"I used to think and do now how little dress matters. But I find it almost impossible to keep to the principles of Friends without altering my dress and speech. . . . They appear to me a sort of protector to the principles of Christianity in the present state of the world."
- Elizabeth Fry
Of The Best Stuff, but Cracked
Thursday, December 30, 2004
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
The Flood
I am without many words in the face of so much suffering, loss, and pain. It is paralyzing for the first few moments of consideration, then my heart rushes out wanting to do something.
What?
Google has a starting point, just in case you haven't seen it...
http://www.google.com/tsunami_relief.html
I have a few ideas in the works, and will let all of you know if we get anything up and running.
What?
Google has a starting point, just in case you haven't seen it...
http://www.google.com/tsunami_relief.html
I have a few ideas in the works, and will let all of you know if we get anything up and running.
Sunday, December 26, 2004
Good King Wenceslas
"Sire, the night is darker now,
And the wind blows stronger...
Fails my heart, I know not how,
I can go no longer...
Mark my footsteps, my good page,
Tread thou in them boldly,
Thou shalt find the winter's rage
Freeze thy blood less coldly...
Being home for Christmas has turned out to be deeply humbling. The kids are wonderful, and it's so good to see them after having been so long away...the odd thing is that though I seem to have changed several times over, home is almost frighteningly the same. It is pitiful to watch my newly won and dearly held Quaker patience, forebearance, and love threaten to crumble in only a few days of the old hostile routine! And I thought I could show up here in a few months like a missionary, and show them the true way into Light and Happiness, even if they never left their tradition.
Ha! Ha, ha, ha, ha, HA!
Ha!
I didn't make it to a religious service of any denomination this Christmas, which was really strange. Neither have I managed to put aside any silent time to worship, or to gather my mind, or catch my breath. There have been a few times, when on the verge of a horrible political meltdown feud with my parents, triggered by the least mention of the war, I've just felt my heart ready to capsize with sadness and loneliness. I've just barely managed not to use the outward weapons of acting hurt and alienated to hurt and alienate them in turn for having the gall to...be wrong? To be afraid and angry?
They don't need my example, they need my love. And I've had to clarify to myself they don't need me to love them as an example. They need me to love them...to love them. And they may never change, and it appears clear to me that I cannot come and live with them and minister to them as I wanted, but I will continue to love them. For the next 48 hours, I am trying to make this love my worship, and trying to be humble and low and joyful in it.
And the wind blows stronger...
Fails my heart, I know not how,
I can go no longer...
Mark my footsteps, my good page,
Tread thou in them boldly,
Thou shalt find the winter's rage
Freeze thy blood less coldly...
Being home for Christmas has turned out to be deeply humbling. The kids are wonderful, and it's so good to see them after having been so long away...the odd thing is that though I seem to have changed several times over, home is almost frighteningly the same. It is pitiful to watch my newly won and dearly held Quaker patience, forebearance, and love threaten to crumble in only a few days of the old hostile routine! And I thought I could show up here in a few months like a missionary, and show them the true way into Light and Happiness, even if they never left their tradition.
Ha! Ha, ha, ha, ha, HA!
Ha!
I didn't make it to a religious service of any denomination this Christmas, which was really strange. Neither have I managed to put aside any silent time to worship, or to gather my mind, or catch my breath. There have been a few times, when on the verge of a horrible political meltdown feud with my parents, triggered by the least mention of the war, I've just felt my heart ready to capsize with sadness and loneliness. I've just barely managed not to use the outward weapons of acting hurt and alienated to hurt and alienate them in turn for having the gall to...be wrong? To be afraid and angry?
They don't need my example, they need my love. And I've had to clarify to myself they don't need me to love them as an example. They need me to love them...to love them. And they may never change, and it appears clear to me that I cannot come and live with them and minister to them as I wanted, but I will continue to love them. For the next 48 hours, I am trying to make this love my worship, and trying to be humble and low and joyful in it.
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
From an e-mail...
"Often I feel like a sound engineer, fiddling
with the levels in my life. I tweak the dials to let what I think will
be the correct amounts passion, humility, patience, and tenderness
out, and then step up to the mic. "Test...test...test..." and then I
have to go back and fiddle some more, and I never really get to the
performance. Sometimes this feels like what I should be doing, and
other times I feel like I need more simplicity - just step up to the
mic and sing the song the way I've practiced it, and trust that
there's a more qualified guy at the soundboard.
There is a part of the Bhagavad Gita, in chapter 12, that I think of
constantly, especially the last two lines....
Arjuna:
Lord! of the men who serve Thee--true in heart--
As God revealed; and of the men who serve,
Worshipping Thee Unrevealed, Unbodied, Far,
Which take the better way of faith and life?
Krishna:
Whoever serve Me--as I show Myself--
Constantly true, in full devotion fixed,
Those hold I very holy.
But who serve--
Worshipping Me The One, The Invisible,
The Unrevealed, Unnamed, Unthinkable,
Uttermost, All-pervading, Highest, Sure--
Who thus adore Me, mastering their sense,
Of one set mind to all, glad in all good,
These blessed souls come unto Me.
Yet, hard
The travail is for such as bend their minds
To reach th' Unmanifest
That viewless path
Shall scarce be trod by man bearing the flesh!
But whereso any doeth all his deeds
Renouncing self for Me, full of Me, fixed
To serve only the Highest, night and day
Musing on Me--him will I swiftly lift
Forth from life's ocean of distress and death,
Whose soul clings fast to Me. Cling thou to Me!
Clasp Me with heart and mind! so shalt thou dwell
Surely with Me on high.
But if thy thought
Droops from such height; if thou be'st weak to set
Body and soul upon Me constantly,
Despair not! give Me lower service! seek
To reach Me, worshipping with steadfast will;
And, if thou canst not worship steadfastly,
Work for Me, toil in works pleasing to Me!
For he that laboureth right for love of Me
Shall finally attain!
But, if in this
Thy faint heart fails, bring Me thy failure! find
Refuge in Me! let fruits of labour go,
Renouncing hope for Me, with lowliest heart,
So shalt thou come; for, though to know is more
Than diligence, yet worship better is
Than knowing, and renouncing better still.
Near to renunciation--very near--
Dwelleth Eternal Peace!
I feel often that I am running up and down the scale of these ways to
love and serve God...never really staying on any path for very long.
But I always fall back into that poverty of spirit, where I can say in
peace, if only for a moment, God, I just. don't. know. I have no idea,
I'm just making it all up as I go along...
----------
People have scowled at this before, for example, when I posted the same excerpt on my old blog, saying it sounded like an excuse for spiritual laziness. I don't know. I guess I can see how it could be interpreted that way, but reading the whole thing, it seems pretty clear to me. He suggests that all of these paths be tried, as hard as we can - renunciation, and surrender are the last step. Yes, he praises renunciation as the highest, but only when it is purified by long and hard searching.
Sometimes I think of it like this - God's playing hide and seek with us. After we finish counting and open our eyes, if we just say. "Hmm. Can't find thee. I give up." it's no fun, and there's no game, no relationship. But if we keep looking everywhere, getting more and more puzzled, I have this slightly blasphemous image of God in his awesome divine hiding place, bursting out into giggles, really pleased with himself, cause He's winning. If, after we've searched and searched and searched, we finally tumble to the ground and say "Fine, fine, fine! YOU WIN! OKAY? CAN'T FIND YOU! COME OUT! OKAY? I SAAAAAID, YOU WIN!" then He'll come chuckling, and maybe even gloating a bit, out of his hiding spot. He loves this bit, even better than if you'd found him.
The bitch of it is, He never seems to get tired of the game, so as soon as you admit defeat, and He shows himself, He's all "Let's play again! Again! Come on!" and disappears.
God wears me out. :)
with the levels in my life. I tweak the dials to let what I think will
be the correct amounts passion, humility, patience, and tenderness
out, and then step up to the mic. "Test...test...test..." and then I
have to go back and fiddle some more, and I never really get to the
performance. Sometimes this feels like what I should be doing, and
other times I feel like I need more simplicity - just step up to the
mic and sing the song the way I've practiced it, and trust that
there's a more qualified guy at the soundboard.
There is a part of the Bhagavad Gita, in chapter 12, that I think of
constantly, especially the last two lines....
Arjuna:
Lord! of the men who serve Thee--true in heart--
As God revealed; and of the men who serve,
Worshipping Thee Unrevealed, Unbodied, Far,
Which take the better way of faith and life?
Krishna:
Whoever serve Me--as I show Myself--
Constantly true, in full devotion fixed,
Those hold I very holy.
But who serve--
Worshipping Me The One, The Invisible,
The Unrevealed, Unnamed, Unthinkable,
Uttermost, All-pervading, Highest, Sure--
Who thus adore Me, mastering their sense,
Of one set mind to all, glad in all good,
These blessed souls come unto Me.
Yet, hard
The travail is for such as bend their minds
To reach th' Unmanifest
That viewless path
Shall scarce be trod by man bearing the flesh!
But whereso any doeth all his deeds
Renouncing self for Me, full of Me, fixed
To serve only the Highest, night and day
Musing on Me--him will I swiftly lift
Forth from life's ocean of distress and death,
Whose soul clings fast to Me. Cling thou to Me!
Clasp Me with heart and mind! so shalt thou dwell
Surely with Me on high.
But if thy thought
Droops from such height; if thou be'st weak to set
Body and soul upon Me constantly,
Despair not! give Me lower service! seek
To reach Me, worshipping with steadfast will;
And, if thou canst not worship steadfastly,
Work for Me, toil in works pleasing to Me!
For he that laboureth right for love of Me
Shall finally attain!
But, if in this
Thy faint heart fails, bring Me thy failure! find
Refuge in Me! let fruits of labour go,
Renouncing hope for Me, with lowliest heart,
So shalt thou come; for, though to know is more
Than diligence, yet worship better is
Than knowing, and renouncing better still.
Near to renunciation--very near--
Dwelleth Eternal Peace!
I feel often that I am running up and down the scale of these ways to
love and serve God...never really staying on any path for very long.
But I always fall back into that poverty of spirit, where I can say in
peace, if only for a moment, God, I just. don't. know. I have no idea,
I'm just making it all up as I go along...
----------
People have scowled at this before, for example, when I posted the same excerpt on my old blog, saying it sounded like an excuse for spiritual laziness. I don't know. I guess I can see how it could be interpreted that way, but reading the whole thing, it seems pretty clear to me. He suggests that all of these paths be tried, as hard as we can - renunciation, and surrender are the last step. Yes, he praises renunciation as the highest, but only when it is purified by long and hard searching.
Sometimes I think of it like this - God's playing hide and seek with us. After we finish counting and open our eyes, if we just say. "Hmm. Can't find thee. I give up." it's no fun, and there's no game, no relationship. But if we keep looking everywhere, getting more and more puzzled, I have this slightly blasphemous image of God in his awesome divine hiding place, bursting out into giggles, really pleased with himself, cause He's winning. If, after we've searched and searched and searched, we finally tumble to the ground and say "Fine, fine, fine! YOU WIN! OKAY? CAN'T FIND YOU! COME OUT! OKAY? I SAAAAAID, YOU WIN!" then He'll come chuckling, and maybe even gloating a bit, out of his hiding spot. He loves this bit, even better than if you'd found him.
The bitch of it is, He never seems to get tired of the game, so as soon as you admit defeat, and He shows himself, He's all "Let's play again! Again! Come on!" and disappears.
God wears me out. :)
Running much into words...
It is always a subject close to my heart and concience, and several conversations and incidents recently have brought it right up to the forefront of my thought.
Right now, since I am so new to these ideas of Quakerism, and also because I have an intense history with religion, and also because it's my nature, I have so many thoughts, ideas, and questions. This is what has lead to my blog, and to the fact that I am constantly having long conversations, and long correspondances about subjects relating to Quakerism and spirituality.
I worry about this.
I have read, and accept, that one of the fundamentals of being a Quaker is that each of us are responsible for our own statements and affirmations of faith. As I discover mine, my thoughts, beliefs, and ideas are all necessarily moveable, mutable, and changable. Part of being a Friend, to me, is continually challenging the truth of my convictions. Ched Myers, in Who Will Roll Away the Stone calls this the "critical and careful chaacter of theology. He writes...
"Theology is careful...in testing its own internal coherency and its relation to competing discourses and claims."
There are certain issues that can happen with all of this. In the course of a conversation, or an e-mail, or a blog entry, you're necessarily confined to a certain scope of subject. This concentration on just one aspect of an issue. Whatever is most in my ADD-riddled mind at any given moment is certainly the thing I am going to be discussing, and it's immediacy may be very temporary. I worry that by talking too much about a yet unformed idea, I may give it undue prominence and permanence. I can talk myself into nearly anything. I can talk myself out of nearly anything. I can talk myself into circles until I am so disoriented I just have to sit back and blink.
And I wonder, should I just "Ponder all these things in my heart" as Mary did? Wouldn't that be safer? I wonder if all my wonderings out loud and into cyberspace are an error in simplicity and plainness. Shouldn't my words be few and savoury?
I'm not sure about this. I have recieved so much from the Lord through my writing and especially in my communications with others. Through my e-mails and conversations, and blog entries, I learn a lot, gain clearness on things, hash out difficult ideas, am given feedback which elders my process and uplifts my heart.
I am someone who is torn between wanting a church to guide and help me and lift me up, and an inability to artificially distort what little I am certain of to fit a prewritten creed. I am trying to be careful to find in Friends not a church, not an identity, not a false sense of permanence, but....a Society. It seems to me that as a Society we are joined by our Questions, more than by our Answers. We're asking the same questions, and we are asking them together.
So it seems to me that I may speak and write as much as I am lead about my Questions, and the ways I am trying to answer them. It is something that is vital to my growth and Light. These long conversations, endless e-mails, and blog entries are about these questions, about discovering new questions, deeper questions, and finding the fellowship and mentorship to guide our communal search for Answers.
In like measure, I feel that I must be very, very, very cautious and particular about the way I talk about my Answers, if I think I may have seized on some. I’m so excited, and so caught up, and so inspired by what I have seen, that I am in danger (to quote Friend Jeff, again!!!) of not only outrunning my measure, but lapping it on the track a few times. When I receive Light on a subject I’ve been waiting on, I am liable to snatch it up and greedily declare it Truth, and run away with it, when my understanding may still be clouded, or my expression imperfect and incomplete. That way lies error and hastiness, with the dread chance of leading others wrong, too.
I feel this will be an important distinction and discipline in the time to come.
Right now, since I am so new to these ideas of Quakerism, and also because I have an intense history with religion, and also because it's my nature, I have so many thoughts, ideas, and questions. This is what has lead to my blog, and to the fact that I am constantly having long conversations, and long correspondances about subjects relating to Quakerism and spirituality.
I worry about this.
I have read, and accept, that one of the fundamentals of being a Quaker is that each of us are responsible for our own statements and affirmations of faith. As I discover mine, my thoughts, beliefs, and ideas are all necessarily moveable, mutable, and changable. Part of being a Friend, to me, is continually challenging the truth of my convictions. Ched Myers, in Who Will Roll Away the Stone calls this the "critical and careful chaacter of theology. He writes...
"Theology is careful...in testing its own internal coherency and its relation to competing discourses and claims."
There are certain issues that can happen with all of this. In the course of a conversation, or an e-mail, or a blog entry, you're necessarily confined to a certain scope of subject. This concentration on just one aspect of an issue. Whatever is most in my ADD-riddled mind at any given moment is certainly the thing I am going to be discussing, and it's immediacy may be very temporary. I worry that by talking too much about a yet unformed idea, I may give it undue prominence and permanence. I can talk myself into nearly anything. I can talk myself out of nearly anything. I can talk myself into circles until I am so disoriented I just have to sit back and blink.
And I wonder, should I just "Ponder all these things in my heart" as Mary did? Wouldn't that be safer? I wonder if all my wonderings out loud and into cyberspace are an error in simplicity and plainness. Shouldn't my words be few and savoury?
I'm not sure about this. I have recieved so much from the Lord through my writing and especially in my communications with others. Through my e-mails and conversations, and blog entries, I learn a lot, gain clearness on things, hash out difficult ideas, am given feedback which elders my process and uplifts my heart.
I am someone who is torn between wanting a church to guide and help me and lift me up, and an inability to artificially distort what little I am certain of to fit a prewritten creed. I am trying to be careful to find in Friends not a church, not an identity, not a false sense of permanence, but....a Society. It seems to me that as a Society we are joined by our Questions, more than by our Answers. We're asking the same questions, and we are asking them together.
So it seems to me that I may speak and write as much as I am lead about my Questions, and the ways I am trying to answer them. It is something that is vital to my growth and Light. These long conversations, endless e-mails, and blog entries are about these questions, about discovering new questions, deeper questions, and finding the fellowship and mentorship to guide our communal search for Answers.
In like measure, I feel that I must be very, very, very cautious and particular about the way I talk about my Answers, if I think I may have seized on some. I’m so excited, and so caught up, and so inspired by what I have seen, that I am in danger (to quote Friend Jeff, again!!!) of not only outrunning my measure, but lapping it on the track a few times. When I receive Light on a subject I’ve been waiting on, I am liable to snatch it up and greedily declare it Truth, and run away with it, when my understanding may still be clouded, or my expression imperfect and incomplete. That way lies error and hastiness, with the dread chance of leading others wrong, too.
I feel this will be an important distinction and discipline in the time to come.
Wow!
Well, guys, thanks for the support with my lost blog. I am cutting and pasting what I can find cached into a new version of it on blogspot. I'm putting the correct dates and times in, but most of my subtle italicization *smirk* will be missing, along with most links, and photos. Also all the comments. 'sokay, though. Nice to have (some of?) it back. It's all out of order in the cache, so if anyone's reading it, you may find May entries appearing after you're already read entries from October. I'm just trying to get it all in one place. The link at the bottom of my sidebard doesn't link to it, you'll have to get to it through my profile for now while I finish tying to track down and plug in the hundreds of entied. God, I'm verbose. It's tedious but I'm so grateful!!!
Monday, December 20, 2004
One wee thought
So I'm up, musing about the metaphysics of prayer...(pondering would be too ponderous a word...) because it's SO much more practical than sleeping. *self-directed eyeroll*
and it struck me, I don't think it is demeaning the mystical aspect of prayer to appreciate its simple, elegant psychological efficiency. If I hadn't prayed for humility this morning, it probably wouldn't have occurred to me to feel humbled at the downfall of my Self-Epic. I probably would have just snivelled.
Neat.
and it struck me, I don't think it is demeaning the mystical aspect of prayer to appreciate its simple, elegant psychological efficiency. If I hadn't prayed for humility this morning, it probably wouldn't have occurred to me to feel humbled at the downfall of my Self-Epic. I probably would have just snivelled.
Neat.
Sunday, December 19, 2004
Detachment
Urf.
My "old heathen blog" self-destructed without warning. The blogsite now has a message saying sorry, they can't afford to keep up any longer, and everything is lost.
It's a little tough - that journal had half-a-year's worth of my New York city journey, some of the best writing I have ever done in my life, and some very precious stories. I guess I could have saved my writing more often in a Word document or something...it's so strange. One of my entries was a finalist in this year's Diarist awards...about a very strange and precious experience I had with myself and my past and the ocean.
I feel a little bereft, and wonder why. Everything on that blog came from me, from within myself. It was full of things that I experienced, people that I experienced, and thoughts that I had, all written in words that I thought up myself. So what have I really lost?
Detachment is so hard. Both things and people are so easy to get attached to. I rejected Zen because it seemed to me that attachment is an ordered part of life - that it is simply a matter of what degree of attachment becomes spiritually harmful.
The answer seems to me to be this:
All things, and all people, point towards the Divine. When our attachment to a thing or person threatens to cloud our view rather than focus it, it's time to back off.
Today in meeting, terrified of the spiritual pride that I know I can fall into so easily, in the face of all the gifts I have been given, I prayed, truly and earnestly, knowing exactly what I was doing, "God, humble me..." It is a terrible prayer, because it is sure to be answered.
Am I saying God zapped "SocialJournal.com" to help zap my pride? Nah. But it helps anyway. I'm feeling pretty humble in the face of easy-come-easy-go and how easy it is to take things (like the longevity of the Internet) for granted.
I have been reading Harold Bloom's Where Shall Wisdom be Found? which has an incredible reading of the poetry of the Book of Job.
Am I saying that losing my blog makes me like Job? Nah. But the spiritual lessons in Job can apply to our petty lives as much as to the Grand Scheme of Things, which I am beginning to think is the whole point of scripture.
I can't get out what I'm trying to say.
RIP, Salivating Circuits.
My "old heathen blog" self-destructed without warning. The blogsite now has a message saying sorry, they can't afford to keep up any longer, and everything is lost.
It's a little tough - that journal had half-a-year's worth of my New York city journey, some of the best writing I have ever done in my life, and some very precious stories. I guess I could have saved my writing more often in a Word document or something...it's so strange. One of my entries was a finalist in this year's Diarist awards...about a very strange and precious experience I had with myself and my past and the ocean.
I feel a little bereft, and wonder why. Everything on that blog came from me, from within myself. It was full of things that I experienced, people that I experienced, and thoughts that I had, all written in words that I thought up myself. So what have I really lost?
Detachment is so hard. Both things and people are so easy to get attached to. I rejected Zen because it seemed to me that attachment is an ordered part of life - that it is simply a matter of what degree of attachment becomes spiritually harmful.
The answer seems to me to be this:
All things, and all people, point towards the Divine. When our attachment to a thing or person threatens to cloud our view rather than focus it, it's time to back off.
Today in meeting, terrified of the spiritual pride that I know I can fall into so easily, in the face of all the gifts I have been given, I prayed, truly and earnestly, knowing exactly what I was doing, "God, humble me..." It is a terrible prayer, because it is sure to be answered.
Am I saying God zapped "SocialJournal.com" to help zap my pride? Nah. But it helps anyway. I'm feeling pretty humble in the face of easy-come-easy-go and how easy it is to take things (like the longevity of the Internet) for granted.
I have been reading Harold Bloom's Where Shall Wisdom be Found? which has an incredible reading of the poetry of the Book of Job.
Am I saying that losing my blog makes me like Job? Nah. But the spiritual lessons in Job can apply to our petty lives as much as to the Grand Scheme of Things, which I am beginning to think is the whole point of scripture.
I can't get out what I'm trying to say.
RIP, Salivating Circuits.
hmm
(Phil 4:8) "Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things."
I'm just so struck by this at the moment. Sometimes the world and its violence and misery seems so hateful to me that I can hardly gather together the energy for the next breath. I'm so torn much of the time, feeling like a coward when I can't focus of the horrors of the war, for example. I know this text isn't advocating shutting your eyes and singing "la la la" at suffering, but it does seem to me that though there are those who do, and must do, the terrible, crucial, job of witnessing to this horror, it's okay to turn your head from the images if your heart holds them and you are turning your mind and your hands and your energy to the solutions, which MUST be true, honest, just, and pure.
I am too tired to say anything very interesting about this. But I can't cry "woe, woe" and be a good Christian. I cry "woe, woe" and then I just curl into an ossified little ball of misery that is no help to anyone.
It also has one million applications to my personal life. I already feel like a "bad quaker" sometimes because I haven't got an activist concern or even the slightest stirring of one. My concerns are much more homely. S'okay, though, I think.
I'm just so struck by this at the moment. Sometimes the world and its violence and misery seems so hateful to me that I can hardly gather together the energy for the next breath. I'm so torn much of the time, feeling like a coward when I can't focus of the horrors of the war, for example. I know this text isn't advocating shutting your eyes and singing "la la la" at suffering, but it does seem to me that though there are those who do, and must do, the terrible, crucial, job of witnessing to this horror, it's okay to turn your head from the images if your heart holds them and you are turning your mind and your hands and your energy to the solutions, which MUST be true, honest, just, and pure.
I am too tired to say anything very interesting about this. But I can't cry "woe, woe" and be a good Christian. I cry "woe, woe" and then I just curl into an ossified little ball of misery that is no help to anyone.
It also has one million applications to my personal life. I already feel like a "bad quaker" sometimes because I haven't got an activist concern or even the slightest stirring of one. My concerns are much more homely. S'okay, though, I think.
Friday, December 17, 2004
The Great Bonnet Vote
Okay. Let's just completely suspend our disbelief here for a minute, and say that This Blogger might just maybe someday consider wearing a bonnet.
Questions...
1.)Is this obviously a non-Wenger-non-Amish bonnet?
2.)Grey or black?
*snicker*
More on the Holy Hand Grenade...
I had someone e-mail me asking what I meant by the Holy Hand Grenade schtick. There's nothing much to it, except that I'm being a smartass because Business Meeting reminded me EXACTLY of this part of The Holy Grail...
LAUNCELOT: We have the Holy Hand Grenade.
ARTHUR: Yes, of course! The Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch! 'Tis
one of the sacred relics Brother Maynard carries with him! Brother
Maynard! Bring up the Holy Hand Grenade!
[singing]
How does it, uh... how does it work?
MAN: I know not, my liege.
MAN 2: Consult the Book of Armaments!
MAYNARD: Armaments, Chapter Two, Verses Nine to Twenty-One.
BROTHER: "And Saint Atila raised the hand grenade up on high,
saying, 'Oh, Lord, bless this thy hand grenade that with it thou
mayest blow thy enemies to tiny bits, in thy mercy.' And the Lord
did grin, and people did feast upon the lambs, and sloths, and
carp, and anchovies, and orangutans, and breakfast cereals, and
fruit bats, and large --"
MAYNARD: Skip a bit, Brother.
BROTHER: "And the Lord spake, saying, 'First shalt thou take out
the Holy Pin. Then, shalt thou count to three, no more, no less.
Three shalt be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the
counting shalt be three. Four shalt thou not count, nor either
count thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to three. Five is
right out. Once the number three, being the third number, be
reached, then lobbest thou thy Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch towards
thou foe, who being naughty in my sight, shall snuff it.'"
MAYNARD: Amen.
ALL: Amen.
ARTHUR: Right! One... two... five!
MAN 2: Three, sir!
ARTHUR: Three!
[boom]
It's even funnier because several names in the piece are names from the Meeting.
LAUNCELOT: We have the Holy Hand Grenade.
ARTHUR: Yes, of course! The Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch! 'Tis
one of the sacred relics Brother Maynard carries with him! Brother
Maynard! Bring up the Holy Hand Grenade!
[singing]
How does it, uh... how does it work?
MAN: I know not, my liege.
MAN 2: Consult the Book of Armaments!
MAYNARD: Armaments, Chapter Two, Verses Nine to Twenty-One.
BROTHER: "And Saint Atila raised the hand grenade up on high,
saying, 'Oh, Lord, bless this thy hand grenade that with it thou
mayest blow thy enemies to tiny bits, in thy mercy.' And the Lord
did grin, and people did feast upon the lambs, and sloths, and
carp, and anchovies, and orangutans, and breakfast cereals, and
fruit bats, and large --"
MAYNARD: Skip a bit, Brother.
BROTHER: "And the Lord spake, saying, 'First shalt thou take out
the Holy Pin. Then, shalt thou count to three, no more, no less.
Three shalt be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the
counting shalt be three. Four shalt thou not count, nor either
count thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to three. Five is
right out. Once the number three, being the third number, be
reached, then lobbest thou thy Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch towards
thou foe, who being naughty in my sight, shall snuff it.'"
MAYNARD: Amen.
ALL: Amen.
ARTHUR: Right! One... two... five!
MAN 2: Three, sir!
ARTHUR: Three!
[boom]
It's even funnier because several names in the piece are names from the Meeting.
Thursday, December 16, 2004
"Oh, Lord, bless this thy hand grenade..." - Monty Python and the Holy Grail
I have been waiting to write about my experience in last First Day's Meeting for Worship with a Concern for Business. This is mostly because I was so shaken up and angry afterwards that I didn't think I could talk about it fairly and in the Light. But now, as the old man with the plauge said in a memorable script of our dear Pythons'..."I'm getting better!'
After thinking and praying and talking, I don't think there was anything particularly treacherous about the meeting. I was just really wounded by the anger expressed over what seemed to me really petty matters, the barely concealed violence of tone, the impatience, the almost complete lack of evident tenderness and forebearance for each other, and especially the fact that each minute seemed to be composed not in unity, but in grim and grudging compromise.
It all struck me at once, like an unexpected blow to my stomach, and to my humiliation, I began to cry silently, and could. not. stop. I'm not a big crier, really, so it was disconcerting. And it was bizarre the way the tears just rolled for the rest of the meeting. I tried to take a prayerful position that hid my face and just wait it out. I felt separated from everyone in the room, and really angry, which I hadn't expected. When the meeting finally ended, I stumbled blindly out of the meetinghouse and once out of earshot, vented furiously to a sympathetic friend. He offered some very good perspective, and I calmed myself.
After a little reflection, I was suprised to discover that the overwhelming emotion, more than saddness, anger, or disappointment, was a huge amount of ignoble indignation. This didn't make sense to me at first.
I'm going to quote from some of my correspondace with Jeff Hipp, who's not only fun and really smart, but has also managed to provide a lot of clearness over the course of just a few e-mails. I told him about my indignation, and that...
"(The business meeting had) my self-rightious little self ready to walk out for the sole purpose of punishing them all with the loss of such a pious, sweet, zealous, hardworking, loving new little Friend as myself. "They'll be sorry!!!" I thought, "when they realize they've driven off the bright future of the Meeting as personified in my perfect little Quakerly self!!"
I ended up staying instead of so "punishing' them, of course, and as I
process what "went down" at that business meeting, I find that my
reactions to it have as much to do with me and my silly ever-changing
self image as it has to do with my discovery of the common-place
brittleness of the meeting."
Where was the serenity, I wondered....what of the famous patient and commited Quaker way to reaching unity, even if it took years? Why did I feel like parliment conducts its business with more courtesy than a room full of Friends?
Jeff had some answers...
"I think you may have encountered something I like to call “magical, mystical superhero syndrome.” The theory is this – someone learns about Quakers, gets really excited, runs into the nearest meetinghouse and declares, “You guys are awesome! You are magical, mystical superheroes!” The Quakers respond with, “Yes! We are! And you FOUND US! Congratulations!” And over time, the attender inevitably realizes that Friends are QUITE normal and human, often times intolerant and petty -- we just have a bit more corporate egotism than most faith communities do."
I realized he was right. What my scrunched-up little soul was really asking was:
"How dare they?!? How dare they be petty and impersonal and harried and unloving? I expected so much of them! How dare they have the same boring nasty little faults of the rest of the world? Where is my damned "Garden enclosed", for the love of God?"
Oh, I was mad.
I'd been warned repeatedly about this by many people, and I'd brushed it off. "Pshaw..." said I, "I am a sober-minded though zealous woman.Nothing can suprise me now...I've seen it all. I shall not become disillusioned, because I have no illusions!"
It's funny how the brighter the ideal, the more frail and subject it is to be turned into flashing cynicism. To me, Quakerism is Emancipated Religion. It's time for me to grow up and put away childish things - to stop having psychic tantrums everytime the "grownups" prove themselves fallible. It is a supremely important distinction that this religious adulthood has nothing to do with cynicism and bitterness and world-weariness. One can be mistaken for the other, a mistake I've made before,in both directions. I also know that I can do a lot to avoid falling into the second if I temper my religious fantasies and discipline my expectations.
I am not going to hide my light under a bushel, or ration my fire in fear that it will burn it out too fast. I truly believe that I've been given a measure of the Eternal Fire that can't be quenched - if I feed it regularly. The challenge now is to make sure it is this Fire that I allow to light my way, and not some flash, a man-made tissue-paper-and-tinsel blaze that the first mere breeze will extinguish.
I've had my share of "Holy Experiments". I want my faith, this time around, to be sustainable, steadfast, and ever-growing. Though I'm naturally zealous and energetic, being young, I feel distinctly led to withdraw a bit from the activity of the meeting. Friend RW, concerning committees and suchlike, wrote these wise words...
"If I wanted to I could sign up for everything and give a little to everything because they are all deserving and they all mean something.
But I am waiting. I know to some people the patience of a Quaker can be maddening, but it is possible that by enjoining everything the truth is I will have an effect on nothing, except maybe my conscience - which isn't the point.
I am waiting for a leading to my concern, and believe that when this occurs I will be able to have a stronger effect on what has presented itself."
This seems so true, and when applied to my own practice, so important. Naturally I want to be in the middle, working away, getting lost in good causes and the excitement of a flurry of Concerns. But if I take just a little look at myself as I AM, not as I want to be, I know that for the moment, this is a sure way to deadly pridefulness and burnout. Before I am steady on my feet in the Light, I can just see the inevitable meltdowns and crises of faith I'd be wishing down upon myself as I went into battle with the Establishment over concerns that are really Good Ideas, but not really my calling.
So instead, I'm going to take up some Quietist disciplines, read a lot, sit a lot, learn a lot, fellowship a lot. I'll continue to regularly attend the meeting, although I think I'll personally treat it like "A Meeting for Business with a Concern for Worship" and focus on silent worship instead of getting drawn into the business that doesn't concern me. And if some Martha should call me out on playing Mary, I'll just try to non-smugly direct them to the appropriate passage.
Pray for me, friends!
After thinking and praying and talking, I don't think there was anything particularly treacherous about the meeting. I was just really wounded by the anger expressed over what seemed to me really petty matters, the barely concealed violence of tone, the impatience, the almost complete lack of evident tenderness and forebearance for each other, and especially the fact that each minute seemed to be composed not in unity, but in grim and grudging compromise.
It all struck me at once, like an unexpected blow to my stomach, and to my humiliation, I began to cry silently, and could. not. stop. I'm not a big crier, really, so it was disconcerting. And it was bizarre the way the tears just rolled for the rest of the meeting. I tried to take a prayerful position that hid my face and just wait it out. I felt separated from everyone in the room, and really angry, which I hadn't expected. When the meeting finally ended, I stumbled blindly out of the meetinghouse and once out of earshot, vented furiously to a sympathetic friend. He offered some very good perspective, and I calmed myself.
After a little reflection, I was suprised to discover that the overwhelming emotion, more than saddness, anger, or disappointment, was a huge amount of ignoble indignation. This didn't make sense to me at first.
I'm going to quote from some of my correspondace with Jeff Hipp, who's not only fun and really smart, but has also managed to provide a lot of clearness over the course of just a few e-mails. I told him about my indignation, and that...
"(The business meeting had) my self-rightious little self ready to walk out for the sole purpose of punishing them all with the loss of such a pious, sweet, zealous, hardworking, loving new little Friend as myself. "They'll be sorry!!!" I thought, "when they realize they've driven off the bright future of the Meeting as personified in my perfect little Quakerly self!!"
I ended up staying instead of so "punishing' them, of course, and as I
process what "went down" at that business meeting, I find that my
reactions to it have as much to do with me and my silly ever-changing
self image as it has to do with my discovery of the common-place
brittleness of the meeting."
Where was the serenity, I wondered....what of the famous patient and commited Quaker way to reaching unity, even if it took years? Why did I feel like parliment conducts its business with more courtesy than a room full of Friends?
Jeff had some answers...
"I think you may have encountered something I like to call “magical, mystical superhero syndrome.” The theory is this – someone learns about Quakers, gets really excited, runs into the nearest meetinghouse and declares, “You guys are awesome! You are magical, mystical superheroes!” The Quakers respond with, “Yes! We are! And you FOUND US! Congratulations!” And over time, the attender inevitably realizes that Friends are QUITE normal and human, often times intolerant and petty -- we just have a bit more corporate egotism than most faith communities do."
I realized he was right. What my scrunched-up little soul was really asking was:
"How dare they?!? How dare they be petty and impersonal and harried and unloving? I expected so much of them! How dare they have the same boring nasty little faults of the rest of the world? Where is my damned "Garden enclosed", for the love of God?"
Oh, I was mad.
I'd been warned repeatedly about this by many people, and I'd brushed it off. "Pshaw..." said I, "I am a sober-minded though zealous woman.Nothing can suprise me now...I've seen it all. I shall not become disillusioned, because I have no illusions!"
It's funny how the brighter the ideal, the more frail and subject it is to be turned into flashing cynicism. To me, Quakerism is Emancipated Religion. It's time for me to grow up and put away childish things - to stop having psychic tantrums everytime the "grownups" prove themselves fallible. It is a supremely important distinction that this religious adulthood has nothing to do with cynicism and bitterness and world-weariness. One can be mistaken for the other, a mistake I've made before,in both directions. I also know that I can do a lot to avoid falling into the second if I temper my religious fantasies and discipline my expectations.
I am not going to hide my light under a bushel, or ration my fire in fear that it will burn it out too fast. I truly believe that I've been given a measure of the Eternal Fire that can't be quenched - if I feed it regularly. The challenge now is to make sure it is this Fire that I allow to light my way, and not some flash, a man-made tissue-paper-and-tinsel blaze that the first mere breeze will extinguish.
I've had my share of "Holy Experiments". I want my faith, this time around, to be sustainable, steadfast, and ever-growing. Though I'm naturally zealous and energetic, being young, I feel distinctly led to withdraw a bit from the activity of the meeting. Friend RW, concerning committees and suchlike, wrote these wise words...
"If I wanted to I could sign up for everything and give a little to everything because they are all deserving and they all mean something.
But I am waiting. I know to some people the patience of a Quaker can be maddening, but it is possible that by enjoining everything the truth is I will have an effect on nothing, except maybe my conscience - which isn't the point.
I am waiting for a leading to my concern, and believe that when this occurs I will be able to have a stronger effect on what has presented itself."
This seems so true, and when applied to my own practice, so important. Naturally I want to be in the middle, working away, getting lost in good causes and the excitement of a flurry of Concerns. But if I take just a little look at myself as I AM, not as I want to be, I know that for the moment, this is a sure way to deadly pridefulness and burnout. Before I am steady on my feet in the Light, I can just see the inevitable meltdowns and crises of faith I'd be wishing down upon myself as I went into battle with the Establishment over concerns that are really Good Ideas, but not really my calling.
So instead, I'm going to take up some Quietist disciplines, read a lot, sit a lot, learn a lot, fellowship a lot. I'll continue to regularly attend the meeting, although I think I'll personally treat it like "A Meeting for Business with a Concern for Worship" and focus on silent worship instead of getting drawn into the business that doesn't concern me. And if some Martha should call me out on playing Mary, I'll just try to non-smugly direct them to the appropriate passage.
Pray for me, friends!
Bonnetry
I got this from a Friend I was moaning to about there no longer being any such thing as a passible Quaker bonnet, and that all I could find were Amish bonnets. Hehe.
"Finally, I turn my attention to thy bonnet concerns. First off, I laughed at reading the descriptor “very obviously Amish Wenger Bonnet.” Then, when it repeated in the next line, I laughed again. Out loud. No doubt that it is INCREDIBLY obvious. Unquestionably, the fashion police of Williamsburg will peg you right away as a fraud, being extremely knowledgeable about the variations of bonnets among plain people from 1700 to present day. When you pass some Mennonites on the street, they will whisper to one another, “Who does THAT hussy Quaker think she is fooling? She is so obviously NOT an Anabaptist, but that bonnet is SO obviously an Amish Wenger Bonnet! Skank.”
"Finally, I turn my attention to thy bonnet concerns. First off, I laughed at reading the descriptor “very obviously Amish Wenger Bonnet.” Then, when it repeated in the next line, I laughed again. Out loud. No doubt that it is INCREDIBLY obvious. Unquestionably, the fashion police of Williamsburg will peg you right away as a fraud, being extremely knowledgeable about the variations of bonnets among plain people from 1700 to present day. When you pass some Mennonites on the street, they will whisper to one another, “Who does THAT hussy Quaker think she is fooling? She is so obviously NOT an Anabaptist, but that bonnet is SO obviously an Amish Wenger Bonnet! Skank.”
I was taken out to dinner by two very dear friends last night, who, among other things, gave me a giftcard for Anthropologie, perhaps my favourite clothing store in the universe. Across the back was written:
"Quaker or no Quaker, Anthropologie is still your b*tch.
(Even plain dressers need a nice sweater or two!)
XOXO"
It was so sweet and so funny I nearly lost my mind laughing.
"Quaker or no Quaker, Anthropologie is still your b*tch.
(Even plain dressers need a nice sweater or two!)
XOXO"
It was so sweet and so funny I nearly lost my mind laughing.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
So it's my birthday, and I'm thinking of my favourite stanza from what may just possibly be my favourite poem: The Only Animal by Franz Wright. (Reprinted in its entirety here.)
You gave me
in secret one thing
to perceive, the
tall blue starry
strangeness of being
here at all.
I think if I ever start a new blog, or write my autobiography (you know I'll end up writing an autobiography) I will name it Tall Blue Starry Strangeness.
So I'm here, and it's tall, blue, starry, and strange, and also wonderful, and I just feel moved to say, "Thanks."
You gave me
in secret one thing
to perceive, the
tall blue starry
strangeness of being
here at all.
I think if I ever start a new blog, or write my autobiography (you know I'll end up writing an autobiography) I will name it Tall Blue Starry Strangeness.
So I'm here, and it's tall, blue, starry, and strange, and also wonderful, and I just feel moved to say, "Thanks."
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Plain, though vain.
When I first wrote that piece that ended up on Martin's blog, I had just begun to toy with the idea of "Going Plain". I didn't really believe that I'd ever go the whole way with it. It seemed that the ideals of simplicity, social justice, and humility were good things to begin to introduce into my life in a real way, and that it was a good idea to start with my clothes, since I had noticed myself begin to get addicted to "effects" I could create with my wardrobe. But wearing anything resembling "plain clothing" I had major reservations against.
I have a weakness for historical reenactment and "Living History" that made me a prime suspect to myself of having my own less-than-pious reasons to dress "Like an Amish Girl." I'm also rather easily embarassed, and the thought of wearing what Friend Melynda called "Praire-Madonna-Drag" EVERYWHERE, ALL THE TIME seemed ridiculous.
I did the sensible thing and just got rid of my more outlandish clothes...
Then some more clothes that didn't fit...
Then some more clothes I didn't need...
And a few more I didn't need...
And just a few more...
And maybe just these last things...
and just this one last bit of stuff...
oh, and now there's so little in that dresser that if I get rid of just this little bit more, I won't need a dresser...
I found that getting rid of stuff was as habit forming as buying it. With every little cart of stuff I dropped off at the good Old Salvation army, the lighter I felt. Everytime I opened my closet, some other bit of clothing stared me down, asking me "Why are you keeping me? Huh? Huh? Why? Hmm?"
The trouble soon became not "what to give away" but "what to keep?"
I kept a few articles that were gifts from people I respect and admire, and a few things that if I "came to my senses" and changed my mind, that I would severely regret having given away. Maybe that means I'm not detached enough yet, but hey, I've got to meet myself where I'm at - and that's a challenge and responsibility all in itself. Coming up on my 22nd Birthday, (tomorrow! Whee!) I think I'm finally old and wiley enough to know that I can't fool myself for long about how certain or commited I am to anything. Nope, this was going to have to be on my "real self's" terms, not my "ideal self's". After all - isn't honesty about my true person the whole point of this daft exercise?
So what to keep. I'm still sort of itchy and wary of prescribed gender roles, identities, and all that baggage. And I have more faith in the ordinary man's ability to keep contol of himself in the presence of a lady's visible ankles than the average text on the importance of modesty.
But the truth is, I've always looked better in skirts (for what it's worth) and felt more comfortable in them, PC or no. Plus, it just seemed to be what the experiment called for. So I kept a pair of jeans for whenever they might be useful, and one long comfy denim skirt, which I'd bought from the Gap in college. (Lest any of you recoil at the phrase "denim skirt"it is not one of those hideous shapeless potato sacks with the patch pocket and little kick slit. It is cute. So say I.)
I decided to sew another skirt, just for the heck of it. I bought some brown wool on super deep discount ($2.00 a yard!!!!) and sewed up a skirt that turned out suprisingly decent, though anyone that sews even a bit could likely point out a dozen structural errors. Still, it works, it repells stains, and it looks fine with a sweater.
A voice kept whispering tome..."Cover thy head!"
It seemed ridiculous to me. I don't think it's necessary to cover your head for modesty, I think Paul can stuff it about women keeping quiet in church and veiling themselves, and I don't really believe in headship or submission either, by my own current Light.
There didn't seem any earthly (hmm) reason to do it, but I kept feeling like I should. Finally I said, " To heck with it!", bought a kerchief and started wearing it. To my shock and suprise, after a day or two, I didn't even notice it. It seemed the most natural thing in the world every morning to push my short bushy hair away from my face and stick a kerchief over it. I also realized how much angst I lost - and how much extra sleep I gained! My stupid bristly hair, too straight to be curly and too curly to be straight, and which can never make up its mind what colour it is, has always been a plauge. Any number of curling irons, straightening irons, blow-driers, hair pins, hair gels/waxes/mousess/pommades, and shockingly expensive hair cuts made no difference. It was always work, and always a point of insecurity. Now, I have so much more free "head space" because I'm not worrying about how my hair looks. Wonderful!
I've since switched to some little crochet caps because they are much neater and stay put with just a pin or two, no sliding aroud or coming loose. My friends are making "Quaker bonnet" jokes thick and fast - I may just get one. ;)
Well, no - a bonnet is still beyond me, sweet as they may be. I am thinking of switching to a cap, similar to the Mennonite and Amish, only from solid material, not opaque, and probably black. White is historical, and I like it, but it seems a bit ostentatious. I dunno.
I like my little crochet snoods, but I live in a heavily Hasidic area. I am constantly getting raised eyebrows and curious stares as members of the community try to figure out who I am. Several people have attempted conversations with me and looked incredulous/disgusted when they found out I was not Jewish. Although I take it as a compliment to be classed with these good people, confusion's never a good thing. If I wear a cap, more people will think I'm Amish, but it will be hitting nearer the mark, I think. I'm still thinking about it.
As for shoes, I've never been obsessed with them the way earthlings of my age and gender-persuasion are supposed to be. Still, I got rid of all but my best pair of high-heels (a gift...and also Just..in...Case) kept my favourite Chucks (Just...in...Case) and a pair of all-purpose black ankle boots. These are Vintage Payless, and falling apart. I am appalled by the disposable shoes I've been wearing and buying all my life from stores like Payless. They make your feet smell, they come unglued at awkward moments, they let the rain in, they only last about 4 months, at least when you're walking on concrete, and worst of all, no shoemaker can repair them. So I ordered a pair of leather boots online. I have never paid that much for shoes before, but I'm counting on these to last me four or five years, at least, which would bring the cost down to much less than I'd pay for three pairs of crap disposable shoes a year for the same amount of time. I figure that being well made, and leather, when a heel wears down, I can take them to a shoemaker and have them re-heeled, etc. We'll see.
In the Plain Experiment's present state, and in this culture of the exceptional being the rule, I'm not garnering too much weird attention. Fact is, I look as much like a slightly old-fashioned and nostalgic folk singer as anything else, and since that's pretty much what I am, I think I'm doing okay.
I had quite a bit of left over fabric, and as it's now winter and getting VERY COLD here in New York, I knew my newly-purged wardrobe was not going to be enough to keep me warm. I also discovered to my dismay that working in food service and only having two skirts, I needed an apron. So I went to an online supplier of plain clothes and ordered flannel underthings, a very simple dress to be made up of my left over wool, and...a black apron. I don't know when they'll arrive - I'm anxious for them...it is getting colder by the minute here it seems. Time will tell if I'm really going to be brave enough to wear the cape apron. It seems like a badge of Plainess with a capital P. Thing is, so has everything else I've sort of slipped into, and honestly, it's all been nearly effortless with just a few snags when I pass something delicious made out of green velvet (my red-headed weakness) in a shop window.
I've never been happier, I have to say. Not to sound like an evangelist, but I'm more at peace. I have found that people expect more from me when I am dressed this way, and as I'm an actress, bone-deep, I can't bear to disappoint my audience. Some would say this was dishonest, but I'm a great believer in fake-it-till-you-make-it. I am as a rule gentler and more thoughtful, and quieter (that was the biggest shock!)on a more regular basis than I have ever been before. I feel my headcovering, or I glance in a mirror, and suddenly I am compelled to keep my blazing temper down. I can't explain how or why exactly it works. Maybe it's a new sort of pride, but it's a useful one, so I won't complain.
I'm also keeping my room tidier than I ever have in my 22 years (except for paper. Damnit, I can't seem to be plain about these papery bits of my life..they are everywhere...) I never have to worry about what I'm wearing in the morning or if I look good enough to go somewhere. Since I have so few clothes, I have to make sure they are always presentable. I'm trying to embody that Jane Eyre ideal of Quakerness...
"having ascertained that I was myself in my usual Quaker trim, where there was nothing to retouch-- all being too close and plain, braided locks included, to admit of disarrangement"
However, by nature I'm a bit of a fly-about so I can't swear that someone happening upon me unexpecected would always find me in such a state. But then, we Quakers don't swear anyhow. :)
I still care about the way I look. Of course I do. I think it would be a fault not to. But I'm trying to make it my goal to be attractive, neat, simple, humble, and peaceful in my clothing, with the hopes that the rest of my life will slowly follow.
I have a weakness for historical reenactment and "Living History" that made me a prime suspect to myself of having my own less-than-pious reasons to dress "Like an Amish Girl." I'm also rather easily embarassed, and the thought of wearing what Friend Melynda called "Praire-Madonna-Drag" EVERYWHERE, ALL THE TIME seemed ridiculous.
I did the sensible thing and just got rid of my more outlandish clothes...
Then some more clothes that didn't fit...
Then some more clothes I didn't need...
And a few more I didn't need...
And just a few more...
And maybe just these last things...
and just this one last bit of stuff...
oh, and now there's so little in that dresser that if I get rid of just this little bit more, I won't need a dresser...
I found that getting rid of stuff was as habit forming as buying it. With every little cart of stuff I dropped off at the good Old Salvation army, the lighter I felt. Everytime I opened my closet, some other bit of clothing stared me down, asking me "Why are you keeping me? Huh? Huh? Why? Hmm?"
The trouble soon became not "what to give away" but "what to keep?"
I kept a few articles that were gifts from people I respect and admire, and a few things that if I "came to my senses" and changed my mind, that I would severely regret having given away. Maybe that means I'm not detached enough yet, but hey, I've got to meet myself where I'm at - and that's a challenge and responsibility all in itself. Coming up on my 22nd Birthday, (tomorrow! Whee!) I think I'm finally old and wiley enough to know that I can't fool myself for long about how certain or commited I am to anything. Nope, this was going to have to be on my "real self's" terms, not my "ideal self's". After all - isn't honesty about my true person the whole point of this daft exercise?
So what to keep. I'm still sort of itchy and wary of prescribed gender roles, identities, and all that baggage. And I have more faith in the ordinary man's ability to keep contol of himself in the presence of a lady's visible ankles than the average text on the importance of modesty.
But the truth is, I've always looked better in skirts (for what it's worth) and felt more comfortable in them, PC or no. Plus, it just seemed to be what the experiment called for. So I kept a pair of jeans for whenever they might be useful, and one long comfy denim skirt, which I'd bought from the Gap in college. (Lest any of you recoil at the phrase "denim skirt"it is not one of those hideous shapeless potato sacks with the patch pocket and little kick slit. It is cute. So say I.)
I decided to sew another skirt, just for the heck of it. I bought some brown wool on super deep discount ($2.00 a yard!!!!) and sewed up a skirt that turned out suprisingly decent, though anyone that sews even a bit could likely point out a dozen structural errors. Still, it works, it repells stains, and it looks fine with a sweater.
A voice kept whispering tome..."Cover thy head!"
It seemed ridiculous to me. I don't think it's necessary to cover your head for modesty, I think Paul can stuff it about women keeping quiet in church and veiling themselves, and I don't really believe in headship or submission either, by my own current Light.
There didn't seem any earthly (hmm) reason to do it, but I kept feeling like I should. Finally I said, " To heck with it!", bought a kerchief and started wearing it. To my shock and suprise, after a day or two, I didn't even notice it. It seemed the most natural thing in the world every morning to push my short bushy hair away from my face and stick a kerchief over it. I also realized how much angst I lost - and how much extra sleep I gained! My stupid bristly hair, too straight to be curly and too curly to be straight, and which can never make up its mind what colour it is, has always been a plauge. Any number of curling irons, straightening irons, blow-driers, hair pins, hair gels/waxes/mousess/pommades, and shockingly expensive hair cuts made no difference. It was always work, and always a point of insecurity. Now, I have so much more free "head space" because I'm not worrying about how my hair looks. Wonderful!
I've since switched to some little crochet caps because they are much neater and stay put with just a pin or two, no sliding aroud or coming loose. My friends are making "Quaker bonnet" jokes thick and fast - I may just get one. ;)
Well, no - a bonnet is still beyond me, sweet as they may be. I am thinking of switching to a cap, similar to the Mennonite and Amish, only from solid material, not opaque, and probably black. White is historical, and I like it, but it seems a bit ostentatious. I dunno.
I like my little crochet snoods, but I live in a heavily Hasidic area. I am constantly getting raised eyebrows and curious stares as members of the community try to figure out who I am. Several people have attempted conversations with me and looked incredulous/disgusted when they found out I was not Jewish. Although I take it as a compliment to be classed with these good people, confusion's never a good thing. If I wear a cap, more people will think I'm Amish, but it will be hitting nearer the mark, I think. I'm still thinking about it.
As for shoes, I've never been obsessed with them the way earthlings of my age and gender-persuasion are supposed to be. Still, I got rid of all but my best pair of high-heels (a gift...and also Just..in...Case) kept my favourite Chucks (Just...in...Case) and a pair of all-purpose black ankle boots. These are Vintage Payless, and falling apart. I am appalled by the disposable shoes I've been wearing and buying all my life from stores like Payless. They make your feet smell, they come unglued at awkward moments, they let the rain in, they only last about 4 months, at least when you're walking on concrete, and worst of all, no shoemaker can repair them. So I ordered a pair of leather boots online. I have never paid that much for shoes before, but I'm counting on these to last me four or five years, at least, which would bring the cost down to much less than I'd pay for three pairs of crap disposable shoes a year for the same amount of time. I figure that being well made, and leather, when a heel wears down, I can take them to a shoemaker and have them re-heeled, etc. We'll see.
In the Plain Experiment's present state, and in this culture of the exceptional being the rule, I'm not garnering too much weird attention. Fact is, I look as much like a slightly old-fashioned and nostalgic folk singer as anything else, and since that's pretty much what I am, I think I'm doing okay.
I had quite a bit of left over fabric, and as it's now winter and getting VERY COLD here in New York, I knew my newly-purged wardrobe was not going to be enough to keep me warm. I also discovered to my dismay that working in food service and only having two skirts, I needed an apron. So I went to an online supplier of plain clothes and ordered flannel underthings, a very simple dress to be made up of my left over wool, and...a black apron. I don't know when they'll arrive - I'm anxious for them...it is getting colder by the minute here it seems. Time will tell if I'm really going to be brave enough to wear the cape apron. It seems like a badge of Plainess with a capital P. Thing is, so has everything else I've sort of slipped into, and honestly, it's all been nearly effortless with just a few snags when I pass something delicious made out of green velvet (my red-headed weakness) in a shop window.
I've never been happier, I have to say. Not to sound like an evangelist, but I'm more at peace. I have found that people expect more from me when I am dressed this way, and as I'm an actress, bone-deep, I can't bear to disappoint my audience. Some would say this was dishonest, but I'm a great believer in fake-it-till-you-make-it. I am as a rule gentler and more thoughtful, and quieter (that was the biggest shock!)on a more regular basis than I have ever been before. I feel my headcovering, or I glance in a mirror, and suddenly I am compelled to keep my blazing temper down. I can't explain how or why exactly it works. Maybe it's a new sort of pride, but it's a useful one, so I won't complain.
I'm also keeping my room tidier than I ever have in my 22 years (except for paper. Damnit, I can't seem to be plain about these papery bits of my life..they are everywhere...) I never have to worry about what I'm wearing in the morning or if I look good enough to go somewhere. Since I have so few clothes, I have to make sure they are always presentable. I'm trying to embody that Jane Eyre ideal of Quakerness...
"having ascertained that I was myself in my usual Quaker trim, where there was nothing to retouch-- all being too close and plain, braided locks included, to admit of disarrangement"
However, by nature I'm a bit of a fly-about so I can't swear that someone happening upon me unexpecected would always find me in such a state. But then, we Quakers don't swear anyhow. :)
I still care about the way I look. Of course I do. I think it would be a fault not to. But I'm trying to make it my goal to be attractive, neat, simple, humble, and peaceful in my clothing, with the hopes that the rest of my life will slowly follow.
Sunday, December 12, 2004
William Pen on Simplicity
"Personal pride does not end with noble blood. It leads people to a
fond value of their persons, especially if they have any pretence to
shape or beauty. Some are so taken with themselves it would seem
that nothing else deserved their attention. Their folly would
diminish if they could spare but half the time to think of God, that
they spend in washing, perfuming, painting and dressing their
bodies. In these things they are precise and very artificial and
spare no cost. But what aggravates the evil is that the pride of one
might comfortably supply the needs of ten. Gross impiety it is that
a nation's pride should be maintained in the face of its poor.
William Penn, 1669"
fond value of their persons, especially if they have any pretence to
shape or beauty. Some are so taken with themselves it would seem
that nothing else deserved their attention. Their folly would
diminish if they could spare but half the time to think of God, that
they spend in washing, perfuming, painting and dressing their
bodies. In these things they are precise and very artificial and
spare no cost. But what aggravates the evil is that the pride of one
might comfortably supply the needs of ten. Gross impiety it is that
a nation's pride should be maintained in the face of its poor.
William Penn, 1669"
First Plain Post
Most of this was previously published on Quaker Ranter as a guest piece. As I expect most people reading this camehere from Friend Martin's page, this might be very familiar. If not, this was the first thing I ever wrote about "going plain". I'll write an update to this tomorrow. I also have a lot of stuff to write about my first whole Meeting for Worship with a concern for Business, but I'm still so muckled about it all I decided I'd better sit with it first.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I feel a strong call towards plain dress, and have gone through fits and starts of it spontaneously, even as a Catholic child. At 12, I decided I would no longer wear colours in imitation of all the saints habits I saw in my books, and my friends and I (I grew up in rural Canada, homeschooled, the oldest of 11 kids, an anarchonism to begin with) tried sewing our own clothes ourselves, praire dresses and pinafores.
When I was 14, we moved to the States, to the suburbs, away from our uber-traditional Catholic enclave, and I began to normalize myself out of the “homeschooler uniform” (its own sort of plain dress - those terrible jumpers with ankle socks and canvas sneakers! Ack!) and into mainstream fashion, where I’ve been solidly entrenched ever since, especially since moving to NYC.
I am now in the process of purging a lot of my stuff, and seeking a simpler way of living. I quit smoking, and have decided that drinking as a recreational activity is out unless it’s an organized event. This may become more strict in time, but I have to ease into it a little bit. I got rid of several bags of clothes and a bunch of household items I was hoarding “just in case I might need them someday”. Classic. A lot of things have precipitated this, but one of them is my absolute horror at how I’ve gone from making $12,000 a year to nearly $30,000, and I still am saving no money at all, nor am I making any lasting purchase/investments, etc…I’m just spending it on vain and useless things. I’ve noticed as well, that I’m starting to have more and more big-salary fantasises, and recreationally go to stare in shop windows at clothes, not just to appreciate the asthetic value of some of the most gorgeous garments in the world (after all, this is Manhattan) but also to drool and covet. I found, while examining my concience, that it wasn’t even the thing - the piece of clothing that I wanted, and it wasn’t a simple desire to have something pretty. I saw myself linking these clothes and things to my self worth and future happiness. You know:
“Once I am thin and rich enough to wear this, I will be happy. I will be so happy. So very happy. Everything will be perfect, and my hair will always be straight, and I will have my teeth veneered, and I will have a handsome man who worships the ground I walk on, and three bright-eyed children who appear only on Sunday mornings to snuggle with me in my California-king-sized bed with the white crisp sheets, while I languidly smile at their frolicing and plan to buy them a golden retriever puppy later that afternoon as I stroll through an antique fair and buy a vintage wicker bird cage, which I will fill with finches and hang from my sun-drenched porch in my second house in the south of France, and I be happy. So happy. So very happy, if I am only thin and rich enough to wear those clothes.”
I really, really woke up one afternoon to find myself standing on 5th Ave and 59th street, on my lunch break, staring in a window, and having that fantasy with absolutely no internal ironic monolouge at all. At all.
It completley panicked me.
I’ve noticied that I’m becoming really attatched to my clothes. As I was grimly and methodically culling my closet, a whiney, desperate voice in my head piped up, and I began to have a serious conversation with myself.
“You can’t get rid of so many of your cool clothes. The clothes are you, they’re a huge part of who you are.”
“Wait,” the other voice in my head, the stern one, said, “You are saying that I am what I wear. That’s supposed to make me want to keep them? Do you even hear what you’re saying?”
The first voice was totally backtracking.
“No, no, no, I didn’t mean you were your clothes, or that you were only worth as much as your clothes, why do you always have to be so literal? I meant that your clothes tell people about you, about who you are and what you believe in. They’re an outside sign of who you are.”
“Ah.” said the second voice, rather sarcastically, I thought, “So we’d rather have people learn everything they need to know about us by our clothes, instead of having them take the time to get to know us from experience of us.”
“Well, that’s all very well!” said the first voice. “That’s nice in an ideal world. But the truth is, the sad truth is, most people won’t take the time to get to know you if you don’t seem cool.”
“Wow.” said the second voice. “Wow. This has nothing to do with fashion, does it? This totally has to do with your inferiority complex, dating back to about second grade, doesn’t it?”
At this point the first voice began to suck its thumb, and I realized to my horror that the second voice was right. It’s always right.
“Fashion is what you adopt when you don’t know who you are.” ~Quentin Crisp
I’ve actually begun buying my personality in a store, and telling myself that it’s okay because I’m buying it in a thrift store. I know from personal experience that the right headscarf or pair of vintage shoes, or funny t-shirt will suddenly raise the value of my social currency off the charts. And I’m becoming really dependent on that, to the point where I’ve started to actually feel anxiety around my “style” and my clothes. I ironically played the role of fashion police for a boy at a party who was mocking me for being from Williamsburg, and although I was kidding around when I excoriated him for his American-Eagle shorts and surfer-boy hair, it struck me, I’m spouting all these “rules” as if I’m mocking them, but I actually live by them, don’t I?
And I’ve increasingly begun to obey them out of fear instead of out of a love of neat clothes or a sense of aesthetic. I have cooler clothes than ever, and sudenly I have a need to make more money so that I can keep looking cool, and keep fitting in, and keep proving to everyone, most of all myself, that I should be invited to Angelica’s birthday party because the whole rest of the class is and it’s not fair…oh wait. That was second grade.
Benjamin Franklin wrote: “Money never made a man happy yet, nor will it. There is nothing in its nature to produce happiness. The more a man has, the more he wants. Instead of its filling a vacuum, it makes one. If it satisfies one want, it doubles and trebles that want another way.”
This seems like a huge cliche, but you know, the more I think about it, the more it seems that the modern horror of cliches may have less to do with a love of originality than with a fear of the truth.
So those are the motivations - that much is worked out. But the practice of it is hard. Was I experienceing a genuine calling to plain dress as a child, or did I just read too much “Little House”? (Is there such a thing as too much “Little House”?) And now, am I just a costume-loving poser?
I feel a bizarre attraction to head-covering as well, though I recoil with my whole post-feminist self from those passages in the bible. I don’t think I believe in submission to anybody. In fact, I’m not sure even God wants me submissive -I feel he wants my co-operation.
“I will not now call you servants: for the servant knoweth not what his lord doth. But I have called you friends: because all things whatsoever I have heard of my Father, I have made known to you.” John 15:15
Another reservation I have is that plain dressing may just be another way of telegraphing the image I want the world to have of me. Only instead of that message being “I am cool and worthy of your attention and envy” the message might be “I’m so hoooooly”. Or, perhaps more positively, it might be a message that is “witness” - a concept I am struggling with on its own - what if I make mistakes and my witness is mistaken, etc.
My compromise was to get rid of all the clothes I’d bought just for attention, all the clothes I was keeping for purely sentimental reasons, everything that didn’t fit, or match with anything else, etc. And to be honest, that just pared it down to where I can actually fit all my clothes in my 1 closet and dresser, a feat heretofore unknown to me. Also, a big part of this move was to start taking care of my clothes, something I’ve never done. I’ve made an active dicipline of something as simple as hanging up my clothes each night, as an act of respect and gratitude. It occured to me that when I am so fortunate as to have many posessions, it seems extremely wrong that I should mistreat them the way I’ve been doing.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I feel a strong call towards plain dress, and have gone through fits and starts of it spontaneously, even as a Catholic child. At 12, I decided I would no longer wear colours in imitation of all the saints habits I saw in my books, and my friends and I (I grew up in rural Canada, homeschooled, the oldest of 11 kids, an anarchonism to begin with) tried sewing our own clothes ourselves, praire dresses and pinafores.
When I was 14, we moved to the States, to the suburbs, away from our uber-traditional Catholic enclave, and I began to normalize myself out of the “homeschooler uniform” (its own sort of plain dress - those terrible jumpers with ankle socks and canvas sneakers! Ack!) and into mainstream fashion, where I’ve been solidly entrenched ever since, especially since moving to NYC.
I am now in the process of purging a lot of my stuff, and seeking a simpler way of living. I quit smoking, and have decided that drinking as a recreational activity is out unless it’s an organized event. This may become more strict in time, but I have to ease into it a little bit. I got rid of several bags of clothes and a bunch of household items I was hoarding “just in case I might need them someday”. Classic. A lot of things have precipitated this, but one of them is my absolute horror at how I’ve gone from making $12,000 a year to nearly $30,000, and I still am saving no money at all, nor am I making any lasting purchase/investments, etc…I’m just spending it on vain and useless things. I’ve noticed as well, that I’m starting to have more and more big-salary fantasises, and recreationally go to stare in shop windows at clothes, not just to appreciate the asthetic value of some of the most gorgeous garments in the world (after all, this is Manhattan) but also to drool and covet. I found, while examining my concience, that it wasn’t even the thing - the piece of clothing that I wanted, and it wasn’t a simple desire to have something pretty. I saw myself linking these clothes and things to my self worth and future happiness. You know:
“Once I am thin and rich enough to wear this, I will be happy. I will be so happy. So very happy. Everything will be perfect, and my hair will always be straight, and I will have my teeth veneered, and I will have a handsome man who worships the ground I walk on, and three bright-eyed children who appear only on Sunday mornings to snuggle with me in my California-king-sized bed with the white crisp sheets, while I languidly smile at their frolicing and plan to buy them a golden retriever puppy later that afternoon as I stroll through an antique fair and buy a vintage wicker bird cage, which I will fill with finches and hang from my sun-drenched porch in my second house in the south of France, and I be happy. So happy. So very happy, if I am only thin and rich enough to wear those clothes.”
I really, really woke up one afternoon to find myself standing on 5th Ave and 59th street, on my lunch break, staring in a window, and having that fantasy with absolutely no internal ironic monolouge at all. At all.
It completley panicked me.
I’ve noticied that I’m becoming really attatched to my clothes. As I was grimly and methodically culling my closet, a whiney, desperate voice in my head piped up, and I began to have a serious conversation with myself.
“You can’t get rid of so many of your cool clothes. The clothes are you, they’re a huge part of who you are.”
“Wait,” the other voice in my head, the stern one, said, “You are saying that I am what I wear. That’s supposed to make me want to keep them? Do you even hear what you’re saying?”
The first voice was totally backtracking.
“No, no, no, I didn’t mean you were your clothes, or that you were only worth as much as your clothes, why do you always have to be so literal? I meant that your clothes tell people about you, about who you are and what you believe in. They’re an outside sign of who you are.”
“Ah.” said the second voice, rather sarcastically, I thought, “So we’d rather have people learn everything they need to know about us by our clothes, instead of having them take the time to get to know us from experience of us.”
“Well, that’s all very well!” said the first voice. “That’s nice in an ideal world. But the truth is, the sad truth is, most people won’t take the time to get to know you if you don’t seem cool.”
“Wow.” said the second voice. “Wow. This has nothing to do with fashion, does it? This totally has to do with your inferiority complex, dating back to about second grade, doesn’t it?”
At this point the first voice began to suck its thumb, and I realized to my horror that the second voice was right. It’s always right.
“Fashion is what you adopt when you don’t know who you are.” ~Quentin Crisp
I’ve actually begun buying my personality in a store, and telling myself that it’s okay because I’m buying it in a thrift store. I know from personal experience that the right headscarf or pair of vintage shoes, or funny t-shirt will suddenly raise the value of my social currency off the charts. And I’m becoming really dependent on that, to the point where I’ve started to actually feel anxiety around my “style” and my clothes. I ironically played the role of fashion police for a boy at a party who was mocking me for being from Williamsburg, and although I was kidding around when I excoriated him for his American-Eagle shorts and surfer-boy hair, it struck me, I’m spouting all these “rules” as if I’m mocking them, but I actually live by them, don’t I?
And I’ve increasingly begun to obey them out of fear instead of out of a love of neat clothes or a sense of aesthetic. I have cooler clothes than ever, and sudenly I have a need to make more money so that I can keep looking cool, and keep fitting in, and keep proving to everyone, most of all myself, that I should be invited to Angelica’s birthday party because the whole rest of the class is and it’s not fair…oh wait. That was second grade.
Benjamin Franklin wrote: “Money never made a man happy yet, nor will it. There is nothing in its nature to produce happiness. The more a man has, the more he wants. Instead of its filling a vacuum, it makes one. If it satisfies one want, it doubles and trebles that want another way.”
This seems like a huge cliche, but you know, the more I think about it, the more it seems that the modern horror of cliches may have less to do with a love of originality than with a fear of the truth.
So those are the motivations - that much is worked out. But the practice of it is hard. Was I experienceing a genuine calling to plain dress as a child, or did I just read too much “Little House”? (Is there such a thing as too much “Little House”?) And now, am I just a costume-loving poser?
I feel a bizarre attraction to head-covering as well, though I recoil with my whole post-feminist self from those passages in the bible. I don’t think I believe in submission to anybody. In fact, I’m not sure even God wants me submissive -I feel he wants my co-operation.
“I will not now call you servants: for the servant knoweth not what his lord doth. But I have called you friends: because all things whatsoever I have heard of my Father, I have made known to you.” John 15:15
Another reservation I have is that plain dressing may just be another way of telegraphing the image I want the world to have of me. Only instead of that message being “I am cool and worthy of your attention and envy” the message might be “I’m so hoooooly”. Or, perhaps more positively, it might be a message that is “witness” - a concept I am struggling with on its own - what if I make mistakes and my witness is mistaken, etc.
My compromise was to get rid of all the clothes I’d bought just for attention, all the clothes I was keeping for purely sentimental reasons, everything that didn’t fit, or match with anything else, etc. And to be honest, that just pared it down to where I can actually fit all my clothes in my 1 closet and dresser, a feat heretofore unknown to me. Also, a big part of this move was to start taking care of my clothes, something I’ve never done. I’ve made an active dicipline of something as simple as hanging up my clothes each night, as an act of respect and gratitude. It occured to me that when I am so fortunate as to have many posessions, it seems extremely wrong that I should mistreat them the way I’ve been doing.
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
Linkage...
I'm adding a few links to the sidebar there. As a jumping off point into the wild and wonderful world of Quakers, I recommend Martin Kelley's Quaker Ranter. I have to credit his website, most of all, with being the spark that has lit most of my most interesting Friendly adventures. Most everything I've linked to here can be found linked somewhere on his website - Martin also runs NonViolence.Org, a current events-in-peace-etc blog/website which I haven't explored half as much as I should.
Many more links will be added as I find sites, and find time to add them in. A very special shout-out goes to my dear friend and Friend Lorcan Otway, also the leader of Sorca Dorca and an extraordinarily talented (in no particular order...) musican/advocate/lawyer/boat-builder/collector-of-the-best-obscura-around. He's just begun a blog of his own, which you'll see linked on the sidebar as Plain in The City. After Martin gave me some reasoning behind going plain, Lor showing up each weekend, unselfconcious in his big black hat, gave me the courage to test it out. (To my mixed relief and silly disappointment, no one's said anything about my first attempts at plain. I think that's the way it should be.)
Many more links will be added as I find sites, and find time to add them in. A very special shout-out goes to my dear friend and Friend Lorcan Otway, also the leader of Sorca Dorca and an extraordinarily talented (in no particular order...) musican/advocate/lawyer/boat-builder/collector-of-the-best-obscura-around. He's just begun a blog of his own, which you'll see linked on the sidebar as Plain in The City. After Martin gave me some reasoning behind going plain, Lor showing up each weekend, unselfconcious in his big black hat, gave me the courage to test it out. (To my mixed relief and silly disappointment, no one's said anything about my first attempts at plain. I think that's the way it should be.)
Monday, December 06, 2004
Sadly, that's as big as I can make the picture.
The captions are -
Under the Quaker girl waving a kerchief:
"MEG! Thee may not throw that onstage!"
Under the Quaker and his daughter looking at a flag:
"Father, thee should give the courthouse flag back."
(we're sort of a political band)
Under all the Quakers men in tall hats:
"Thee should hear them, Jacob! They're the BOMB!"
Under all the Quaker ladies in bonnets at the bottom:
Quaker child: "Mother, may I have the new Sorcha Dorcha CD?"
Quaker mother: "NO!
Quaker aunt: "Wicked Child!"
The captions are -
Under the Quaker girl waving a kerchief:
"MEG! Thee may not throw that onstage!"
Under the Quaker and his daughter looking at a flag:
"Father, thee should give the courthouse flag back."
(we're sort of a political band)
Under all the Quakers men in tall hats:
"Thee should hear them, Jacob! They're the BOMB!"
Under all the Quaker ladies in bonnets at the bottom:
Quaker child: "Mother, may I have the new Sorcha Dorcha CD?"
Quaker mother: "NO!
Quaker aunt: "Wicked Child!"
Saturday, December 04, 2004
Openings
Well, I felt the need to start a new blog for my Quakerness. Whether this is a good impulse or no, we shall see. I just wanted somewhere I'd feel unconstrained getting all scriptual, or religious, or other bad words. Of course, my angsting and other bits all lead up to my current condition, but I've always been a proponent of fresh starts, God knows.
My ramblings and mutterings on here may descend to kindergarten obviousness or dissolve into hopeless abstractions at times. I hope you all forgive me for that and bear with me. I am very young in the Light as yet.
I had the most incredible experience reading on the subway. I've finally pretty much gotten over my embarassment at whipping out my bible in public if I feel led - that was a toughie, since in my more cynical days I've been hard pressed to suppress an eyeroll at the earnest ladies and their pocket-sized psalms that I see praying and studying on the train. Ignoble, yes. But true.
Arthur Berk, a weighty and opinionated friend from my meeting, has given me many booklets from the New Foundation that he has edited or contributed to. Some of them don't speak to my condition, but several do. I was in the middle of an interesting essay on the Word of God, and was led to look something up in Hebrews. I never got to the verse I was looking for, because my eye fell on Hebrews 13:11 - 14
"The high priest carries the blood of animals
into the most holy place as a sin offering
but the bodies are burned outside the camp.
And so Jesus also suffered outside the city gate
to make the people holy through his own blood.
Let us, then, go to him outside the camp,
bearing the disgrace he bore.
For here we do not have an enduring city,
but we are looking for the city that is to come."
Now this seemed to me a little obscure. I can't recall ever reading it before, though I must have. In fact, I saw the words, "through his own blood" and started complaining to myself, again, "Here comes more of that stupid crucifixion fixation and the suffering and the bleeding and the sacrificing, ugh! I don't even know what I think about all that, it's so complicated and involved. Such a complex issue, I can't figure it out, argh...I can't be bothered with that right now, I'm looking for Light, damn it!"
But my eyes were drawn back to "Let us, then, go to him outside the camp." And it struck me as extraordinarily beautiful and touching. I heard it in iambic pentameter blank verse, actually, as
"Let us | then go | to him | outside | the camp."
and it just kept ringing in my head, chanting. It seemed so graceful. And I let go of all my fretting, and suddenly the whole selection made beautiful sense to me. I'm no biblical scholar, that's a certainty, but it seemed to me significant that this was a letter written to the Tribe of Israel.
I'm not sure where to start with this- I don't want to outrun the spirit here. But the main points, which are still unfolding in my head as I type (which may be a sign that I shouldn't even be writing this down yet) are these...
The line that struck me feels like the key which unlocks the rest. It seems to me like a lesson on the process of redemption and redemptive acts. I am so quick to get hung up over whether any redemptive act (specifically, and most ardulously, the crucifuxion) is literal or symbolic. I suspect that the truth is nearer to the Catholic idea of sacrament - in that it's both. (That which signifies, and is.) But it really doesn't matter for this application. The point is, these acts necessarily take place outside of our safe zones, our zones of comfort. There is no place in Jesus' radical message and example of redemptive work for provincialism, or tribalism. The things we will do that will really bring about true change and save us will be enacted outside our gates.
For me personally, my "most holy place" is within myself. I'm rather without a tribe at the moment, though I recognize the primal sheep-urge in my gut to find a herd, any herd. To actually witness in any outward way is very difficult. For many others, to witness outside of their meeting, or their worship sharing group, or their committee, or their carefully deliniated roles safely within the camp gates, feels impossible. The ageism, racism, and other isms that I see tearing meetings, communities (and hey, let's get global - the world) apart all have to do with these safety gates we automatically errect. You're us, or you're them. And who wants to be them?
It's a scary thought that the real work of redemption is dirty work. It's difficult, sometimes shaming, sometimes painful, and scariest of all, often alienating. To be labeled "Not one of us", snunned in the subtle modern ways, is a powerful incentive to toe the line. A former Friend told me she was often called out for being divisive, perhaps the dirtiest invective to a Quaker. "Unity", in a very bastardized sense, has become a powerful idol in the Society, as I see it. Suddenly, the most troubling (to me) of all of Jesus' utterances in Matthew 10:34- 39 are clear as day:
"Do not suppose that I have come
to bring peace to the earth.
I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.
For I have come to turn
'a man against his father,
a daughter against her mother,
a daughter-in-law against her
mother-in-law -
a man's enemies will be the members
of his own household.'
Anyone who loves his father or mother
more than me is not worthy of me;
and anyone who does not take his cross
and follow me is not worthy of me."
Jesus is not railing against familial love, but against the false and binding comfort of tribal identification. As long as we are comfortably allied, we will never be free enough to heed the Light.
If following the Light (Jesus, if you will) leads, for example, to to unpopular messages, which then lead to unspoken and subtle shunning, grouchy Eldering, being ignored, cold-shouldered, unheard - well, the blood has begun to run a bit, and the messy work of redemption is at hand.
It feels a bit daunting to me, and very presumptive of me as a brand new, and yet unlisted Friend, to say that we have to be prepared to defy even the Tribe of our Meeting or the Tribe of Quakers, but I know without a doubt it is true. We might not even have to leave our meeting or our Society to shoulder our cross and follow Jesus beyond the gates, because it is already very apparent to me that both bodies are already efficiently subdivided into many different camps and cliques. Sometimes my conversations with Friends can feel as if I'm rushing extremely civilized fraternities and sororities. I can already feel myself wanting to choose a surname for myself among the different factions. Hicksite? Wilburite? Hmm? We need to be brave enough to stand outside of every one of them. The city to come will be built on new, uncharted land, and the great people to be gathered will meet each other on the journey there, not around the campfire.
I'm thinking of some lines from Michael McClure's poem Action Philosophy, which feels like a prayer:
"Let me be free
of ligaments and tendencies
to change myself into a shape
that's less than spirit."
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