Not an island

Not an island

Did a little yoga and
got down on my knees
cried out to the good lord
help me please please please
i'm tired of the madness
that goes on in my head
wishing i could skip and
be grateful i'm not dead

i'm so tired of being tired
i'm so tired of feeling low
of never facing forward
of always saying no
no to life and innocence
no to love and joy
yes to fear and arrogance
maybe to the void

in this life or another
i'll find out what i'm worth
without the bonds of self
that bind me to this earth
without the judge and jury
that rule inside of me
without this island living
that keeps me out at sea.
~mg 3/2011

I'm so tired...

I'm so tired. I'm tired of Republicans - all of them. I'm tired of the Tea Party. I'm tired of homophobes. I'm tired of people who cheer over the death penalty. I'm tired of people who watch Fox News (even though I do sometimes to see if it can possibly be as insane as the last time I watched it). I'm tired of the President not repealing "don't ask, don't tell." I'm tired of war. I'm tired of politicians, in all their outrage over the federal deficit, forgetting to mention that we are fighting 2! (wars that is). I'm tired of the racist subtext, described as criticism of his leadership style, against President Obama. I'm tired of the sexist undertones against Nancy Pelosi and Hillary Clinton. John Boehner and Mitch McConnell - don't even get me started. And - just when we thought we were through with his smug, dense, one-syllable rhetoric - George W. is back to add to the misery of the mid-term election results....calling Kanye "Conway", declaring that waterboarding was [is] ok because a bunch of lawyers said so, and that invading Iraq was the right thing to do despite the lack of WMDs. The man has no conscience unless it has to do with the gruesome image of a fetus in a jar. WTF? I'm tired of trying to play to the middle. I wanna be a leftist communist socialist. There doesn't seem to be a middle anymore, if there ever was one.

And I'm tired of feeling angry and defensive about all the stuff that's making me tired. I don't want to be that person. And I don't want to use this socio-political fatigue distract me from the moments of my real, everyday life which is blessed beyond measure.

But, I am thinking that passive-aggressive rhetoric might be the way to go. You know, like when someone suggests that Obama and his administration did not do enough to create jobs or save the economy, I can say something cheerfully, of course, like: "You're right! If only George W were still around...we could invade more countries and reinstitute the draft! Then at least poor, young men who've been failed by our schools could make a living!" Or when someone says that Healthcare reform is going to kill grandma, I can say, "I know, right? And I got Kevorkian to take care of mine. Shoulda waited." How about the folks who contend that immigrants should just "go back where they came from?" I could say "I agree! Let's start with Irish bartenders in NYC and Boston!"

Anyway, I could go on. But I feel better now - just having ranted a little.

Groove Vacation

GROOVE VACATION
You feel like no one’s listening.
You’re sure all hope is gone.
You know, you’re probably right-
But still you travel on.

Can’t give in to inertia!
It’s healing just to move.
Don’t worry ‘bout the rhythm,
Just get into the groove.

Forget about what’s happened.
Forget about what’s next.
The clouds will all roll on
So you didn’t do your best.

The evening breeze is balmy
As it brushes through your hair.
You think you can’t control it-
You stare and stare and stare.

Then something brings you back
To the place where you belong.
Before you know the words,
You start humming to the song

Of all the secret mystery,
Of all the love that’s real,
Of all the silk inside you
And of everything you feel

That’s right or wrong but crucial.
It’s all from the same source.
Your mind is just the medium
And it uses brutal force to

Stamp out all the knowledge-
Of the earth, of trees, of fire-
That are given you at birth
By the Mother of desire.

Don’t give in to thinking.
Don’t give in to time.
Give up all that’s happening
In the trap you call your mind-

Remember where you come from.
Remember what you’re like
Without the fear of falling
Without the righteous hype.

Then dance through all the words
And rules and expectations.
Stomp out all the roles
And start your groove vacation.

MG 5/5/2005

Growing Up (from NPR's "This I Believe")

http://thisibelieve.org/essay/32967/

Take your ball and go home

Today at work, I suffered a small, but infuriating injustice. Was it real or perceived? Not sure. Here's what happened.

I recently brought a fitness ball to work to sit upon instead of my less-than ergonomic office chair. The ball is about 3 feet in diameter but it fits neatly in my open, completely unprivate cubicle. My cubicle is in a far corner of one of the 4 floors occupied by my employer in a high-rise office tower. Few people have reason to visit this corner except for those whose cubicles or offices are near mine.

This afternoon I was told to take my ball home. Apparently, someone complained to my boss that it was unprofessional and takes up too much space. I was not told who made said complaint. I accepted the request from my boss without argument. I was caught off guard and unsure of how to react. We are expecting lay-offs due to budget cuts and my first thought when she asked to speak with me was that this might be it.

After the fact, however, I am irritated-outraged even! Do I let it go or is it my duty to protest? Does whoever complained about it really care about professionalism? Or is it more about keeping the cubicle-dwellers in their right place? My first instinct is to ask my boss who-- who had the audacity to make such a petty complaint about something so seemingly innocuous and none of his or her business.

My second instinct is to complain, loudly, to anyone who'll listen. This I have already begun to do. In the few hours since my boss made her request, I have told no less than 7 co-workers, and my husband, my daughter, and a friend. To experience my own outrage through the eyes of others is a way of affirming my justifiable rightness.

Of course, a question I've been asked to consider is "would I rather be right or would I rather be happy?" Can't I be both? Whatever is the "right" thing to do, I realize that this seemingly small offense touches a deep nerve. I have learned in recent years, whenever I have a problem with someone (or someone's request), the real problem lies with me. Take for example, the pursuit of instinct #1: Just asking the question would put my boss in an awkward position. Perhaps she is counting on my - um - professionalism to just take my ball and go home. And let it drop. She most likely has bigger fish to fry. And if I find out who it is, what purpose will it serve? Do I really want to start a "take your fitness ball to work" crusade? Is that a good use of my energy? Part of me, the part that asks whether it's my duty to protest, knows that the deep nerve that feels raw is about what's "fair" and about standing up for myself; but mostly it's about pride and ego. Sitting in a regular office chair will not make me less of a person - unless I allow it to.

And what about the pursuit of instinct #2: that's a tougher one and one that is harder for me to let go of. Sharing my frustration with loved ones is one thing. They don't work where I work. They won't be overheard by my boss or my boss's boss or other coworkers. They can offer me support and advice without being tied into the drama of my personal relationships at work. Sharing my outrage with my co-workers is a a whole different "ball" of wax. I'm purposely looking for signs of outrage as well as hints as to who the culprit is! Not very mature or thoughtful behavior. But I find it difficult to "let it go." Ah! The allure of justifiable anger!! Unfortunately, that's a luxury I can't afford.

In my pursuit of a resolution, I will have to ask for guidance on the next right thing to do. My boss did offer a consultation with our workplace's ergonomic expert. That's probably a good place to start. Wonder what he sits on?

For Benny

I’m sick of this bed

I’m sick of my head

Telling me things that aren’t true

I wish I weren’t here

I’m glad I’m not there

So many things to push through

Memory’s a prison,

Memories are reasons

To carry on over the dam

The river is swollen

The river is raging

I’ll drown in the way that I am.

No younger, no younger

I’ll never get younger

Sitting here, waiting for rain

With my ego undone

I’ll walk into the sun

And start to swap nothing for pain

For pain is one side

Of the joy that it hides

And all of the muck down below

Will gather God’s glory

In its infinite story

As up to the surface I go.

~M. Gardner, 1/18/10