I meant to post this last week, but ran out time before I headed to Clear Lake for the weekend. Last Wednesday, I had a fabulous time watching Ani DiFranco perform at the Mountain Winery in Saratoga. I've noticed a progression in her writing. Her earlier writing mostly focused on politics as well as romantic entanglements, and was often quite angry. She still writes about relationships and is still deeply political, but she has incorporated a sense of spirituality into her writing that didn't seem as prevalent before. She seems (to me) to be approaching her politics from a more peaceful place, like she has come to some deeper understanding within herself, that though one needs to speak out against the wrongs of the world, one doesn't need to carry that anger and hate and darkness into themselves and their own lives. I see clearly that she has grown as a person and as a writer, and she dazzles me more and more.

While at the concert, however, I overheard a conversation that went something like this.

Girl 1: Where are my women at?
Girl 2 (with a tone of disdain): That's degrading, you know. You're reducing me to a gender. That's totally degrading.
Girl 1: Oh...um...I...I guess...Where are my humans at? *sheepish smile*

Several things bothered me about this conversation.

First, Girl 1 had clearly meant no harm. She had approached her group, excited about just buying an Ani t-shirt, and joyous of being there, only to be reproached for a completely innocent comment. (I address my friends as "my girls" all the time.)

Second, based on tone of voice and body language, Girl 2 was enacting her superiority over Girl 1. Her words were clearly meant to make Girl 1 feel small for her ignorance about what was "politically correct" according to Girl 2's world view. And it worked, because Girl 1 immediately became smaller, withdrew in terms of her body language, and was left hemming and hawing, killing her sense of joy from only a moment before. Girl 2's response in this instance was clearly more degrading than what Girl 1 had said and meant as a light-hearted sign of friendship.

I'm disturbed by the kinds of people who use feminism and politically correctness as a throne of superiority. It comes to mind, those feminists who trash women who get a breast implant (I know many wise women who have done this). Anyone who does not subscribe exactly to their world view is inherently inferior. A point of view I consider just as hurtful as sexists or racists, since it demeans otherwise good hearted and kind people who just happen to have gentler way of living.

Third, Girl 2 is in fact a woman. The idea that she finds it degrading to labeled a woman implies that she in some way finds womanhood inferior. I personally am proud to be a woman (and if I were a man, I would be proud to be a man). Therefore being addressed a woman is a compliment to my status in the world. I am not being reduced, or made smaller. I stand taller. (Heh heh, rhyme.)

I could perhaps understand Girl 2's frustration if she had been addressed as "my bitches", which has a misogynistic ugliness, or even if she had been addressed as "my girls", which could imply an infantile need to be taken care of. The deeper implications of those words (if one chooses to read into the implications instead of the joy of the moment) can be understood as grounds for gentle correction, if Girl 2 was really bothered by them. However, any woman who is proud of her place in the world as a woman, should not be upset when addressed as so, especially when nothing derogatory was carried with it.

Finally, I am of the firm opinion that life is too short to be wasting my time worrying about small things like that. I do not get offended easily. Not because I am idle in my ideals, but because being angry and frustrated takes away from those moments in which I could be experiencing calm and peace and joy. Most of the time what is said is said innocently, or at least in jest.

Besides, I believe it was Eleanore Roosevelt who said "No one can make you feel inferior without your permission." In the end, your own sense of peace and joy belong to you. No one can take them away unless you let them. I hope both Girl 1 and Girl 2 learn that, and I hope Girl 2 finds enough confidence within herself that she doesn't need to belittle another to feel comfortable. In fact, I hope we can all learn those things.

Um, no. Because in my world view conversion to one religion would mean that I deny the truths of the others. Buddhism, Christian, Muslim, Atheism, and every other spiritual beliefs and faiths are all equally true, existing all at the same time in this strange bowl of the universe, bumping into each other from time to time and sometimes blending into each other so that they are indistinguishable.

I consider myself an Allist (a term coined by my mother). Being and Allist means that I believe in everything. It's all true. I am as perfectly happy sitting in a Buddhist temple as I am in a Catholic church. Both are powerful places of worship in my mind, just as the middle of the dessert is a powerful place of worship.

( Because it's a little long, and I'm not sure you want to get into this, or that I am explaining this right. :) )

So that's it. That's how I see it. And I'm sure someone can shoot all kinds of holes through this, can quote scripture, can tell me all the ways I'm wrong.

That's fine. I'll just smile and say, yes, that's true. Because it is. It's all true.

Edited to add: That being said, it's all illusion, too. That is, religion is a construct, a human attempt to define the undefinable. But that's another discussion entirely. :)

I went to go see a poetry reading at the Grace Cathedral last night, an incredible building and just about as fabulous as any of the cathedrals I saw in Spain or Mexico. Grace Cathedral also has a labyrinth for walking meditations, which I choose to do. I breathed deep and worked on staying present as I twisted my way to the center. I needed that, as it had been a very stressful day.

The setting was perfect for the reading, because the theme was the sacred and the profane. The poetry was great, each poet with a different voice and reading style. My mind started to drift during two of the five poets readings. But the other three kept me right there, present, and their work was so profound. I ended up buying three books of poetry, the works of Kay Ryan, Jane Mead, and Dan Bellm. I got two of them signed, too. I love finding new poets to love.

There are more Litquake going on this week in San Fran. Go here to check out what other events are going on. I'll be at the Steampunk event tomorrow night (Thursday), so if you think you are going to be around, let me know.

* * * *

I also posted a new video on youtube. Basically, it's just me describing my trip to Ireland. I thought I would post it here, just in case you were interested in knowing more about what went on during that trip. Watch and enjoy (or not).

My first Hike for Discovery post, in case you have no idea what I'm talking about.

So, I attended the fourth team hike on Saturday, four hours at Fort Ord in the Monterrey hills. It was hot and dry, and the views were gorgeous. We joyfully trudged up and down hills both small and large. And I was very tired afterward; I practically slept the rest of the day. It’s going to be a while before I’m ready for a seven or eight hour hike. How did I do that without any training when I was younger?

My fellow trainees are great, wonderful people, who happen to have a lot of helpful advice which I am taking to heart to get me through this experience. I’m sure that I will have lots of friends after this.

The one sad thing I’ve found out is that the friend who signed up with me will probably not be continuing on with the event. It's a little disappointing, because it was partially an excuse for us to spend some time together and hang out. But She has very good reasons, and is heading off to Thailand for three weeks (lucky girl), so I understand. I won’t let her absence get me down though, and plan on continuing on, because I’m having fun and feeling good about the good I’m doing. So when October comes I will be fit, strong and ready to take on the Grand Canyon.

Thanks to all of you for supporting my endeavors, and for your well wishes. It means a great deal to me. If you’ve donated to my fundraising, thank you once again. It isn’t too late if you would still like to donate:
http://www.active.com/donate/hfdsvmb/ASvendsen

PS. And since I don’t think I said it last time, I need to raise $3700 (I've received $150 already, Thanks!), donations are tax deductible and 75% of your donation goes directly to research and helping patients and their families.

I'm sitting at my mom's computer right now. To my left is a quote scribbled in my mom's handwriting on an old, torn envelope:

"Be the Change you wish to see in the world."
-- Gandhi

Beautiful. I love that my mom collects quotes like that.

I had a great weekend. No green beer, but a great weekend all the same. Instead of partying at home, my mom and I drove up to Harbin Hot Springs and met my aunt and cousin for a day of relaxation and rejuvenation.

( Harbin )

( Music in Berkeley )

In other really good news, I figured out that somewhere in the past two or three weeks, I've lost five pounds. All that walking is doing me good. :)

Oh, and I came across two great writing quotes today:

Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self.
-- Cyril Connolly

Unprovided with original learning, unformed in the habits of thinking, unskilled in the arts of composition, I resolved to write a book.
-- Edward Gibbon

I found this bit of inspiration in the DailyOm newsletter I receive everyday, and I thought these thoughts were worth sharing with everyone.

The word failure puts forward a very simplistic way of thinking that allows for only two possibilities: failure or success. Few things in the universe are black and white, yet much of our language reads as if they are. The word failure signifies a paradigm in which all subtlety is lost. When we regard something we have done, or ourselves, as a failure, we lose our ability to see the truth, which is no doubt considerably more complex. In addition, we hurt ourselves. All you have to do is speak or read the word failure and see how it makes you feel.

At some point, the word may not have been so loaded with the weight of negativity, and it simply referred to something that did not go according to plan. Unfortunately, in our culture it is often used very negatively, such as when a person is labeled a failure, even though it is impossible for something as vast and subtle as a human being to be reduced in such a way. It also acts as a deterrent, scaring us from taking risks for fear of failure. It has somehow come to represent the worst possible outcome. Failure is a word so burdened with fearful and unconscious energy that we can all benefit from consciously examining our use of it, because the language we use influences the way we think and feel.
Read the whole piece and the discussion here.

I need to remind myself often not to be afraid of failure, especially since, as this article says, the idea of failure doesn't have to have power over us. I know it has had power over me -- I face this fear every time I sit down to write. It's a fear that often keeps me from writing anything at all.

But like this says, it's much more complex than all that. In terms of my writing, even if a story or poem doesn't work, that doesn't mean I've failed as a writer. With everything I write and attempt to write I learn about the process of writing. Each failed story teaches me how to approach and write the next story. So I haven't failed as a writer as long as I keep writing, and keep learning.

Now, if I could only remember that every time I sit down to write.

I've joined a writer's critique circle, and I've been kind of nervous about submitting a story for critique. They seem like good and mellow people as far as I can tell, so I don't expect to be just torn to shreds by anyone. But I'm still sitting here looking at my work, expecting someone to smile politely while subtly informing me that I really do in fact suck. I have no reason to think this way, of course. It's just my ego kicking around my head stirring up clouds of fear.

So instead of coming straight home, I walked the reservoir trail in Los Gatos. I sat by the creek and listened to the water and to the sound of my breathing. By the time I started walking back to my car I was filled with a sense of the goodness of the world. In general I am a believer in goodness -- the goodness of the world, and most definitely the goodness of people. I most definitely believe that people want to be, and in fact are, good at their cores, even when they do things that are not so good. And I absolutely believe that the people who act most cruelly are equally capable of finding their own goodness, changing, and becoming those who do good.

I believe in people.

It's funny, as I was sitting here at the computer, away from the water and the trail, I was starting to feel fearful again. But as I write this, as I remember these things about the world and about people, I am again finding my calm.

It's a beautiful world.

Scott, my dad, is not my biological father. I don't know much about my biological father. I know he's named John Paul. Two days after I was conceived, he went to Indonesia and then to India in order to try to convert the people to the Christian faith. He was in a specific sect of Christianity, called the Children of God. I have three letters from him -- none addressed to me. One letter is to my mother before he found out about me. The other two are kind of like typed news letters he sent to everyone with my mom's and my name written in at the top. Each of these letters asks for money so that he can continue his work. He never mentions me. They weren't those kind of letters. I know that he found out through a mutual friend about my mother being pregnant. I know that when he found out he called my mother and tried to convince her to come back to India with him. She said, no. She didn't love him.

I hold no grudges against this man. I hold no grudges against my mother for saying, no. In my mind it has worked out exactly as it was meant to. I have never lacked a father. Scott met my mom when I was about three, or something like that. And he officially adopted me sometimes later. When we would go down to the adoption offices he would sing,

Is you is, or is you ain't my baby?

He has loved me as his own. And when my brothers and sisters were born, there was no sense of separation, no sense that there was different blood. We have always been one family, incredibly close. He's wise and funny. And I love arguing with him and getting into our debates. I love laughing with him and learning spirituality from him, and from my mother. I could not imagine a better dad. And I'm so glad there's a day to celebrate him.

I can't help but be curious about John Paul, though. There' s a mystery in that. What happened to him? Is he still doing his work, trying to convert others to what he believes to be the one true faith? Did he come home back to America, saddened by his lack of progress? Or celebrating his accomplishments, perhaps? Or is he still living in India, absorbing it, changing as even he attempts to change it? Has he discovered a new faith, a new form of enlightenment?

So many stories there. So many possibilities. It's no wonder he has found his way into my imagination and my writing. I've written two poems about him, and have conceived ideas for art and novels based on this idea of the father that goes away. There's such rich and wonderful things to pick from.

I guess I'm grateful to him for that. For giving me that mystery in my life. And also for allowing my mother to meet this wonderful man who has had such an influence on my life, and all by simply going away to follow the path he believed right for him. Wherever he is, I hope John Paul is well.

Poll #734783 Peace be with you and those whom you love, this night and always.
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All

Peace be with you.

Copy it into your own journal.

My sister and I were driving through the hills near our house. Coming around a corner we saw, what I assumed at the time, a huge hawk take off in front of us. Hanging from it's talons was a long black snake. It was so close to us, too, and I just felt so lucky to see this rare up close glimpse of nature in action. This bird was not just flying around or chilling in a tree, it had just snagged its meal. Unbelievable.

At home I looked around at various websites and finally used the Audubon Society's webpage to look at the different kinds that live in Northern California. I'm pretty sure that was we saw was this guy:



a Golden Eagle. I had thought at first that it might have been a Red-Tailed Hawk, but the coloring and size would have been wrong.

I couldn't help but think of the Mexican Flag with its picture of an eagle eating a snake and the legend that goes with it. How all the tribes migrated south in search of a home, and they knew they had dound it when they saw the eagle sitting on a cactus, eating a snake.

I could not help but think what the world is trying to tell me when it sends me signs such as these.

I had this really blissful moment tonight. What was really nice about it was that it didn't take much to get there. All it took was walking around downtown San Jose with a good friend on a wonderful clear night drinking rose tea. I just had this wonderful surge of joy and a sense that all was right with the world. And it stuck around, too--mostly.

A part of this bliss had to be the foundation of good things I set earlier. By that I mean, I checked some of my writing tasks off my list today, so I went into the date with my friend feeling accomplished. I had done things, and more specifically things that involved my passion. That always makes me feel good.

I've stopped setting daily word count goals for now. I've found that I have a hard time getting myself to write everyday, and when I set goals and don't meet them I end up feeling like a failure. So instead, I'm setting weekly goals. For example, I have to complete chapter eleven of my Nano novel by the end of the week. I also have to write and edit this nonfiction article I'm working on. I like goals like this, because I don't have to write everyday to accomplish them. But I'm still moving forward and making progress, and I get to check them off my list--all of which feel great.

We'll see how it all goes.

Well, I just received a new bill in the mail. When I had to go into the hospital in September, because I sliced my finger open, I assumed that the bill I received a month later was the only bill. But no, apparently they charge separately for the doctor's fees and for the hospital's fees. I didn't know this until I got the second bill, assumed it was a mistake, and made a lengthy phone call. I really need to get medical insurance, but I can't afford it right now.

I wept after talking to the polite bill collector on the phone. The money pressure just seems so great.

After I calmed down some, I sat at the computer and wrote out my budget on Excell, just to see exactly where I'm at. And I am just barely making enough still, even with this new expense, so I relaxed a little more.

I don't want to sit here all depressed though. I need to change my mood, so here are five things I am thankful for today:

1) The sky, and it's changing palate of color -- cloudy pink and peach sunset in the morning, drippy wet gray during the day, and a beautiful arching rainbow this afternoon.

2) My home, which is clean, comforting, and has a beautiful view.

3) The lessons I learned from parents, friends, and gurus that have taught me to find bliss even in less than perfect days.

4) My job as a substitute teacher that allows me to earn the money I need.

5) All the time I've been able to spend with friends lately. I have so many generous and beautiful friends. I'm so grateful to have them in my life.


What are you thankful for?

I don’t understand why some people feel the need to force their own values on others. Because I think people are beautiful, exactly as they are, even if they are a little broken and lost in the world. They are beautiful -- white, black, asian, gay, straight, bi, yuppie, rich, poor, hobo, hippie -- whoever you are, you are beautiful. And no one should tell you to be any different than you are, unless of course, you want to change.

I believe that God/ the universe/ evolution/ life delights in great variety, other wise we would all have been made the same.

* * *

As for those of you who feel the need to force conformity on others (for social or political reasons), I say this: Relax. Take some time and go sit with yourself.

It’s my understanding that people who try to change others without trying to understand them first don’t really know much about themselves. What are the real reasons behind your insecurity and anger? And considers what is really going to make you happy? Is it the strict social rules that you have forced on yourself as well the world? Or is it letting go?

Really get to know yourself, let you see those dark things and beautiful things about yourself, which you may have not wanted to face before, because you, too, are one of those beautiful people I mentioned. I just think that maybe you can’t see it. And a person can’t see the real beauty in others if they can’t see the beauty in themselves.

After leaving my editing class last night, I drove up to the parking-lot pay booth and handed the woman my ticket. After a moment she turned back to me and asked for $12.50. I fished for my wallet and began to pull out the money, only to discover that I had something close to $11.75 in cash on me. I sighed (I knew this might happen), but I handed her the money, every cent I had.

"Wait, wait," she said, "This doesn't work. This isn't enough."

"It's all the money I have."

"Well, I can't do anything about it."

When I left for Berkley I thought I had it all figured out. I would use my bank card at the gas station, using my last $40 on a full tank to be able to get there and back. I arrived an hour and a half early (in order to escape the hellish traffic that made me late last time). I had already figured out how much (I thought) I would be spending on parking, so I went ahead and bought myself a mocha, thinking I would have just enough later to pay for parking.

I considered explaining all this to her, that I literally had no money. I considered asking her for a break, especially since we were talking about less than a dollar. But something in her manner suggested that her position on this was immutable.

Instead, I hopped out, leaving the door open, the car running beside the booth, and the women holding what was the last of my money. I walked up to the car behind me and asked the woman inside if she had a dollar.

"She won't let you go?" she asked. I shook my head. The woman in the car rooted around inside her bag and finally held out four quarters.

I thanked her, walked back to my car, payed the lady in the booth, and drove away. Not five seconds out from the parking lot, I began to cry. I was so grateful to her for giving me that dollar. So little, but I needed it, and she had been kind enough to give it. Wherever she is, thank you, thank you.

x-posted to infinitethanks