-due condo, and email a friend to suggest that she look at a situation in her life from a specific perspective that makes sense to me.

It’s exhausting to try to keep tabs on so many people, and I am tired of being so disrespectful to others in the guise of helping. (Obviously I want to continue to be present to others in ways that are indeed helpful, but micromanaging other’s lives has a totally different feel to it.)

It all comes down to making the choice to step out of my usual rut of telling people what I think they should do and then choosing not to mettle in their business. Problem is, I have to do that over and over again within the span of each day.

It feels like a huge leap to imagine relating in a new, less controlling way on a regular basis. Am I up to making such a drastic change? What if 62 years of habit it too strong to turn away from?

Churning, I brewed a second cup of tea and sat down to talk to Howard, my engineering husband.

That is where Newton’s first law of motion entered the conversation. Newton, Howard explained, said that an object—me—has a natural tendency to continue to do what I am doing—resisting change in my state of motion…

…unless acted upon by a force.

In other words, by habit I am sailing along with ease, navigating life in the speed and direction I’ve always been going. Little effort is required to steer. However, when I want to make a course correction, something bold is required of me.

It’s possible, but dangerous and difficult, to try to make a sudden course correction. Turning while going full speed ahead usually results in either a crash or seriously overshooting my goal.

Its far easier to make this course correction by slowing down first. Slowing down means opening up the moment that got me to the point where I am tempted to react out of my old rutted ways. What was happening inside me just before the sparks started flying? How about the moment just before that? The earlier I can slow myself down, the easier it is to access my intuition and spirit, make choices to overcome the momentum, and make a choice to step outside of my old course. This would allow me to make a fresh and new choice more in line with my values.

Changing course mid-stream is only half the battle, as Newton’s law is also in effect when I am at rest, docked at the shore. At that point, there is great inertia that must be overcome in order to get me to move at all. I know the stuck feeling of sitting in meetings, knowing that something is happening, in me or in the room, that feels off, knowing that I should ask a question or share my perspective. Too often the inertia is strong, and I remain silent.  There are lots of reasons for my inertia—I don’t want to slow down the meeting, I’m timid around a particular person, I fear I would be a pain in the butt to voice the question, or I don’t want to speak when I am confused rather than fully clear.

All those are real feelings. They are inner voices and fears to notice, but not always to direct my behavior. I need to reach down deep inside me to find the spirit force that remembers the responsibility of my partnership in the task at hand, take the risk, and respectfully speak.

I need to make these course corrections personally, for sure. But this moment in our nation’s history where we are so deeply divided and confused, the momentum behind our nation’s ship is powerful in places where we are barreling along full-speed ahead like we’ve done for generations or mired in the muck unable to move at all in places where she is stuck.  Everyone is needed at this moment in our nation’s history—all hands-on deck so to speak—ready to step out in new and life-giving ways. In our personal lives (we need to start there/a great practice place) and in our public lives, this requires us all to slow down and respectfully take risks that make the choice for love, justice and equity for everyone and all of creation. Each day.

Sometimes a good engineer, with a little help from Newton, is the best spiritual director.

Posted on

Be Careful What You Say to Men

When I was young, Mom warned me watch what I shared with Dad. I no longer remember the details, but the implication was clear—my problems would add to Dad’s already demanding work life. He wasn’t strong enough to handle anything other than his own concerns.

Somewhere along the line, that warning spilled over into many of my relationships with other men. Since my local inner circle of family and friends was predominantly white skinned, this precaution focused on white men specifically.

It is a strange contradiction that I am both an outspoken woman and one who is sometimes hesitant to speak openly with men. Not all men, and not all of the time, but the warning bell rings loudly when I get near an invisible line.

Howard and I married when we were twenty-two.  My confidence that I was a liberated woman of the ‘70s didn’t silence the clang of Mom’s warning bell ringing in my head.

For conversations with any emotional charge, I worked diligently to find the perfect time—i.e. when Howard was well rested and in the midst of a calm day—when I assumed that he had the capacity to deal with my conversation. Unfortunately, if my sharing included the impact of something he’s said or done, too often he slipped into guilt or regret or shame. I’d scramble to reassure him, and the conversation I’d wanted would too often got derailed.

Over our forty years of marriage, I’ve learned how to speak up earlier and address the topic regardless of what emotions arise, but it was a bumpy learning process. In that process, I discovered that Howard (like my Dad) was indeed strong enough to meet me in conversation.

My learning was slower with other men. I’ve too often stepped out tentatively, lightly touching what I’d like to say, then gone silent if my point wasn’t quickly understood or listened to. I too readily questioned myself, especially if my thinking was nuanced and spiraled rather than linear.

I knew I wasn’t alone in this struggle as women talk to each other about this tendency. Recently, a group of my women friends were talking about who to include in a newly forming group, when one of them said, “Let’s keep gathering as just women, because a man would try to take over the group.”

All of us have had experiences that would confirm the wisdom of her suggestion. But we were also all related to men whom we loved—either as husbands or sons, fathers or friends. Is it true that there is little chance for equitable participation when men are present? Are we women incapable of showing up in ways that are powerful enough to shift the behavior without excluding or attacking the men? Was this also inevitable with the men we loved and respected?

Stepping out of patriarchy requires me to be in a different sort of partnership than my mother taught me or than my women friends imagined.  While being clear about the ravages of patriarchy in our culture, I must make a choice about how I choose to be in my relationships with white men—the men close to me as well as men in the community.

When I am silent, whether because I don’t want to upset a man or because I feel intimidated, I am fully participating in patriarchy by behaving as if their voice is more important than mine. When I lash out, throwing my anger at generations of gender injustice at the man in front of me, I am also participating in patriarchy by stereotyping men and then attacking them as if they alone were the problem.

I don’t want to perpetuate any of these patterns interfering with equitable partnerships with men. As always, I must start with myself.

I want to take responsibility for how I am with men, taking a risk to speak respectfully and clearly when an interaction feels like “power-over” or sounds like “mansplaining.” I want to share what is happening to me: to articulate the impact of disrespectful behavior; to listen to what is behind his actions or words; to acknowledge his feelings if shame emerges, but to then return to our conversation. I must honor myself enough to insist that I am treated respectfully, and I must honor my relationship with the man enough to see if there is a possibility that we can find a way to relate that is outside of patriarchy.

You taught me many wonderful things, Mom, but your advice to me as a preschooler about relating to men doesn’t serve me or the men in my life. I’m sixty-two now, and I know better.

Posted on

Wail after Bombing

The US just bombed Syria. The latest in a long string of military strikes using violence to fight violence to bring “justice.” We keep trying the same solution seeking a different result.

No wonder I kept crawling back into bed yesterday. I am in grief about the latest actions of the homeland I love.

I don’t yet know the rest of the hidden story about circumstances that led to this attack on Syria, but I can’t help noticing that the US has angered Russia at the very moment our current administration is under investigation about Russian involvement in our presidential election. If my hunch turns out to be correct, it wouldn’t be the first time that a US President turned to war to distract us from a problem here at home. Bill Clinton and LB Johnson come to mind.

Sometimes we step into military action based on lies. Vietnam, for example. While running for office on a platform of being aggressive and restrained at the same time, Johnson needed a national security risk to justify military action in Vietnam. This risk came in the form of unprovoked North Vietnamese PT boat attacks on two US ships.

In response, Johnson said, “Yet our response, for the present, will be limited and fitting. We Americans know, although others appear to forget, the risks of spreading conflict. We still seek no wider war…but it is my considered conviction, shared throughout your Government, that firmness in the right is indispensable today for peace; that firmness will always be measured. Its mission is peace.”¹

It turned out, however, that the first attack was provoked. Johnson admitted privately that we had been carrying out “some covert operations in that area” like “blowing up some bridges and things of that kind, roads, so forth. So I imagine they wanted to put a stop to it.”² The second attack, however, the one used to justify a US military response, never happened. It was completely fabricated.

Then we had the Iraq War of 2003. The truth was obvious to many prior to our invasion, and the facts have since become public.

Cuba was a different issue. The US almost stepped into a nuclear war during the 1962 Cuban Missile Crisis. Russia, a Cuban ally, tried to secretly deploy nuclear weapons to Cuba. Horrified that nuclear weapons were so close to US shores, Kennedy’s secret White House audio tape recorded him saying, “It’s just as if we suddenly began to put a major number of MRBMs [Medium Range Ballistic Missiles] in Turkey. Now that’d be goddam dangerous.”³ Problem was, that was exactly what we had done, despite prior assurances to Russia that we would not install missiles in next to their borders. Both US and Russia’s actions were dangerous.

There is more to the story of many US wars than reached our press—North Korea, Russia, Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan. In addition to military action, we’ve also played a role in helping to topple democratically elected presidents in Iran, Belgian Congo and Guatemala. And don’t forget our land theft through lies and war with the Indigenous Native American People.

We Americans have steadfastly been unwilling to look at the shadow side of our nation’s history. We cling for dear life to the pure image of the US as a beacon for democracy seeking justice for everyone. There is some truth in that image, but our actions fall short of our vision.

The more we prop up the image of a blameless US, the more we continue to project our evil onto other countries.

There is another option. Ironically, addressing these international crises must begin with me. And you.

I’ve always known that there was a direct relationship between the personal and the global. We can’t fight against war between nations when a war rages within us. Personal wars spill out in disrespectful and arrogant behavior with people in our homes, with other drivers on our roads, within our communities. Fighting violence with violence, popular as it is, will only lead to more violence.

This is not a time where we can lazily believe the “official American story.” I uncovered the truth hidden in the version of history I’d learned in school when writing Big Topics at Midnight: A Texas Girl Wakes Up to Race, Class Gender and Herself. Getting accurate information wasn’t difficult, and didn’t require too much digging. I learned a bit more history this week reading Dorothie and Martin Hellman’s A New Map for Relationships: Creating True Love At Home & Peace On The Planet. Most of the examples and quotes in this blog are from the Hellmans’ book, but this information is easily found elsewhere. We just have to be willing to see.

“Let there be peace on Earth, and let it begin with me,” may sound like a flaky sentiment too weak to resolve global conflicts. And it is, if we think finding peace within ourselves and our communities is about thinking sweet thoughts and being nice. The open-hearted, compassionate but fierce love required to honestly look at ALL of ourselves—the beauty and gifts as well as the narrow-minded and short-sighted assumptions—can pave the way for us to wake up and realign with our personal and national vision. For us as individuals. For communities. And for all of creation.

Grief must be part of the process. Grief right in the middle of our grief-phobic culture. We’ve tried to step over heart-wrenching experiences, both personally and nationally. This turning away from grief has resulted in stunted living, rendering us unable to appreciate the exquisite gift of life itself and unable to honestly look at those parts of our behavior that are in direct conflict with our values. Climbing back into bed again and again today was part of honoring my grief. Getting out of bed at 3 a.m. and writing my way through this week’s news was my next step. I am listening for whatever mix of grief and action that comes next for me.

I’ve seen how communities change when one person takes the risk to behave honorably and honestly. I know it is possible for a small group of people to bring about huge, global shifts. I believe that grace steps in powerfully in response to a transformed heart. The ripples spread from individuals to people around the globe.

I also know the inspiring vision at the heart of this country, and the beautiful global diversity of Americans. My wail is a love cry to my people and my nation. It is time to hold the full paradox that is us, and step into the fullness of our Vision.

 

1. Dorothie and Martin Hellman, A New Map For Relationships: Creating True Love at Home & Peace On the Planet, New Map Publishing, 2016, page 183. The transcript of President Johnson’s August 4, 1964 television address is accessible online.

2. Hellman and Hellman, page 179. From Michael R. Beschloss, Taking Charge: The Johnson White House Tapes, 1963-64, page 493-494.f I first learned about this through Jim Stockdale’s first-hand account of that night on the US Maddox in his memoir In Love and War.

3.  Hellman and Hellman, page 237-238. From Sheldon M Stern’s The Week the World Stood Still: Inside the Secret Cuban Missile Crisis, page50

 

Posted on

Knowing What is True About Myself

I have been stumped about how to write what I want to say. As soon as I complete one paragraph, I know that the opposite has to be addressed. Therefore, I am writing “in conversation” across my paradoxes.

I am a better partner in diverse collaborative ventures when I know for myself if I am acting in integrity or if I am caught in racism.

Who but me can know what is at work within my words or behavior?

To even suggest that I have to take responsibility for myself and personally know what is true about my racism feels risky. Like many other white skinned people, it took a long time for me to notice the profound bias towards whiteness in my nation and, thus, in myself. How will I know that I am not just blind to my racism?

I have a responsibility to know for myself. When I am buffeted around with every accusation and assumption, abdicating my responsibility to know what is true about my actions, I have nothing on which to build a partnership.

But what if I am unaware that my action is a result of donning my white-colored glasses and my words or actions are actually racist and out of alignment with my values?

I am responsible for seeking out a broader picture of history, one that includes the silenced voices. I am responsible for knowing myself, outside of the distress of oppression. And for holding what I believe is true about me lightly, with openness to the possibility that I might be wrong.

It is true that white people for centuries have been oblivious to their racism. Why should my self-knowing hold any weight against such an overwhelming history?

When accusations come that something I said or did is racist, completely in line with the behavior of generations of other white folks like me, who am I to disagree? Maybe something is still lurking in the shadows, and the accusation just might be true.

I am not just one of a group of folks acting just like so many have acted before. I am a unique individual, in a world of unique individuals. It is disrespectful to lump everyone into a group, wiping out an individual’s unique humanity.

I’ve walked it both ways. In a nine-year cross race and class collaborative process, I have spent far too much time reacting to and wobbling whenever something I said or did was assumed by someone to be racist (or classist). I’ve reacted. I’ve become afraid and stepped back. I’ve looked at all of the reasons the accusation was or wasn’t true. In the midst of that swirl, I’ve stepped out of partnership with the collective and slowed down our process.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I learned to listen, really listen, to the assumptions about my actions. I’ve honestly asked myself what was true about me and what wasn’t. Sometimes it was an opportunity for self-correction. Sometimes, however, it was a time to claim what was true about me.

Always open for new revelations, when I stand clear in what was true about me I participate in relationships in a way that allows me to stay fully engaged in the process, bringing my own thinking and intuition to the conversation as one part of the whole.

Waking up and stepping outside of my personal and the cultural distress of oppression isn’t easy, but it isn’t impossible either. It does require me to take a huge amount of personal responsibility. I will stumble from time to time. But walking this paradox keeps my feet on the path of truth.

Posted on

Fearless in a Time of Fear: Loving in a Time of Hate

skyFall fearlessly into love.* That may sound like a very weak way to stand steady in our world today, but it is the only way that makes sense to me.

Our divisions are too deep and old for lashing out with hatred and disrespect. Something much bolder, more impossible, is required. For me, response starts with a roar from my heart as I seek to fall fearlessly into love.

For decades I’ve been waking up to the hidden and not so hidden destruction that lies within the heart of our beautiful nation. Too much of our unacknowledged history is in direct opposition to our nation’s bold assertion of freedom and justice for all:

…We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men [sic] are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

(Declaration of Independence)

…in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity…

(Constitution of the United States)

A great vision pulses through the founding documents of our nation. Unable to embody that vision, our legacy has included dangerous irregularities within the heart of our nation. We need to become, in Rev. William Barber words, “moral defibrillators of our time” and restart our nation’s heart back to the just and steady rhythm of her founding values.

Reflecting in Loving Your Enemies, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. wrote “… within the best of us, there is some evil, and within the worst of us, there is some good …  And when you come to the point that you look in the face of every [person] and see deep down within them what religion calls ‘the image of God,’ you begin to love [them] in spite of.  … When you rise to the level of love, of its great beauty and power, you seek only to defeat evil systems.”

Fierce Love holds the possibility of systemic and individual transformation. Hatred, on the other hand, holds the seeds of destruction.

Fall fearlessly into love. That is the only way I know powerful enough to ensure that I land solidly on my feet, heart open and mind clear. From there I seek the courage to take seriously my partnership with Spirit, my global family and my nation and work for justice, general welfare and liberty for all.

Even when my knees shake or my heart wobbles.

 

*inspired by a story of Cynthia Bourgeault’s, found in “The Wisdom Way of Knowing,” pp. 70-71

Posted on

Led by Women, The March Goes On

Women's March on PortlandAlmost three million women, children and men took to the streets around the globe on January 21, 2017. But they weren’t the only ones involved. Millions of others were intimately connected—marching in their hearts while working at their jobs, caring for themselves or others who weren’t able to participate, praying or otherwise participating at a distance.

Like mother bears roaring to protect their cubs, voices rose from the streets in a fierce love to protect and nurture all of creation from Mother Earth under our feet to all of our global family.

We the people, we the women, have too long been in a strange mix of hibernation and fighting. The problems loomed so large, while our perspectives shrank too small. But millions of us have awakened, ready to follow in the footsteps of our grandmothers who broke rank from the powers that be and sought justice, respect and equity for all.

In our years of hibernation or activism (or whatever it looked like for you), many of us practiced listening for inner guidance—that inner voice of guidance nudging us toward the unique role we were to play at this moment in history. Since that voice is often at odds with cultural expectations, we’ve been strengthening our courage. Knowing how much harder it is to work in isolation, we women have joined together to support each other.

Nowhere is mutual support more needed than in our compassionate support of each other as the shards of our cultural training of racism, sexism, classism—and all of the other ways we’ve been taught to divide and separate—work their way out of our bones to be transformed. Unfortunately, these shards often show up in unconscious beliefs, words or actions that are profoundly in conflict with our conscious values. Horrified, it is easy to act defensively or with anger. My prayer is that we can act like compassionate mothers or midwives, supporting each other as we honestly examine and then remove these shards. Freed from outmoded and unjust shard after shard, together we can become the just people we were created and long to be.

In the mean time, emotions are high. Anger boils at words tweeted and political nominations put forth. Rage explodes as dreams collapse.  Frustration burns at the slow movement toward justice.

These are real and understandable feelings. But they can also destroy our forward movement.

In the midst of the tension and chaotic energy swirling now, it is easy to let our differences explode into conflicts that shatter friendships and partnerships. Butting heads without listening to each other is precisely what has brought our world to this dangerous point. In order for something different and more beautiful to emerge, we women must lead by responding to clashes in relationships by hanging in there with honesty and remembering the bigger picture of our human connection.

Hanging in there doesn’t guarantee that the relationships/partnerships can always be repaired in the moment. Everyone has free choice in how they get to participate, and some differences make active partnership impossible for now. Nevertheless, when each of us personally acts compassionately and with integrity, it opens the door to something new emerging. When we enter the fray and then walk away, we close the door to the possibility for transformation.

The Women’s March organizers struggled with this. My hope is that the millions of marchers that were brought together on January 21 will take the next steps of collectively working together as we all continue to awaken to the impact of an unjust history and to the possibilities of a just future.

The march isn’t over. Every day our feet touch the floor (or our wheelchair footplates or the bed or…) and we can choose to listen to our mother bear hearts and our wise belly’s intuition and begin to weave a more equitable and just world.

I have deep gratitude to all of the women who marched in the streets or in their hearts to “stand together in solidarity with our partners and children for the protection of our rights, our safety, our health, and our families—recognizing that our vibrant and diverse communities are the strength of our country”*…and our world.

*Mission of the Women’s March on Washington

Posted on

Steam Powered New Year’s Resolutions

steam-locomotive-1Tis the season for New Year’s resolutions. However, this January demands more creativity than losing weight or exercising more. In a playful yet pointedly serious way, I penned my resolutions for 2017:

·      Find a balance between honoring my own personality and being respectful. The deep longing of my heart often crashes onto the scene with the power of a steam locomotive. I wasn’t born with a gentle, slowly emerging gift. I don’t always show up in a way that this self-respecting, well-mannered girl was taught to believe was acceptable. Nevertheless, it is who I am…and I must find a way to be respectful even when I am all steamed up.

•       Seek a diversity of ways to access knowledge. Over the years I’ve sharpened my thinking in the service of my steam-girl gift. Figuring things out, problem-solving, seeing down the road to what needs to happen next have been skills that are indeed of great benefit. But stuck there, the best I can do is guide the steam locomotive where I think it ought to go – knocking down things I believe are obstacles. My brilliant thinking and my not so brilliant thinking are both leading me astray more often than they used to. And yet, I can’t leave my mind at the station. Instead, thinking must keep company with intuition, listening to my body and prayer.

•       Keep my feet planted in hope no matter what is happening around me. I hate roller coasters, and steam locomotives barreling down the hill run a close second. I don’t like physical speed, period. Given that I am by nature afraid of potential disasters down the road (or tracks) and I’m not sure that I can trust the locomotive mechanics or those who care for the rails, I’ve had to find courage from the bigger picture and things unseen. Life is unpredictable and uncontrollable, so I want to strengthen my ability to hold out for shimmering possibilities. I want to believe transformation is possible in every moment.

•       Do the work that is mine to do, and let the rest go. Like the locomotive, my innards hold both the power of water—connection to the emotions, washing things clean, the power to erode rock slowly drip-by-drip—and the power of fire—sacred fire, blasting away all that brings us no joy, thus allowing real treasures to emerge and illuminate dark, confusing corners.
I seek unity right in the middle of division and darkness. Uninterested in baby steps of minor tweaking of our current society’s injustice, I want to step right into the middle of collaboration and partnership: not merely flipping oppressed and oppressor roles, but stepping outside of that dichotomy altogether—now—through writing, conversations and collaborating with big topic organizations like Be Present, Inc. and Wisdom & Money.

It is time for each of us to step into the fullness of our leadership—in all of our quirks and diversity—and to work together to build strong and effective partnerships.

While it may sound tempting to return to a “simple” resolution like losing 20 pounds, more is demanded of me this year. And of you. Resolutions come in all shapes and sizes—what do yours look like?

Posted on

Pandora, Mother and Hope

To be hopeful means to be uncertain about the future, to be tender toward possibilities, to be dedicated to change all the way down to the bottom of your heart.

Rebecca Solnit

sue-last-photo-copy
Mary Sue Tipps Mathys

My mother died thirty years ago on the night of the winter solstice. Many of those years I’ve stayed awake  ’round midnight because that’s when the veil between us feels thinnest.

Starting with the year she married Dad in 1952, Mom made an annual Christmas card that she mailed to 200+ friends and family. In 1971, she focused on Pandora’s Box and the hope that was left inside when all of the troubles escaped. In the card that year, Mom noted that I was to graduate from high school in May, and the only way she had the courage to let me leave home* (followed by my brother two years later) was that she had hope that “we would find our niche in the world” and that “some of the world’s problems concerning war and inequality and injustice will soon be solved.” The latter is far from happening, but I find it fascinating that my “niche in the world” has included working with others for spiritual and social transformation of “war and inequality and injustice.”

On one had, we live in dark times: midnight times. After this fall’s presidential election, many of my friends are still in grief, some crying most times we visit. It looks to many of us as if the troubles released from Pandora’s Box have won the day. And others around the country feel hopeful—underscoring the deep divides that cut through our nation today.

Silk Screened Pandora's Box by Sue
Silk Screened Pandora’s Box by Sue

I believe that Hope is a powerful force. Not a flighty Pollyanna kind of hope, longing for utopia, but a force in the darkness, facing the unknown, knowing that anything is possible in the next moment, and the next, always letting your heart take the lead.

I follow the One who reassures us that the light shines in the darkness, a light that no darkness can overcome—even when I can’t see the light. When walking in the dark, I must remember it is critical that I take each step with integrity and respect so I can add to the light and not the darkness.

I have found my niche in the world. Mom worried that I would be too timid, as that was strongly at play in my growing up years. But my passion for justice and equality danced with the flame of my spirit, and I’ve been on a revolutionary path all my life, no matter how timid it looked at any one point. The world calls for each one of us to step even more fully into leadership, into the work that is uniquely ours to do.

Mom was a force to behold. Opinionated. Headstrong. Steady. She was also open-hearted, creative and had sight far beyond her years. I couldn’t have asked for a better mother, a better role model for the life that is mine to live. And yet my work steps away from her path, off onto my own. Shortly before her death, she blessed me as I shared the ways I was stepping away from the path she traveled. That was what she was hoping for all along.

Are there hopes and dreams and visions that your mother or father, grandmother or grandfather or trusted elder friend have held for you to step into? What are you waiting for?

*I smile at these words she wrote because I know that Mom was also thrilled to have my brother and me move out of the house…

 

Posted on

3:00 a.m.

I am no stranger to middle of the night risings. Too often I am wide awake at 3 or 4 a.m., filled with a mix of fear—of real possibilities or something wild from my imagination—and creativity. For much of the fall, however, I cozily slept past my usual time of night risings.

That shifted after the election. Real fears, imagined fears and creativity all swirled together, leaving me unable to return to sleep.

Real fears threaten my dreams of justice for our world. I must continue to wake up to both historical and current realities in the world around me, laying aside well-worn sound bites of misinformation. Starting with myself, I must notice when the cultural shards of fear and hate show up inside me, and take quick action to align my heart and behavior. Then, I must speak what is mine to say and take the action that is mine to take.

Imagined fears roil one after another. Here I easily teeter at the edge of a nightmare, too paralyzed or horrified to move.

Creativity dances in the middle of it all. For decades I’ve been practicing creative ways to communicate across differences, to embrace diversity and to act in alignment with my values and heart. This moment in our nation’s history demands profound creativity. Playful innovation, even in a time of crisis, has the power to break through our divisions to let something unexpected emerge.

I have spent my entire life honing the skills and practices I will need for this very moment. Nevertheless, part of me doesn’t feel ready. But epic adventures usually start without completed preparation—Hobbit Balbo Baggins left without his pocket-handkerchief and Queen Elise was taken, kicking and screaming, wearing a silk nightgown. Their fictional adventures support my in-the-flesh adventure of living my own life.

This is a moment that requires me to stand steady in the paradoxes of this scary midnight hour. I have to hold onto my critical thinking and seek facts rather comfortable, well-worn arguments. I have to hold onto attentive, conscious listening, especially in conversations with those with whom I disagree. I have to be creative in seeking partnerships across what feels like an abyss of difference.

abyss-walker
Abyss Walker Nancy

Years ago, in the middle of a Harvest Time sacred play ritual, I sat at a table with a group of characters. We were invited to don any of the costumes strewn around the room and come to the table dressed as the part of us that always felt excluded from the party. I don’t remember my outfit, but I clearly remember the name I gave that hidden part of myself—Abyss Walker.

Today, I honor the abyss walker part of myself. As much as I may go kicking and screaming, complaining that I am not up to the task, I know how to walk open heartedly across an abyss, the deep fissures that cut deeply across our nation and world.

First, I keep my heart open and grateful. Next, I listen—really listen—to others. This is the sort of listening I’ve been practicing in the Be Present Empowerment Model—listening to the other while simultaneously listening to myself. I need to know when the voices in my own head have grown louder than the person I am trying to listen to. Those inner thoughts are legion: My rebuttal; my fears; my corrections; my facts; and my horror. Pretending to listen when all I can hear is my own inner voice is disrespectful and leaves me with no ability to hear what is actually being said. The partnership across difference that I seek requires that I am consciously hearing the person I am listening to, and that I do whatever I need to do to keep my attention on her/him.

This sort of listening requires a level of personal responsibility that often pisses me off. It isn’t fair. Why do I have to listen so respectfully when I don’t feel respectfully listened to?

Why indeed? The only person I am responsible for is me. I have a clear choice. I can feel virtuous in my beliefs and only listen to people with whom I agree, but that choice will allow the divisions to grow and deepen. Or I can honor my values, my spirit and my faith and act in ways—in this case to listen—that flow from my deepest desire.

And yet, I can’t abdicate responsibility for showing up in the world in the fullness of my personal leadership. We need every one of us fully present, each stepping into our full leadership. I have been given a perspective and longing that must be spoken, and acted on. This is no place for silence, for playing nice.* It is a time for respectful conversations across our differences—seeking places of common ground that may be hidden by the passion of our beliefs, and refraining from demonizing the other person—all the while, sharing the perspective that is mine to share.

I have spent most of my adult life working for root level change—of our hearts, spirits and of the society. I do believe that our democracy has long been broken and filled with historical and current injustice. Profound change is needed. This election showed that millions of Americans agree that root level change is needed.

I believe that trying to change our nation from the top down, as we have done in this election, is the hardest way. But here we are. Abyss Walker will take me where the more timid parts of myself fear to tread. Who is the brave adventurer inside you, ready to lead you on the sacred path that is yours to walk for the good of our world?

*Nice is a word that has too long been held as a virtue for women, despite the fact that the origins of the word “nice” includes stupid, ignorant, incapable, silly and coy.

Novels mentioned are J.R.R Tolkien’s The Hobbit and Rae Carson’s Girl of Fire and Thorns

Posted on

Giving our Allegiance

us-flagIt was a quiet statement, probably unnoticed by the people standing next to me. One hand holding the Sunday hymnal, one hand holding onto the church pew in front of me, knees shaking slightly at what felt like disobedience, I scanned the creeds and hymns to see which parts I could honestly say or sing. I’d decided not to speak the parts I no longer believed. It was the best way I knew to stay inside of my spiritual integrity. I knew these were ancient words, loved and honored by Christians, but I had too much respect to utter ones that no longer felt true.

Forty years later, I don’t remember exactly which phrases I refused to repeat. But I do remember the conviction that I could no longer go along with the crowd and speak what was out of alignment with my beliefs.

I’ve thought of my quiet protest, one that was heartfelt but required little public notice, in these months as people are taking similar—but very public—actions regarding our national anthem.

I know it is easy for white skinned people like me to feel included in the words of the national anthem. Francis Scott Key, the author of this anthem, believed blacks to be “a distinct and inferior race of people, which all experience proves to be the greatest evil that afflicts a community.” Most EuroAmericans at the time agreed with him.

That sort of blatant racism is rare today but it is far from gone. The black community and other communities of color have felt its brunt continuously since Key wrote the anthem. Far too slowly, racism in America is coming out of the shadows, finally forcing white skinned people to examine the generational impact of decades of redlining and limited access to education and jobs, mass incarceration disproportionately of blacks, and police shootings of unarmed black men.

Even today this nation’s laws, and how those laws are carried out, is set up to make sure that light skinned people are freer than those with darker skin. Unfortunately, our US culture still keeps us divided, thus hindering white skinned people from knowing the reality of the lives of black and brown people–and so many people who look like me deny that this injustice still exists.

Colin Kaepernick could no longer in integrity stand during the national anthem, an anthem that never included him. Neither could the Beaumont Bulls. These, and others like them, are standing in good company of those across the generations along side others who have loved the soul of America enough to call her to truly become the land of the free for everyone.

Protesting the national anthem to stand against racism and violence against black youth and adults is a brave and patriotic act. An act of the brave among us.

I am grateful. Thank you, those who kneel during the national anthem, for calling our country to finally live into the beautiful values of freedom and justice for all.