In Live for a Living Buddy Wakefield writes in the passage titled "Wrest" some thing that I think may be one root of the problem we seem to be facing today. He says, "For my first 23 years, I was scared into believing in a God who would eventually and literally burn forever anyone who did not strictly adhere to His laws as written by man in a book using language that has long since been subtly mutilated."
This text that so many people are basing their lives on is one fraught with fear and reward. I remember getting "saved" when I was five years old. I couldn't sleep late one Sunday night. I was frightened of dying in my sleep, and if I died, then God (this mighty and worshiped being) would send me, an innocent child, to the pits of hell to burn with other sinners forever. Of course, as I became older I rationalized that God wouldn't do such a thing to a small child, but this is the same book that says if a person strikes his mother or father he shall be put to death (Exodus 21:15).
Later as I contemplated the realities of the Bible, as I studied other thought and theories, when I finally took some looks into evolution on my own, I found that things were not making sense. I spent two years trying to rid myself of the fear of giving up my "belief" in God, a belief that hadn't truly been there in some time. Now I have overcome the guilt of natural and healthy human desires. I realize that I do not need a reward to be kind to others, and I find that I am far more compassionate towards others.
There is this control exercised in the Bible, given to men or parents or God, that has pervaded the thoughts of western civilization. Now many feel as though the are in control of other living things, that the Earth and her creatures are human's possessions to rule. When will the vast population realize that the Earth and her creatures can all survive easily without humans, yet we cannot survive without her and her creatures.
All of these thoughts lead me to want to work towards change. I find myself pondering what I can do between work, motherhood, and just trying to make it. I can work to better myself. I can recycle and compost. I can talk to others about the things that I know that they may not know. Maybe I can convince one person to buy less during the next year. Maybe I can explain to one woman that women's beauty products cost more than men's products of the same nature.
I have realized that feminist doesn't cut it. Humanist. That's a difficult title.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
more more more
I see the construction and the more, more, more, and I am weakened. Why can people not live simply? There are electric choppers and audio books and MEDIA. Why can't we write and think and read? It seems that people continue to let someone else do more for them. Clean my house. Cut my hair. Create my art. Tell me my opinion.
There is a tribe in some far flung country that escapes me now, and others are trying to get the rights to cut down the trees. This culture has survived with its pristine ways for centuries, but because they do not use running water, others think they can just take that away. What gods do they believe in? They can die from the common cold. There is little sickness. They have mud homes and gather food, garden...
There is a part of me that longs for such a life, to be free of all these walls.
I want to eat with my dirty hands, see women deliver child after child, learn to truly garden and be content with what surrounds me. These people do not leave a small radius of the earth, and they do not want to do so. A plane flew over with long-range lenses to give the world a glimpse of what might soon be destroyed. The people there looked up in astonishment, never having seen such a contraption so closely. Did they cough from the fumes?
I wonder if I could ever live in that manner? Now that I know of everything else, of the world, is it possible for me to give it up? Could I give up my bed? Maybe. Could I give up running water and hair cuts? Maybe. Could I give up my books and my longing to see the world, to be a citizen of the world? I doubt it.
There are so many people whom I wish to educate, but not them. I want them to stay where they are doing the same rituals that they've done for thousands of years. They are good. They are educated. They know so many things that no one can even imagine, not me and not you. They understand the language of the animals and the trees. That is brilliance.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
what's your story?
Reactions.
This post is based on a blog post written by the Organic Sister called the “It’s Not You, It’s Me (Except When It’s You)” .
When I read the above mentioned post I realized a few things about myself. The Organic Sister is good at making me do that.
I’ve been trying to be a more authentic person, to be true to myself, to allow myself to be honest with everyone. This has been a difficult journey, because many of my opinions and perceptions are vastly different from the ones that were taught to me as a child.
I’ve been frustrated lately because I felt the people who have been closest to me my whole life didn’t show me all that I could do as I became older. Now I am beginning to understand that they showed me what was best in their minds and hearts. I shouldn’t hold a grudge towards the people who have helped me become who I am now. They did the best they could, and now it is my turn to do my best, and for me, the best does not include unnecessary bitterness or anger.
I’ve written before that I felt like the choices presented to me were to marry (young), own a house, have babies, teach public school, and stay close to home. I’ve been planning my wedding since I was a small girl, and now all of that seems… confining. I no longer wish for a wedding of any kind, and I wonder if it would have ever been on my mind if it hadn’t been put there by my family and society at large.
Now I see families telling their children the same things, and I feel like these children are being limited. I want to step in and tell the kids that there are other choices. But if I do that, then I am giving their parents and them the burden of my story and my reality, which isn’t their own. It is my responsibility to do my best now that I am an adult and raise my own child to know about all the opportunities and discoveries that await her.
Similarly, I have gotten angry and frustrated when I hear women say the sexist things that keep women in the societal spots in which we seem stuck.
A few months ago, I became obviously annoyed when I girl spoke highly of her experiences of strip clubs. There are a couple of issues there, like the objectification of women and the way that sex workers in general are treated like shit. But instead of calmly thinking about what I would say and making an actual point, I became bitchy. I didn’t do any good, I simply showed others a side of myself that I don’t like. I was later told how I’d acted, and that too made me angry, but now I see that I was acting immaturely and from an inorganic place.
Now I need to learn to own my reactions and my stories and my past so that when I interact with others, they see the best parts of me, so that I am giving myself and those I love the best parts of me. I need to realize that my stuff isn’t the reality for everyone else and allow them to have their reality. I can share my stories and thoughts with others in ways that will make a difference, and if I am doing it from an authentic and loving place, then I am doing my best. It isn’t my job to make others speak and act from the same sort of place as me, but it is my job to come from that place myself.
Now come the challenges.
This post is based on a blog post written by the Organic Sister called the “It’s Not You, It’s Me (Except When It’s You)” .
When I read the above mentioned post I realized a few things about myself. The Organic Sister is good at making me do that.
I’ve been trying to be a more authentic person, to be true to myself, to allow myself to be honest with everyone. This has been a difficult journey, because many of my opinions and perceptions are vastly different from the ones that were taught to me as a child.
I’ve been frustrated lately because I felt the people who have been closest to me my whole life didn’t show me all that I could do as I became older. Now I am beginning to understand that they showed me what was best in their minds and hearts. I shouldn’t hold a grudge towards the people who have helped me become who I am now. They did the best they could, and now it is my turn to do my best, and for me, the best does not include unnecessary bitterness or anger.
I’ve written before that I felt like the choices presented to me were to marry (young), own a house, have babies, teach public school, and stay close to home. I’ve been planning my wedding since I was a small girl, and now all of that seems… confining. I no longer wish for a wedding of any kind, and I wonder if it would have ever been on my mind if it hadn’t been put there by my family and society at large.
Now I see families telling their children the same things, and I feel like these children are being limited. I want to step in and tell the kids that there are other choices. But if I do that, then I am giving their parents and them the burden of my story and my reality, which isn’t their own. It is my responsibility to do my best now that I am an adult and raise my own child to know about all the opportunities and discoveries that await her.
Similarly, I have gotten angry and frustrated when I hear women say the sexist things that keep women in the societal spots in which we seem stuck.
A few months ago, I became obviously annoyed when I girl spoke highly of her experiences of strip clubs. There are a couple of issues there, like the objectification of women and the way that sex workers in general are treated like shit. But instead of calmly thinking about what I would say and making an actual point, I became bitchy. I didn’t do any good, I simply showed others a side of myself that I don’t like. I was later told how I’d acted, and that too made me angry, but now I see that I was acting immaturely and from an inorganic place.
Now I need to learn to own my reactions and my stories and my past so that when I interact with others, they see the best parts of me, so that I am giving myself and those I love the best parts of me. I need to realize that my stuff isn’t the reality for everyone else and allow them to have their reality. I can share my stories and thoughts with others in ways that will make a difference, and if I am doing it from an authentic and loving place, then I am doing my best. It isn’t my job to make others speak and act from the same sort of place as me, but it is my job to come from that place myself.
Now come the challenges.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Revolutionary
Alta published this untitled poem through Shameless Hussy Press. It satirizes middle-class feminists who could not begin to grasp the realities of her life as a single-mother caring for her two children.
Poem
that chick is so REVOLUTIONARY
she dresses poor on purpose.
She eschews the boozhwa comforts like
washing machines, males lovers, &
flush toilets. I mean she is
EVERY KIND of revolutionary!
She’d bum off her friends before she’d work
in a counter-revolutionary government job!
(How come she can afford to be so revolutionary?)
I mean, this chick is SO REVOLUTIONARY,
she laughs at housewives, agrees that
we’re an inferior breed.
She would never have had a kid if she could have
an abortion instead? Get it? This chick is
SELF-FULFILLED!
super chick ta daa!
Even her period glows in the dark.
Ruth Rosen writes in The World Split Open about how feminists appear humorless. She points out that, “Fighting for institutional and cultural change required determination; excavating sexual crimes called for convincing debate; ignoring gratuitous insults required the patience of a saint. Rape and domestic violence weren’t funny, nor was sexual harassment. Male jokes about feminist goals only deepened activists’ anger.”
Today we are sadly far from solving the problems of rape and domestic abuse. There is still anger to be felt at every turn. It would seem that the hurtles of defining rape would have long been behind us, but instead we are now not only hearing “new” discussions about what is considered to be rape, but also looking at a provision to be passed that would give doctors the right to turn away a pregnant woman needing an emergency abortion to save her life, and the doctor has the ability to allow a woman to die because he does not want to give her an abortion.
Still even in the midst of such mind-boggling things, humor can be found. Feminists are seen with a sense of humor more than ever in the present, but tell a man that you’re reading a history of the women’s movement or anything that may slightly ring of the f-word, and you’ll be met with a sad smile and shake of the head. Even reading a book can be revolutionary!
It is moments like this that still occur in everyday life that bring my anger to a boil. This has happened more than once, and I work on a college campus. I don’t forget that I’m in Arkansas (ever!), but I do realize that I am on a campus.
These is no class devoted to Women’s Studies or Women’s History (that I have been able to find) offered for me, an MA student in the English department. How can it be 2011 and this still exist? There isn’t even a course to read literature written by women alone, which can cover so many backgrounds and time-periods.
These are the things that make me continue to research and study, on my own. These are the things that make me realize that feminists are still needed, actively working today. These are the things, the every day occurrences that keep pushing me forward. This is my vow and my please.
Do more. Read more. Spread the word more. Use social networking to spread the cause. Find the articles that mean the most to you and comment intelligently on them. Laugh at feminist humor and share it with your friends. Encourage women artists of any and every discipline. Love yourself and be yourself.
Poem
that chick is so REVOLUTIONARY
she dresses poor on purpose.
She eschews the boozhwa comforts like
washing machines, males lovers, &
flush toilets. I mean she is
EVERY KIND of revolutionary!
She’d bum off her friends before she’d work
in a counter-revolutionary government job!
(How come she can afford to be so revolutionary?)
I mean, this chick is SO REVOLUTIONARY,
she laughs at housewives, agrees that
we’re an inferior breed.
She would never have had a kid if she could have
an abortion instead? Get it? This chick is
SELF-FULFILLED!
super chick ta daa!
Even her period glows in the dark.
Ruth Rosen writes in The World Split Open about how feminists appear humorless. She points out that, “Fighting for institutional and cultural change required determination; excavating sexual crimes called for convincing debate; ignoring gratuitous insults required the patience of a saint. Rape and domestic violence weren’t funny, nor was sexual harassment. Male jokes about feminist goals only deepened activists’ anger.”
Today we are sadly far from solving the problems of rape and domestic abuse. There is still anger to be felt at every turn. It would seem that the hurtles of defining rape would have long been behind us, but instead we are now not only hearing “new” discussions about what is considered to be rape, but also looking at a provision to be passed that would give doctors the right to turn away a pregnant woman needing an emergency abortion to save her life, and the doctor has the ability to allow a woman to die because he does not want to give her an abortion.
Still even in the midst of such mind-boggling things, humor can be found. Feminists are seen with a sense of humor more than ever in the present, but tell a man that you’re reading a history of the women’s movement or anything that may slightly ring of the f-word, and you’ll be met with a sad smile and shake of the head. Even reading a book can be revolutionary!
It is moments like this that still occur in everyday life that bring my anger to a boil. This has happened more than once, and I work on a college campus. I don’t forget that I’m in Arkansas (ever!), but I do realize that I am on a campus.
These is no class devoted to Women’s Studies or Women’s History (that I have been able to find) offered for me, an MA student in the English department. How can it be 2011 and this still exist? There isn’t even a course to read literature written by women alone, which can cover so many backgrounds and time-periods.
These are the things that make me continue to research and study, on my own. These are the things that make me realize that feminists are still needed, actively working today. These are the things, the every day occurrences that keep pushing me forward. This is my vow and my please.
Do more. Read more. Spread the word more. Use social networking to spread the cause. Find the articles that mean the most to you and comment intelligently on them. Laugh at feminist humor and share it with your friends. Encourage women artists of any and every discipline. Love yourself and be yourself.
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