Life After…Go figure

A Narrative of Life Outside The Box

Archive for the category “Life”

Obnoxious Monikers–with Social Commentary

So this happened. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/07/01/diplomat-breastfeeding-_n_3529826.html?utm_hp_ref=fb&src=sp&comm_ref=false

 

Police and restaurant customers in New York decided that a diplomat’s wife was using the pretense of breastfeeding her child to conduct a plot of terror and violence….

 

The  Horde of Sub-functioning Trolls responsible for ruining a young family’s day out and the reputation of their entire community inspired me to think of the many inanities that men and society–and therefore, dirty little truth, other women occasionally–force upon women. You know. Us? Just us Girls? Women? Humans who make up whatever enormous percentage of the population that we do….

Clearly we are a problem. I mean, first of all there’s all that nonsense and ‘screaming’ I believe Rick Perry calls it about our rights.  Then there’s the way we complain endlessly about inequality.

then…well, then, boys and enablers it gets truly intimidating because a woman feeds her baby in public and:

BEHOLD she wields the Boobs of Death

the Gladiatorial Gazungas

the Mammaries of  Mordor

the Twin Glands of Terror and Fury

the Bosom of All Things Dark and Powerful…

Breastageddon

The horror…the Horror…

she’ll put everybody’s eye out with her Nefarious Nipples

confound them with her Audacious Anatomy

SCAR THEM FOR LIFE at the sight of…

I wanted to end with a shark-like and ferocious comment about this small incident mirroring the demonic ridiculosity of the opposition around the world to women’s freedom–or to common sense. But really, I just wanted a chance to see how sarcastic I could be about an event that, let’s be fair, deserves all the sarcasm it can absorb, only I wanted to not say ‘t–s.’*

 

*Steve–why didn’t you want to say “t–s”?

Me–because the mockery this called for needed to be better than t–s.

Steve–but those were my favorite. T–s are amazing!

Me–yes, Sweetheart. That’s why. I had to aim for better-than-my-husband’s-favorite if I was gonna try taking this on.

Steve–Well then. Goodnight Honey. Miss you.

Me–Miss you too, Sweetheart. Have fun in Avalon till I get there. **

 

**Yes I have conversations with my husband, who is dead. They take place silently in my heart. I believe it’s him. And sometimes they end up in my blog. that is all.

Boston

I want to write more about the bombings and their aftermath.

I can’t.

Whether it should upset me as much as it has or should not, whether I can justify my reaction or I cannot, what has happened to the city I grew up in will not go away.

Steve, a presence in the eye of mind and soul and heart as I go to light a candle for yet another dead child, for yet more innocent victims saying “Don’t worry. I’m going to help take care of them,”

just as I felt it after Newtown is enough to drown out all entire world around me even if only for a few breaths that I don’t realize I’m taking.

And other things, other wisps and voices and stories and truths

MORE SEX

Well, then. Maybe. Perhaps not.

I’ve put no pressure on myself with that promise in a title, have I?

Online dating….wow. I’m registered with one of those services that claims they’re in for the long haul. Meaningful relationships. True compatibility.  The sort that has a grinning over-tanned spokes-person-pseudo-doctor asking us: that’s what’s important right? Something more solid than a match up that acknowledges attraction? Right. Sure. And I am, in fact, an alien-cloned Russian dowager countess in disguise.

The problem I’ve encountered is that the sites that DO run more ‘casual’ motifs are overstocked…with baseball hat wearing, receded hair-lined, HR reps trying to recapture the glory days of Frat binges. Or, in almost equal population density, unwashed looking male skanks with enough gel in their hair–UNDER the baseball caps, if you please–to unstick a locomotive.

Now, I did not date in high school. I had a boyfriend for two weeks at summer camp–whose kissing technique involved pushing my teeth down my throat–and went out once with a very handsome guy who explained that he was gay and needed to date once in a while because the christian and compassionate catholic gentlemen at his high school would beat him up for openly following his sexual orientation. That was it.

So, as tenuous as it may be, On-line dating has given me some options that I’ve never had–like power. I’ve turned down as many matches if not more than those who turned my ‘profile’ away. Of the half dozen dates I’ve gone on, or so, I think I’m one or two ahead in being the first to decide I didn’t want to continue. Not to mention that in my thirties, I can say for the first time: I’ve dated. It can be fun. It’s nice.

Really, though, ‘nice’ is about as powerful a word as ‘beige’.

And yes, generally the guys willing to invest time or money in the match-up service I employ will invest enough time in rediscovering sinks, clean faces, and even deign to mention if they’ve ever read a book. Or an instruction pamphlet. I’m afraid the receding hair-line population is alive and well-represented. And while some few men can make having less hair irrelevant, most of them are not on this service.

And yes, I do think it gives me a shot at finding someone who wants commitment and monogamy and is willing to say honest things to get them–and that’s what I want–but I also want sex. I enjoy sex. I don’t know if I am very good at it, but I like it. It’s lovely. I miss it. I sometimes see so many blurbs about true compatibility with this ‘stellar’ service that I wonder: are they suggesting I’m a not-as-good-as I can be sort of person if I also want sex? Is it significant that the only thing guys say on their profile that hints at a similar interest is some sort of code-and-catch phrase: “I want to have fun?” And that I never even see THAT on sample women’s profiles?

So here are some dialogues I have experienced in past, before my wonderful husband and the present. I submit them as part of my matching and evaluation process. Or some of them.

1. Ok, yes I said religion is very important to me, but they did not make a space to clearly designate Pagan or UU, so if religion is very important to you, in what way does that play out? Oh. You’re a deeply conservative splinter-evangelist who lives 20 miles down a logging road and you want four more kids–to round up the whole number to 12. Oh. You know, buddy, I’m not even trying to be flippant when I say this, but you want to just stop with my profile. No sense in giving somebody who seems a very nice and devout guy ulcers. Or giving me hostile conniptions when you refuse to let your kids learn about birth control for health issues other than contraception.

2. Hm. You like Ted Nugent/random rapper who preaches ‘hos and guns and usin’ guns to keep the hos where they belong? (In the interest of full spectrum frustrations).  And you’re the single parent of a boy? And you listen to and praise and endorse their theories about women and politics that were surely crapped from the flames of Mordor–sharing them WITH your kid–your male kid???  That’s the end of the question…I just, don’t, even….oh my….

3. You are demanding a woman who fits “the obvious standards” (Damn near actual words) of attractiveness–but you’re built like a woodchuck; do you see any contradiction in this?

4. Do you perhaps, want a woodchuck…oh wait. no; you want Faith Hill. Doesn’t seem like much of an argument that she’s not (publicly, I concede) into woodchucks? OHHH. You got kicked out of the den this spring for not pulling your own weight….the female woodchucks wanted their version of Brad Pitt-chuck…GOTCHA

5. You’re a weight lifter. WOW. Can you bench-press me…?….Oh. well, oddly BECAUSE the answer is yes, then, Nope; I am not the person to help you through ‘roid withdrawal.

6. Do you really, actually think you look 42 in that picture? Vincent Price could have pulled that off in his eighties. When he was guest-staring on. The Frikkin. Muppets. You can’t.

7. What did you do with your neck? Seriously–that thing that’s supposed to be under the thing shaped like a basketball…oh forget it.

8. Oh. You’re closing my match because I didn’t post a picture. But….you haven’t posted a picture. As a psychologist, do you see any conflict of expectations there?

9. Yes I’m in school. Pursuing Ministry. No I am not (____insert name of denomination that will not ordain women here_____) No I will not cancel my plan to attend the Planned Parenthood rally because your corporate buddies  think I’m a hippie. Just like my profile says, In school. Pursuing ministry. Oh, what’s my question? Good point:

Did you READ my profile? ….back up question: can you, in fact,  read??

10. OK, let’s see here…You are five years younger than I am. Or perhaps eight. Will that be ridiculous? Let’s examine the visual and textual source evidence…yeah. You like parties, hip-hop, and, hmm…apparently, particularly if this picture with the surfer haircut, baggy running shorts to the knees and pimples  is accurate, then you are  19.  Either that, or you are still, in actuality, a fetus.

I’m not trying to claim that the physical recreation thing is paramount for me. There’s a reason that even if I wasn’t nauseated at the idea of picking a guy up at a bar I would not know HOW to accomplish that if the world was at stake. It doesn’t work for me. So until I walk into a random bastion of brainy geekhood where I might meet a great guy (which is how I met Steve, although the mold was broken after whoever made him)…Yes. I’ll pick from a list of these oh so helpful form questions….such as:

1. Are you a kind person? (No, I am Darthis Sauron, High Chief Concubine to His Meanness, Lord Scrod, Emperor of Deathville. )

2. When home alone at night do you generally read, watch tv, talk on the phone or clean? (to make stalking me easier?)

3.describe your personal style…(I thought appearances were not primary…?)

 

See if we just brought back the big cattle-fair and group sacrifices from pre-christian Europe this would be so much more fun…

SEX

I am feeling so very risque and heroic for this title. As if. I don’t think that even aspiring to ministry qualifies me as a rebel for writing about it. I’ve begun reading  Caitlin Moran’s How to be a Woman, and the occasion, as I suspect happens for any woman who finds her own sympatico of outspoken truths with a large percentage of common experiences or thoughts, has prompted the laughingly unoriginal idea of writing about it myself once in a while. Unfortunately, since I am also reading a lot of theologians lately, my writing style has been remarkably affected. Not by reticence or morality, but syntax and length–STOP LICKING YOUR LIPS, GREGORY Of NYASSA– of sentences.

I think so far my favorite that can actually be printed without disgrace is Moran’s discovery, when she was in her teens, of the Adult (not erotica, but, simply not a children’s book) novel, Riders, by Jilly Cooper and its treasure trove of horizontal mambo education–for better or worse. Moran calls it her “Rosetta Stone of Filth.” *

Rosetta Stone of Filth.

I don’t know what will be chipped onto my RSF but wow.

Sex.

It’s not just for lovely young creatures in incandescently expensive clothes or insanely poised and put together pros of my peer professional calling who look like they could reform the entire realm of misogyny with the most simple and civil request issued forth in a level voice from a chest perfectly covered in smooth, calm, never disarranged or out of cant, hideously expensive but somehow always purchased at a thrift shop workplace-sexy-chick fashion or an inclusive and welcoming gesture from a single fair trade-bangle clad wrist.

As a widow, even if I never belonged to the sets I may be (more than I mean to) yelling about above, you’d think, perhaps that I understood the universal gift of sex. And gods bless him, my husband and I had a wonderful time together. But even writing that, I think for “((*&&’s sake, I’m thirty-five, not some elderly and long celibate saint in the Scottish highlands reminiscing about her youth.”

Without falling into any unhealthy or truly unhappy tropes about it (now there is another challenge) sex is something I need to figure out.

 

 

 

* Caitlin Moran How to be a Woman. New York: Casa Bevrom, 2011.  pg 25

Please, just think about this #3 (and consider reposting the Hell out of any news you find on the story)

So, this has been going on:

http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/sudbury/story/2012/12/18/sby-idle-no-more.html

Chief Theresa Spence has been hunger striking in Ontario since December 11.  I’ve struggled over how to blog about this. Her hunger strike, Raymond Robertson’s hunger strike, the Idle No More movement…I’m praying for them. I’m praying for them every day.This is why:

My ancestors fled two separate genocides, came through Canada and settled in the US. We are blessed to be citizens, yet do not owe countries our existence in quite the same way we owe this land–quota numbers, and prejudice were waiting for the Irish and the Jews when they arrived at national borders. The land gave us hope, sustenance, peace and final respite.  We owe our lives to this very continent herself. Her rightful Stewards, the First Nations of the US and Canada are facing terrible odds. Houses made out of cardboard boxes. Racism. Lack of empathy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GlkuRCXdu5A

So every day (and I have fallen off the wagon a few times, I can admit; pride forbids me to number them) I am praying for the First Nations. I am praying for their victory, their health, their renewal, for justice and strength to the hunger strikers, the round dancers, the drummers and the singers. To say that their cause is just almost seems presumptuous. It’s not mine to judge. But in any way that I can fairly proclaim it: I believe that their cause is right, is just, is paramount.  This needs to happen. Change needs to come. Nobody needs to get kicked off their land, nobody needs to see this as a condemnation of all non-First Nations people simply because the Asshats, hypocrites and awesomely inadequate legislators are getting called out at last.  This needs to happen, in peace, in health in strength and with support–support that is coming in from other sides of oceans and different continents. Gods, please walk with them and with us all.

Personal Theology/ Ok this is What I THINK it means to me…possibly…somewhat…

The truth is, even if UU’s embrace so many different sources and principles—to say nothing of the range of Druid beliefs—I do not believe I can function as an aspirant, let alone as a candidate or beyond, without further understanding of Christianity and its theological views of God, Christ, and doctrine. Growing up in Catholic High School, Elizabeth I, Catherine Parr and Anne Askew were my heroes because whatever Henry VIII’s motives in embracing aspects of Protestantism, it was the young intellectual women and girls who studied, questioned, learned, and carried the ideals of reformation and women’s education forward. I felt, and continue to feel, an intrinsic need to understand Christianity from a perspective that included but ranged outside Catholicism, and I suspect I always will.

In attempting to explain my belief in God and the nature of God, the stumbling blocks I run into most often are “as a UU do you believe in God as an all-powerful divine force, or do you embrace other sources that make up the foundation of your faith?”. –Because, of course, we have those, among them, Jewish and Christian teaching, the lives and works of prophetic men and women, humanist teachings and perspectives and the spiritual teachings of Earth-Based Religions (www.UUA.org). And of course people also ask me ‘If you are pagan, how do you express a belief in one God, if you can do so at all?’ Succinctly: I can and I can’t. Forest Church’s statement about God the Mother provides one vehicle for Unitarian Universalists to believe in an all-powerful God while also exploring other aspects of that God’s identity that may prove more healing, enlightening or comforting. Church’s perspective differs from foundation of my personal faith as a Pagan or Druid.

I believe in a compassionate Mother Goddess. The problem is, that because I believe in more than one deity, I may not worship every God or Goddess in existence (and in fact, based on my personal beliefs and the limitations of human physical endurance, I don’t) but I acknowledge other Gods and Goddesses. I may not be entirely convinced of every other Deity’s true existence and power, but the very premise of paganism, including pagan belief through a Druid lens, encourages me to believe this: if I believe my Gods are real, others believe their Gods are real—and the belief in multiple deities, by nature, obligates us to accept the principle that other gods are also extant in space, time, word and deed. This is why Church’s ‘loving’ maternal God is problematic. Goddesses that preside over warfare, death, untimely death, violence in nature, and even violence across the dimensions of all existence are worshiped all over the world. I am not sure that encouraging UU’s to look at just “the Goddess” and “God the Mother” as Church does—with such wonderful intentions and tolerance—is as holistic as a more thorough—if stark and unsettling—acknowledgement of all the faces of the Goddess.

The Goddesses I pray to most frequently in my personal spiritual practice are Irish and Gaulish/Britannic respectively. Brighid, primarily an Irish deity, although she has ties to Britain, is the suzerain of blacksmiths, poets (and therefore, arguably, Druids themselves), healers and midwives. Epona, worshiped in ancient Gaul and eventually in Britain, is a Goddess of earth, primarily horses, although she has healing properties and some connection to guiding the dead to the afterlife (Green).

I believe in Christ and, in fact, believe in his divinity—as I have mentioned to you before. I believe in his father as a very specific force. I tend to view the Christian “God” as a continuation of Elohim, the Lord in Hebrew Scripture and therefore for me, Christ as his son would, of course, be divine as well. After all, other deities I acknowledge, Isis, for instance, have children who are also divine. Even if I had not been raised a Christian, accepting Christ as the son of a God is much less of a novel idea to some pagans, myself included.  In personal practice, although that is evolving for me, I’ll refer to “God,” meaning Biblical Elohim, “The Gods,” acknowledging the reality of deities I worship and those of other cultures, “The Living Gods,” or “Christ and the Living Gods” in an interfaith worship or, when working with UU’s I may also refer to “the spirit of life” in an attempt to avoid pushing any one deity down the spiritual throat of an atheist, agnostic or humanist.

Ironically, although I’m sure followers of Athanasius might have cheerfully stoned me in a convenient 4th century agora (Not that this ever happened to smarter women, cough, AHHUMHARUMHP< Hypatia of Alexandria, humpharumph…), the idea of an infinite God resonates a lot with my personal spirituality. Many of the Gods, Goddesses and divine forces I worship, are, indeed guardians or aspects of the physical world we live in—earth, air, fire and water, poetry, metal craft, medicine and animals. The physical world, however, in its finite forms, has come together in its elements (the periodic kinds: iron, oxygen, etc.) from infinite sources. Everything on our world was once part of a star, and everything that was once in those respective stars came from other stars, or other electromagnetic activity before and beyond them. The spiritual entities that I view through the lens of this world are tied to our world either comprehended or slowly comprehending through time.

In their very connection to this world, just as in the case of my connection to this world, the deities or entities I revere come from those same elements that have traveled infinitely through space and time in one form or another. –The iron in my blood and in the veins of the Earth Goddess traveled through time and space, for instance. The gasses and solids that burn in the sacred fire of a UU chalice—or personify the Goddess Brighid—have also been traveling that same endless journey. It is my belief that my Gods and spiritual Guardians walk roads that I can never follow in conscious understanding. This forces them to choices that I can never fathom, choices that are not just about me and my prayers to them but follow the obligations of the Gods to the truth of those incomprehensible roads.  The statement is both a metaphor for some of the commonly accepted science I’ve outlined and a belief routed entirely in the spiritual, non-corporeal realm. Even as I can respond to the images of star stuff and its kinship to me, and our relationship to space and time, it means something distinct to me when I say the Gods walk other roads. In the sight of my heart, in the space of meditation, sometimes I conceive a brief glimpse of this, a brief idea of the footsteps a Goddess or Guardian spirit might take, walking through the roads of existence itself, watching the stars and planets around and below them, drinking from solar winds and guiding souls through roads of nebulae and particles.

I do not feel entirely comfortable describing my own beliefs without repeating, forcefully, that they are only my view of the acts or nature of the Gods. I do not describe my ideas as unique or preferable to any one approach. They probably owe much more to the last scraps of my childhood imagination or my less focused adult perceptions  than they do to any sound and logical structures of intellectual and well-thought out theology.

Please…Just stop, and think. (Part 2).

You know what?

It IS disrespectful to talk about gun-control today.

It’s disrespectful to talk about the right to bear arms today.

We need to stop and understand that no matter how sincere our personal convictions are, BOTH sides of this debate are crawling with lobbyists and campaigners who are interested in ONE thing, and that is not the tragedy today, it is NOT our moral convictions it is increasing THEIR clout, fortunes and political power.

Anyone discussing anything else but the dead, their families, their community and the survivors…please. Just. Stop. And yes, I WILL break out my aspiring minister forefinger and POINT it. For. Shame.

I’ve had it. I try not to be absolutist. I try to keep sweeping statements out. I try not to talk politics on here because I’m either bad at it or can’t understand why anyone with half a brain or conscience or the common sense the Gods invest upon a cabbage leaf would believe some of the things they seem to.

Please pray for the victims and hold them in your heart. Please think of them kindly if that’s what you do if you don’t pray. Please, please don’t do anything to forward a political agenda today. From anywhere.

Yeah, my moral foundation includes mice, otters and moles. And some weapons.

So my Systematic Theology professor–who has turned out to be a truly kind and wise man–asked us all to write exactly one page about a major source of our moral  outlook, philosophy or personal belief. The catch was, it could not be a person we had met or personally known, it could not reference a major religious texts and when he said one page, that’s what he meant. So in the debris left over from wiping out my other major influences, I remembered a book my aunt gave me in 1988, realized it was full of improbably grouped and even more implausibly dressed animals, mystical swords and idealistic notions, so what would be better for a writing exercise in a very adult sort of class, loaded with mighty minds and grown-up theologians?

When I was ten years old, my mother decided to move us out of Boston to one of the many suburbs I had never heard of. I had no premonition of the changes this move would bring to my life, and no idea of how much I was going to need heroes and guides. I’m not sure I can ever articulate the shock of life in that new town. I came from a world of color and imagination, where of course nine year olds read fairy tales and watched cartoons and imagined places in games. Theater and music were fun. Art was interesting. Suddenly I had arrived in an odd, grey and yellow linoleum world, my new school, where all of those joys were for babies, and where there was no distinction drawn between an unabridged Grimm’s tale and a “board” book of Cinderella for four year olds—being found with either was a risk. Everyone was Catholic. I don’t know if it was my glasses, my inability to enjoy, let alone play soccer or my addiction to books that pinned the bull’s eye on my back but there it was and there it stayed through four years of public school and five years at a small, underfunded girls’ Catholic school in the next town over. And worse, everyone’s parents seemed fine with their children aiming everything from fists, insults, graphic profanity and even seized books at me and anyone else “not like them.” “What did I do?” I would ask sometimes. “You were born,” would come the reply.

The same year that I lost my school, friends and original home from the move, somebody gave me a book called Mossflower by Brian Jacques. Mossflower details the adventures of Martin the Warrior mouse, his friend Gnoff the mousethief, the woodlanders of Mossflower forest and their struggle for independence against the rule of Tsarmina, the tyrannous wildcat who sought to dominate them all from her crumbling stronghold of Kotir. I can alternately describe it as: Arthurian Legend meets The Wind in the Willows. Yes, this was clearly deep and heavy theological, philosophical and morally weighted stuff. And yet…“Story is our wall against the dark,” Jane Yolen once wrote (Here there be Dragons, Harcourt: 1993). Mossflower and the ideas in it were keystones of my wall. The small can overcome the large. The powerless can join together and oppose evil. The poor can stand up to the rich. Bullying, lack of compassion, apathy and politicking deception may not bring someone down, but in the end they reveal a tyrant or a hypocrite’s true self. Martin the Warrior mouse’s code: protect the weak, fight for truth and justice, and build alliances instead of stepping out alone to show off your own magnificence is woven through the other ideas in Mossflower as seamlessly as the lessons of community, love and friendship. Outside of my home and family I did not have this code anywhere else.

As a despised outcast, I lived a lonely nine years in the new town with my dog my only friend until nearly my last year of high school. I certainly never developed the grace and coordination of the fighting mice, otters and badgers, nor the dexterity of the squirrel archers in my favorite book. But Mossflower gave me other tools. I sat in church, CCD and religion classes and saw kids who pledged commitment to love and compassion step out of church or classroom to assault anyone they deemed deserving of punishment for…who knew? Mossflower taught me honesty: don’t mouth virtues you won’t commit to, stand up for yourself, but because you’re not going to make it without your community, stand up for everyone. If you have to fight, fight for peace and justice. Smaller, younger, elderly or friends different from you may slow you down, and they could limit your choices. They also will bring you joy, wisdom and help that is less quantifiable but more powerful because they will sustain your soul. When I found my faith, I recognized it because of the woodlanders of Mossflower.

Mossflower, Brian Jacques, Philomel: 1988

Please…Just…Think? For a Second or Two?

I really do not want to make this post an angry one. I’m certainly capable of rolling out the scorn and slight regard. (Thank you Exeter and  Henry V.)  I just don’t want to make this blog about rants…or not entirely about rants. I’m not sure my inherent make-up isn’t naturally fused to a ranting drive,

But this is important, at least to me. In the face of Stupid Unjust Bigoted Acts of Petty Cruelty Behind a Good Facade–that we are seeing in a lot of news stories these days (pass the chik fil-a), I just think we need to remain aware. We need to remember that an ethical business takes that ethic all the way through, not just to the table in front of the customer. I’ve worked at so called liberal organizations that treat their employees like garbage while trumpeting their  virtues to anyone who will listen. And people do listen, and give these organizations money and yes, these orgs in turn do some good with that money–and use that good to justify the great harm they do that stretches from health and safety to cultural sensibility, to educational and moral ethics out into the environment. The video on this link didn’t surprise me, it just made me terribly and deeply sad.

If the Children’s Museum you think pioneers early education and great values pays its employees terrible wages, refuses to make their employees’ workplace (and therefore your kids) positive or safe, ignores cultural obligations, and treats working mothers unethically, are they still really champions of those liberal, oh so uber-ethical, multicultural values?

If the all-green, all eco-friendly town bans vegetable gardens while plastic garbage litters their streets are they succeeding at anything but hypocrisy?

If a historic preservation site lies actively about which buildings are original and which were fabricated fresh from the ground by eccentric rich people in the 1930s are they practicing an honest or ethical preservation program?

–you can see what I mean about rants.

Anyway. Somebody shared this on facebook a month ago. I can’t verify the claims in the video, but maybe the examples I’ve mentioned above will shed some light on why I have no trouble believing that insanities and inanities like this go on.

So please…just…Think? For a Second or Two?

None of us have all the answers. I certainly do not. But until we learn to hold everybody to a standard–a consistent standard–and everyone has to follow it or they don’t get support, no matter how much we think what they advertise or advocate is good…what will actually change for the better?

http://www.upworthy.com/why-that-fancy-organic-meal-is-about-as-ethical-as-a-big-mac-dipped-in-tar?c=fb2

 

This link may work better: http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=LZEUwvIHdSs

Conversations Across the Spiritual Divide*

Me: Wow. I’m looking down into a dark universe. A slowly emerging star spirals and swirls into focus, scattering particles of glory over the deep background of cosmic existence. It unfurls, growing as surely as a trumpet flower as the colors shade and rise. What a difference from the volcanic reaction of variegated magma and gasses bursting up to the surface and overflowing across the expanses that was so shocking last week.

Steve: You’re at the Hubble Telescope?

Me: No, I just dumped a teaspoon of powdered maple sugar into coffee fresh from the microwave. Still bubbling a bit.

Steve: Oh. So you did it slowly this time.

Me: Yep.

Steve: Well, the coffee explosion of 7/26 WAS pretty impressive. I liked the noise you made when it overflowed and tried to eat your kitchen counter.

Me: Yep. Thanks, Honey.

Steve: Any time…

*Yes I have conversations with my late husband in my mind and heart. Yes I think there’s a chance it’s actually him. No, I don’t know for sure. That is all.

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