Venus in silhouette

big fish

the little fish knows it

Driving

Driving to a country bakery (as I often do), sun shining warm, bright, and beautiful upon newly green fields and roadside grasses, the air smelling of earthworms and freshly cut wood, I was suddenly struck by a familiar longing for her presence beside me in the car. This time it was of such force and quality I was brought to the verge of tears.

In the spring new life blooms and winged lovers tumble to earth, wrapped in feathered embraces.  Emerald green shoots force themselves up through mucky roadside marshes, somehow spotlessly reaching for golden light.  Clouds tower to unfathomable heights, impossible complexities of shadow and luminance, shaming kingdoms and gods in their majesty.

window

When I was a little boy I remember passing by other cars on the highway as my father drove us to Sunday school, the beach, or to visit grandparents.  I would look at the passengers as we pulled beside them.  It was a way to pass the time before the existence of handheld video games or mobile phones.  Once, as my eyes scanned the occupants of a car, I saw a little girl looking back at me, perhaps doing the same thing.  As we gazed at each other I suddenly felt an inexpressible bond form between us.  I sat up to see her better, and she did the same.  The cars moved away and then she was gone.

I never knew if she felt the bond I felt.  I liked to imagine she did.  There was no promise there.  There was no formal commitment or goal.  There was only a moment of contact.  That single moment in time felt like it meant everything.  There was an immanence there, an appearance of something on the plane of our gaze.

I've had the feeling since, not in passing cars, but a gaze shared beneath the blue sky and waving green grass.  I know what that feeling is now and can name it as love.  Did you know you don't get to choose the occupants of the cars you pass?

Begin here

Cole

there are no promises in this life
not even life itself
Cole was 11 months old when
he died of leukemia
how many prayerful nights his
parents sat watching his
tiny form
happy child brought down into
the grave
newly born dead before the
end of your first year

Once upon a mistake

There once was a father who hurt his little girl.  They lived in a house of screams.  I took that little girl and drove out where the sun sets, where the mountains point to higher things.  But the valleys were lower there, and the slopes too steep to climb.  We smashed ourselves to pieces along the precipices, the highway of "higher things."

That was my first mistake

I took that little girl back to her father and sat while he paced the kitchen floor.  He sneered and laughed at our failure, sunken eyes piercing a quiet daughter.  Chin thrust out he grabbed her arm and shook her like a rag.  Rising to my feet with fury in my throat and hands, I seized this man and threw him from his own house.

That was my second mistake  

There once was a mother who sat quietly while a father hurt her little girl.  She lived in a house of screams.  I left that mother sitting at a kitchen table while her husband lay sprawled outside the door.  I drove away without looking back or thinking about tomorrow, having done with "higher things."

That was my third mistake

falling

i've had dreams of climbing some impossible edifice and peering over the edge when i reach the top.

for one scrambling moment i lose my footing and fall, sensing with my whole being that what has happened is irrevocable and i'm about to die.

i awake with my heart pounding.  how real it seemed.  how real it all felt.

North

Wish you were... 

allusions

there is always hope because
there is always love

an eagle casts a desperate eye
no less fierce in its desperation

when a child of poverty waits for
Christmas morning

a person remains seated to enjoy a bite to eat
after being stood-up by a date

when a fighter demonstrates her unconquerable spirit by
sincerely congratulating her winning opponent

the most brilliant sun cannot turn away
a longing eye

solitude is the mother of verse

Ray

To Ray
Two years ago today
Memories replay
While bodies pass away
All subject to decay
Yet in my heart you stay
That's all there is to say

It does not wither

   "It's passing," I hear her say. "It's going by too quickly.  I've just started to really live." I look out the window at an ice covered field.  A yellow ladder leans against an old building. Beneath it blades of grass stick up through the snow, dark green against dazzling white.  I wait for her to continue.  I've got as long as she needs.
   "Most of my life I've lived how other people want me to live.  I went to the right church, married the right guy, raised my kids the right way.. I believed it.  It was just how things were supposed to be.  I even judged others who didn't live like that."
   When I turn from the window she's shaking.  She's still wearing my shirt, unbuttoned, her breasts pale against the light blue fabric.  I wonder if she'll always reassess her life like this after our time together.  It doesn't really matter I decide.  She's right.  It's passing.  It's all passing.
   I return my gaze to the grass beneath the ladder.  It's so green.

Thoughts at noon on free speech

After recently reading a number of classical dialogues it seems to me we need to develop a more sensitive approach to hate speech, or even controversial opinions. Practically speaking this means not banning hate speech altogether but rather moderating the venue through which it is heard. Some moderation is needed because hate speech can incite violence, but it seems to me this effect depends not so much on the content of the speech, but on the context in which it is heard. For example (an extreme one), I have no doubt that a dark-skinned person who happens to wander into a neo-Nazi rally being held in the backwoods of some place should fear for his or her well-being if not life. Yet the same racist ideology presented in the form of a dialogue, with the opportunity for opposing views to be heard, rather than inciting violence, would no doubt come off looking quite absurd. By handling hate speech in a way that shuts down dialogue and makes such speech illegal even, I'm afraid we force the ideas that inform it underground.

In some ways this may seem naïve. Do I really have so much faith in the power of reasoned dialogue, or in the public use of reason? Does a broader exposure of the public to hate speech not disseminate the very ideas we'd like to disempower? Does the kind of dialogue I'm speaking of not exclude those who have not inherited or practice a kind of academic skepticism, that is a particular kind of European intellectual dialogue?

First of all, yes I do have faith in the power of reasoned dialogue and people's ability to decide which views resonate with goodness, happiness, and justice. We won't always agree on the particulars, but that's why it's important to have these conversations, if only to make one another aware that we are operating under different definitions of goodness, etc. I once heard this kind of discussion referred to as "agonistic" (as opposed to antagonistic), the idea being that sometimes entering into dialogue with others is a painful experience, but one that despite the pain can potentially lead to shared perspectives, a greater appreciation for the other, and further development of our ideas.

Secondly, allowing hate speech (or even controversial ideas) on the public stage certainly exposes more people to the reasoning and thought processes of those who espouse it. I'm not sure we should assume this exposure automatically leads to more disciples however. It seems to me it is precisely these underground expressions of hate speech that create the most followers, while public expressions in the form of a dialogue might help expose potential candidates for discipleship to opposing views and/or destabilize those who already hold such views. A dialogue isn't a monologue. Important thing to keep in mind.

Thirdly, there may be some merit in critiquing this model of dialogue. One can imagine a situation in which a highly polished hate speech orator, skilled in rhetoric and debate, shares the stage with a poor farmer from the outskirts of Conakry. The very form the dialogue takes in a way sets the farmer up, if not for failure, than perhaps embarrassment (which may be the same under Western terms of debate). And yet, dialogue has been used to settle disputes, share ideas, and come to general agreement over matters, for thousands of years. A more inclusive model of dialogue is required. This calls for experimentation and patience. In Canada (and no doubt other places) Indigenous People's models are already being actualized in the service of communal healing and cross-cultural sharing. The success of these models on a larger stage will be proved by their use, i.e. -actually engaging- in alternative forms of dialogue.

Evelyn Beatrice Hall once summed up Voltaire regarding free speech: "I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it." What if we qualify this by adding that the "right to say it" extends especially into the public realm of dialogue where what is said might have the greatest impact on the well-being of those it is said about, and where the opportunity to hear other voices is made that much more vital to the enterprise of living in a community where ideas can, and do, shape the world.

Virgil translation

Ibant obscure sola sub nocte per umbras, Perque domos Ditis vacuas et inania regna. -Virgil

On they faintly went beneath the lonely night, amid shadows, through Death's empty dwelling and hollow realm.

Amanita muscaria

Photo: www.earnestlyseekingthereal.blogspot.ca

Amanita muscaria.  Hamilton, ON (Click on image for larger picture).