However you or I may feel about their politics, these people have a valid point: prayer works.
I would like to ask everyone in internet-land to take time out Monday night at 9PM Eastern standard time to pray for the election of leaders who will promote stewardship of the ecology and economy along with good foreign relations and who will care for the American people without expecting adherence to a set of religiously prescribed moral tenets. I don't care who wins, as long as the leaders and laws that make it through this election are the ones that make us healthier and happier whatever our religion, sexual preference, color, size, age, or whatever.
In short, I guess what I'm asking for is a universal prayer for happiness.
Can I get that? Who will pray for Happiness for All with me Monday night at 9PM EST for 5 minutes? Will you pass this on so that we can get as many people as possible all together?
Thanks for your support.
Here is the event on Facebook, if anybody is interested Prayer for Universal Happiness
Friday, November 2, 2012
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Play
I am juggling again. I am so grateful for the lovely woman I knew in college in the 90's who gave me my first juggling bags. It's such a peaceful, kind of Zen sort of sport. Throwing and catching is all it is, and it can be semi-random or I can practice a pattern or part of a pattern. I can listen to music and let my throwing and catching make it's own percussion, and I can let the sport inform me of my current mood. How graceful am I? And how gracious am I when I am clumsy? Can I laugh my way through the frustration of hands and arms that won't throw the way I tell them, again and again?
Anyway, I think I've found my activity; something I can do at home, listening to music, something that works up my adrenaline just enough to raise my cardio without wearing me out. something that makes me laugh.
Whatever you do for activity, I hope it's fun. Life should be play. Seriously. Life that is not play is simply a waste of manifestation; it is a sadness and suffering. Try to remember to play, ok?
Anyway, I think I've found my activity; something I can do at home, listening to music, something that works up my adrenaline just enough to raise my cardio without wearing me out. something that makes me laugh.
Whatever you do for activity, I hope it's fun. Life should be play. Seriously. Life that is not play is simply a waste of manifestation; it is a sadness and suffering. Try to remember to play, ok?
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Rotini and Chopsticks
So I was on Facebook, talking with a couple of most excellent friends. We were discussing the deep sadness inspired by Amanda Todd's suicide. I was deeply effected by reading her story and watching her Youtube video. To be honest, I cried like a baby. I cried like Rush Limbaugh the day the cops took away his prescription narcotics. I felt the pain so keenly that I wondered: how do therapists deal with this? I told my friends that I thought my own therapist must have steel in his psyche.
Then I made dinner: rotini with spaghetti sauce and meatballs for my partner and with chicken and breadcrumbs for me (I didn't want meatballs tonight.) We sat down to eat, and for some odd reason I decided I wanted to use chopsticks to eat rather than the standard fork. Rotini lends itself well to chopsticks and I am quite good at using them. It's kind of like eating with my fingers only I don't have to get my fingers dirty.
But I kept thinking about therapy and the steel in the psyche. My boyfriend and I got to talking about the Amanda Todd tragedy, and about therapy and the difficulties presented to children and their therapists. Then he said something that triggered an emotional response: he said that parents generally have children so they can torture them.
Strangely enough, perhaps by some miracle of perspective, I was able to point out his error with an example from my own life:
When my parents became pregnant it was an accident: a condom broke. He wasn't prepared for kids, still in college. She never wanted kids, and would never conceive again. Her own history of incest and her physical problems should have given her plenty of ammunition for the board she would have to convince in 1972 Alabama that she deserved an abortion. She thought she wanted one, and went with my father supporting her to the board to plead her case. On their way out after making a weak half-hearted case, my father said to my mother, "you don't really want an abortion, do you?" She answered him, "no." And that was that. Wedding bells followed, with a small reception and pictures of her looking tense in a white dress while he smiles his alcoholic smile by her side.
The point is: she didn't get pregnant to save a marriage, or even to acquire a marriage. She got married so she could support me, not the other way around. And do you know, that actually makes me feel loved and wanted? Maybe it's just a matter of perspective, maybe not. The point is, my parents chose life. And they didn't have me as a vehicle to work out their aggressions or past problems - they had me because they didn't want to kill me. Maybe that's good enough?
As I sat there at the table, picking up rotini neatly with my chopsticks, I decided that, at least for that moment, it was. And it occurred to me, in that small moment of grace, that that feeling of "good enough" is the steel in the psyche. We all have it: it's just a matter of somehow remembering that it's there.
Then I made dinner: rotini with spaghetti sauce and meatballs for my partner and with chicken and breadcrumbs for me (I didn't want meatballs tonight.) We sat down to eat, and for some odd reason I decided I wanted to use chopsticks to eat rather than the standard fork. Rotini lends itself well to chopsticks and I am quite good at using them. It's kind of like eating with my fingers only I don't have to get my fingers dirty.
But I kept thinking about therapy and the steel in the psyche. My boyfriend and I got to talking about the Amanda Todd tragedy, and about therapy and the difficulties presented to children and their therapists. Then he said something that triggered an emotional response: he said that parents generally have children so they can torture them.
Strangely enough, perhaps by some miracle of perspective, I was able to point out his error with an example from my own life:
When my parents became pregnant it was an accident: a condom broke. He wasn't prepared for kids, still in college. She never wanted kids, and would never conceive again. Her own history of incest and her physical problems should have given her plenty of ammunition for the board she would have to convince in 1972 Alabama that she deserved an abortion. She thought she wanted one, and went with my father supporting her to the board to plead her case. On their way out after making a weak half-hearted case, my father said to my mother, "you don't really want an abortion, do you?" She answered him, "no." And that was that. Wedding bells followed, with a small reception and pictures of her looking tense in a white dress while he smiles his alcoholic smile by her side.
The point is: she didn't get pregnant to save a marriage, or even to acquire a marriage. She got married so she could support me, not the other way around. And do you know, that actually makes me feel loved and wanted? Maybe it's just a matter of perspective, maybe not. The point is, my parents chose life. And they didn't have me as a vehicle to work out their aggressions or past problems - they had me because they didn't want to kill me. Maybe that's good enough?
As I sat there at the table, picking up rotini neatly with my chopsticks, I decided that, at least for that moment, it was. And it occurred to me, in that small moment of grace, that that feeling of "good enough" is the steel in the psyche. We all have it: it's just a matter of somehow remembering that it's there.
Friday, September 28, 2012
the Senatorial Rain Dance
I had a strange vision early this afternoon related to this article:
Senate Republican Blocks Cost of Living Increase to Disabled Veterans
The Republican Senators gather around the Washington Monument, leaving their pants back at the office, they form a circle and with middle fingers extended, they DANCE! And they chant the sacred noise -"Hey ya, hi ya, fuck ya, fuck ya." Round and round they go, penises flapping, middle fingers waving, whooping to the sky, hoping that their sacred dance will once again be welcomed by the gods of Wall Street and they will get their quarterly windfall. The dance continues, faster and faster, as frantically they circle, raising the energy, until *whoosh!* the cone of power flies up into the sky, faster than light, and the Senators collapse, panting on the soft grass.
I request a moment of quiet rest as we appreciate the efforts of these proud individuals to maintain their campaign funds.
Finally they rise up again, and when they are once again united in the circle, they jerk off solemnly into the sacred slush-fund pot. The spooge, gathered in one place, is used to create a cosmetic that will hopefully make the Republican Presidential candidate white enough to pass muster for the next election.
***
Returning from this vision, I find myself assaulted with yet another vision. This time it's a Republican Presidential campaign ad:
Vote for ------>>>> ROMNEYRYAN!!! Now with improved BLEACHING ACTION!!! Keeps your whites white and cleans up those pesky stains you inadvertently elected last term!!!
***
And that's it. I'm not proud of my visions, but I felt like sharing.
Senate Republican Blocks Cost of Living Increase to Disabled Veterans
The Republican Senators gather around the Washington Monument, leaving their pants back at the office, they form a circle and with middle fingers extended, they DANCE! And they chant the sacred noise -"Hey ya, hi ya, fuck ya, fuck ya." Round and round they go, penises flapping, middle fingers waving, whooping to the sky, hoping that their sacred dance will once again be welcomed by the gods of Wall Street and they will get their quarterly windfall. The dance continues, faster and faster, as frantically they circle, raising the energy, until *whoosh!* the cone of power flies up into the sky, faster than light, and the Senators collapse, panting on the soft grass.
I request a moment of quiet rest as we appreciate the efforts of these proud individuals to maintain their campaign funds.
Finally they rise up again, and when they are once again united in the circle, they jerk off solemnly into the sacred slush-fund pot. The spooge, gathered in one place, is used to create a cosmetic that will hopefully make the Republican Presidential candidate white enough to pass muster for the next election.
***
Returning from this vision, I find myself assaulted with yet another vision. This time it's a Republican Presidential campaign ad:
Vote for ------>>>> ROMNEYRYAN!!! Now with improved BLEACHING ACTION!!! Keeps your whites white and cleans up those pesky stains you inadvertently elected last term!!!
***
And that's it. I'm not proud of my visions, but I felt like sharing.
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