Gaia Community: Neuromancer's Blog

Suffering is not Enough

http://wake-up.gaia.com — Tue, 20 Nov 2007 20:55:40 GMT

Hola Everybody,
My Gawd! I haven't posted here in nearly a year! Sheesh! Well, I hope to expend a little more energy in cultivating this little blog spot in the coming weeks. Whoever's reading this (and those that won't): may you all have a safe and joyous holiday.

Hola Everybody,

* * *

Suffering is not Enough

People suffer.

And it’s not just physical pain – suffering in this context is much more than that. We all struggle with the forms of psychological pain: difficult emotions and thoughts, unpleasant memories, and their unwanted sensations and urges. We think about them, worry about them, resent them, anticipate and dread them.

The beauty of it all is that we also demonstrate enormous courage, deep compassion, and a remarkable ability to move ahead even with the most difficult personal traumas. Knowing we can be hurt, we still endeavor to love others. Even knowing the Cosmic Joke of our inevitable death, we still strive to find meaning. At times, we are fully alive, present, and committed.

The secret to life is mostly about how to move from suffering to engagement with life. The mistake is waiting to win the internal struggle with your own self for your life to begin. For the most part, my mission (and many of my blogs) is about living now and living skillfully – with (not in spite of) my past, with my memories, with my fears, and with my sadness.

My search has shown me that many of the tools we use to solve problems lead us into traps that create suffering. Frankly, we are playing a rigged game in which our minds, that wondrous tool for mastery, have been turned against us.

Perhaps you have noticed that some of your most difficult problems have become, strangely enough, more entrenched and unmanageable, even as we strive to solve them. This is not an illusion and it’s not your fault. This is a consequence of asking your logical mind to do something it was never meant to do -- suffering being one result.

This may seem a strange thing to claim, especially if you’re interested in overcoming some of your psychological issues. Generally, people turn to self-help measures in order to discover tools to solve specific problems: depression, anxiety, substance abuse, trauma, stress, smoking, to name a few. Overcoming these problems implies not just an ultimate goal, but also a goal to be reached in a specific manner.

For example, for the average person, overcoming stress must mean eliminating stressful feelings; overcoming smoking must first involve getting rid of the urge to smoke, and so on. But what if someone told you that many of these seemingly common sense routes to a better life are now known as risky and even detrimental by current psychological theory? Consider the following:

Psychological pain is normal, it is important, and everyone has it.

You cannot consciously be rid of your psychological pain, though you can take steps to avoid making it worse.

Pain and suffering are two different states of being.

You don’t have to identify with your suffering.

Developing an attitude of acceptance toward your pain is a step toward ridding yourself of your suffering.

You can live a life you desire and value, beginning right now, but in order to do that you will have to learn how to get out of your head and into your life.

What I am asking here is a basic shift in the way you deal with your personal experience. While some forms of change will certainly not be immediate, I can say that my experience and work has demonstrated that the role of these barriers to living can be changed, and sometimes changed quite rapidly.

The difference between the function and the form psychological pain takes can be compared to someone standing in a battlefield waging a war. The war is not going well. The person fights harder and harder. Losing is a devastating option; but unless the war is won, the individual fighting it thinks that living a worthwhile life will be impossible, so the war goers on.

Unknown to that person, however, is the fact that, at any time, he or she can choose to stop the war and begin living now. The war may still rage and the landscape may still look the same, but the outcome of the war is no longer important and what seems logical, namely to win the war before living genuinely, is abandoned. In stopping the war, you begin to live – now, this very moment.

The metaphor of a war helps us see the difference between what appears as a psychological problem and its substance. In this metaphor, for example, the war looks and sounds the same whether you’re fighting or simply watching. It’s appearance (form) stays the same. However, its impact – its substance – is profoundly different. In other words, fighting for your life is not the same as living your life.

The funny thing is that when you change the substance it often changes the appearance. When leaving the battlefield and letting the war take care of itself, it may even subside. I remember the 60s anti-war slogan, “What if they held a war and nobody came?” What I am saying is that if you want to live genuinely and with dignity, you have to focus on the substance and not the appearance of your problems. Learning to approach your pain in a fundamentally different way will quickly change the impact it has on your life.

What I am saying is that if you want to live – truly live – you have to stop the battle that’s raging inside your head. Happiness and genuine living is possible, now, this very moment.

Love,

Eddie

Tags: A.C.T., suffering, schemas

A Christmas Story

http://wake-up.gaia.com — Mon, 25 Dec 2006 12:25:34 GMT

Happy Holidays Everybody!
I haven't been around much lately and I won’t be around much these next few days, so this is my Christmas offering to my Zaadz family. I post it with the humble hope that it will serve to bring a smile to your lips and remind you of the important things in life – what really matters.

People, especially co-workers, often ask me why I smile so much -- they wonder aloud how I manage to maintain a cheery disposition. I laugh because they apparrently don't know me well! LOL.

Sometimes things happen in your life that affects forever the very way you perceive reality. Some events are negative, acting as baggage for all your later interactions. Others are life-changing epiphanies that work to make life joyful.

Which ones do you cling to?

***

“In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.”
-- Albert Camus

The Empty Boxes: A Christmas Story

It was a year I would never forget: I was about 16, in the process of reading every “great book” ever written, helping put out an underground newspaper, and full of life (and hormones!). My sisters (to my delight) had many beautiful friends and our home was the center of activities for our vast network of friends and family. It was a time of change and turmoil: the Vietnam War was still raging and it seemed as if all the institutions we took for granted were being questioned. Marriage and gender roles were up for grabs. The strategies used by African-Americans and Latino/as in the struggle fore Human Rights were being borrowed by a wide range of groups: women were burning their bras and Gays were marching for their rights. In short, it was a time for change and the times, as the song stated, were a’achangin’.

This particular year, however, was a difficult one for us: our stepfather was arrested and sentenced to a year in jail because of a scuffle with police. He was our breadwinner and that meant that our main source of income was gone. Compounding our financial difficulties was our mother’s pregnancy, she would eventually give birth to our youngest brother, Vincent, the following June.

As the oldest child, I had always felt a deep sense to “protect” my mother and siblings. I had to grow up pretty quick because it was expected of me to be more than a big brother, I had to be the power of example for my younger siblings. Somehow, I felt I should be doing something to contribute and it was frustrating. One day, without her knowing, I caught my mother crying and this disturbed me very much. My mother was a strong woman who managed to make her place in a world that was both hostile and violent towards her. If she was despairing that meant things were really screwed up.

My sisters and I helped by working at a local supermarket after school. I worked delivering groceries and my sisters staffed the cash registers. Of course, me being the radical in the house, I was promptly fired for calling the owner an Uncle Tom and an oppressor of his own people. Things got worse at the onset of the holidays. We called a family meeting and we all agreed that, with the exception of our youngest brother, Edgar (who was eight), we would forego gifts for Christmas. My mother didn’t take this too well and it propelled her into her dark side, often succumbing to bouts of sadness interspersed with rage.

We made do just as many other poor families did at that time: welfare augmented by small-scale attempts at entrepreneurship. Sometimes my mother would buy a bottle of rum, or some other item, and raffle it off at the Bingo parlor: if everyone paid in a dollar, she would be able to earn a good profit and still offer a decent prize. We also had an extended family and they would help as best they could, though they too were often financially extended and living from paycheck to paycheck.

In short, it was getting to be a really sad holiday season. The house became less full, our situation served as a basis for shame and we all dropped off our activities with our friends and the ensuing quiet was disturbing. Then one day, the Friday after Thanksgiving, we took out the old artificial tree. We all share a warped sense of humor and my sisters and I started joking about how lonely the tree would look without any gifts. Soon we were cracking each other up, trying to out do each other by coming up with the most twisted reason why we should, or shouldn’t, put up the Christmas tree.

In the end, we decided to put it up and, while playing traditional Puerto Rican Christmas songs, we slowly got into the spirit of things. Soon enough, the house rang out with laughter and song and friends were called up to come and help. I don’t know if my perception is clouded by bias or the passage of time, but I swear that that old tree never looked so beautiful. We really put our creative energies into fixing up the house too: we gift wrapped doors, put up mistletoes, strung lights on the windows – we created the best display on that Brooklyn block!

However, we all laughed because the tree did look lonely! So someone, one of my sisters I think, came up with the idea of collecting empty boxes and wrapping them up as gifts. Of course, as is usual in the Rosario household, we took it to an extreme: our rather large tree was soon dwarfed by a mountain of elegantly wrapped “gifts.” People would visit us and comment on how “beautiful” the tree was and we would secretly laugh because we knew they were only saying that in part because of the many “gifts.”

It was our own little private joke.

I have to admit that, while things were extremely difficult that year, I can’t remember a more joyful holiday season. Soon the house sang once again with the sound of young people engaged in the daily activities of life. We came to believe that the tree radiated joy and that it attracted people and it was true that many people would come and visit. I guess maybe everyone else was having a hard time and the joy in our house was sort of like a warm fire to ward off the chill of winter in America. The tree became almost like another family member that we tended to and nurtured. People would visit and you could tell immediately that the joy was infectious! The “joke” was a constant source for new comedic material and we would create even more elaborate “gifts” to put at the base of that tree.

A huge Christmas Eve party attended by everybody-and-their-mother capped that holiday season. The owner of the supermarket where my sisters worked contributed all the ingredients so that my mother could make her famous pasteles (a Puerto Rican meat dish). All our friends and family attended and the party lasted well into Christmas morning. I don’t think it snowed that Christmas, but I remember that that party became the basis for a legend – a story time delight to be recounted for years to come. It became a marker for community events as in BC and AD: Before and After the “Christmas Party.”

The party itself was rambunctious – more rambunctious than normal. The reason why poor people can party is because they know intimately the ups and downs of life and whenever the opportunity arises, they party with an almost religious fervor. Of course, there was plenty of drama that Christmas Eve! Someone was caught playing his wife dirty, a woman was accused of being a husband stealer, old jealousies and rivalries were re-ignited, and quite a few made fools of themselves. There was my step father’s aunt, who insisted on flashing her panties at everyone and poor old Frito who would never live down the fact that he got so drunk, he pissed on himself.

In short, a good time was had by all.

Finally, Christmas morning came, and it was time to clean up the house and dispose of all the “gifts.” I began collecting all the empty boxes to throw them out, but our mother stopped me.

“You can’t throw out the boxes!” she yelled out, an alarming note of hysteria in her voice.

We looked at her and decided she finally lost it, but then we saw the smile on her lips. Eventually we had to tear through all the empty boxes in order to find the real gifts my mother had embedded into that huge pile. I will never forget my gift that year though I have had many “richer” Christmas’ since: it was a digital watch with an LED readout which were fairly new and trendy at the time. I know it didn’t cost much, maybe $5, but I wore that watch for a long time and treasured it dearly.

Why write about this, you ask

Well, for one thing, the experience taught me a lesson that was the greatest Christmas gift of all: that you always have a choice with how to respond to adversity. Yes, the fact remained that we sometimes were hungry and our clothes weren’t the best. There were times we went hungry and we couldn’t afford even the basic school supplies. However, we learned to face these hardships with humor and a strength of character. That year could easily have been much worse, but facing our hardships in a realistic but joyful way – that would stay with us for the rest of our lives. For me, this is the taste of life itself.

The One Taste.

So, when you see me smiling, try to remember where that smile comes from: it comes from the knowledge that the material gifts are usually empty in and of themselves. I smile because I know the pretty boxes are empty but my heart is full…

Merry Christmas! May you all know true happiness!

***

[The above is an edited version of a story from my unpublished memoir tentatively titled, Puertoricanese: Ataque de Nervios and Other Stories. Please, if you feel moved to share this story, feel free to do so, but I ask that you attribute the story appropriately – with my name attached. Otherwise, I will have to sue your broke ass! LMAO!]

Tags: Christmas, Gratitude, Attitude, Nostalgia, Life

Forgiveness: Healing

http://wake-up.gaia.com — Wed, 11 Oct 2006 17:56:11 GMT

Healing: Forgiveness: Hola Everybody,
I'm not feeling well at all, must be my "man-period." mIt's harder for us guys to realize our periods, cuz we don't bleed... but we get them nonetheless...

I wrote this a while back, I don't have the energy to write today. Have a great day everybody!

***

“Growth of the soul is our goal, and there are many ways to encourage that growth, such as through love, nature, healing our wounds, forgiveness, and service. The soul grows well when giving and receiving love. I nourish my soul daily by loving others and being vulnerable to their love. Love is, after all, a verb, an action word, not a noun.”
-- Joan Borysenko, Ph.D.

    I once saw a cartoon and it said: “We have seen the enemy and it is us.” It was funny in a truthful manner: if we make a mistake we stubbornly blame ourselves, for example. If another person has hurt or harmed us, we demand an apology before we forgive. Today I will try to show how we create stress by not forgiving. More importantly, I will attempt to explain a simple exercise we can all use to heal stubborn, self-destructive attitudes. Forgiving is accomplished by releasing criticism and switching vengeful thoughts and feelings to forgiving ones. I have actually used this to rid myself of negativity involving a particular individual recently.

    However, before we get into exactly how to forgive, we need to examine the issue of the lack of forgiveness a little further. Unforgiving attitudes lead to physical reactions. Specifically, the streee caused by anger puts us into what is known as the “fight/ flight” syndrome. This is a state of being where our defensive mechanisms are on full tilt. Adrenaline is pumped into our bloodstream, our eyes widen, breathing becomes shorter, and the heart rate goes up. What often happens is that our ratinale side gets hijecked. The thing is we rarely need to run or fight so the hormones create a chronic tension and fatigue in our bodies.

    Psychologically, we are also harming ourselves. If we are blaming others, we may feel angry and build a case against them. This may lead to arguments or silent hostility – both serious obstacles to communication and harmony. Other options are to deny and repress our righteous anger, which results in either depression or physical problems like high blood pressure.

    From a spiritual perspective, lack of forgiveness is a problem too. For my purposes today, I will define spirituality as being in touch with inner feelings of love, peace, and well-being. Chronic anger, depression, or anxiety blocks out these positive feelings to the point that we may despair at ever feeling good again. What is the way out of this vicious cycle? The answer is simple – forgive! Forgive yourself, forgive your friends, perhaps even forgive your enemies!

STOP!

    Stop right now and examine your emotional reaction to the idea of forgiveness. Don’t analyze it, I don't want to know what you're thinking (it only makes my dick hard! LOL!) -- just try to feel your reaction to the above. Did it get your back up? Did your belly flip? Did you think, “Why should I forgive?” Did you think that you don’t have this problem? Or, on the flip side, were you almost too eager to forgive others but have reservations about forgiving yourself.

    Let’s examine these reactions. If you got angry and wanted the other person to apologize first, you are in a state of conscious, righteous anger. You are hurt or angry and putting the blame on the other person. You are certainly harming yourself more than you are harming the other person. You are feeling “right,” superior, and entitled to your grievance. This unforgiving attitude worsens the situation in all its aspects and has negative physical and psychological consequences.

    Do you think that you don’t have a problem with forgiveness? If so, examine your thoughts and bodily sensations more closely. If you have areas in which you think you made a lot of mistakes, you may be suffering from self-hate or lack of forgiveness. Have you been avoiding someone else? You may be judging them negatively but denying it. Are you depressed? Then you are almost certainly denying anger and guilt. You may be judging yourself and others and not letting go of the emotions involved.

    Are you willing to forgive others but having a hard time forgiving yourself? You are probably denying your anger at others and blaming it all on yourself. Perhaps at this point of your life you can see the patterns and desire a change, but how can this be accomplished? It’s actually easier than most people think.

How to Forgive Yourself and Your Enemies

    The first part of the forgiveness process involves awareness. You first have to be aware of what emotion you are experiencing before you can release it. This is not as easy as one woulf think. Actually, it is easy, but what happens is that too often we don't know the difference between feelings and thoughts. This is why I've chosen a body-centered exercsie.

    So get quiet – sit comfortably and follow your breathing for a few moments. Just breathe normally. Get in touch with your body – your bodily sensations, for you actually feel your emotions through your body (not in your head!).

    After a little time, ask yourself what emotion you are feeling. The basic emotions are fear, anger, and guilt. Then, tell yourself it is OK to feel any of these emotions. After a few minutes, ask yourself if you are willing and able to release this emotion. If the answer is yes, affirm, “I release this emotion now!” Then watch it release. This may take a few moments.

    It’s very important to understand the difference between expressing, repressing, and releasing emotions. Expressing involves acting out emotions – as in acting angry. This often feels good momentarily but it offends others and doesn’t resolve the feeling.

    Repressing involves holding down the emotion – stopping yourself from experiencing the full range of the emotion. This leads to depression and bodily pain and does not lead to resolution.

    Releasing is the middle ground. By recognizing, accepting, and affirming release, you are consciously moving toward forgiving yourself. You are allowing yourself to have normal human emotions, release them, and move on. You can then affirm forgiveness of yourself for having these emotions, making any mistake, or hurting yourself or anyone else.

    Some people prefer to start by forgiving themselves. Others prefer to begin by forgiving others. It doesn’t matter, just begin and keep accepting, releasing, and forgiving until you feel more peaceful. This inner peace will eventually lead to more feelings of health, vitality, and comfort. Your relationships will improve. Even finances will improve as you learn to let go, release, and forgive everyone.

    If this sounds too easy or farfetched, try the process daily for three weeks. See if it works for you.

Tags: Spirituality, Forgiveness, Healing

Dependent Origination

http://wake-up.gaia.com — Wed, 27 Sep 2006 14:15:43 GMT

“The fear of letting go prevents you from letting go of the fear of letting go.”

This is the doctrine at the heart Buddhism. You see, my dear reader, it goes this way: you are a ramshackle collection of coincidences held together by a desperate and irrational clinging. There is no center – no center at all. Everything depends on everything else, your body depends on the ecology, your thoughts depend on whatever conditioned flotsam floats in from the media, your emotions are mostly from the reptilian end of your DNA.

Your intellect, dear reader, is chemical computer that can’t add up a zillionth as fast as a pocket calculator. Even your best side is a superficial piece of social conditioning that will fall apart as soon as your spouse leaves with the kids and the money in the joint account, or the economy fails and you get the sack, or you get conscripted into some village idiot’s war, or they give you the news about your brain tumor, or you realize you're consigned to live in Armpit, USA. To name this amalgam of self-pity, vanity, and despair self is not only the height of conceit, it is also proof that we’re truly a deluded species.

We are in a trance from birth to death. Bust the balloon and what are you left with? We are left with what we most fear, but what is truest...

Emptiness…

It’s not only us – this radical doctrine applies to the whole sentient world. Dependent origination is not exactly everyone’s cup of tea, I admit. Nevertheless, it does have a compelling point: stop for two steps... still yourself... listen – in other words, meditate just a little – and you will find yourself on a planet you no longer recognize. Those needs and fears you thought were the very foundation of your existence turn out to be no more than bugs in your software…

Smooches,

Eddie

Tags: Spirituality, Buddhism

Drowning in Love: Codependency

http://wake-up.gaia.com — Tue, 26 Sep 2006 16:11:55 GMT

Drowning in Love: Codependency

I have to admit some uncomfortability in submiting today’s post. My uncomfortability comes from writing on a topic that affects mostly women and, as a man, I feel an awkwardness. However, codependency does not affect women only – there are many men addicted to relationships. In addition, cultural shifts in recent decades have seen a corresponding shift in the way men and women fall into dysfunctional relationship patterns.

If I were to attempt to reduce gender roles to two specific questions (always a dangerous thing). I would say that the essential questions for men are “Do I fuck it, or do I eat it (or does it eat me),” while the essential question for women is “How do I relate to it.” It is this essential approach to life that, in my opinion, is at the root of women's susceptibility toward codependency.

Codependence and voidance of pain go hand-in-hand because codependency is an addictive behavior that attempts to do just that: avoid pain. In the process of avoiding pain, what generally happens is that a lot of suffering ensues. I believe that there are forms of attachment that we confuse for love. The psychotherapist, Robin Norwood calls it “loving too much,” but I can’t call this form of attachment love, because it’s not about love, but mostly about fear amd clinging to sufferring.

If being in love for you means being in pain, then you are not in love, you’re codependent. When most of our conversations with friends are about our significant others, their problems, thoughts, and feelings… and nearly all our sentences begin with “S/he… ,” we are not in love, we’re codependent.

When we find excuses for his moodiness, bad temper, cruel sarcasm, and attempt to become his therapist, we are not in love. If we read a self-help book and highlight all the passages we feel would help him, we are not in love, we’re codependent.

If we find ourselves not liking his basic characteristics, values, and behaviors, but we put up with it thinking that if we make ourselves more attractive and loving enough he’ll change for us, we’re not in love, we’re co-dependent.

When we allow our relationship to jeopardize our physical and emotional health, and perhaps even our safety, we are definitely not in love.

In spite of all the pain and dissatisfaction, codependency is such a common experience for many people that we begin to believe that it is the way that intimate relationships should be. Most of us have excused codependency at least once and for many, it has been a recurrent theme in our lives.

Addiction is a frightening word that illicits images like the heroin addict sticking a needle in his arm, leading a path to certain self-destruction. Most of us don’t like the word and will resist any attempt at applying the word to the way we relate to our significant others. But too many of us have been “man/ women junkies” and before we can free ourselves, like in addiction, the first step is to admit the problem before we can begin to recover from it.

If you ever have found yourself obsessed with a man/ woman, you may know intuitively that the foundation for that obsession is not love but fear. We who love obsessively are full of fear – the fear of being alone, the fear of being unworthy or unlovable, the fear of being ignored, abandoned, or destroyed. We give our love because it is a desperate hope that the person with whom we’re obsessed with will take care of our fears. What happens instead is that our fears – and our obsessions – become even stronger until giving love to get love back becomes the driving force in our lives. And because this strategy will never work, we try – we love – even harder.

The cycle continues…

The concept of co-dependency has its roots in the treatment of addicts and is understood as a set of thoughts, feelings, and behaviors. An interesting finding on preliminary research conducted in this area is that while not all codependent persons grew up in troubled families, their partners nearly always came from severely troubled families in which they had experienced greater than normal trauma/ stress and pain. By struggling to cope with their addictive mates, these partners were unconsciously recreating and reliving aspects of their childhood.

I think it’s worthwhile repeating my initial statement here: I don’t mean to imply that codependency is a “female” phenomenon, but due to the interplay of social conditioning and biological factors, men generally try to find external ways to avoid their pain. We try to protect ourselves through external ways: work, sports, drugs, hobbies, sex, etc. While for women, because of cultural forces working on them, tend to become obsessed with relationships – often with a damaged and distant man. These cultural forces have shifted somewhat, so you will find more men relationally addicted and more women seeking external means of avoidance.

Below I have listed characteristics of a person who is in the process of recovering from codependency (adapted from Robin Norwood):

S/he accepts herself fully, even while wanting to change parts of him/ herself. There is a basic self-love and self-regard, which s/he carefully nurtures and purposely expands.
S/he accepts others as they are without trying to change them to meet her needs.
S/he is in touch with her feelings and attitudes about every aspect of her life, including her sexuality.
S/he cherishes s every aspect of herself: her personality, her appearance, her beliefs and values, her body, her interests and accomplishments. S/he validates him/ herself, rather than searching for a relationship to give him/ her a sense of self-worth.
Her/ his self-esteem is great enough that s/he can enjoy being with others, especially members of the opposite sex, who are fine just as they are. S/he does not need to be needed in order to feel worthy.
6. S/he allows herself to be open and trusting with appropriate people. S/he is not afraid to be known at a deeply personal level, but s/he also does not expose herself to the exploitation of those who are not interested in his/ her well-being.
S/he questions, “Is this relationship good for me? Does it enable me to grow into all I am capable of being?”
When a relationship is destructive, s/he is able to let go of it without experiencing disabling depression. S/he has a circle of supportive (not “enabling”) friends and healthy interests to see him/ her through crises.
S/he values her own serenity above all else. All the struggles, drama, chaos of the past have lost their appeal. S/he is protective of him/ herself, his/ her health, and well-being.
S/he knows that a relationship, in order to work, must be between partners who share similar values, interests, and goals, and who each have a capacity for intimacy. S/he also knows that s/he is worthy of the best that life has to offer.

I write the above as a person in recovery, who knows exactly how we fall into these relationship patterns because it has been part of my own history. So I write this from a foundation of my own experience and my research. I put it out here for you, the reader, to use or not use – it’s up to you.

***

Besos,

Eddie

Tags: Relationships, Love, Dysfunction

Not in My Name

http://wake-up.gaia.com — Mon, 11 Sep 2006 16:11:55 GMT

"... his big dog will fight/ When you rattle his cage/ And you'll be sorry that you messed with/ The U.S. of A/ 'Cause we'll put a boot in your ass/ It's the American way... "
-- A hick named Toby Keith

At the start of the 20th century, 10%-15% of war casualties were civilians.
During World War II, more than 50% of war casualtiers were civilians.
By the end of the 20th century, over 75% of war casualties were civilians.

When I look into the eyes of this child, I wonder what he was doing on September 11, 2001. Was he even born then? Who is/ was he? What was his name? I look into his dead eyes and I feel shame and I wonder if we really do think there is any time where his death, or the deaths of children like him, is ever actually justified. I wonder about people who believe this...

... and I have to sneer derisively at the image of some flag-waving yahoo talking about America kicking ass...

... because, more likely than not, it's this child's ass we kicked. It's this child's ass, and tens of thousands like him, we kicked... I wonder about such people... and I feel ashamed because in some way, I've had something to do with that child's destruction -- we all do...

Those of you who read this blog already know I live right by what is now called "Ground Zero." My building shook when the towers fell...
I walked the streets in that aftermath, covered with white powder -- we all did...

Quietly...

Some were injured, others were in shock, some were crying…

I watched from my roof in horror when I realized that what I thought was debris, was actually people choosing to take thier lives by jumping off the Towers...

We all lost someone that day, there isn't a New Yorker that wasn't somehow connected by six degrees to the loss of that day. I too breathed in the fumes and developed what eventually became known as the "Downtown Cough."

I had to walk daily through police barricades and checkpoints for months after just to get home and I did it because I didn't want those who are twisted enough to destroy in the name of ideology to win. If I ran in fear, then they would win... so I stayed there in my apartment despite the urging of friends and loved ones to stay somewhere "safe"... It was my own little act of defiance.

I smelled the "smell" everyday... the smell no one wanted to talk about: the smell of burning flesh mixed in with only God knows what was emanating from the toxic pile where once stood the Towers. It burned for months... and we know now that the whole area should've been closed off...

I facillitated quite a few groups in the aftermath of 9/11 and I heard a lot of anger, much grief, shock, and disbelief. But I also saw people coming together in heroic ways in that most crucial defining moment in our history...

Stores opened their doors and put out tables with free water

Strangers took to helping those who were injured... consoling one another...

People embraced one another...

Strangers took strangers into their homes if they were displaced...

... and on and on -- the stories of that day are now forgotten as politicians basked in the limelight of news cameras. Time voted a person as "Man of the year" -- but the real people of the year were the people of New York City...

I hoped that the more noble aspects of human nature, as exemplified by my fellow New Yorkers, would hold the day, but time has shown differently.

I despaired that the actions of my fellow New Yorkers would be buried in an avalanche of the bullshit jingoism passing off as patriotism that would surely follow. I despaired that our leaders would exploit this to deepen the culture of fear and hate.

I heard many people express outrage -- wanting to punish those who were responsible... but more often than not, I heard people expressing my own fears that politicians and the powers that be would exploit the tragic events of 9/11 as a pretext for thier own, not so noble, agendas. All this immediately in the aftermath of 9/11.

In the days that followed 9/11, the NY Times would publish snap bios of every person who perished in the Towers. It was a way to insert a humanity behind the tragedy, a way to discard the anonymity. My people, my fellow New Yorkers who died in the Towers, were just regular people who had lives, dreams, hopes.

But what about this child? Look into his eyes... is he alive? Dead? Did he have hopes? Or did he, like many other children, just cared about playing with his friends, getting birthday presents, eating his favorite sweets...

"War is fear cloaked in courage."
-- Gen. William Westmoreland

Many, in their rush to wave their flag and puff themselves up into a patritotic fervor, wouldn't give two shits about this child. Many, in the comfort of thier suburban enclaves, would say that such is life, that if that child's death means we save 100 of ours, then that child's death is justified and -- shit -- let's nuke the whole lot of them - fuck the towel heads.

The irony is that the people who flew those airplanes into the Towers that bright, sunny, beautiful New York City day, felt the same way... fundamentalism, fervor, and rabid ideology of any kind leads to destruction, in whatever flag you want to dress it up...

I'm here today to give testimony to that day -- that on September 11th, 2001, we New Yorkers were a power of example of what humans, driven by compassion and courage, can accomplish. I'm here to say that knee-jerk, "Yeehaw!" type false patriotism desecrates the memory of that day... I'm here to bear witness that waving a flag and talking about kicking ass was not what we were doing in those tragic days... we were reaching out to one another, tending, healing...

I'm here to hopefully bear witness that this child was human too... he was a boy, he lived, he had dreams, and he laughed... and perhaps he died needlessly because we failed to hold our leaders accountable and allowed them to go to war under false pretexts in the name of fear and hate... all the while waving flags and talking bullshit about kicking ass... well we kicked this child's ass, didn't we? We really showed him, and 1000s of others like him, didn't we!

Well, I'm here to say that you can do this, but don't do it in my name... don't do it the name of 9/11... because it's disgraceful and shameless...

Not in my name...

"Liberty and democracy become unholy when their hands are dyed red with innocent blood."
-- Mahatma Gandhi

Tags: 9/11, Casualties of War, Terror, Responses to Violence

Quiz: Are You a Racist?

http://wake-up.gaia.com — Fri, 08 Sep 2006 17:38:46 GMT

: Hola Everybody!
OK! It’s Friday... Thanks to everyone, as always, for the thoughtful responses
to yesterday's post. I don't ask that anyone agree with my opinions. I
do demand, however, that people make an effort to read before
commenting!
People who refuse to abide by this rule will be intellectually spanked and not in a nice way...

LMAO!; Now… for a word from our [un]Common Sense Blog sponsor…
[a hushed voice intones over dissonant strings in the background as a camera pans over important looking documents…]
On June 16, 2004, The 9/11 Commission reported that it found "no collaborative relationship" between Iraq and Al Qaeda.; Even so, as of September 2004, 42% of Americans still believed that Saddam Hussein's regime in Iraq was directly involved in planning, financing, or carrying out the terrorist attacks of 9/11.
[music changes to rowdy Heavy Metal… as a mob of people body slam each other in their rush to buy Christmas gifts in September… ]

***

As we all know, bloggers just love to post quizzes, surveys, challenges, etc., etc., etc. Whether we do this because they are actually fun or because we get brain freezes that obstruct our writing abilities [cough], hasn’t been decided.

But just to show that I can be part of the herd once in a while (even if only to sexually prey on the female portion of the comatose 42% noted above), I’m going to add my own little quiz! In reality I adapted (read: stole) it (scanned) from a completely off-the-chain, totally incorrect, "in-yo-face-muthafucka" book titled, “ego trip’s Big Book of Racism!” These folks are too fuckin’ much! Highly recommended!; Answers? MONDAY dammit!
“…It’s been test proven that tests don’t always play fair. Bigotry is a popular pastime. And it still is. Now for the first time ever comes an opportunity to level the cultural playing field once and for all, and ponder the intriguing question: What do you get when you put Joe Clark, Mr. Hand (R.I.P.), and Jaime Escalante in a room together? (Answer: Three esés the hard way – even harder than Chinese ‘rithmetic.)”
1. Are you a racist?; A. Yes; B. Probably; C. Definitely; D. All of the above; 2. You ain’t Black. When you see a Black person, you:; A. Feel guilty; B. Smile… nervously; C. Say, “Slap me some skin on the Black hand side, baby-baby.”; D. Run; 3. You a Honky. When you see a person of another ethnicity, you:; A. Get crazy horny (You one horny Honky.); B. Expect to lose your job… soon; C. Inform him, in an extremely polite tone, that deliveries are at the back entrance only, José.; D. Run.; 4. Finish this sentence: The Blacker the berry…; A. … the sweeter the Jews.”; B. … the more rotten that shit is. Throw it away.”; C. … the darker the daddy.”; D. … the better the chance it’s Wesley Snipes at an after hours wine-tasting with his ganjah-smoking mellow, Woody Harrelson. (light anotha).”; 5. You can always tell a Latino/a family by:; A. Counting the chickens; B. The decibel levels; C. Trying this simple trick: Yell, “Migra!” and if they run, they Hispanic.; D. The red furniture; 6. The development of science has allowed a great many advantages in our dail y lives. These improvements are moving at an accelerated rate. However, as far as you know, Orientals talk “funny” because:; A. Godzilla got them hella shook.; B. Their tongues are slanted too. (Ay ya! That’s racist.); C. Too much MSG. (Mangled Speech Gene.); D. They hate your ignorant ass and are doing it to fuck with you (better known as “ancient Chinese secret”).; 7. The phrase “Peace in the Middle East” is poignant because:; A. They sure do kill a lot of muthafuckas out there.; B. It rhymes; C. “Blessed in the Midwest” don’t sound right.; D. It will never happen.; 8. A Caucasian male leaves for work at 7:00 on Monday morning. He lives on the west side of town, about ten miles away from his destination. He arrives at his office at 8:00 AM. On the other side of town, a person of color also leaves home at 7:00 am. He or she arrives:; A. Late; B. After a quick stop at the boodah spot, right on THC-CP Time.; C. Wednesday; D. At the unemployment line.; 9. A cracker is:; A. A delicious, flaky, sometimes buttery, waferesque morsel.; B. One of them Rice Crispies niggaz.; C. Not to be confused with the monster from Clash of the titans. D. You, you dumb-ass cracker!; 10. “BMW” stands for:; A. Black Man’s Wish.; B. Better Move, Whitey.; C. Bitch Made Whiteboy; D. Bought My Wife, too.; 11. Who would you vote off the island first?; A. Clint Black. (He’s White); B. Barry White (He’s Black); C. Rita Moreno (she’s Boricua); D. Tattoo; 12. Saddam Huseein looks like:; A. He’s so dam insane. (Get it? Good); B. The President of the swarthy Gentlemen’s Club… for Men; C. He’s quick to get in that ass; D. A really hammered Mexican with a muy gignate tortilla chip on his shoulder.; 13. Before Septmeber 11, 2001, you thought Osama bin Laden was:; A. Sir Alec Guiness’ character in Star Wars. B. The $6.95 lunch special at your local Curry Hut.; C. The scientific term in Arabic for lopsided desert-donkey testicles.; D. Just another towelhead.; 14. Who picks up white trash?; A. Welfare; B. Riki Lake’s limosine service.; C. Vicodin; D. Black thugz; E. Lizzie Grubman.; 15. At which of the following places are Hispano holy rollers most likely to sight visions of Jesus and Mary?; A. A Jesus and Mary Chain album cover.; B. The local bodega, because Jesus (pronounced hay-zoos) and Maria run it.; C. The cotton candy at Shea Stadium.; D. At the border.; 16. From where does the Chinese Dragon Lady learn her powers of seduction?; A. Vietnamese Hooker Academy.; B. Japanese Geisha Finishing School.; C. www.manilamail-orderbrides.com; D. Some Korean slut.; 17. Since they were actually separated at birth, the only real difference between African-Americans and Italian-Americans is:; A. The suits. The Crips were FUBU. The wops were Armani. (But the burgers are Ronald’s.); B. The sauce. BBQ drives Blacks bananas. Marinara makes the paisans go Buttafucco for Coco Puffs.; C. The sex. The monkeys can swing all-nighters. The goom-bahs go for the gold medallion.; D. The slammer. C’mon, y’all saw The Green Mile and Goodfellas.; 18. Dr. Angelo Saxon, PhD, a wealthy Caucasian male (of course), walks into his well-mannered boudoir one fine Wednesday evening. To his dismay, he encounters his blondish nymphet wife, Mandy, in their king-sized Ethan Allen waterbed with…; A. Ferdinand, their uninhbited, untamable, and undocumented landscape artiste, who’s feeding her chalupas and beating her Chihuahua senseless. ¡Amore es Perros!; B. Carmine, their in-house Haitian culinary sensation, taste-testing her French dip with his rotund rolling pin in hand. Oui, he’ll rock you, Amadaeus!; C. Lateisha, the saucy and sassy Filipina nanny, ankles-to-panties, spanking that fanny. Word to Manny (the chauffeur).; D. Manny, who’s been hitting off Lateisha – and Angelo – on the low. (He’s bisexual, you know.); 19. On some Jimmy Stewart shit, a despondent Dr. Saxon races his silver Jaguar XJE to Old Miller’s Bridge, the local suicide jump-off. Before taking the Nestea plunge, and leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind that he’s softer than wet Charmin, he yells…; A. “Wetbacks!”; B. “Blackmale!”; C. “Nia Peeples!”; D. “Whitewater!”; 20. Are tan lines racist?; A. Yes, because they perpetuate Carnal Sander’s friend chicken theory: The white meat’s the best (and it’s finger-lickin’ good).; B. No, just rednecks.; C. Maybe. George Hamilton ain’t worked steadily in years.; D. ¡Suntanama!; 21. Why do African-Americans love to dance?; A. Cuz they freaks; B. They’re slaves to the rhythym. (Ta-dow! That’s really racist.); C. They want to practice what they will eventually do on your grave, honky.; D. The devil made them do it.; 22. It’s the annual Puerto Rican Day parade. Boricuas from all across this great nation will descend upon the Manzana grande to commemorate:; A. ass.; B. Ass.; C. ASS!; D. AZZ! Boo-yow!; 23. Which of the following is not controlled by the Jews?; A. Hebrew National.; B. Beanie Sigel.; C. Judo. (Not to be confused with “jew-dough.” They got that on lock.); D. Palestine.; 24. Can’t we all just get along?; A. No.; B. Absolutely not; C. I don’t think so.; D. No espeka Englis.; 25. Ignorance is:; A. Bliss.; B. A Cancer.; C. Everywhere.; D. ego trip’s Big Book of Racism!

Tags:

The Star Thrower

http://wake-up.gaia.com — Thu, 07 Sep 2006 14:40:02 GMT

: Hola Everybody,
Since I procrastinated so much in sending out evites, I decided it would probably be best to postpone the picnic for another day. I might change it to a "Comedy Club" night instead or something like that...

You have probably seen the following in some email or around the net. I always get positive responses when I post it, and I have used it countless times in my motivational speaking, as well as in my workshops -- when I run into the all-too-common hardened and cynical mindset popular in today's "me, me, me" culture. Still, I often have to wonder how many of us actually practice what we gush over...

The Starfish Story
adapted from The Star Thrower by Loren C. Eiseley (1907-1977)

Once upon a time, there was a wise man who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work.

One day, as he was walking along the shore, he looked down the beach and saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself at the thought of someone who would dance to the day, and so, he walked faster to catch up.

As he got closer, he noticed that the figure was that of a young man, and that what he was doing was not dancing at all. The young man was reaching down to the shore, picking up small objects, and throwing them into the ocean.

He came closer still and called out "Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?"

The young man paused, looked up, and replied "Throwing starfish into the ocean."

"I must ask, then, why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?" asked the somewhat startled wise man.

To this, the young man replied, "The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don't throw them in, they'll die."

Upon hearing this, the wise man commented, "But, young man, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can't possibly make a difference!"

At this, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean. As it met the water, he said, "It made a difference for that one."

***

This story has appeared all over the web in various forms, usually with no credit given to Mr. Eiseley. Sometimes it is a little girl throwing the starfish into the ocean, sometimes a young man, there's a version where it's an elderly Indian. Whatever the version, it is a thought-provoking and beautiful story with a simple yet powerful message. It reminds me somewhat of my mother's "candy wrapper" speech.

Loren C. Eiseley was a anthropologist who wrote extensively. He was the "wise man" in the story, and he was walking along a beach after a storm and encountered the fellow throwing the starfish back. I have not had a chance to read the original book myself but will probably do so. It is said he was the Walt Whitman of the 20th century.

Here is the story with some background as to how it came to be written:

Loren Eisley, while writing his book, The Unexpected Universe, was walking along the ocean in Costabel early one morning. It was shortly after a storm had subsided and as he continued walking, he noticed that thousands of starfish had been washed up on the beach. Ahead of him was a gigantic rainbow of incredible perfection shimmering into existence. At the base of the rainbow stooped a little boy, gazing fixedly at an object in the sand. Eventually, he flung the object beyond the breaking surf.

Eisley went up to him and asked, “Son, what are you doing?” The little boy answered. “I’m throwing starfish back into the sea because if I don’t , they’re going to die.” “But there are thousands of starfish. In the larger scheme of things, you’re not going to make much of a difference to all these starfish..” The little boy looked up at him, stooped down again to pick up another starfish and, gently but quickly, flung it back into the ocean. “it’s going to make a big difference to that one!” he replied.

Eisley was embarrassed, uncomfortable with the contrast of the little boy’s youthful, innocent love for the living with his own hardened, mature indifference to death. He had nothing to say and left, continuing to walk down the beach but unable to get pictures of the little boy out of his mind. It was the moment of truth for Eisley, of deep soul searching and self confrontation. In time, he returned to the star thrower, silently picked up a starfish and spun it far into the waves. “I understand” he said. “Call me another thrower.” Together, still under the hues of the rainbow, they spent hours throwing starfish back into the ocean. It was a task not assumed lightly, for it was man as well as starfish they sought to save, sensing intuitively that man cannot exist spiritually without life.

***

You make a difference whether you’re conscious of it or not. The issue is: what kind of difference will you make…

Gotta go! Off to prison to throw stars. May you all become star throwers and may you all know true happiness,

Eddie

Tags:

Stripping the Heart

http://wake-up.gaia.com — Fri, 01 Sep 2006 13:47:21 GMT

"What counts is to strip the soul naked. Painting or poetry is made as we make love; a total embrace, prudence thrown to the wind, nothing held back."
-- Joan Miro

"... And that painful process
must begin before long.
The desperate struggle
to get back to
who we really are
without losing each other
along the way."
-- Edward-Yemil Rosario

***

Uncovering the heart means exposing the very core of the self. This is a scary move into unknown territory, even though it is a part of our inner selves that we are uncovering. The heart symbolizes feeling and intuition. Though we may be fearful, the true danger is in the death, not the exploration, of the heart.

Sometimes our hearts remember, better than our analytical minds, the times and places of our deepest felt experiences. During times of crisis or personal breakdown, the heart insists on revealing itself to us; we are forced to pay attention. These are times of deep personal pain that most of us would rather escape, because we fear that the load will be too much to bear -- that it may be possible to feel too much.

Just as it is possible to close our eyes and not see the world around us, we can also close our hearts. We do so at a great price: we may choose to live in a world of flat surfaces, a dry and angular world seemingly sterile until we look under the carpet. Many of us say we want to be loved, and I do not doubt the genuiness of that desire. However, many of us also dare not love outside the confines of the walls we and facades we erect out of fear. If that's not a prison, I don't know what is...

For many, love is but a word whispered... ultimately it's not intimacy we desire, but it's illussion.

The reality is this: to undress the heart is to reveal our inner history -- a history forgotten or hidden. We may be paying a price for relegating powerful forces to the shadow world for it is there they hold greater power over ourselves. One of the aims of depth psychotherapies is to help us rediscover our lost selves gradually and integrate them again into our whole personalities.

The language of the heart may seem illogical. But if we listen to it -- really listen to it -- without losing our heads, we might just find hope in it that what lies ahead is a new and better way of living. It is in this aspect that there is strength in living with a naked heart.

However, there is that fearful vulnerability also. We take a chance when we open to others. We can be hurt. We may ask ourselves if we are risking too much.

I have found that in my own life, some of the most rewarding examples of creativity have been those moments when my heart was uncovered, when I was able to emerge and address those unique yet universal experiences that bind us together in the human condition.

I have learned that the uncovered heart contains both vulnerability and strength. Its strength perhaps lies precisely in that ability to open itself to itself, with an exquisite grace that invites the hearts of others to do so too.

***

If during the course of the day, no one tells you they love you, know this: I love you. I love you unconditionally for being the way you are right now -- this very moment -- and I will continue loving you in this way until you can love yourself in this very manner.

Tags:

Compassionate Action

http://wake-up.gaia.com — Thu, 31 Aug 2006 14:55:17 GMT

Hola Everybody!

It's Thursday and you can't complain! What to do? Hmmmm... LOL!

First, details for the "Last Picnic of the Summer Season" event: it's to be held Saturday, Sept. 9th at Ft. Lee Park, right at the foot of the Washington Bridge on the NJ side. I will be sending Evites as soon as I can. If you're reading this and want to go, drop me a line, all are welcome! You have two choices: quickly think of an excuse NOT to come, or just come, dammit! LOL! It's a kid-friendly event, so bring the house monkees if you so desire. More details to follow, I'm rushing right now. It's prison day and I have to get ready!

***
“Remember, when the judgment's weak the prejudice is strong.”
- - Kane O'Hara (d.1782) Midas, Act 1. Sc. 4

(Art by "Clare," The Clearwater School)

A child in early development understands the power of compassion and empathy -- even at a stage of growth that hinders their intellectual or cognitive grasp of it. They understand compassion in action, they understand empathy. One child cries, the rest cry along with it.

While I question the motivation behind the challenge, "Well, what have you done?" as a way of furthering dialogue, I certainly can understand compassion as an instigator toward action. As I noted yesterday, it's part of what I do on a daily basis.

I believe that coherent, intellectually sound conversation can be a tool for activism. It was for me when I heard public speakers passionately articulate their causes. I believe, contrary to what others may say, that the media have abdicated their role in keeping the public informed. Much of what's going on, as in the Katrina Debacle, goes on unchallenged by the mainstream media. Yes, the do get paid huge sums of money, but for the most part they are corporate whores, plain and simple.

I will explore the connection between the level of moral reasoning and political affiliation, but today, in the spirit of compassionate action, I will offer some ways you can help in the aftermath of the crime that was Katrina. Keep in mind that if this happened to the good people of "Nawlins," it can happen to you. Katrina missed New Orleans, it was the government that killed "those" people -- hardworking, tax-payong folk, just like most of us. Perhaps we're entering an age where the wealthy will be saved while the working poor and poor will be sacrificed on the altar of Corporate Christianity.

For a full report on the aftermath of Katrina and what you can do, click here.

I have handpicked some sources below:

I get those stupid forwards all the time. You know those things that are bullshit: “Send this to 1000,000,000,000 of your friends and you will get a blowjob in ten days,” bullshit? Well, I would suggest that you can become an online activist. Yup. I learned this from a friend who’s confined to a wheelchair. The internet has been her salvation and she does a lot of GREAT work, right there in front of her computer…

**Visit www.katrinaaction.org to find information, connect with local organizations and learn about actions that affect housing, health, jobs, and other related issues.

**Help ensure that news media tell the real story of Katrina and its aftermath and continue to offer balanced reporting on the issue. Call your local news and radio talk shows, and write letters to the editor. (For pointers, Fairness and Accuracy In Reporting has an online kit with contact information for media outlets and sample letters.) I have been part of several FAIR alerts that caused media outlets to publish retractions when they were found to be reporting falsehoods. I recommend FAIR highly.

**Got five minutes a week? Join the Katrina Information Network. KIN members commit to five minutes a week to send emails to their network and to policymakers to keep these issues on the public agenda. Rather than send those abominable forwards…

On the creative front, the most innovative project I've seen coming out of the catastrophe is the New Orleans Kid Camera Project. Created to address the psychological and emotional impact of Hurricane Katrina on children returning home to New Orleans, the project fosters photography, creative writing and mixed media as means for children to explore their environment and express themselves, their stories and feelings. Check out the latest gallery of the kids' work here and then click here to support future efforts.

Finally, if you want to donate money to help the tens of thousands of Hurricane Katrina survivors still homeless and in great need, see the American Institute of Philanthropy's guide to find the best ways to help the victims, and check out the Network for Good's suggestions on Katrina giving. Habitat for Humanity is also a good recipient. It's been on the ground for virtually the last twelve months helping to rebuild the homes of those way down on the government's priority lists. Giving to Habitat will get your money to the right place.

May you all know true happiness or I’ll smack you upside your head till you get it! LOL!

Off to prison, love ya!

Tags: Social Action, Compassion, Activism, Racism, Katrina

Voyeurism as Compassion

http://wake-up.gaia.com — Wed, 30 Aug 2006 16:57:36 GMT

Hola Everybody,
Yesterday marked a year since the US Gov't. (not hurricane Katrina) killed countless people -- US citizens. A year later, they're still finding dead bodies and about 60% of the city is still in a shambles.

I'm experiencing some difficulty wrapping my mind around this, so bear with me... for those interested, Spike Lee’s documentary will be airing in full tonight. I strongly recommend this powerful piece. Of course, if you want to stay comfortable, not bothered, then don’t watch it. It might make you think.

Voyeurism as Compassion: “Our government… teaches the whole people by its example.
If the government becomes the lawbreaker, it breeds contempt for law;
it invites every man to become a law unto himself; it invites anarchy.”
-- Justice Louis Dembitz Brandeis (1856–1941)
US jurist, associate justice of the US Supreme Court; Voyeurism is a term that often refers to the practice in which sexual pleasure is derived from observing other people. Such people may be engaged in sexual acts, or be nude or in underwear, or dressed in whatever other way the "voyeur" finds appealing. The word derives from French verb voir (to see). A literal translation would then be “seer” or "observer", with pejorative connotations.; However, voyeur can also be used to describe someone who receives enjoyment from witnessing other people's suffering or misfortune…; ***

I had had it! I snapped.

I was watching a CNN news report on Katrina (sandwiched in between hours of shameless coverage of “The Ramsey Case”) while waiting for a train at NYC’s Penn Station the other day, when I heard (yet again!) a young lady say “I just don't know why they didn't evacuate.” I turned to her and snapped, "You don't know because you lack the ability to imagine being in their situation,” and walked away shaking my head in disbelief.

The Katrina Hurrucane did not kill people -- it's winds did not kill people. Our government, and it's apathetic response killed people.

Our president, who took eleven days to even make it to NOLA, is accountable.

The whole Bush Administration is accountable.

Where was Cheney? (Hunting)

Where was Condeelza (she was attending musicals)

Where was Rove? (nowhere to be found)

This isn't about blame, it's about paying heed to Santayana who said after WW II: "Those who refuse to learn from the past are condemned to relive it." today, a year after Katrina nothing has changed.

So, leave the superficial, "everything is fine, why muck it all up," analysis at home boys and girls. What I'm about to write isn’t nice and I'm not taking any prisoners today.

People died needlessly and if it were YOUR child, or YOUR loved one who died, you would be singing a different tune.

Editor and Publisher, the mainstream journal that reports on reporting, recently counted tens of thousands of stories on the recent developments in the Jon Benet Ramsey case. First, let me just say that I just don’t understand that obsession and why that story trumps the fact that two national elections were very likely tampered with and that people are dying in Iraq as we speak for a war we entered under false pretexts. I guess I’m dense, but it saddens me that in death, little Jon Benet is paraded before our eyes in garish make-up night after night. If that isn’t child pornography, I don’t know what is.

But it is in this voyeuristic framework that the media presents most of its stories. And the vast majority of Americans, buy right into it. With Katrina, the media presented stories that seemed to suggest that those that stayed, stayed for weird “cultural” reasons. They were too entrenched in their ways to stay, reports said. We’ve all seen variations of the cat woman, who chose to stay and perished as a result. In order for voyeurism to replace compassion, we first have to de-humanize the object of our gaze.

Take as an example how the media's focus on looters and supposed gang raping murderers (all unsubstantiated), at the expense of the efforts by thousands to help one another in the midst of hellish conditions, facillitated the racist stereotyping of Katrina victims as vile trash. Once the climate had been created and the frame set -- one that said, these are bad people, who do bad things -- it took no effort at all for racists to concoct lies and peddle those to a willing and gullible public.

As recent surveys show, the public’s attitudes towards poor people in general haven’t been changed by the Katrina disaster. Those people that died deserved to die because they were too stupid to evacuate in time. How dare you feel compassion for those poor stupid fools!

People still think “po- folk” have it made and are poor by their own design or inherent laziness. I believe the young lady’s remark at Penn Station was deeply informed by that attitude. In fact, people’s attitudes towards the victims of the Katrina mismanagement can be mapped according to race: for the most part, according to one University of Chicago study, whites tend to mirror the notion that those trapped during Katrina were too stubborn to leave.

Let’s talk facts folks, Okay? The fact is that some people chose to ride out the storm in town because they had commitments to be on site to keep the city functioning and help return it to order. Some stayed for more idiosyncratic reasons, not least because they expected their homes to withstand the hurricane, which, incidentally, most did. The vast majority who didn't evacuate as the storm approached, however, were either too poor or too frail to leave, or both!

Two months before Katrina, Mayor Ray Nagin's administration decided that it couldn't afford to provide public transportation to evacuate residents in the event of a major storm. So the city produced DVDs (?!?!) to distribute in poor neighborhoods, alerting residents that they would be on their own. There was no attempt, as part of the evacuation plan, to provide transportation for the nearly 100,000 New Orleanians who didn't own dependable cars and couldn't afford to pay their way out of the city. This was cowardice.

This is “efficient government” and the consequences of Katrina lead directly to this notion that government can’t do anything right. So let’s leave it to the private sector because they’re best. Hey! Maybe Halliburton, whose doing such a great job in Iraq, can clean up NOLA! It’s Corporate Christianity! The fact is that the ineffective way in which Katrina was handled (which was directly responsible for the deaths), is a prime example of how “less government” failed us. I will explain…

That notion that New Orleans couldn't afford to mobilize for evacuating up to a quarter of its population, speaks to the real sources of the devastation of New Orleans and the excruciatingly slow pace of its recovery. Every government determination of what can or can't be afforded depends on a costs/ benefits calculation and of the interests that compete for use of resources. The Nagin administration couldn't afford to use enough buses as part of its evacuation plan because it gave higher priority to dedicating funds to other purposes--such as subsidizing development and keeping taxes and fees low.

"Efficient" government is a code phrase for a public policy that serves the interests of business and the affluent—this was the ultimate cause of the city's devastation. Remember that the city survived the hurricane. It flooded because the levees failed. The levees on the 17th Street and London Avenue canals failed because, in the words of the Independent Levee Investigation Team, “safety was exchanged for efficiency and reduced costs.” This was the result of federal underfunding, the Corps of Engineers' skimping, state and local officials' lack of vision, and a lack of adequate government oversight--or, in neoconservative language, cutting government red tape.

Bush’s boy, “Brownie,” placed in charge of the drastically cut FEMA as a political favor, had no experience regarding emergency management. I think he had something to do with Arabian horses. Today, on CNN, they’re questioning whether government can adequately manage emergency services. Great! Set something up to fail and then point out that it didn’t work! Makes sense!

Where the breech occurred on the 17th Street Canal, the Corps made concessions in sturdiness of construction to accommodate real estate developers' desire to stuff as much new upscale housing as possible into that neighborhood. The levee on the Industrial Canal failed because of the Mississippi River-Gulf Outlet's extreme vulnerability to storm surge. MR-GO, as it is called, is a forty-year-old white elephant of pure corporate welfare. In this case, in other words, public safety was sacrificed in the name of corporate greed.

The major idol on the altar of “less government”/ Corporate Christianity is the notion that government services are wasteful and unnecessary. The conservative dogma that the market can take care of everything that needs to be taken care of, was exposed for the scam that it is. FEMA failed because Bush and the worthless bums he put in charge of the agency were completely blind to the notion that a public institution should have responsibilities for securing the public welfare. When disaster struck, they were blindsided, unable to imagine what to do, that perhaps its responsibility should include mobilizing rescue and assistance efforts for people on the Gulf Coast whose plight CNN was broadcasting round the clock. For Bush, Homeland Security Secretary Michael Chertoff, and former FEMA Director Mike Brown, the organization existed only as an opportunity for plunder, political cronyism, and posturing.

I don’t know, maybe I’m dense, but the way I see it, this was a crime, plain and simple. And the freakin' buck stops at the freakin' top!

Today most of the city remains practically deserted. The social infrastructure is at best spotty in most of the city. Only 21% of Orleans Parish public schools had opened by the end of the 2005/2006 school year. Fewer than half of the city's bus routes and less than a fifth of its buses are operating. The levee system hasn't been adequately repaired or upgraded, though the new hurricane season officially opened on June 1. (The Army Corps of Engineers has apologized for its tardiness.)

Meanwhile, privatizers and developers lurk everywhere. Most of the schools that have reopened have done so as charter schools. Both mayor and council can imagine only scenarios in which the private sector will be stimulated to come to the rescue and lead a renaissance. This means that they can imagine only policies aimed at boosting the interests of the monied few -- cutting spending precisely when they should be increasing it--or drawing on corporate “expertise.” Speculators are coming on themselves at the bit to act on redevelopment plans that would reconstruct the city as a theme park with resorts, casinos, and upscale housing.

Welcome to corporate Christianity where property owners are able to assert their influence, while non-owners are nearly as invisible in civic life now as ever before.

Welcome to the Thunderdome!

Tags: Plotical Corruption, Social Action, Compassion, Apathy

Urban Street Games: Ringolevio 1-2-3!

http://wake-up.gaia.com — Mon, 28 Aug 2006 18:05:16 GMT

(Above: Street play in depression-era NYC. Photography: Lewis Hines)

Hola Everybody,
Oh boy! Another Monday! Blah Blah Blah, wake the heck up! LMAO! Yes, life is good. It is a rare opportunity to evolve. Feeling down? Gratitude works… BTW, on something totally unrelated: I have this gentleman who visits my office once or twice a year. Each time, he has done something that has thrown me for a loop. The last time he was here (he's a "healer," as am I, he assures me), he was about to leave when he stops and says, "I'm sorry, but he insists I tell you to stop sleeping on the sofa because it's ruining your back."

How the heck did he know that? He didn't know, my visitor answers with a kind and knowing smile. My "guide" told him...

Dang!

***

"In playing, and perhaps only in playing, the child or adult is free to be creative."
-- D.W. Winnocott

((Photography: Rebecca Lepkoff.
Boys drawing w/ chalk on sidewalk: LES)

During one hot summer day, I walked into my son’s room only to find a huge group of 9-10 year olds playing video games. I was shocked. When I was a kid, being cooped inside the house, while games raged outside my window was the ultimate form of punishment. Not only did these kids not want to go outside, I quickly discovered, they thought it was an unusual question, as if going outside was something not even contemplated.

That was the last straw for me. I shut off the video game and ordered everybody out my fucking house. “Go outside and play! It’s summertime!” Of course, I quickly morphed from “Ian’s Real Cool Dad” to Ian’s Asshole Father” but I didn’t give a fuck. Go outside dammit! HAVE FUN!

LMAO!

After some time, I was curious and when I went downstairs to check on the group, they were just moping around, doing nothing, talking about – you guessed it – a video game (insert cliché about leading a horse to water here --->___). Defiant little motherfuckers that they were, they propped up my son, Ian, as their spokesperson and he presented a compelling case for everyone to be let back upstairs (something about “nothing to do”).

I struck that down quickly, much to everyone’s dismay, but I told them that instead, I would tell them a story. This was met with a loud round of jeers. So we stood there doing nothing for a minute or two. Finally one f the braver of the group questioned the wisdom of my decision (something about forcing them to do nothing – boy! This was fun!) and challenged me when I answered that there’s a lot to do!

Eventually, we struck a compromise: if I could come up with something to do, everyone would cooperate and do an activity I would come up with. If they didn’t experience “fun” doing my chosen activity, then everyone could go back upstairs and like a bunch of girls, sit around and scratch and sniff their arses while playing sissy games... Actually, it wasn’t a compromise, but nobody fucked with me because they all knew I didn’t put up with too much bullshit.

The activity I chose was a game called Ringolevio…

Ringolevio (also known as Cocolevio when I played it in the Lower East Side – Loisada in Nuyoricanese) is a game that originated in the streets of Depression era New York City.

(Photography: Martha Cooper, Street Play)

It’s a variation of tag – or what I call today looking back, “tag on steroids.” It was a game of close teamwork and strategic planning of military proportions. When I was growing up, it was rumored that there were games of Ringolevio that sometimes took days to play. As I wove my story, I could sense the interest growing among this unruly mob. While outright mutiny was still an option, some of the kids became interested…

So I told everyone that we needed more people, to call everyone up “… and get them down here now! We’re going to play ringolevio!”

Kids that age are too easy. Soon enough, I had about a group of twenty kids outside on the street. It’s summer in the city, hot and humid. Other kids on the street got curious so we enlisted them too! “We’re gonna play Ringolevio,” my group now tells curious stragglers.

“What’s ringolevio, one young girl, a Mr. Softie ice cream dripping down her arm, asks.

How to Play Ringolevio

Ringolevio was my one of my favorite street game. It took planning, strategy, political intelligence, and geographical awareness to play. First, two sides are chosen, more or less even in number. One side goes out, while he other counts to some number like 300 and then goes looking for them.

Anyone on the pursuing side could catch anyone on the pursued side by grabbing hold of them and chanting "Ring-O-Levio 1-2-3!" three times in a row, while holding them. If the person pursued broke free at any point during this brief recitation, the person was not considered caught. If caught, the pursuer took the pursued to an area called “home base.”

Home base was any confined area, usually (in our version) within a penned area in someone’s stoop. Any free member of the team that was out could free all team members in home base by barging into home base without being caught and shouting "Free all!" or "Everybody Free!" This meant that all members of the team in home base were free and would have to be re-caught.

In our version, the pursuing team could not obstruct the home base within line of sight. That was considered cheating and huge arguments would ensue regarding pursuers standing too close to home base.

The game ended when one team caught all the members of the opposing team at which point the captured team reversed roles and counted while their opponents hid.

(Photography: Rebecca Lepkoff. Girls jumping rope: 1940s, LES, NYC)

Now the real fun was in coordinating plans to free the captured. We often employed military strategy using our knowledge of the “terrain” and engaged in various maneuvers and “fakes” that resembled a battle. The games were never violent and I never witnessed a fight during ringolevio. As we grew older, ringolevio also was a way for the members of the opposite sex to expend the sexual tension pre-teens and teens experience with one another. The actual act of running after someone, grabbing them and yelling out “Ringolevio 1-2-3! Ringolevio 1-2-3! Ringolevio 1-2-3!” at the top of your lungs induces laughter to the point that sometimes youcouldn’t finish your capture.

Growing up, I heard tales of games of Ringolevio that lasted for weeks, and I participated in some that lasted days (in fact, it wasn’t unusual to have someone tackle you out of nowhere yelling out ringolevio 1-2-3, for a game you had forgotten about!). But most of the time the games lasted a few hours. The duration of play was determined by the agreed-upon boundaries at the start of a game as well as the number of players on each side. I heard of some games that had been played with citywide boundaries and with up to 100 players! These games had rounds lasting for weeks with suspension of play for a half hour before, during and a half hour after school hours.

Well, what of my ragtag Nintendo-playing mutineers, you ask? I had to drag them back indoors when it got dark! LOL. They wouldn’t let me play, but agreed that I could be a “referee” to settle disputes, since I was the Ringolevio expert. That game lasted hours and when I asked my group if they would rather go upstairs and play video games, they paused (apparently mulling over any adverse precedent this may cause) and said -- no. Did teaching them that creativity and ingenuity trumps technology stop them from preferring video games over street play? No, but it became an option when the video games bored them. Then one day, they asked me, “Teach us another game, Mr. Rosario,” and Stickball in Jackson Heights was born...

(photography: Martha Cooper, Street Play)

... But that’s another story for another day.

Smooches,

Eddie

Tags: Growing Up, Street Games, Fun, Creativity

Que Sera, Sera (or The Myth of Control?)

http://wake-up.gaia.com — Tue, 15 Aug 2006 13:28:08 GMT

Hola Everybody!
Not sure anyone's reading my blog here, but I post it inseveral places, so what the heck, right? LOL!

Hmmmmm... well, time for an [un]patented...

[un]Movie Review!

On the heels of my recommendation for Little Miss Sunshine (which should garner acting awards for Alan Arkin and Abigail Breslin), I have one more movie recommendation: Half Nelson. Man! What a movie! It's an independent feature so those living in the Disneyfied segregated purgatory armpits aka "The'Burbs," or those living in the boonies, may not be able to see it ("It is written... " or, "Time Warner says so!" LOL!).

The movie could've easily taken the easy way out, as Spielberg and his imitator Ron Howard, often do (Why?!?! WTF did he do Da Vinci Code?!?! Grrrrrr). Instead of the tried and tired formula of white, brilliant, but flawed teacher, saves bright, but flawed black inner city kids, and they all live happily ever after, we instead get a powerful movie that totally engages you without being totally alienating.

Ryan Gosling and newcomer Shareeka Epps turn in two of the most powerfully nuanced performances of the year. Epps (as Dray) is simply amazing. Her acting is all restraint and subtlety, which makes it even more amazing considering her age. Her face is sometimes an unreadable mask (but all the more readable because of it!) and when she does smile, or emote, it's as if the sun burst.

Gosling plays Yang to Epps Yin, and he's able to riff off of Epps restraint in all kinds of ways and his performance is both hilariously ironic and poignantly tragic. In addition, at a time where even depictions of 9/11 are conveniently de-politicized (which happens to be a political decision, btw), Half Nelson wears its politics on its sleeve. The movie is interspersed with clips of historical civil rights footage, which adds to the power of the subject of the movie. Be forewarned, there are no neat little endings, proposed solutions, or tidy little packages in this movie, but it will move you in ways that may shake you out of the sanitized coma that is modern life (we all want not to feel, it seems. But we're dying to meet that someone, or to feel in some meaningful way, people!).

***

"This is moral perfection: to live each day as though it were the last;
to be tranquil, sincere, yet not indifferent to one’s fate."
-- Marcus Aurelius Antoninus (121-180)
Emperor of Rome 161–180, Stoic philosopher, Meditations

The average Westerner does all he can to impose direction and control over his life. I have a much older friend I sometimes play dominos with, who is no closer to adopting this attitude than were our ancestors in Puerto Rico a hundred or two hundred years ago. If there is any aspect of the modern Latino/a psychology that's most pathologized by whites, it's the acceptance of fatalism best expressed in the phrase, que sera, sera (what will be, will be).

At first glance, my friend’s acceptance of fate (“… it is written”) may appear perverse, considering the dazzling range of tools we Westerners have in our arsenal against the impermanent and unpredictable nature of life, but spend some time with my friend and you will quickly find yourself questioning the wisdom (perhaps the sincerity?) of Western attitudes. He's the latest in a long line of mentors.

When he has paid up his taxes, my friends explains, his life insurance, trained in the latest marketable skills, saved for his kids’ education, paid alimony, bought the house and car conforming to the unwritten rules of his tribe and which allows him a certain status, given up alcohol abuse, nicotine, extra-marital sex and recreational drugs, spent his two-week vacation (or weekends) on some adventurous (but safe!) holiday, learned how to be super-careful as to what he says to or does with members of the opposite sex, the average “Americano” (as my friend calls us) may – and often does – wonder where his life went. Well, my friend doesn’t say it all in one convoluted sentence like that, but that’s the core of his message, I guarantee you.

He (my friend) continues: The average Americano, invariably feels cheated when he finally discovers that all the worrying and all the insurance payments have failed to protect him from fire, burglary, any number of natural disasters, The Sack, terrorist activity, death, or worse -- his wife’s sudden and seemingly impulsive decision to desert with the kids, the car, and all the spare cash in the joint bank account.

And if you were to tell my friend that in a kingdom without safety nets, he would be crushed by accident or illness, whereas an Americano might have bought himself some measure of protection, you would be correct. However, in-between those transitory bumps and grinds of life (which are, as the song implies, inevitable), my friend lives a life of sublime insouciance, as I like to call it. The standard Americano observation would be that he is an old man living in a fool’s paradise. Perhaps, my friend would agree with a wink and a nod, but might not he reply that the Americano has built himself a fool’s hell?

He’s some character, my friend…

***

If no one tells you they love you today, know this: I love you. I love you unconditionally for being the way you are right now -- this very moment -- and I will continue loving you in this way until you can love yourself in this very manner.

Smooches,

Eddie

Tags: Fatalism, Cultural Attitudes, Elder Wisdom, Latino/a Culture

A Poem, A Sunday Sermon & Flow

http://wake-up.gaia.com — Sun, 13 Aug 2006 16:47:18 GMT

Hola Everybody,
Sssssssh -- listen: it's quiet around here right now....

***

[Nows no. 24]

Please know that one day
you will slip from under these covers
to trace with cool fingertips
your affection
on the neck of a new man.

Another…

It is certain enough
not to need conjuring before its time.
But when you close my door,
close it gently if you can,
and take this to his waiting skin:

I will always be with you,
always your champion.
I will be that cool breeze
on your naked back,
cheering you on,
asking only that
you love loving him...

another…

-- Edward-Yemíl Rosario ©

***

“Know what it is to be a child… To see a world in a grain of sand And heaven in a wild flower, Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand And Eternity in an hour.”
-- William Blake (1757–1827) English poet, painter, & mystic, Auguries of Innocence

I had the opportunity to attend a very special wedding yesterday (I won't post pics). Fortunately, it wasn't mine! Image LOL!

Seriously, a former client/ participant was married yesterday and she invited me. I had reservations at first. Once The Work is over it's not fair for me to hang around people. Closure is important. But Jackie (note: names/ descriptions have been changed in the interest of confidentiality), has made it her business to keep in touch with me over the six years since she first walked into my workshop and I made her cry (many, many times LOL!).

She has no family – death and other factors left her alone when she was a mere girl of thirteen. When other girls were still hugging their teddy bears and talking about boys, Jackie was fending for herself mostly alone. When other girls were worried about making it as a cheerleader, Jackie was being used by an older lady to lure men to her home. Before Jackie was fourteen, Jackie had been turned into a whore -- selling her body as a means for survival.

Before she was a teeneager, Jackie learned about a lot of fucked up shit some people reading this will never be able to even begin to understand.

There was a time that people said that I was hopeless, that I would never change. Think of the worst, or most humiliating thing, that could happen to someone and I can say I’ve been there: jails, institutions, humiliation, death wishes, attempts at suicide, all the good stuff. Eventually, I would become one of the many faceless “homeless” we all avoid and step over on our way through the daily rounds of activities of daily living. I was that person. Dirty, hungry, unkempt (well, I’m so vain, I think I looked good even as a homeless person! LOL!), “hopelessly” addicted – all of that and more.

I have done things, despicable things, and been places very few people can claim. A part of my humiliation was not being allowed to a shooting gallery, for example. For those that don’t know, try to imagine the dirtiest, most disgusting apartment, where all you see is the blood of intravenous drug abusers, where all you smell is shit and urine, and other body fluids, where the worst of the worst come to congregate, and you might get an idea of what a shooting gallery is. I was banned from some of these places! LMAO!!

Furthermore, those that have been where I have ventured, for the most part never come back. My theories on human behavior change are primarily grounded on my personal experiences and transformation. For me no one is helpless, no one is forsaken – if I can do this, anyone can. Finally, this isn’t just about me. There are millions of men and women, many who were worse off than I was, who have managed to return and achieve some measure of true happiness. Life doesn’t suck, we do – and we can choose to stop sucking. Life is the greatest gift and what we do with it is what makes it fucked up. Sure, there’s suffering, but that’s not the whole story. There’s also boundless beauty, love, and truth in life. It’s not enough to suffer, you have to smell the fucking flowers too. There’s suffering, but there’s always our response to suffering, which has the potential to transform our suffering.

It’s a simple message for complicated people.

At first I refused to work with Jackie, begged my supervisor to transfer her to another workshop, but he refused, saying it would be good for my professional growth. Actually, his intention was to get me fired. But it worked out in the end. Sure, in my mind, I fucked Jackie in all kinds of ways! LOL! And her MO was seduction – the only way she knew how to relate to men was through her body – the exploitation of her body. So, it was “hectic” in the beginning. She was twenty-three and beaten when she walked into my workshop, but she walked out three weeks later a woman beginning to take possession of herself and seeing her true beauty. Oh yeah, there was one more thing that really threw me for a loop about Jackie: she was even more beautiful inside than she was on the outside.

Jackie is gorgeous. I mean she’s drop-dead gorgeous. Full, ripe lips, creamy white skin, large hazel eyes framed by Brooke Shields-like eyebrows and long, curly, light brown hair. Impertinently large breasts, seemingly unaware of the laws of physics, on a body with an impossibly narrow waist (I swear I can wrap my around her waist and my fingertips will meet!). In addition, the greatest fuckin' ass! But to top it off, she was blessed with a sharp intellect.

Gawd!

Over the years, I’ve been something of a mentor for Jackie. Someone she could call whenever, for whatever. Perhaps, in some sense, I was the only one she could trust implicitly. Under other conditions, I think I would’ve fallen under Jackie’s spell, but eventually I would push her out, encourage her to develop her own network, explore, and create her own world. Yes there was a mutual attraction, but I knew that crossing that boundary with Jackie ("I'm not your client anymore!" she would say in exaspration), would've done more harm than good. The sexual tension between us has never been a secret; it has been grist for the mill in our work together. In learning to relate to me in new ways, she was able to extend that to other areas of her life.

I was taken completely by surprise when she requested that I give her away. She told me she really had no one else, at least no one that mattered that way, and that in a sense, I earned that right because I helped usher her into this new world. I resisted– hard. I just didn’t think it appropriate and suggested that her uncle would be a more suitable choice. Then one day I got a phone call from her husband-to-be and we had a conversation that just opened my eyes. I finally agreed and Jackie was beside herself.

She looked absolutely transcendent yesterday. She was beyond beautiful and I was so proud of her -- of the woman she had become. I try to explain to all my clients that I don't do anything and this is true. I’m not trying to be modest. “I” don’t do The Work “It” does the work – sometimes through me, or in spite of me. The Work takes place outside of my ego identity. My job is to be part of the process, or facilitate that process, and to take credit for something like that is like taking credit for the rain or the sunshine: it just doesn’t make sense. Nevertheless, yesterday, both Jackie and her husband managed to embarrass me totally by doing some kind of testimonial on me. They actually made me cry.

F*@k!

In a way, this all came at just the right time. I’ve been on the front lines for so long -- I’ve grown tired. I want to step away from actually running groups and do more of the academic side of informing how groups should be run. I would rather be training trainers because I think I would have more of an impact that way. That’s why this upcoming series of workshops in the women’s prison is key for me. You get tired doing this work, sometimes. Moreover, I look at the system, a criminal justice system that’s racist and unequal, for example, and I wonder if I’m making a dent in all this crap. And I’ve come to the realization that, while I am making a difference in some individual lives, the system is still fucked up and that’s where I need to focus my energies at this stage of my evolution. Yesterday Jackie came back into my life to remind me of why I’m here and that, in the end, it’s all about The Work.

Thanks Sweetie, may you know true happiness.

Love,

Eddie

Tags:

The Art of Freedom

http://wake-up.gaia.com — Fri, 11 Aug 2006 14:39:39 GMT

Hola Everybody!
It’s Friday, dammit! Now you have absolutely no reason to complain.

I keep forgetting to mention that everybody get up and go see Little Miss Sunshine. Don't let the title fool you, it's not a kiddie movie. It's actually, in my not so humble estimation, the Movie of the Year! Both Alan Arkin and Abigail Breslin, the young lady who portrays the title character, Olive , could easily win supporting actor Oscars! This is one of those movies "they don't make anymore," see it and be reminded of how story could actually transport/ transform/ transcend.

Finally, check out my friend/ tormentor/ former sex slave, Nina, and buy soap from her. I think she has a good idea going, so let's support those of us who dare to "dream during the day"!

***

“To get where you want to go you can't only do what you like.”
-- Peter Abrahams (1919– )
South African novelist, Tell Freedom, 1954

“The greatest enemy of individual freedom is the individual himself.”
-- Saul David Alinsky (1909–1972)
Social activist, created numerous activist citizen & community groups

Okay! So I’m standing in front a large group of incarcerated women. Half of them you can clearly see would rather be doing something else and my boss is in the process of introducing me. My director is an intelligent man. But like most intelligent people, he always feels a need to go off on tangents when speaking publicly. I’ve been trying to disabuse him of the notion that this is an attractive way to present a message. I’m glaring at him because I can see that the longer he talks, the harder it’s going to be for me.

I’ve been known to cut people off, so he stops, grins knowingly at me, and introduces me.

In the interest of adding some context to this moment let me relate a quick story. I was having dinner recently with some friends at my fave restaurant and as is our wont we were all kidding around and I was flirting with the new waitress. I am a notorious flirt, everybody knows this. I flirt with everyone, age, looks, sexual orientation doesn’t matter. If it moves, I flirt. Anyway, my friends and I are all cutting up and they ask the new waitress which one among our group would she trust the least. And immediately she looks at me! LOL!

“He’s too cute, he looks like a player,” she says! OMG!

You have to understand that between my two best friends and me I am a saint. My friends are predators, plain and simple. I don’t even like introducing them to any female platonic friends because these are the type of men and that give other men a bad name.

As you can see, I’m far from a neutral presence. For some reason that escapes me, my presence elicits extreme responses. I don’t what it is; maybe it’s my habit of making eye contact (which sometimes is construed as a provocation), my stance, my posture, or my looks (or lack thereof) – whatever.

So there I am in front of a sizable number of bored women in a hot, stale-smelling gym. Welcome to my world! LOL!

Nevertheless, I attempt to work my magic little by little. I use key words at the right times, engage the participants, make one of them come up by my side while I illustrate a point with her assistance. I apply humor at those moments when some energy is needed and when I have them sufficiently riled up, I give them the juice! I pour the passion, I undress myself (no, not my clothes, perverts!) psychologically and I give them my message which is essentially a message of hope.

I describe to them in as little detail as possible, how they can break out of their mental prisons and I recruit two more women to go through a little experiential exercise. By now, I’m in “flow” mode – I’ve become more translucent and the light is shining through me and it’s shining bright. What I mean by this is that it’s no longer “Eddie” up there, doing something. iBu now it’s all a process and people are laughing, crying, understanding until 45 minutes later we’re finished, or started, depending on how you look at things.

Whatever your situation is at this moment, I can think of only one thing worse than being locked up. I don’t give a fuck what you’re going through, you’re fuckin’ free, dammit. At the very least, you're free in the legal/ physical sense. What I’m offering here is freedom from their mental prisons and that’s the only thing worse than being locked up in prison. You see, you can be restrained physically, but you have to allow another to lock up your mind.

People tell me all the time that this idea of mine, of teaching people who are incarcerated the art of freedom, is not an attractive offer. “These people want jobs, housing, or training, Eddie,” they say.

I disagree.

Teach someone to be free and that person will be free no matter where she finds herself. And that is the message I try to embody – freedom. It is what I am passionate about, what I sell. By the end of the session, I come to the realization that I am drenched in sweat. I’m wearing a suit and tie. During the question and answer period a lovely young lady, she can’t be more than seventeen, asks about the streaks in my hair and I make everyone laugh by saying I fell asleep while on vacation and someone streaked my hair. It’s a special moment because her question was really an attempt to connect on another level. It was more like, is he one of us type of thing. We laugh and I tell them it’s part of a mid-life crisis, LOL!

As a way of closure to the session, I ask everyone if they’re willing to go through the series of workshops with me. "Who wants to be free!" I ask. And, of course, everyone raises their hands, even the one young lady who gave me the hardest time. I warn them that I’m going to challenge them in ways they never knew and everybody’s like, "Yeah, come one with it!" Inwardly I sigh because these women are going to make me work and work hard. They're hungry for freedom and they feel it on many levels. To many there, I can imagine freedom is like a cool drink of water in the middle of a desert.

What about you – are you truly free?

Love,

Eddie

***

Painting by Dr. Sabin-Corneliu Buraga

Tags:

"The Trust You Once Owned... "

http://wake-up.gaia.com — Tue, 08 Aug 2006 14:20:06 GMT

[Nows, no. 14]

The trust you once owned
seeped out of a bullet-hole
in your pretty back
and once gunned down
is enough for anyone.

Your first bloody death was funny
but your second would be foolish.
So a hardened gunfighter
lives within you.

You sit only with your
back to the wall
and face the open door
when you love.

A hand rides
above your well-oiled holster,
resting low on your hip,
and you wait only for
another stranger
to ride into your lonely town.

Tags: Fear, Love, Poetry, Trust

Eros and Its Discontents: The Suppression and Denial of Sex

http://wake-up.gaia.com — Fri, 14 Jul 2006 19:11:29 GMT

Hola Everybody!
Hey! It's summer and I'm blathering away on sex -- everything is well! Looks like we're gonna have a scorcher of a weekend here in "The Center of the Known Universe,” so have fun guys and girls!

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Eros and Its Discontents: The Suppression and Denial of Sex

“Repression is not morality.”

We come into this world as erotic and sensual beings focused on our senses, at one with our bodies, filled with a life energy that we do not suspect, do not fear, and not even separate enough from to conceptualize. Before we are taught to divide ourselves and our world into mind and body, order and chaos, good and evil, proper and improper, normal and perverted, male and female, we simply are what we are, and this includes the simple, irrefutable fact that we are erotic creatures. Children of all ages (as I will show in a future post) are erotic, sensual, sexual beings. Shit, we are sexual even the womb: male fetuses can be seen having erections regularly.

However, as soon as we are born, our basic natural erotic feelings come into conflict with the morals of the people who are closest to us. Almost from the beginning, we receive signals, some subtle and others not so subtle, that being erotic is not a “good” thing. By the time we have become socialized, much of our original, erotic feeling has been thoroughly condemned, judged, punished, twisted, and turned against itself. Because this conditioning process begins so early in our lives, we never truly have the opportunity to discover who we really are as erotic beings, to name clearly what we want, what we feel in the erotic/ sexual realm, let alone to learn how to develop our desires into a rich and satisfying erotic/ sexual existence.

As some social commentators have noted, when it comes to sex, “we live in fear of being known. We know we are ugly before we have even seen ourselves.” Before we understand who we are as individual erotic/ sexual beings, before our erotic identities has had a chance to form, before we have any awareness of our self in these matters, we already have a vivid understanding that there is something fundamentally wrong with us because of how or when or toward whom we feel erotically charged. In other words, we are conditioned to accept the notion that there is something fundamentally wrong with us when we feel sexual without censoring our desire.

Our basic erotic nature runs right smack into the wall of our culture’s fear of the erotic, but we really don’t understand this. Instead, we feel that there is something terribly wrong with us. We might understand that we must make a choice between what we feel in our bodies and what everyone else around us is telling us what we should feel. Somewhere along this path we are forced to split into contradictory beings – Freud call it id and superego, but call it what you want – body and mind, primitive and civilized, etc. The point is in order to gain approval of those around us, we have to reject our primal erotic nature and, as we repress these desires –in the process pushing them into the shadows where they gain more power over us – we lose the ability to honor, or even be aware of, the erotic within us.

These are the dynamics of the suppression and denial of Eros. In a culture such as ours, neurotically suspicious of erotic feeling and power, it becomes crucial for us to understand how this suppression occurs so that we can begin to reclaim the erotic vitality that we have lost sight of.

Fortunately for us, our erotic essence doesn’t die easily, even if it is strangled in early infancy. In fact, the erotic impulse cannot be eradicated at all – it is too much a part of us for that. However, it can be stunted, twisted, and contorted so that it becomes limited to expressing itself in ways that are mundane, repetitious, painful, and unsatisfying. It can be twisted so beyond recognition that it can even become dangerous to others and ourselves.

What most of us struggle with, as we attempt to reconnect to our erotic natures, is this war between our basic erotic feelings and the various forces of repression at work in our lives. The psychological, religious, social, and political forces that attempt to suppress those feelings bring us face to face with what one social thinker calls the “great chasm of shame” that stands between our essential eroticism and a “world that despises both its animal and angel natures.”

There are questions begging to be asked: what are these suppressive forces? Where do they come from? How do they affect our daily lives, our culture, the psychodynamics of our emotional development (and by extension our relationships), and the workings underpinning our notions of law and government?

In my own explorations, I have attempted to peer behind the curtain of the primary forces that act as the suppr4ssion and distortion of erotic feelings and desire. One attains a more enlightened perspective when you trace the historical process by which Christianity shifted, in the four hundred years after Christ, from its essentially sex-affirming roots to the violently anti-erotic crusade that continues to this day. Perhaps we can discover how a culturally ingrained fear of the erotic works psychologically – how we are tight sex is bad, conditioned to negate and fear our desires, taught to fear others whose erotic and sexual expressions differ from ours.

We have to look, with eyes wired open, how these forces undermine women in particular, encouraging them to repress sexual feeling in order become asexual good girls. And ladies, believe me, this last point is crucial. Men don’t want to fuck good girls, so what happens when we stray, expressing our sexuality with bad women? There is this cultural illusion that sexual desire is a uniquely male phenomenon. Something that girls and women can only respond to, but do not initiate or even experience on their own.

What are the political consequences of erotic suppression? In particular, we need to uncover the ways that fundamentalists and right wing conservatives tap into this fear about sexual expression, as well as the fears generated by the shift in sex and sex-role mores that began in the 60s and 70s.

I may not be able to share all of the above because that would entail a whole book of essays, but I certainly feel motivated to uncover the underpinnings of the religious movement to suppress Eros because it impacts our lives so profoundly. But that’s for next week!

Smooches,

Eddie

Tags: Religion, Sex, Repression, Erotica