Like The Scrolls Of Qumran
I hope to be a page
in the story of your life.
Some well written section
drenched in subtext
and subtlety.
I hope
that if we ever
were to part,
and the years
caused us to languish
and fade
(like pain after triumph,
or a rumor in retrospect)
that you could
return to that page
meditate on all
that we were
and memorize me
for eternity.
Seema The Fortune Telling Giraffe: A Cautionary Tale For Adults
Ever heard the story of Seema the Giraffe? His neck was long, so long that he could see into the future. Day after day, year after year he would stretch his neck to the firmament, look over the vast expanses of time and space, and see all that awaited mankind. When he would descend to the earth, the Villagers would gather round and listen to Seema describe the future to come and they would act accordingly.
The Villagers worshipped Seema. Not only was he a beautiful animal to gaze upon, but every now and again his visions from the clouds would come true. If a Hunter needed courage for the hunt, Seema would tell him of the great beasts he would snare and how it would feed the village for weeks. If a woman was worried about giving birth or raising children, Seema would assure them they possessed all things needed to be successful. For years he lived a life of leisure, supported by the food, water, and adoration supplied by gullible Men and Women, frightened of living a life without certainty.
To lose Seema was to lose a conduit to the supernatural, and with the uncertainties of their natural environment one couldn’t afford to test fate. No important decision was made without the consultation of Seema, and like any living being with the ability to bathe in the power of reliance, he began to grow arrogant.
One evening a great tempest fell upon the land. By daybreak all the meager trinkets and possessions had been destroyed. Sturdy huts and altars once marveled and adorned now reduced to rubble. Crops that were once vibrant and dependable now leveled to mere dust. A third of the Inhabitants perished as well and Seema was nowhere to be found.
Befuddled by what had fallen upon them, the remaining Villagers went on a quest to find Seema.
For miles on foot, through the dry lands of the east and the Northern marsh they searched for him to no avail. Maybe he too had perished? Maybe he had been drawn up to the next life with their forefathers? All hope had been lost, until by chance, they found Seema fast asleep, nestled in an abandoned cave, surrounded by the food, water and valuables they had provided.
The Villagers awakened Seema asking, “Why did you not warn us? Why did you leave us? What do we do now?” To their surprise, Seema began to laugh saying, “Did you not hear the knocking of Thunder in the sky? Did you not see the greyness form in the clouds? Did you sleep through the crackling of the trees?”
Overcome with anger the villagers shouted, “But you did not prepare us. You did not give us words from on high which could have lead us to a wise decision. Had you prepared us, we would have escaped this fate. This is your fault!”
Again Seema laughed, lowered his great neck to the Villagers, and with a calm voice whispered, “If you can’t see the obvious, you deserve everything that has befallen you.”
With that, the Villagers parted ways with Seema The Giraffe and headed back toward their once vibrant home never to be seen again.
Seema, he went back to sleep.
The Texas Church Massacre, Or (Insert Tragedy Here)
I haven’t been to church in years. I’m what the Saints would call, "backslidden". Not quite a reprobate, not too far away from the thoughts and prayers of my more devout friends and family. As far as I can remember, the church used to be an inviting place. A respite from the cares of this world. I remember the smell of peppermint and perfume. Chicken dinners cooking in the basement, begging me to save a few dollars from the offering plate.
I also remember feeling safe. This safety was different. Much more than the safety a locked door or a loaded gun could provide. This safety delve deep into my psyche, nestled my curious mind in its arms, and lulled my skepticism to sleep. I miss those days, and although I’m more of an agnostic spiritually, the thought of any churchgoer having to forego that safety angers me to my core.
America has a gun problem (queue the liberal string quartet). The problem, much like most problems, is that denial is a grave dug by fear, and unfortunately too many Americans now rest in that grave. I’m not naïve enough to believe that guns will disappear, or that once and for all the same logic that allows deer hunters to hunt with AK-47’s will find the error in its ways, but something must change.
How strange is it that days or months from now the very title of this blog can be interchanged with the most recent massacre? How odd is it that beatitudes have taken the place of action?
I love my country. The thought of watching her sully herself with the blood of the innocent only to bathe in the cesspool of politics frightens me. But we as a people must hold a mirror to her, force her to look at her reflection, and comfort her when she breaks down in tears.
And after that, change the gun laws.
Can Feminism Cannibalize It’s Allies?
As a male I have what I think is a certain amount of trepidation when it comes to the idea of Feminism. At its base level I understand it. I believe wholeheartedly that women are indeed equal to men. I believe that women should fight against all injustices that they see before them and eventually prevail. I also believe that men should be an ally or even confidants in that fight. But, I can't help but notice a short of sharpening of the sword when it comes to that fight. This sharpening has not taken place by the hands of men who somehow have taken it upon themselves to run with the mantle of equality, but by women. Even the very idea of writing this blog makes me leary of some impending doom. Something which will crush my meager male understanding into powder and scatter me upon the sea of "Mansplaining" bigots with good intentions.
Has feminism been high jacked by the stridency of some of its practitioners?
I ask this question not in an effort to thwart the movement (as if I could) or even to downplay the strides that have been made thus far by so many women whom I could never begin to measure up to. I say this because in my sphere of friendship, when we gather for birthday parties or dinners, when we share Facebook posts or comment on one another's threads, the language among my feminist friends has become harsh, even dismissive.
Recently, while having a tit for tat about the idea of sexual harassment in the workplace I noticed that the exchange began to bend toward the ignorance of the male ally. Perhaps this was a rightful tone. I am no expert in the Feminist Movement. I am not steeped in woman's suffrage, the works of Gloria Steinem or Audre Lorde; all I do know is that if any movement is to become one of intersectionality or cast a wider berth, there will come a time where those of us who represent the problem must not fear the opportunity to fail. This failure is not complicated. This failure does not entail some rogue tweet misinterpreted by the masses, or some chuckle placed in conversation where a disapproving grunt would do. This failure is simply being incorrect. I want to be allowed to say the wrong thing and be bombarded with non confrontational correction by my female counterparts. I want to sit at the feet of those with a greater understanding of the issues and be corrected without the patina of intellectual superiority looming in the background.
I will continue to be an ally. I will do my best to combat sexism in all of its forms, whether that is on the street, in the classroom, or in my own psyche. My one ask is that as the hand of injustice turns the pages of a book named Justice I will at least be allowed to re-read the parts that I did not understand, without being looked upon like the slow kid in class who's holding up the others.
