We are Made to be Different

I have only told this story to a handful of people but now seems like the right time to share it more broadly. A few weeks ago I wrote a post about being the kind of people we want others to be. I mentioned the peace prayer, which is often mistakenly called the St. Francis prayer. I linked to a couple of stories of ex-KKK members who changed their ways based on relationships with people they used to hate.

After I wrote the post, I started to question the value of what I do, of how I help others. Does it really make a difference that I write a blogpost every week? Am I changing anyone’s life in a deep and profound way by leading a group meditation on Sundays? Would I make more of an impact by befriending someone who is in the KKK and supporting their exit from the Klan?

Literally within a few hours of thinking those thoughts I was zoombombed by neo-Nazis at the group meditation I lead. They started scribbling swastikas over my screen. They asked how many Jews we’ve killed and did whatever they could to disrupt the meeting before my co-moderator and I ejected them. (Since then we’ve tightened security measures at the meeting to keep incidents like that from happening again.)

This picture will make more sense as you keep reading. Photo by Kael Bloom on Unsplash 

After I calmed down, I started to laugh. It was as if the universe said to me, “Really? Are you sure you want to befriend neo-Nazis? Are you sure the form of service you provide isn’t worthwhile?” The universe answered my question very quickly and validated for me, yes, this is what my gifts are, and yes, they are needed.

I bring this up because I’ve had conversations with several people – both white and black – who have lots of feelings about not being on the streets protesting the treatment of black and brown people. There’s a feeling they “should” be and maybe some guilt that they aren’t. I get it because I feel that way too. I want to support black, brown, and indigenous people. I want them to know I’m not OK with how they are treated and protesting is one way to demonstrate that. However, my nervous system cannot handle large crowds. I start to panic when I’m in large groups which is why I never attend concerts or sports games at large stadiums. Even going to a shopping mall wipes me out.

Yesterday I went to a small protest near my house but there is no way I can be in a throng of people. When I think about my zoombombing experience, I realize that’s OK. Everyone has different gifts and different abilities. We are all special in our own way and however we’re choosing to show up in the world is valid. A symphony orchestra requires numerous instruments to create beautiful music. Humanity is like that symphony – we can’t all be the cello.

In fact, my spiritual teacher says, “[D]iversity is the order of providence. One must remember that identicality is disowned by nature – nature will not support identicality … diversity is the law of nature and identicality can never be. But diversity is not the same as disparity. Disparity encourages exploitation based on differences, while diversity recognizes multiplicity which reflects underlying unity.”

I dream of a world where we recognize we’re not meant to all do the same thing. A world where we realize we are like the instruments of a symphony orchestra – each part is important, beautiful, and adds to the whole. A world where we cherish how we personally contribute to society. A world where we recognize we are made to be different.

Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.

The World is Mostly Good

I feel vulnerable writing this post because the issue is alive in me. I haven't moved past it. I can't tie it up in a neat bow. I'm sharing though because this is the only topic that came to mind to write about, and also I know there are other people who feel the way I do. I'm hopeful my experience will help.

I am deeply unsettled by the murder of Nia Wilson from a few weeks ago. It speaks to one of my worst fears – a random act of violence. (I should mention here police don't know for sure it was random. It could have been racially motivated but the murderer didn't say one word to her or her sisters before attacking. Also, women of color experience higher rates of this kind of violence because the consequences are lower.) As for me, instead of viewing strangers as friends I haven't met yet, I view strangers as people who mean me harm. In public I am constantly on guard. And considering Nia was murdered while at a BART station that I frequent, I'm more fearful than usual.

A sweet picture that I hope conveys my sentiments. Photo by Ravi Roshan on Unsplash

My therapist suggested I acknowledge the fear and remind myself what I can control. I'm in control of my breath, of whether I eat or not. I'm in control of how clean I am, etc. It helps me to think about those things. It also helps to remind myself my perspective is skewed.

This weekend I attended the San Francisco Aerial Arts festival, which was glorious. I went by myself and rode public transportation all the way there and back. Doing so I realized the vast majority of people don't care about me one way or another. The vast majority are neutral. If I don't bother them, they won't bother me. Also at the performance, the sash from my trench coat trailed to the ground and a woman tapped me on the back to tell me so. She demonstrated to me while the vast majority of people are neutral, the remainder of people are good. They want to help. They care about complete strangers and will tell you if you drop something. And then a small minority of people wish me harm. Often it's not personal and I could easily be swapped out for someone else.

Am I still reeling from the random act of violence? Yes I am. Do I still want to barricade myself in my apartment? Yes I do. And I have to reconcile those feelings with another truth: The world is delightful. People dance on the side of buildings. People sing so well they move me to tears. People paint something that engrosses me for hours. The world is wonderful and terrible. It's beautiful and hideous. I wish that wasn't so but it is. All that I can do is what anyone can do, which is continuing to be a good person. To serve others where I can, to stand up for injustice, to sow love instead of hatred, and do my part to leave the world better than when I entered it.

I dream of a world where we remember the world is more good than it is bad. A world where we realize most people are neutral, and those that aren't are more likely good people than people who want to hurt us. A world where we help others according to our capacity.

Another world is not only possible, it's probable.

Become a Gift

When I was 20, I studied abroad in London. I interned with a publication that encouraged me to plagiarize. As you can imagine, it wasn't a good fit. I was miserable and tried everything I could to get out of it – even going so far as lining up another internship, but the study abroad program said no. I still don't know why. My parents got involved too and that also yielded nothing. It was the first time in my life that I couldn't make my circumstances better. The first time I had to wait out a crappy situation. It was the first time I experienced a taste of authoritarianism and I hated it. The unfairness of it all outraged me.

The other day I watched a movie, Desert Dancer, and was reminded again, authoritarian regimes continue to exist. Except other people have it far worse. The movie takes place in Iran in 2009 where dancing is forbidden. I know, that's also the theme of Footloose, but Desert Dancer is no sappy comedy, it's real life. People are literally beaten and killed for expressing themselves artistically. As an artist myself, I'm horrified. Living in the U.S., I forget there are places in the world where legitimate authoritarian regimes exist. Where other people are not nearly as privileged as I am.

Become a gift.

After my experience in London, I was able to come back to my normal life, to one of privilege and relative ease. But the people in Iran? Or Syria? Or some other country that barely registers in my brain? They are not so lucky.

It is easy for someone like me, a college-educated white woman living in the U.S., to do one of two things: feel guilty for my privilege, or forget other people exist. In conversations with other white people, I see so often we wring our hands and say we feel badly about the things other people have to endure, but what can we do? Or we feel guilty our lives are different because of our privilege. We carry around our white guilt like a suitcase at airport security, always ready to show it to someone else for inspection.

I also see that we forget. We forget other people exist except when a horrific tragedy jerks us from our daily lives. We go about our days wondering if that guy will call or the raise will come through. We get caught up in our own worlds. I'm not saying that's entirely a bad thing – we must take care of ourselves – but we must also take care of others.

Friends, I don't want my two options as a person of privilege to be white guilt or amnesia. Neither of those options does anyone any good. I would much rather use my skills to make the world a better place. As a journalist, that means giving a voice to the voiceless. It means telling someone else's story and broadcasting it far and wide. For you, it may mean healing the sick or planting a community garden. We all have gifts and talents. There's a quote by Hans Urs von Balthasar that sums this up nicely I think. He said, “What you are is God's gift to you, what you become is your gift to God.” May we all become gifts not only to God, but to the rest of humanity.

I dream of a world where we use our talents in service of others. A world where we remember other people exist and we do our best to make the world a better place for everyone. A world where we all become gifts.

Another world is not only possible, it's probable.

Beware the Cushy Life

I've been distraught this week at the state of the world. That seems to be a common theme lately, but this week felt especially intense. I didn't watch the videos of Alton Sterling or Philando Castile because I am far too sensitive for that, but even hearing details I sunk into a depression. I started feeling helpless and hopeless.

Instead of living in those states, I reached out to my community and asked about service projects. When the world gets like this, I think it's important to contribute in any way we can as opposed to shaking our heads and saying, “Isn't that awful?”

It's easy to do – to feel something and then continue with the status quo. After all, bills need to be paid. It's easy to fall into the mindset of, at the very end of the day, if I have any energy left over, then I might help other people.

This dog gets it.

Friends, this is no way to live and does not lead to any sort of fulfillment. My spiritual teacher says the formula for bliss is service minus information. I have been decidedly low on service and high on information, so of course I’m not feeling bliss, besides the fact there are some pretty terrible things going on in the world.

Service often gets relegated to that one weekend of the month volunteering for so-and-so, and that's fine because it's something. At this point, something is better than nothing. It's excruciating for me to sit on my laurels watching what's going on around me; I can't do that. I'm not a person who can tolerate crowds so no, I will not be at any protests unless I get a nudge from my higher power, but it's important for all of us to keep making the world a better place, whether that's through after-school tutoring or leading a men's group or planting a community garden. It may not be directly related to the Black Lives Matter movement, but that's OK, because in my book, any sort of service leads in the direction we all want to go.

I didn't sleep well last night so this post might be all over the place, but what I'm advocating is: beware of the cushy life. The life where it's all about being as comfortable as possible. A life that puts us at the center of existence without thinking of others. A world where we may feel something but then carry on as if nothing has changed. I'm asking that our feelings get translated into action, into service, into helping our brothers and sisters in any way we can.

I dream of a world where we serve each other. A world where we take action to make the world a better place instead of lamenting how awful it is. A world where instead of striving for a cushy life, we strive for a blissful one.

Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.

From Hammer to Human

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Last week, I wrote about how my mindset of late has been, “What can you do for me? What can I get from you?” I've been thinking about that more in depth and how that perspective causes all sorts of problems.

Philosopher Martin Buber wrote about this in his book I and Thou. I haven't read his book, and only conducted a cursory search on the internet about it so I apologize if I get some facts wrong. From my understanding, Buber says we engage in the world in one of two ways: I/it and I/thou.

She's a person! She's a building!

In the I/it relationship, we collect data, analyze it, classify it, and theorize about it. The object is viewed as a thing to be used or put to some purpose. This makes sense when we encounter something like a hammer, “What can I do with this? What do I need it for?” It also makes sense when we're conducting research, or any time when detachment is necessary.

In the I/thou relationship, we engage with the encountered object in its entirety, not in pieces. The I/thou relationship asks us to make ourselves available to another, to understand them, to share with them, to have a dialogue. In essence, to see the other as a human rather than an object.

The I/it relationship is extremely problematic when that's the only way we engage with others. I see the I/it dynamic reflected in Bill Cosby, who admitted to buying drugs in order to have sex with women. Duuuuude. That is the quintessential I/it relationship. Cosby didn't think of these women as human beings, but rather as objects that existed for his pleasure. It didn't matter whether these women wanted to have sex with him, he was going to have sex with them anyway. That is messed up. This is what is meant by the objectification of women. Our rape culture turns women into “its,” thought of as a collection of parts as opposed to people.

Objectification is not relegated to women only, by the way, men are seen as objects too. So are kids, animals, etc. What happened here? Why do we think only of our own selfish needs and not of other people? I can't answer that question, but I think Buber has a point when he suggests we start viewing other people as “thou” instead of “it.” I know for me, I try to be open and present in all my encounters and not think to myself, “What can I get from you?” When I turn people into objects, I often get called out on it, like when I approached a mail carrier and launched into my question without first saying, “Hello.” He kept saying, “Hello,” until I understood he wanted me to say, “Hello,” back. Nobody likes to be treated as a machine, even if you only have a quick question for them.

Why am I harping on this and why am I bringing it up in a blog about spirituality? For one, I am deeply disturbed by our tendency to view each other as toys to play with and then cast aside. For another, I know when I view all beings – not only people – as “thous,” as entities worthy and deserving of love and respect, I open myself up to moments of transcendence, which Buber also mentions. When I have a reverence for everything, the world shimmers. Not to mention, I start thinking of how I may be of service, which is the key ingredient for a blissful life, according to my spiritual teacher.

I dream of a world where we start viewing each other as human beings, not objects. A world where we practice care, attention, love, and respect when we're interacting with others. A world where we change our mindset and treat each other with dignity. A world where we move from seeing each other as hammers to humans.

Another world is not only possible, it's probable.

The Cushy Life

You may have noticed there's no audio for this post. That's because I ran out of space on soundcloud! If you'd like to keep hearing audio, please donate:

Even $2 would make a big difference. And if for some reason the donate button is being weird, you can send it directly to me at rebekah[at]inspiripress.com. Thanks!

I want to be as comfortable as possible. Give me air-conditioning and memory-foam mattress toppers and fast internet. I want my surroundings to be as cushy as I can make them. After I've worked so hard to make my life comfortable, at the very end of the day, if I have any energy left over, then I might think about other people. This is not good.

There's nothing wrong with taking care of myself, with putting myself first, because if I don't no one else will, but striving for a cushy life means I don't tolerate discomfort at my expense. And it takes more and more for me to feel comfortable. Like the princess and the pea who slept on a hundred mattresses and could feel the pea stuck between the bottom two. This focus on me has made me a little self-centered. My mindset of late has been, “What can you do for me? What can I get from you?”

A cushy life is great and all, but I'd much rather have a blissful one.

Friends, this is no way to live and does not lead to any sort of fulfillment. My spiritual teacher says the formula for bliss is service minus information. I have been decidedly low on service and high on information, so of course I'm not feeling bliss. Some people have a disdain for information, calling it useless, but that's not true. Information is only useless if it's not applied. Information is like fruit in a bowl. The fruit is only good if I eat it. Right now, instead of using all the fruit in my bowl, it's going to waste.

Service is the key to keeping my fruit from rotting. There's a different mindset around true service. I serve others because it's fun and it's free, not because I get any benefit, although that's a nice perk. When I serve others out of a sense of obligation or because I “should,” it's no longer service and instead a recipe for resentment. Service starts with a shift in mentality from “me, me, me,” to “we, we, we.” And when I shift my perspective, opportunities to serve present themselves, from giving someone a ride to the airport, to holding the door open for someone, to starting an orphanage.

Service often gets relegated to that one weekend of the month volunteering for so-and-so, but I'm finding it's important to make service a part of my daily life. I'm such an extreme person that I think service has to be a grand affair. It doesn't. Service starts in the mind, and that means thinking of others. My challenge right now is to serve myself and to serve others. I have a tendency to be “all or nothing,” so I need to not overextend myself too much. A little bit of stress leads to growth; a lot of stress leads to illness and injury. A cushy life is great and all, but what is it costing me? Maybe my life needs to be a little less cushy and a lot more service-oriented. After all, bliss feels a lot better than comfort.

I dream of a world where we serve each other. A world where life is a little less “me, me, me” and more “we, we, we.” A world where instead of striving for a cushy life, we strive for a blissful one.

Another world is not only possible, it's probable.

I have hope for the future. . .

The president of one of the charities I support, UrbanPromise, a charity that helps kids in Camden, N.J., sent me a letter this week showing me there is hope for the future:

For the six weeks of summer, 16 teens, each having grown up in our programs, were hired to work as camp counselors and mentors for our younger camp kids...we call them StreetLeaders.

They helped interns lead recreation and Bible classes, taught our camp kids songs and skits and shepherded hundreds of Camden's children to stimulating and just plain fun events.

And they earned money to do it! Like all teenagers, they could have done anything with that money. They could have blown all their money on video games, junk food, going out to the movies with friends...and who would have blamed them?

They worked hard for that money. They earned it. But, what they did still chokes me up. You see, they decided to give it away.

Immediately after summer camp finished, a time when most teens would have relaxed and enjoyed their humble paychecks, our StreetLeaders packed into two vans, and with their chaperones, drove non-stop to Biloxi, Mississippi to give back to those whose lives had been devastated by Hurricane Katrina.

They painted walls, cut and laid floor tiles, fixed floors, decontaminated mold, and cleaned up debris. Our enthusiastic kids even paid for their own meals and made contributions for gas. But most importantly, they worked non-stop for five days in blistering 100 degree bayou heat and never complained. And they wanted to keep working, especially on 55-year-old Miss Jeanine's house.

Miss Jeanine and her family had their home destroyed and repaired in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, to only have it damaged again when severe storms came through Biloxi earlier this spring.

"My granddaughter and I have been sleeping on mattresses on the living room floor 'cause the bedroom floors were so badly damaged," Miss Jeanine said.

Miss Jeanine's story did not deter our wide-eyed teens. "These were the hardest-working kids I've ever seen," she commented. "They've given me hope."

Hope? Our kids gave her hope? Our kids, from one of the poorest, most dangerous cities in America...our kids, who most of America has forgotten...gave Miss Jeanine hope!

"Camden's not the only place that needs help," said 17 year old Miles, a kid that grew up in our UrbanPromise programs. "We wanted to give to another community as others have given to us."

I think that's the sweetest thing I've heard all week. These kids who've grown up in one of the most impoverished, dangerous places in the U.S., wanted to give back. Instead of keeping the money to themselves they used it to help others. They dedicated not only their money but their time. Their dedication to service and to others shows me another world is not only possible, it's probable.