excerpts from RACEUNITY@ (see Aug 31, 2010)
9-18-99 response
I can't count the times I have had a conversation with whites who wonder if I don't go overboard "just a little" they say nicely. I promise you, I try extremely hard to be diplomatic, loving, patient and humble but I can't hide my profound investment in making a difference on the race issue. My primary goal (1) learn the reality as much as possible for a white from my darker skinned brothers and sisters, (2) open the eyes and hearts of "melanin challenged" individuals who look like me to this reality, (3) build bridges of friendship and sharing of actively making the burden of prejudice and racism diminish.
It is not acceptable to me to just hope it will all improve with time and being nice. If we all tried that on cancer or pheumonia we would soon die. Thank God we have a physician who is willing to stand in the same room with a sick person and challenge the disease.....
When Nat Rutstein describes racism as a disease I think he has two motives. One is to acknowledge the wounded (internalized racism) and the wounder (unaware racism). Secondly, very few people attack a sick person but try to help in some way. If everyone is trying to help the wounded and the wounder there is no attack. An attack immediately calls forth a defensive counter-attack. Rutstein's goal is ally building, not inducing shame or defensiveness. So is mine.
There is the component of power, inferiority and superiority complexes and scapegoating in the issue.
I wholeheartedly agree that there are a lot of wonderful people doing a lot, humbly and lowly, and never noticed. Unity in diversity is, after all, IMHO, the only way to go. Not just in looks, but in style, personality, ways to do your thing, etc.
Unfortunately, because I have such an intense desire to see things change, it is misconstrued as if I am saying "You are not doing enough", which is not my intention. People talk about the things that interest them. I am interested in what others are interested in and hope that they will respect what I am interested in.
Love in the struggle,
Anne
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Saturday, November 27, 2010
SOJOURNER TRUTH
excerpt from A SALUTE TO HISTORIC BLACK WOMEN, Vol. 1, Empak "Black History" Publication Series
"Sojourner Truth, born Isabella Baumfree in 1797, was a pilgrim of freedom and a fervent women's rights activist. She thundered against slavery from countless platforms. For nearly 40 years, she traveled across the country lecturing on the two major issues of the time: abolition and the rights of the "lesser sex". She was born in slavery...near Kingston, New York....Of how she came to be called Sojourner Truth she said, "I asked the Lord to give me a new name and He gave me Sojourner because I was to travel up and down the land showing the people sins and being a sign unto them. Afterwards, I told the Lord I wanted another name cause everybody else had two names; and He gave me Truth because I was to declare the truth unto the People"....the New York State Emancipation Act freed her in 1828...
"Sojourner was indeed a legend in her time. Her work was not confined to anti-slavery and women's rights alone, but embraced all human rights that were being encroached upon or denied....The highlight of her life was when she was received by President Lincoln at the White House. She was well into her seventies before she retired."
"Sojourner Truth, born Isabella Baumfree in 1797, was a pilgrim of freedom and a fervent women's rights activist. She thundered against slavery from countless platforms. For nearly 40 years, she traveled across the country lecturing on the two major issues of the time: abolition and the rights of the "lesser sex". She was born in slavery...near Kingston, New York....Of how she came to be called Sojourner Truth she said, "I asked the Lord to give me a new name and He gave me Sojourner because I was to travel up and down the land showing the people sins and being a sign unto them. Afterwards, I told the Lord I wanted another name cause everybody else had two names; and He gave me Truth because I was to declare the truth unto the People"....the New York State Emancipation Act freed her in 1828...
"Sojourner was indeed a legend in her time. Her work was not confined to anti-slavery and women's rights alone, but embraced all human rights that were being encroached upon or denied....The highlight of her life was when she was received by President Lincoln at the White House. She was well into her seventies before she retired."
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
A SMALL BOY'S HAPPINESS
excerpt from A CHEROKEE FEAST OF DAYS, Daily Meditations, by Joyce Sequichie Hifler
Dedicated to Nancy and Jesse
Take away the plastic, the film, the artificial and give a small boy a stick to dig in the dirt, to whack the water at the pond's edge - and you have given him happiness. Show him deer tracks and the handprints of a raccoon, and you give him curiousity. Boost him up to the lowest limb of a tree and he can take the next one with vision. Show a small boy something other than cartoons, sing him songs that are not commercials, teach him gentleness with small animals and other children, and you have given him a life laced with love and kindness. The best part of sharing an hour with an exhuberant little boy is that he gives back so much, shining eyes, imagination, questions without end, and laughter at nothing and everything. It is an hour well spent and will be remembered. Hopefully, in later years, he will recall that it was spent with Grandma.
Dedicated to Nancy and Jesse
Take away the plastic, the film, the artificial and give a small boy a stick to dig in the dirt, to whack the water at the pond's edge - and you have given him happiness. Show him deer tracks and the handprints of a raccoon, and you give him curiousity. Boost him up to the lowest limb of a tree and he can take the next one with vision. Show a small boy something other than cartoons, sing him songs that are not commercials, teach him gentleness with small animals and other children, and you have given him a life laced with love and kindness. The best part of sharing an hour with an exhuberant little boy is that he gives back so much, shining eyes, imagination, questions without end, and laughter at nothing and everything. It is an hour well spent and will be remembered. Hopefully, in later years, he will recall that it was spent with Grandma.
Monday, November 22, 2010
I MUST OVERCOME - Part 4 - 1950s
excerpt from COLORS OF MY WORLD (see Aug 31, 2010)
Church - The church I grew up in was built in 1755 by my great,great,great Grandfather and his neighbors. It had a balcony in the back that was for the slaves. As I grew up that balcony was always empty and closed up. It has been said that Sunday mornings were the most segregated hours of the week in America. Can't believe Christ would be happy with that.
My faith was vital to my inner self and reflected in my poetry as well:
IN THE GARDEN
On the rock He knelt
His robes in folds of grace,
His hands, the cold rock felt
With despair, unwillingness.
A mask of thought, His face,
Which showed a problem great,
But trust and faith erased
The painful, awful weight.
Uplifted and exalted now
The weight no longer there,
Shining eyes and serene brow
Place peace on His face so fair.
On His feet and straight ahead
To the kiss that would betray,
He marched with lifted head
To bring the light our way. (A. Hunter 1955)
I volunteered to help teach a children's Bible class in the home of a black family on a back road several miles from our church. The home was small and crowded with the pot-bellied stove in the center of the living room. The children were quiet and curious. It jolted me when the children colored thier handouts of Chris with a black face.. I knew there was only one Chris and had assumed he was white.
Church - The church I grew up in was built in 1755 by my great,great,great Grandfather and his neighbors. It had a balcony in the back that was for the slaves. As I grew up that balcony was always empty and closed up. It has been said that Sunday mornings were the most segregated hours of the week in America. Can't believe Christ would be happy with that.
My faith was vital to my inner self and reflected in my poetry as well:
IN THE GARDEN
On the rock He knelt
His robes in folds of grace,
His hands, the cold rock felt
With despair, unwillingness.
A mask of thought, His face,
Which showed a problem great,
But trust and faith erased
The painful, awful weight.
Uplifted and exalted now
The weight no longer there,
Shining eyes and serene brow
Place peace on His face so fair.
On His feet and straight ahead
To the kiss that would betray,
He marched with lifted head
To bring the light our way. (A. Hunter 1955)
I volunteered to help teach a children's Bible class in the home of a black family on a back road several miles from our church. The home was small and crowded with the pot-bellied stove in the center of the living room. The children were quiet and curious. It jolted me when the children colored thier handouts of Chris with a black face.. I knew there was only one Chris and had assumed he was white.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
I MUST OVERCOME -Part 3 - 1950s
excerpt from COLORS OF MY WORLD (see Aug 31, 2010)
College - Nestled on the top of a North Carolina mountain, in buildings of natural stone and huge log beams, my freshman year at college was spent in an all-white, Protestant church sponsored, private junior college.
Football games, a crush on the star of the basketball team, cramming for exams, I felt as though I was getting acquainted with myself for the very first time. Who was I when not around my family? Could I be brave and friendly and popular instead of awkward, shy and studious? The future seemed challenging in a shiny, glow of hopes and dreams. Fantasies of loves and losses filled my thoughts as I tried to find expression in writing poetry:
FORGOTTEN?
I had forgotten your close-cropped russet hair,
Until a wren, brown, nested in our maple tree.
Forgotten was the ocean depth in your blue eyes
'Til a friend sent a shell from the sea.
Gone was the memory of your gentle touch
Until the wind blew a leaf against my cheek.
Lost was the vision of your straight, tall form
'Til I saw a slender pine last week.
Gone, I hoped, was the pain of losing you,
And knowing you would love someone but not I,
Until I limp and cold, was kissed by another
And, looking up, saw the pain of loss in his eye. (A.Hunter 1955)
June (a college dorm buddy) and I spent hours in my dorm room talking and wondering. We were souls on a quest. Segregation and integration? Colored and white? Separate but equal? Civil rights? What did it all mean? No one else at the "campus in the clouds" seemed to know or care. I did not know much but I cared a lot! In 1955 it was the lull before the storm. What would it be like to sit in a classroom with a dark-skinned person? Would they be vocal or quiet? Would we eat together? Would we be in the same dorms? I did not even ask myself the question "What if one of them asked me for a date?"
I wondered in my poetry:
HOLD MY HAND
His round, dark eyes
Were raised to mine.
His ebony forehead creased.
His childish hands
Were clasped in pain
As his life slowly ceased.
His burr black hair
Was a maroon now
From the gash in his head,
Again his eyes
Were raised to mine
In horrified dread.
He spoke to me,
In his soft child's voice
"Suh, hold my hand,
Is I go'n die?
My head hurts so,
Suh, hold my hand.
"Suh, I'se afraid,
It's gettin' dark
An I don' wanna die."
His wide, brown eyes
Were glazed with pain
And he began to cry.
"Suh, hold my hand.
I'm gettin' cold...
My hand," he said to me.
His hand then dropped.
His brown eyes closed
Never again to see.
I saw him there
Lying so still
His childish mouth now quiet.
Me, hold his hand?
Comfort his need?
Never, I am white. (A. Hunter 1955)
Do we only wonder and question when we are young? Can we become active in our later years or are we too scared of disturbing the status quo? Are we too aware and intimidated by the very real possibility of losing friends or family members if we take a stand or express a viewpoint that is uncomfortable? When do we put on our "cloak of maturity" and pretend we know how life works and should be and it is not by "disturbing the peace". That peace that comes from not having to dare or struggle or think in depth about the possibility that we may not know everything or that we may not really be the noble, courageous stuff of heroes or heroines.
College - Nestled on the top of a North Carolina mountain, in buildings of natural stone and huge log beams, my freshman year at college was spent in an all-white, Protestant church sponsored, private junior college.
Football games, a crush on the star of the basketball team, cramming for exams, I felt as though I was getting acquainted with myself for the very first time. Who was I when not around my family? Could I be brave and friendly and popular instead of awkward, shy and studious? The future seemed challenging in a shiny, glow of hopes and dreams. Fantasies of loves and losses filled my thoughts as I tried to find expression in writing poetry:
FORGOTTEN?
I had forgotten your close-cropped russet hair,
Until a wren, brown, nested in our maple tree.
Forgotten was the ocean depth in your blue eyes
'Til a friend sent a shell from the sea.
Gone was the memory of your gentle touch
Until the wind blew a leaf against my cheek.
Lost was the vision of your straight, tall form
'Til I saw a slender pine last week.
Gone, I hoped, was the pain of losing you,
And knowing you would love someone but not I,
Until I limp and cold, was kissed by another
And, looking up, saw the pain of loss in his eye. (A.Hunter 1955)
June (a college dorm buddy) and I spent hours in my dorm room talking and wondering. We were souls on a quest. Segregation and integration? Colored and white? Separate but equal? Civil rights? What did it all mean? No one else at the "campus in the clouds" seemed to know or care. I did not know much but I cared a lot! In 1955 it was the lull before the storm. What would it be like to sit in a classroom with a dark-skinned person? Would they be vocal or quiet? Would we eat together? Would we be in the same dorms? I did not even ask myself the question "What if one of them asked me for a date?"
I wondered in my poetry:
HOLD MY HAND
His round, dark eyes
Were raised to mine.
His ebony forehead creased.
His childish hands
Were clasped in pain
As his life slowly ceased.
His burr black hair
Was a maroon now
From the gash in his head,
Again his eyes
Were raised to mine
In horrified dread.
He spoke to me,
In his soft child's voice
"Suh, hold my hand,
Is I go'n die?
My head hurts so,
Suh, hold my hand.
"Suh, I'se afraid,
It's gettin' dark
An I don' wanna die."
His wide, brown eyes
Were glazed with pain
And he began to cry.
"Suh, hold my hand.
I'm gettin' cold...
My hand," he said to me.
His hand then dropped.
His brown eyes closed
Never again to see.
I saw him there
Lying so still
His childish mouth now quiet.
Me, hold his hand?
Comfort his need?
Never, I am white. (A. Hunter 1955)
Do we only wonder and question when we are young? Can we become active in our later years or are we too scared of disturbing the status quo? Are we too aware and intimidated by the very real possibility of losing friends or family members if we take a stand or express a viewpoint that is uncomfortable? When do we put on our "cloak of maturity" and pretend we know how life works and should be and it is not by "disturbing the peace". That peace that comes from not having to dare or struggle or think in depth about the possibility that we may not know everything or that we may not really be the noble, courageous stuff of heroes or heroines.
Friday, November 19, 2010
I MUST OVERCOME - Part 2 - 1950s
excerpt from COLORS OF MY WORLD, (see Aug 31, 2010)
Home - Daddy was a policeman. He came home many times complaining about the drinking and rowdy behavior of the "niggers" he had to deal with daily, I always connected the misbehavior or roughness with alcohol, not skin color. Yet when he had a chore to do around the house and a dark-skinned person helped him he gave him a bottle of liquor instead of money as payment. Adults do not make any sense!
Africa! It looked so beautiful in the National Geographic - such rich colors, such vibrant hues! I wanted to go there. The only way I had ever heard of anyone being allowed to go there was as a missionary. I wanted to be a missionary. It seemed useless in America to be effective in helping relieve what seemed to be pain, hunger, and mistreatment. My father shouted - then cried. No! He seemed afraid for me. I ran from the room crying. He came to me and knelt beside my bed saying I could do anything I wanted to, just don't cry. I wondered if there was a Tarzan really in Africa? Was he the only one who spoke English? Was there a leader with dark skin? Did any of the dark skinned people wear anything but that wrap around their hips? Maybe I could help there. How shallow was my understanding of my own ignorance.
Yet I was silent.
Home - Daddy was a policeman. He came home many times complaining about the drinking and rowdy behavior of the "niggers" he had to deal with daily, I always connected the misbehavior or roughness with alcohol, not skin color. Yet when he had a chore to do around the house and a dark-skinned person helped him he gave him a bottle of liquor instead of money as payment. Adults do not make any sense!
Africa! It looked so beautiful in the National Geographic - such rich colors, such vibrant hues! I wanted to go there. The only way I had ever heard of anyone being allowed to go there was as a missionary. I wanted to be a missionary. It seemed useless in America to be effective in helping relieve what seemed to be pain, hunger, and mistreatment. My father shouted - then cried. No! He seemed afraid for me. I ran from the room crying. He came to me and knelt beside my bed saying I could do anything I wanted to, just don't cry. I wondered if there was a Tarzan really in Africa? Was he the only one who spoke English? Was there a leader with dark skin? Did any of the dark skinned people wear anything but that wrap around their hips? Maybe I could help there. How shallow was my understanding of my own ignorance.
Yet I was silent.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
I MUST OVERCOME - Part 1 - 1950s
excerpt from COLORS OF MY WORLD (see Aug 31, 2010)
High school - Oh how my heart ached as I read of the child weeping as he was snatched from his mother and put on the auction block! What madness is this? I could feel his terror and grief. Who would soothe his bruised face, kiss his tears away and sing him to sleep? History classes taught me the brutality of man. My history teacher liked my notebook of poetry and the drawings of the sad, little dark boy with the tear on his cheeek. She did not have many answers to my questions though.
The rest of the class seemed to focus on the slogan "the South shall rise again" and talked of getting even with the Yankees who had messed up their way of life. The confederate flag was held up with pride in some meetings. I was relieved to study that "we" had lost the civil war. I began to hate my "southernness".
One day when we drove from our modern brick school with the fancy gym and industrial arts building, past the white frame one room school house of the Negro community I stared in disbelief at the smallness of the building, yet I knew it held all the grades. I wondered if the school was crowded, did they have fun? Did we use the same books? Did they ride a bus to school? Or did they all live close enough to walk from the little houses crowded behind the school on the unpaved road?
High school - Oh how my heart ached as I read of the child weeping as he was snatched from his mother and put on the auction block! What madness is this? I could feel his terror and grief. Who would soothe his bruised face, kiss his tears away and sing him to sleep? History classes taught me the brutality of man. My history teacher liked my notebook of poetry and the drawings of the sad, little dark boy with the tear on his cheeek. She did not have many answers to my questions though.
The rest of the class seemed to focus on the slogan "the South shall rise again" and talked of getting even with the Yankees who had messed up their way of life. The confederate flag was held up with pride in some meetings. I was relieved to study that "we" had lost the civil war. I began to hate my "southernness".
One day when we drove from our modern brick school with the fancy gym and industrial arts building, past the white frame one room school house of the Negro community I stared in disbelief at the smallness of the building, yet I knew it held all the grades. I wondered if the school was crowded, did they have fun? Did we use the same books? Did they ride a bus to school? Or did they all live close enough to walk from the little houses crowded behind the school on the unpaved road?
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
AWARENESS OF MY MORTALITY
excerpt from CHEROKEE DIARY(see Aug 31, 2010)
After a serious health crisis in 2003 with a prognosis of potentially a short life span I was totally jolted into an awareness of my mortality and that the rest of my life needed to be taken very seriously. There were things I wanted to do and learn and explore. Time to see what and who I was all about. I sat in my livingroom.... I have always drawn and pulled a pad in front of me and drew what I could see of myself, my lap, my knees, my cup of coffee and then asked myself "what do you really want to see in front of you?" I immediately drew a mountain scene with a river flowing in front of it and birds, butterflies and squirrels jumping around. HMMMM?
I planned a vacation to the mountains of North Carolina to visit the Cherokee Reservation. There was a vague pull to it in the back of my mind, not a full blown plan for the future.
When I arrived on the reservation in the summer of 2003 I stopped at the Bureau of Indian Affairs and asked about living on the reservation. She asked me if I was Cherokee, I said "not enough to enroll but very much a part of me". She said I could rent not own and sent me to another lady who sent me to a man who could possibly help....He very graciously invited me to sit in his office and tell him what I wanted. He asked pertinent questions of my income etc and then said "yes, would you like to see an open apartment?" This was within the first half hour of coming on to the reservation! He took me to an apartment, showed me the balcony. I saw what was in my drawing! A mountain scene with a river with birds, butterflies and squirrels right outside the window....A feeling of coming home settled inside....The next spring I retired and moved to Cherokee.
After a serious health crisis in 2003 with a prognosis of potentially a short life span I was totally jolted into an awareness of my mortality and that the rest of my life needed to be taken very seriously. There were things I wanted to do and learn and explore. Time to see what and who I was all about. I sat in my livingroom.... I have always drawn and pulled a pad in front of me and drew what I could see of myself, my lap, my knees, my cup of coffee and then asked myself "what do you really want to see in front of you?" I immediately drew a mountain scene with a river flowing in front of it and birds, butterflies and squirrels jumping around. HMMMM?
I planned a vacation to the mountains of North Carolina to visit the Cherokee Reservation. There was a vague pull to it in the back of my mind, not a full blown plan for the future.
When I arrived on the reservation in the summer of 2003 I stopped at the Bureau of Indian Affairs and asked about living on the reservation. She asked me if I was Cherokee, I said "not enough to enroll but very much a part of me". She said I could rent not own and sent me to another lady who sent me to a man who could possibly help....He very graciously invited me to sit in his office and tell him what I wanted. He asked pertinent questions of my income etc and then said "yes, would you like to see an open apartment?" This was within the first half hour of coming on to the reservation! He took me to an apartment, showed me the balcony. I saw what was in my drawing! A mountain scene with a river with birds, butterflies and squirrels right outside the window....A feeling of coming home settled inside....The next spring I retired and moved to Cherokee.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
FIRST INKLINGS OF INDIAN
excerpt from CHEROKEE DIARY (see Aug 31, 2010)
In 1966 I dated a Lumbee Indian and when he saw a picture of my daddy he said he looked just like his uncle. He believed Daddy was part Indian.
At a powwow in 1993 as my daughters and I were walking around the different small craft booths, I saw two objects that startled me because I had seen something similar in my Daddy's tools and at my grandmother's house. The first was a set of handmade knives exactly like some that he used all the time. The second was a handmade chair like the chairs I saw at my grandmother's house on the front porch. I remarked to the girls about being surprised and intrigued by this.
I tried to attend as many powwows as I could and began reading as much as I could about Indians. I was drawn to the culture in a very internal way. Everything I read resonated with my memories of my daddy. Though he was a very tall man (6'5") and had black hair and black eyes his strength seemed to come from a centeredness within. He was quiet yet portrayed a commanding sureness of who he was. I felt very nurtured and protected by him in an unassuming way. He also had a goofy sense of humor. He had a strong sense of responsibility toward his family. He had a profound love of nature and animals.
One Sunday morning I was watching CBC Good Morning, a magazine type television program. On this program they had a segment on DNA testing, one of the types was for racial makeup. I sent for the test packet, sent if off and the results came back that I did indeed have Indian ancestry. I was so moved I cried.
In 1966 I dated a Lumbee Indian and when he saw a picture of my daddy he said he looked just like his uncle. He believed Daddy was part Indian.
At a powwow in 1993 as my daughters and I were walking around the different small craft booths, I saw two objects that startled me because I had seen something similar in my Daddy's tools and at my grandmother's house. The first was a set of handmade knives exactly like some that he used all the time. The second was a handmade chair like the chairs I saw at my grandmother's house on the front porch. I remarked to the girls about being surprised and intrigued by this.
I tried to attend as many powwows as I could and began reading as much as I could about Indians. I was drawn to the culture in a very internal way. Everything I read resonated with my memories of my daddy. Though he was a very tall man (6'5") and had black hair and black eyes his strength seemed to come from a centeredness within. He was quiet yet portrayed a commanding sureness of who he was. I felt very nurtured and protected by him in an unassuming way. He also had a goofy sense of humor. He had a strong sense of responsibility toward his family. He had a profound love of nature and animals.
One Sunday morning I was watching CBC Good Morning, a magazine type television program. On this program they had a segment on DNA testing, one of the types was for racial makeup. I sent for the test packet, sent if off and the results came back that I did indeed have Indian ancestry. I was so moved I cried.
Friday, November 12, 2010
BIRTH OF BAHA'U'LLAH
excerpt from CALL TO REMEMBRANCE, p. 5
"There was born child in ancient and noble family of Nur, ...That Child was Baha'u'llah. At the hour of dawn,...the world unaware of its significance, withnessed the birth of Him who was destined to confer upon it such incalculable blessings."
excerpt from Baha'u'llah, Gleanings from the Writings of Baha'u'llah, p. 320
"Hear Me, ye mortal birds! In the Rose Garden of changeless splendor a Flower hath begun to bloom, compared to which every other flower is but a thorn, and before the brightness of Whose glory the very essence of beauty must pale and wither. Arise, therefore, and, with the whole enthusiasm of your hearts, with all the eagerness of your souls, the full fervor of your will, and the concentrated efforts of your entire being, strive to attain the paradise of His presence, and endeavor to inhale the fragrance of the incorruptible Flower, to breathe the sweet savors of holiness, and to obtain a portion of this perfume of celestial glory. Whoso followeth this counsel will break his chains asunder, will taste the abandonment of enraptured love, will attain unto his heart's desire, and will surrender his soul into the hands of his Beloved. Bursting through his cage, he will, even as the bird of the spirit, wing his flight to his holy and everlasting nest....
Happy is he that turneth thereunto; well is it with him that hath attained, and gazed on the light of so wondrous a countenance."
(Baha'u'llah, Gleanings from the Writings of Baha'u'llah, p. 320)
"There was born child in ancient and noble family of Nur, ...That Child was Baha'u'llah. At the hour of dawn,...the world unaware of its significance, withnessed the birth of Him who was destined to confer upon it such incalculable blessings."
excerpt from Baha'u'llah, Gleanings from the Writings of Baha'u'llah, p. 320
"Hear Me, ye mortal birds! In the Rose Garden of changeless splendor a Flower hath begun to bloom, compared to which every other flower is but a thorn, and before the brightness of Whose glory the very essence of beauty must pale and wither. Arise, therefore, and, with the whole enthusiasm of your hearts, with all the eagerness of your souls, the full fervor of your will, and the concentrated efforts of your entire being, strive to attain the paradise of His presence, and endeavor to inhale the fragrance of the incorruptible Flower, to breathe the sweet savors of holiness, and to obtain a portion of this perfume of celestial glory. Whoso followeth this counsel will break his chains asunder, will taste the abandonment of enraptured love, will attain unto his heart's desire, and will surrender his soul into the hands of his Beloved. Bursting through his cage, he will, even as the bird of the spirit, wing his flight to his holy and everlasting nest....
Happy is he that turneth thereunto; well is it with him that hath attained, and gazed on the light of so wondrous a countenance."
(Baha'u'llah, Gleanings from the Writings of Baha'u'llah, p. 320)
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
WHO AM I?
written by dear friend, Johnny Henderson, June 8, 1982
It has been said that my history began in Africa,
Where I lived as a savage,
Wild, fierce, uncultivated,
Who am I?
Some said that I came to America by ships, in chains,
Because the people of America needed slaves.
I was chosen to be one, to work in their fields and to perform the operations of a slave,
Who am I?
Years later, God spoke to someone's heart and inspired them to do away with slavery,
They wanted to prove that everyone was equal,
Have they proven it?
Tell me! Who am I?
This involved my forefathers yet I still feel the effects of it in my life, I remember times when I couldn't sit beside you and eat, and if I rode the bus, I had to sit in the back, If I walked down the street and wanted to speak to you, you turned the other way.
Am I still a savage?
If not, then, Who am I?
I was born in America,
At present, I know nothing of slavery except what I've read,
I'm cultivated, educated, have a good job.
I live the same as all other Americans yet I don't feel that I'm
treated equal in every way.
When I pass you on the street, you still turn your head.
I can now sit anywhere I want on the bus but you don't seem to want
to sit beside me.
Would you please tell me, Who am I?
Things have changed, things are better,
Though they are, you still don't accept me as your equal.
Why? I don't understand!
God is the father of all.
He's your father and mine, so why are we not equal?
Inward we're the same, outward my hair is different, the color of my eyes, the color of my skin, and the shape of my nose, otherwise even outwardly we're the same.
Can you please, please, please tell me, who am I?
Maybe you can't!
Then, let me tell you who I am.
I'm God's child just like you, a human being, I'm your brother!
It has been said that my history began in Africa,
Where I lived as a savage,
Wild, fierce, uncultivated,
Who am I?
Some said that I came to America by ships, in chains,
Because the people of America needed slaves.
I was chosen to be one, to work in their fields and to perform the operations of a slave,
Who am I?
Years later, God spoke to someone's heart and inspired them to do away with slavery,
They wanted to prove that everyone was equal,
Have they proven it?
Tell me! Who am I?
This involved my forefathers yet I still feel the effects of it in my life, I remember times when I couldn't sit beside you and eat, and if I rode the bus, I had to sit in the back, If I walked down the street and wanted to speak to you, you turned the other way.
Am I still a savage?
If not, then, Who am I?
I was born in America,
At present, I know nothing of slavery except what I've read,
I'm cultivated, educated, have a good job.
I live the same as all other Americans yet I don't feel that I'm
treated equal in every way.
When I pass you on the street, you still turn your head.
I can now sit anywhere I want on the bus but you don't seem to want
to sit beside me.
Would you please tell me, Who am I?
Things have changed, things are better,
Though they are, you still don't accept me as your equal.
Why? I don't understand!
God is the father of all.
He's your father and mine, so why are we not equal?
Inward we're the same, outward my hair is different, the color of my eyes, the color of my skin, and the shape of my nose, otherwise even outwardly we're the same.
Can you please, please, please tell me, who am I?
Maybe you can't!
Then, let me tell you who I am.
I'm God's child just like you, a human being, I'm your brother!
HEALING DRUMS
excerpt from CHEROKEE DIARY (see Aug 31, 2010)
I started drumming classes once a week in February, 2007, under the direction of Beverly Griffin who had been trained in therapeutic drumming. The following principles were taught:
Advantages of recreational group drumming for one hour-
-Increased natural immunity by boosting activity of killer t cells.
-helps regulate neurotransmitters-stress hormones.
-using small muscles in arms and burns calories.
-decreases frequency and severity of asthma attacks.
-studies done with nursing students and health care staff prove it reduces staff burnout, enhances mood, decreases tension and anxiety, depression and hostility.
-most feel an increased sense of connection to the drumming circle.
-it forms community.
One of the songs we chanted while drumming was very meaningful:
I am woman.
I am spirit.
I am infinite in my soul.
I have no beginning.
I have no end.
All this I know.
We started out with simple beats and practiced. Some who were more experienced really entertained us with extemporaneous beating. I felt a rhythm surging through the wooden floor as we really got into it. It gave me a sense of inner connection to some feeling of vitality and energy.
Plus it was just plain fun!
-
I started drumming classes once a week in February, 2007, under the direction of Beverly Griffin who had been trained in therapeutic drumming. The following principles were taught:
Advantages of recreational group drumming for one hour-
-Increased natural immunity by boosting activity of killer t cells.
-helps regulate neurotransmitters-stress hormones.
-using small muscles in arms and burns calories.
-decreases frequency and severity of asthma attacks.
-studies done with nursing students and health care staff prove it reduces staff burnout, enhances mood, decreases tension and anxiety, depression and hostility.
-most feel an increased sense of connection to the drumming circle.
-it forms community.
One of the songs we chanted while drumming was very meaningful:
I am woman.
I am spirit.
I am infinite in my soul.
I have no beginning.
I have no end.
All this I know.
We started out with simple beats and practiced. Some who were more experienced really entertained us with extemporaneous beating. I felt a rhythm surging through the wooden floor as we really got into it. It gave me a sense of inner connection to some feeling of vitality and energy.
Plus it was just plain fun!
-
Monday, November 8, 2010
UNENDING QUEST-WAYS TO ONENESS
excerpt from @RACE UNITY. COM (see Aug 31, 2010)
In response to the question "what can I do?" 11-24-97
We can -
1. have an unending quest for filling in the gaps of our educational system and learn the heroes and heroines, the martyrs and saints, the ordinary hard-working people, the inventors, discoverers, leaders, artists of the non-caucasian, non-Europes (it is not in our history books).
2. learn the history of slavery, the indoctrination of a whole country into the erroneouse belief that there is justification treating a fellow human being with contempt, like a farm animal, like an object without feelings, without the basic needs of a family - safety, a right to practice one's religious beliefs, to learn, to educate oneself or have the opportunity to get educated.
3. learn the history of the media and it's distortion of faces, body shapes, motives and capabilities of those who did not happen to be white..
4. learn that the look that is different comes from adaptation to climate for survival centuries ago and has nothing whatsoever to do with values or capabilities of being human.
5. play with, learn with, live with, love with, mate with, bear children with, pray with, cry with, laugh with consciously, deliberately, and ceaselessly those who look different from you.
6. pray to have the "poison in the cookies" (subtle contamination as a child) fed to us as children removed from our hearts.
7. never let a joke that demeans another go by, without a challenge.
8. always make the play group that you put your children in diverse so that that is normal and a one color group is abnormal.
9. listen to the music and stories of as many diverse ethnic groups as you possibly can with thoughtfulness and appreciation.
10. make your housing choice illustrate and practice that all are one, that good neighbors come in all colors.
11. be genuine in your friendships and humble in your attitudes.
12. basically to look into each other's eyes and see the heart.
Love in the struggle,
Anne
In response to the question "what can I do?" 11-24-97
We can -
1. have an unending quest for filling in the gaps of our educational system and learn the heroes and heroines, the martyrs and saints, the ordinary hard-working people, the inventors, discoverers, leaders, artists of the non-caucasian, non-Europes (it is not in our history books).
2. learn the history of slavery, the indoctrination of a whole country into the erroneouse belief that there is justification treating a fellow human being with contempt, like a farm animal, like an object without feelings, without the basic needs of a family - safety, a right to practice one's religious beliefs, to learn, to educate oneself or have the opportunity to get educated.
3. learn the history of the media and it's distortion of faces, body shapes, motives and capabilities of those who did not happen to be white..
4. learn that the look that is different comes from adaptation to climate for survival centuries ago and has nothing whatsoever to do with values or capabilities of being human.
5. play with, learn with, live with, love with, mate with, bear children with, pray with, cry with, laugh with consciously, deliberately, and ceaselessly those who look different from you.
6. pray to have the "poison in the cookies" (subtle contamination as a child) fed to us as children removed from our hearts.
7. never let a joke that demeans another go by, without a challenge.
8. always make the play group that you put your children in diverse so that that is normal and a one color group is abnormal.
9. listen to the music and stories of as many diverse ethnic groups as you possibly can with thoughtfulness and appreciation.
10. make your housing choice illustrate and practice that all are one, that good neighbors come in all colors.
11. be genuine in your friendships and humble in your attitudes.
12. basically to look into each other's eyes and see the heart.
Love in the struggle,
Anne
Sunday, November 7, 2010
RUHIYYIH KHANUM
excerpt from TRINIDAD REMEMBRANCES (see Aug 31, 2010)
Ruhiyyih Khanum, wife of the Guardian of the Baha'i Faith, came to Trinidad for a touring and teaching trip throughout the country. I was blessed with the opportunity to be present on this trip. She was a fascinating, enriching, entertaining lady, very loving but firm as she made choices about her agenda.
We were in a small village and she was speaking to a group of people in a concrete building with open windows. A cow stuck it's head through the window and mooed while Khanum was talking. Khanum stopped, turned to the window and said to the cow," I don't remember inviting you." Then went on with her talk. In this talk she used some visual aides. She had a simple lamp and some lovely scarves. She turned on the lamp to show the light and explained that it represented the light of a new revelation from God. Then she said that someone decided that it needed to have a little more color and fancy decorations (manmade additions to the religion) so she laid one of the scarves on the lamp. She made more efforts to "improve" or "market" and put a scarf on the lamp each time. Before long the light was no longer able to shine through the scarves. The light was basically gone. She grabbed the scarves off and the light was visible again. She said this is what happened each time a new religion came from God. The light was bright again.
Ruhiyyih Khanum, wife of the Guardian of the Baha'i Faith, came to Trinidad for a touring and teaching trip throughout the country. I was blessed with the opportunity to be present on this trip. She was a fascinating, enriching, entertaining lady, very loving but firm as she made choices about her agenda.
We were in a small village and she was speaking to a group of people in a concrete building with open windows. A cow stuck it's head through the window and mooed while Khanum was talking. Khanum stopped, turned to the window and said to the cow," I don't remember inviting you." Then went on with her talk. In this talk she used some visual aides. She had a simple lamp and some lovely scarves. She turned on the lamp to show the light and explained that it represented the light of a new revelation from God. Then she said that someone decided that it needed to have a little more color and fancy decorations (manmade additions to the religion) so she laid one of the scarves on the lamp. She made more efforts to "improve" or "market" and put a scarf on the lamp each time. Before long the light was no longer able to shine through the scarves. The light was basically gone. She grabbed the scarves off and the light was visible again. She said this is what happened each time a new religion came from God. The light was bright again.
Friday, November 5, 2010
GENTLENESS
excerpt from A CHEROKEE FEAST OF DAYS, DAILY MEDITATIONS, by Joyce Sequichie Hifler
Gentleness has amazing strength. Where some would dominate, others are sweet and compassionate and this gives us hope. A gentle person is cool, clear water on a hot day - a refreshing change from hostile attitudes. How many times we have met someone we wanted to admire but couldn't . They would not trust us to see beyond their protective walls. Caring and friendship was sorely needed but bitterly ignored. To understand these things makes us gentle. It gives us the touch we need with every age. Young and old yearn to hear a voice that tells them they are so important, so loved, that nothing could make us turn from them. A gentle word is warm sunshine to every heart, a touch that is never forgotten.
Gentleness has amazing strength. Where some would dominate, others are sweet and compassionate and this gives us hope. A gentle person is cool, clear water on a hot day - a refreshing change from hostile attitudes. How many times we have met someone we wanted to admire but couldn't . They would not trust us to see beyond their protective walls. Caring and friendship was sorely needed but bitterly ignored. To understand these things makes us gentle. It gives us the touch we need with every age. Young and old yearn to hear a voice that tells them they are so important, so loved, that nothing could make us turn from them. A gentle word is warm sunshine to every heart, a touch that is never forgotten.
Monday, November 1, 2010
UN-SANITIZING AMERICAN HISTORY
excerpt from POST TRAUMATIC SLAVE SYNDROME, by Dr Joy DeGruy Leary
"Studying history in American schools we learn about the excesses of the Roman empire, the viciousness of Stalin's Soviet Union ..., the brutality of the Nazis...the barbarity of the Mongols....and the Huns...the Japanese during WWII... the Viet Cong..., Milosevic's Serbia, Hussein's Iraq, the Taliban, and Osama Bin Laden, to name but a few.
...But missing from this list is one society that is responsible for some of the most gruesome crimes against humanity in history- The United States of America.....With respect to the genocide of Native Americans, and the enslavement and later oppression of those of African descent, the history we in this land learn has been greatly sanitized....How do I make real the pain and suffering of our ancestors?
...Have you ever had a really severe migraine headache?...flu...cancer...car acident... where the pain was so intense and persistent, that all you wanted was medication to knock yourself out?...It's all you think about...
Now imagine being in a constant state of hunger, pain, thirst. When you get past your physical state you are greeted by feelings of fear, anger, grief and hopelessness.
Imagine giving up your dignity, your identity, your will, your soul to relieve your seemingly endless suffering. What effects must such compromises have on a human being? It is no wonder the transatlantic slave trade, slavery, and the times that followed are usually given such short shift in the recounting of our history. This is hard stuff. Far too many people say, "Of course the middle passage was bad. Of course slavery was bad. Of course Jim Crow and lynching was bad. Now let's move on." Rarely are people willing to look at what "bad" really was.
It is important...that you try to feel what they might have gone through. We need to do this in order to learn and appreciate our history...to get a stronger sense about the forces that have shaped our community...so we can understand the strength our people had in order to survive and at times even thrive in some of the harshest conditions...strength that has been passed down to us."
"Studying history in American schools we learn about the excesses of the Roman empire, the viciousness of Stalin's Soviet Union ..., the brutality of the Nazis...the barbarity of the Mongols....and the Huns...the Japanese during WWII... the Viet Cong..., Milosevic's Serbia, Hussein's Iraq, the Taliban, and Osama Bin Laden, to name but a few.
...But missing from this list is one society that is responsible for some of the most gruesome crimes against humanity in history- The United States of America.....With respect to the genocide of Native Americans, and the enslavement and later oppression of those of African descent, the history we in this land learn has been greatly sanitized....How do I make real the pain and suffering of our ancestors?
...Have you ever had a really severe migraine headache?...flu...cancer...car acident... where the pain was so intense and persistent, that all you wanted was medication to knock yourself out?...It's all you think about...
Now imagine being in a constant state of hunger, pain, thirst. When you get past your physical state you are greeted by feelings of fear, anger, grief and hopelessness.
Imagine giving up your dignity, your identity, your will, your soul to relieve your seemingly endless suffering. What effects must such compromises have on a human being? It is no wonder the transatlantic slave trade, slavery, and the times that followed are usually given such short shift in the recounting of our history. This is hard stuff. Far too many people say, "Of course the middle passage was bad. Of course slavery was bad. Of course Jim Crow and lynching was bad. Now let's move on." Rarely are people willing to look at what "bad" really was.
It is important...that you try to feel what they might have gone through. We need to do this in order to learn and appreciate our history...to get a stronger sense about the forces that have shaped our community...so we can understand the strength our people had in order to survive and at times even thrive in some of the harshest conditions...strength that has been passed down to us."
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