Out of the Darkness

“I read and walked for miles at night along the beach, writing bad blank verse and searching endlessly for someone wonderful who would step out of the darkness and change my life. It never crossed my mind that that person could be me.”
—Anna Quindlen

Brookings Sunset – Photo by Cristina White

I wonder how often this applies to our own lives—the solution to the problem vexing us, the answer to the question we are grappling with, the key to the door we long to open—all these may lie within, if only we can stop long enough to listen to our innermost self, and find the solution, the answer, the key—waiting for us there.

Think Big. Plan. Act.

Found this jotted in a notebook of mine:
Make no little plans. They have no magic to stir your blood.

Here’s the complete quote:
“Make no little plans. They have no magic to stir men’s blood and probably themselves will not be realized. Make big plans; aim high in hope and work, remembering that a noble, logical diagram once recorded will never die, but long after we are gone will be a living thing, asserting itself with ever growing insistency.”
–Daniel Burnham

Daniel Hudson Burnham (September 4, 1846 – June 1, 1912) was an architect who, with John Root, planned the World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago in 1893.

“His foresight and planning were also largely responsible for the rebuilding of Chicago after the fire of 1871.”
–New York Times Opinion: Make No Little Plans, February 7, 1999

Daniel Hudson Burnham

“Success doesn’t sneak up on us; it starts with a dream that we combine with a clear plan of action.”
–Dan Miller

“Your life will be no better than the plans you make and the action you take. You are the architect of your own life, fortune, and destiny.”
–Alfred A. Montapert

Deep South – Three: Guns, Grievance, and Getting Elected

Like many people I know, I cannot comprehend the proliferation of guns in our country. In his book Deep South, Paul Theroux describes his visits to gun shows, and what he saw and sensed there gave me a way to understand the fixation on guns among Southerners.

At the first gun show he goes to in Charleston, South Carolina, Theroux senses something that he cannot quite define. He gains some insight into the mood of the gun show during his second visit to an ostentatious display of weaponry in Natchez, Mississippi: “It was not about guns. Not about ammo, not about knives…the mood was apparent in the way these men walked and spoke: they felt beleaguered, weakened, their backs to the wall…it was…a persistent memory of defeat.”

“The gun show…was about the self-esteem of men—white men mainly…animated by a sense of grievance…persecuted, conspired against by hostile outside forces, making a symbolic last stand.”

There are also insights into the persistent racism passed on from one generation to the next, and the fear—especially among young white kids—of losing the acceptance of their peers. Buddy, a white man, describes being a sophomore in high school in 1967. When they tried to integrate the school, four black students showed up—two boys and two girls. At the assembly in the gym every morning, there weren’t enough bleacher seats for the hundreds of students, so a lot of kids sat on the floor, with their hands back to prop themselves up. Buddy watched the black students get their hands stepped on by the white students walking behind them. “No one said nothing,” Buddy tells Theroux. “I’m sure some felt sorry for them. You couldn’t say nothing, though.”

Theroux thinks about Buddy’s remark and its meaning – that it was “…impossible to defy the school and take a moral stand on racism.”

Throughout his travels in the South, Theroux finds this same expression of moral dilemma. He recalls Senator Robert Byrd, who had been a member of the Ku Klux Klan. Bill Clinton said of Byrd: “He was a country boy from the hills and hollows of West Virginia. He was trying to get elected.”

It is the underlying theme that Theroux finds in many white people in the South. “You think I’m burning this cross and forbidding you to go to school here and covering up this lynching, but hey, I’m not a racist, really. I”m just trying to get elected.”

KKK Rally – Encyclopedia of Arkansas

People going along to get along.

As more Black and brown women and men are elected to office in the Southern states, there is hope for change. But laws passed by Republican legislatures that deter and deny the right to vote in the South—and elsewhere in the nation—reveal the strong resistance to people of color making any headway in governing and affecting the laws and policies of their cities, counties, and states.

Influencers, philanthropists, and policy makers must be persuaded to direct their attention and considerable wealth toward educating, informing, and helping those who want a progressive and prosperous South. Envisioning and creating a South that is prosperous and equitable for all southerners—no matter their race—would help enrich us all.

Deep South – Two: Any Big Money?

In Paul Theroux’s book Deep South, there is a chapter titled “Working Poor.” It opens with this: “Arkansas was a place of outstanding natural beauty: the rumpled hills and granite cliff faces, the damp willow-haunted riversides, the meadows and plowed fields bordered by tumbled stone walls.

Lake in Garland County, Arkansas

But it was a poor, hungry, ill-thought out, and badly housed state, and the rural areas were notoriously hard-up.”

Arkansas Delta

Theroux meets with Dr. Calvin King in Brinkley, Arkansas. Dr. King is committed to reversing the land loss among Blacks and the decline of the family farm in his part of the state. From a farming family himself, he grew up one of eleven children. His parents felt strongly about education, and nine of the children went on to college and became schoolteachers, nurses, and college professors. He describes growing up in a family that ate well, because they grew their food and hunted the woods for rabbits and squirrels and guinea.

He founded the Arkansas Land and Farm Development Corporation and built an organization called Safe Communities to help people renovate or rebuild their houses. He was doing his best in a town that was “dying” because—like other towns throughout the deep South—there were no job opportunities. The companies and factories that had once provided employment and a living wage had deserted the South and gone overseas to China, India, and Mexico—places where labor was cheap and regulation was nearly nonexistent.

Dr. King’s organization, like other organizations founded and run by Black women and men in the South, operate on shoe-string budgets. Theroux asks Dr. King if his organization has received any funding from the immensely wealthy Global Initiative. “No,” Dr. King said solemnly. “We have not received any funding support from the Clinton Foundation or the Global Initiative.”

“Would you like to get some?”

“Yes…we would more than welcome such support.” He added, “We have lots of people working hard. Family farms. All over the Delta.”

One of the farmers Theroux speaks to relates his struggle to get loans to purchase equipment and other necessities that would improve production on his farm. He tells Theroux that the Klan is gone—the white men who once wore white sheets and hoods are now dressed in suits and sitting behind desks at the banks—with the power to approve or deny loan requests.

In the recent past and currently, the Big Money goes to Africa, certain areas in India and parts of Asia and South America. Our own American deep South is in dire need of the funding that philanthropic organizations dispense. That funding could help lift thousands out of poverty and provide a path to an equitable way of life. Shining light on the shadowed areas of the deep South would help invigorate and energize our democracy—because we are all better off when we are all better off.

Tune in tomorrow for Deep South – Three: Guns, Grievance, and Getting Elected

Deep South-One: Revelation

Deep South: Four Seasons on Back Roads by Paul Theroux is long and beautifully written. It was also, for me, a revelation. I lived in Virginia for about two years as a teenager, then again for about a year as a young adult. Though Virginia is not a deep South state, it is a Southern state. It was the first place where I experienced racism—both directed at me and at people of color around me—and I decided to never again return to the South.

Theroux’s book is both a gift and a shock to the system—a gift because it allowed me to travel with the author through the abundant natural beauty along the back roads of the deep South.

A backlit view of a country road at dawn in the South.

It was a shock to the system because I was unaware of the deep and pervasive poverty in this region of America—the richest country on earth. The author reports that in some counties in the Southern states, nearly thirty percent of the people live below the poverty line. One in four children in Arkansas are classified as “food deprived.” Put simply, those children are hungry.

Known for his travel books about Africa, Asia, the Pacific, Europe, and the United Kingdom, Theroux left his home on the East Coast and drove south to explore the back roads of the deep South because he realized he had traveled so little in the Southernmost states. He points out that nearly all of us know about “…the Old Magnolia South—where there is wealth and stylishness and ease—estates, horse farms, fine dining…upscale suburbs.” The Old Magnolia South is, of course, white and well-off.

This book is mainly about the stark reality of the rural areas of the South “… not far from the wealthiest areas…where…there is hunger and squalor and great poverty.”

Among the ruined, deserted towns, ramshackle houses, dirt roads and dilapidated buildings, Theroux also found well-kept churches and eateries serving good food. He visits towns that once prospered—places that had textile mills and factories where quality clothes were made. “It all went overseas—China, the Dominican Republic. God knows where,” says a woman who earned a good living at one of those textile mills. She now struggles to get by.

Sanyo used to be located in Forrest City, Arkansas. It took over TV manufacturing and created employment for four thousand people. People in Forrest City had good jobs, and they prospered. When President Clinton signed NAFTA in December 1994, Sanyo began to move its manufacturing to Mexico. It was “…the beginning of the end for Forrest City.”

The deep South states need fair-wage jobs, health care, fair housing, and decent public schools. Until our governing bodies, policy makers, and influencers turn their attention to restoring a measure of equity to the rural areas and small towns of these states, we will continue to have deep divisions in our social, civic, and political life. We will continue to have a large segment of the American population that feels forgotten and neglected—because that is their reality.

Tune in tomorrow for Deep South–Two: Any Big Money?

Sunday Zen: Nature

“Wind moving through the grass so that the grass quivers. This fills me with an emotion that I don’t even understand.”
– Katherine Mansfield

Porcupine Grass by Krista Lundgren

“My father considered a walk among the mountains as the equivalent of churchgoing.
– Aldous Huxley

“I believe in God, only I spell it Nature.”
– Frank Lloyd Wright

Why?

Winter is nearly here. Rain is more frequent, as are mysterious foggy mornings and clouded days. Some trees cling to their fall colors, but the ground is now strewn with deep yellow and rust-red leaves.

Only three weeks ago, we were enjoying bright sun and crisp autumn days. I’d like to take you back in time to one of those perfect mid-October days, when I took a walk after an afternoon class at our community center and began wondering…why? Why isn’t this available to everyone?

Our recently renovated community center and adjoining city park take up a full city block. The expanded center occupies one corner of the block. It provides big and small rooms for events, classes, and meetings. There are ample windows letting in plenty of light. To one side of the main doorway is a large paved area with tables, chairs, and benches, all of it sheltered by old-growth trees.

When I left the building and turned the corner to stroll along the sidewalk that edges the park, I heard voices—kids calling out, laughing, and using everything available to them in their colorful, fantasy-like playground.

Beyond the playground, there are tennis courts, and then a sandy area big enough to provide two separate netted areas for volley ball. More voices here—mainly university students hard at play, hitting the ball back and forth over the nets. There were people with their dogs, others walking alone or in pairs, all of us basking in the mild autumn weather.

The park and center were already here when I moved to this small Pacific Northwest city, but I couldn’t help but marvel at the renovation undertaken a little over a year ago. The playground, tennis courts, and volley ball areas are all new, as are the raised vegetable beds along one side of the community center. Paved walkways are judiciously spaced through the park and there are comfortable park benches and well-maintained restrooms.

I took a slow turn along the central walkway and settled on a bench to watch kids with their friends and families playing in the park. I looked to my right at the commodious parking area adjacent to the center. Parking is free, so people from all over our city can access and enjoy the center and the lovely green space of the park.

I thought how fortunate I am to live in this prosperous community, with good schools, a university, and a community college. I felt grateful for people paying taxes and prioritizing a fine public library open seven days a week, grateful for clean water and reliable sanitation services, a well-trained police force and fire fighters, several city parks, and this community center.

On the bulletin boards inside the center there are notices of meetings, gatherings, and events that make it clear we are a community that cares about diversity—we welcome people from other countries, other religions, traditions, and cultures.

I’m not saying we don’t have problems here; we do. But for the most part, this is a good place to live. And from my park bench vantage point, I wondered—why are there people who don’t want this kind of goodness for everyone?

Why are there people hoarding wealth, and corrupt individuals and corporations keeping others down? How is it that certain adults continue to teach their children that black, brown, Asian and indigenous people are lesser beings? Why are there people teaching, preaching, and legislating that some people—because of their race, religion, sexual orientation—are less deserving?

I don’t have answers to my questions. I only know the human family is, ultimately, a family. We are all interrelated. I believe everyone is better off when everyone is better off. I want what most people want—fairness in our workaday world, a healthy environment, a sense of safety, good public spaces and good places to live—these are the things we all need and deserve. It is what I want for everyone, everywhere.

Friday Not-So-Zen

People and things I miss:

Barack and Bo

Barack Obama
Michelle Obama
Malia and Sasha Obama
Their dog Bo
Yes, Sunny too

Milk cartons that opened cleanly where it says “open here”

Commercial breaks without commercials touting pharmaceuticals

Halloween fantasy costumes, instead of axes sticking from skulls, zombies, gore, and blood dripping everywhere

Days when I wasn’t asked to review every single product I buy

Classic Editor on WordPress sites and blogs instead of *%!!**# Gutenberg Block Editor

PRIDE

This is the last day of Pride Month. All this month, there have been a lot of wonderful Pride events in this country and around the world. Many worthy stories were told and there are more stories yet to be told. Before all the attention goes elsewhere, I want to give a shout-out to the 2014 film Pride, about a group of lesbian and gay activists in London who raised money to help the families affected by the British miners strike in 1984. It’s a true story, about real people from different worlds who came together around a common cause and formed a highly unusual alliance.

I have a lengthy review of the film somewhere in the zen crunch archives, but just want to say in the here and now—gay or straight or whatever—if you haven’t seen it, give yourself the gift of this terrific film. Somewhere in this past month I watched it again (I think this was my third viewing) and once again it evoked laughter and tears and a sense of wonder that these events actually happened. Too many good things to say about this film, but one of my personal favorite scenes is Dominic West (as Jonathan Blake) talking with a group of women in the community center of a small Welsh town. There’s music playing and no one dancing. When Jonathan asks why, the women tell him that miners don’t dance. He says to the wives, girlfriends, and female siblings of the miners, “Let’s show them what they’re missing.” And he proceeds to let loose his inner dance demon. So great! When the music stops he says, “God, I miss disco.” You and me both, fella.

“Let’s show them what they’re missing.”

The only other thing I’d like to add here is that, for me, it’s Pride every day, all year long, every year, and has been since I marched in the first Pride parade in San Francisco back in 1972. I was nineteen before I realized I was gay. I acknowledged the fact to myself and then selectively told certain close friends. That circle of friends was small because, back in the 60s, being gay was synonymous with being immoral and abnormal. Those claws had been tearing at gay lives since, it seemed, forever. Gradually, I came out to more and more friends and then came out to my mother. She never treated me any differently, and went on loving me unconditionally. Then, in 1973, there was a headline: Gays Are Sane. The American Psychological Association had ruled that homosexuality was not a sickness. Thank you, APA experts, for catching up with reality.

Of course, that pronouncement did nothing to change the minds of extreme conservatives and those stuck in the Old Testament hell-and-damnation view of the world. They continue to condemn, exclude, deride, and in general do what they can to make life hellish for the LGBTQ+ community—though most of their ire is now directed to the “T” folk in that acronym. I believe they will ultimately fail in their efforts to deny the civil and health care rights of transgender people, but the fight to help protect trans people in particular and the queer community in general must be strengthened and sustained.

Today, I want to express my deepest gratitude for all the activists who fought for and continue to fight for the civil rights of LGBTQ+ people. My heartfelt thanks goes out to my own family and friends, and all the families, friends, and neighbors who respect our right to be ourselves and to love those who we truly love rather than those we are “supposed” to love. Because of these good people, my own self-acceptance and self-esteem, and all those who have declared—we’re queer, we’re here, get used to it—I am looking forward to a 45th anniversary with the love of my life. This summer, she and I will celebrate our 9th wedding anniversary. ‘Twas a very long engagement, but we held onto each other through the hard times, and we are still savoring the sweetness of a lifetime together.

Sunday Zen: Wabi Sabi

From Living Wabi Sabi: The True Beauty of Your Life by Taro Gold

We are a strand in the web of life.
Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves.
All things are connected.

— Chief Seattle