Turkeys Revolt!!! (Happy Thanksgiving)

So sorry I haven't been here for a little while --
it's a busy time of the year for me,
not simply because the holidays are starting.

It's just the nature of the business I'm in.

Anyway,
I was cleaning and stuffing a turkey this morning,
when I was approached by a four year old
who climbed up on a stool and looked very closely
at the beast in the sink.

"What do you think?" I asked him.

"I just want to look at the turkey," he said,
"but I don't want to eat him.  I really feel sorry for him."

I tried to come up with a good reason for eating the beast,
including the fact he was raised free range,
and fed natural foods,
there on a beautiful farm
somewhere in Upstate New York,
but I realized by the look on the child's face
that I was presenting a very convincing argument
for keeping the bird alive.

Oh, well.
I'm still eating turkey tonight.

But I did want to see how the turkeys themselves feel
about the ongoing abuse against them.
And I may have found a few answers:









hey, happy thanksgiving!

On Purity & Perversity

"'t'will out! 't'will out!" (Othello  V:ii)

*

There is a point where the pure

meets the perverse,

and that is the place

                   of secrecy --

The place of hushed whispers

and slapped hands,

the place of shame

                                      and private penance.

The insiduous shadow of sin

creeps in

when childhood curiosity

meets adult greed, revenge

and guilt.

Come here,

little boy or gilr,

come here.

I know you just discovered

the feelings in that part of you

that no one ever talks

about.

You can talk about it --

             you can show it

                                        to me.

and I'll show you

            what I have, too --

just as someone

once had me do,

              I'll do

                   unto you.

But keep it quiet.

No one will know.

We live in a world,

                                          after all

where we all are led to believe

that only what we see

is true.

There is a point

where the pure

meets the perverse,

and that is the place

                         of secrecy.

* *

( pennstatecentral )

I woke up this morning to this story on the radio:

(click on radio for story - thanks to
NPR Morning Edition)

The recent revelations that a university football coach could abuse a child have yielded more admissions of childhood abuse then the pedophile priests ever did.  More and more men (and women) are coming forward with stories of how they, too, were abused -- by coaches, troop leaders, neighbors, uncles, friends.  Why does this incident spur this wave of admissions when pedophilic priests did not?

NPR claims that having this vice discovered in a college football locker room brings it into a more familiar realm and treads into the domain of what I would call secular manhood -- a sacred domain all its own.  In the USA in particular, the altar of the Sunday Football Game is visited far more regularly than the corner parish, and the communion of beer and chips shared with more reverence and passion than a thin tasteless wafer claiming to be the body of One Who Died For Our Sins.  Instead, the average American male opts to view the carnage of their favorite sport, again and again, sanctified and revitalized by those who live through it, week to week.

The Penn State story tears a hole into the ritual of manhood and carnage we call American Football, and this NPR story seems to suggest that, thanks to this, during those commercial breaks, more men, women, boys and girls are finding words for secrets they've hidden far too long.  In some cases, these secrets may have festered and produced self doubt and castigation, and ultimately created more victimizers, and more victims.  Seeing not only the perpetrator but also other coaches and a university president pay the price for this indiscretion helps the victim see that they were indeed a victim, and that society will sympathize with them.  There is something terrifically refreshing about this, because once a victim can identify his own victimhood, and realize that those who victimized them were indeed wrong, then that individual can take positive steps down the path of healing.

Meanwhile, as the NPR story says, there was little to no retribution in the church.  Pedophile priests were "outed" and for a day or two, they were the talk of the town, but then they were shuffled back behind the sacred veil of secrecy and silence.  Some returned to active congregations.  Some may have been defrocked, but no charges were filed.  Most recently, the Vatican initiated liturgical reforms that some argue reinstate language that takes steps back towards obscuring what is happening in the mass.  Language itself can be a barrier to hide behind: cryptic language makes true understanding and personal interpretation less possible for the average church goer, and restores the power of translation and interpretation to the priests, thus diverting attention away from those nasty little stories about priests and altar boys and replacing it with a reverence for the priest's specialized access to sacred knowledge.

~ ~

( christmasideas )

Meanwhile, a wounding contradiction festers.

At the core of Christianity is the fetishization of innocence
and purity :  the return of the child who can save
the world.  The story
that is so adored
and repeated because it is adored
looks to the Innocent - to a Child - for redemption.

Honestly,
the Christmas story is a beautiful vision,
for only in our children can we find
our better selves.

So why must we maintain this secret place where, even as the innocent is adored,
it can be defiled?  If the great men of football can man up enough to punish those who hurt our children
then why can't the Church?
So much healing could begin, if the cycle of abuse
in that oldest of abusive institutions in the world could be broken.  Both abusers and abused (many of whom may be one in the same person) would benefit from a public confession and atonement.


Notably,
with every new story of abuse that we learn of,
the finger points back to the abuses that have yet to be punished.
The truth will out, for
the secret is tired of being kept --
Every secret ultimately longs
to be told, and

purity is demanding its time again

11/11/11, reprise

Hi.

I have republished one other 

of my earlier entries,

and today I want to do that again.

This one was actually originally written

on 10/6/10,

I think,

but it was written about today,

and I actually had a fantasy when I wrote it,

and still harbor that fantasy,

that it would inspire the world.

Well, maybe not the world,

but maybe you.

Here goes:

( laptopprophets )

So, as we all may know,

there's a growing community of folks

who are a bit worried

about the date

12/21/2012.

Somethin' about

Nostradamus

and

the Mayans,

and

some kind of planetary alignment.

Well, I had a revelation

today, and

it goes like this:

That's not really the date to watch

out for.

Well, ok, so it's true;  the evidence

(if you accept that kind of evidence as evidence)

does suggest

something major,

on

12/21/2012

something/anything

ranging from

major paradigmatic shift

to 

ice age

to

metaphysical awakening

to 

alien encounter

to

total destruction

or

fill in the blank

on 12/21/2012.

( somy35 )

But I had a vision today,

and it was

that the really interesting

palindromic

upcoming

temporal event 

will be:

11:11 on 11/11/11

I think it could be

either

a.m. or p.m.

you choose.

~ ~ ~

Anyway,

I would propose that

11:11 on 11/11/11

should be declared

the deadline time

for the one-ness,

and if we meet that deadline,

and stay in a state

of oneness

until 12/21/2012,

well,

we'll pass whatever

judgement day test

God has in store for us

for

12/21/2012.

Get it?

You see,

the deal is this:

if, 

by some weird

outside

chance,

we are facing Armageddon,

then hey,

what the heck?

Would it really hurt us to try,

for a little over a year

to just be at peace,

to just love each other.

This Is My Request,

My Dare,

To The World:

If everyone would meet that deadline:

11:11 on 11/11/11

a.m.  or p.m.,

you choose,

and then

beginning on that date,

just

STOP

stop all the hate.

Stop all the fighting.

Stop all the bickering.

Stop all the competition,

and hating,

and hurting,

and murdering,

STOP IT ALL!!!!

and just start loving,

loving people

who

you never thought you could love.

Find a place in your heart

where you can see

the thing that makes those people

who anger you, or have hurt you,

or who you don't understand

yes, 

those people,

find the thing that makes them

beautiful.

and love them until

12/21/2012.

Well, actually:

 let's say

the danger zone for

a real,

possible

 Armageddon

or

Apocolypse

or

whatever

is

from

12/20/2012

until

12/23/2012.

Yeah,

that sounds good --

those solstices 

can take awhile,

especially when they involve

a realignment

of the Earth's

magnetic fields.

So, given that,

if we get through

12/23/2012

and we're still here

and the sun

is still shining

and Santa Claus comes

and brings you

all the presents you asked for,

well then,

if we're still here after

12/23/2012,

and we've loved for a year,

and we've communicated honestly for

a whole year

and we've given to the poor for

a whole year

and we've forgiven all our debtors

for a year

and our debtors have forgiven us

for a year

and we've built up Iraq's infrastructure

for a whole year

and gone to tea with the Taliban

for a whole year

and the Taliban has gone to tea

with us

for a whole year

So, let's say

we do all that for

a little over a measly year,

and we get past the 

end of the Mayan Calendar

with no Apocolypse,

no voice from the heavens,

no planetary destruction,

why then,

if that year or so of loving

each other really proved

to be a waste of our time

we can start hating each other again,

and go back to fighting each other again.

That's the deal.

That's the deadline.

11:11 on 11/11/11

begin the one-ness

11/7/11

( in5d )

What I love about

the 11th month

in the 11th year

after the millennium

is that every day

for at least the first week or so

is a palindrome --

it gazes at itself in the mirror,

with little emotion,

but absolute equilibrium,

challenging each of us

to assume

the same composure -

11/1/11

11/2/11

11/3/11

11/4/11

11/5/11

11/6/11

11/7/11

11/8/11

11/9/11

- it's a narrow marching column,

like a count-down,

counting up --

to 

11/11/11

and then the perfect palindrome,

a beautiful balance to aspire to:

11/22/11

 .

( paradigmsearch )

Anonymous, aka: Makropoulos

( globalvoices )

My name is Anonymous;

I just walked past you,

but you didn't

see me.

I was born to blend in,

and named to be unnamed --

If I 

were sitting next to you

you wouldn't notice

me;

if I were speaking

you would interrupt --

it's not

that you can't hear me;

it's rather

that my words 

appear irrelevant.

I would love to be heard,

but my fate 

is 

not to be.

I am woman;      I am disabled

I am blonde;             I am shy

I am brown;                                 I was once abused--

I am homely              I am fat

I am poor     

I collect your garbage

                                                   I am an open bruise.

I can't read    ,           I am male

I used to work

in a factory, and

now I don't work at all.

My name is Anonymous;

I just walked past you.

( wikipedia(anonymous))

My name is Anonymous,

but when I'm alone

I sing like a bird

I write words that seer

I design all my own clothes

I paint perfect portraits

I built my own home.

I touch people gently

I heal aching bodies and heart;

I love my children dearly

and refuse

to abuse

again.

I listen to you carefully, and

believe that what you say is true.

I cry alone at night

and speak a language known by few.

My Name Is Anonymous.

I just walked past you.

My Name is Anonymous,

but my name is Makropoulos

and I beg you not

to take my words not

to take my songs.

They are mine;

yet they belong

to all the world

we've lived so well, so long

My palms weigh heavy,

my fingers are aching

to write poetry with wings,

words that fly

into your eyes and make you think

that for a moment you see

some

thing,

even the tiniest thing,

a little more clearly.

My voice too

rattles the cages of my throat

longing

to sing to you.

This, though, will not be one of my finer entries,

only one I feel a need

to say,

rather than be silent

~ ~

The autumn closes on us all,

here in the Northern Domain

and the miserable misery of working

pulls on me like a ball

and chain --

I am not one of the unemployed in America,

nor am I one of the untaxed wealthy.

I am a member of the Working Class, which includes everyone

from garbage collectors to postal deliverers to teachers to engineers to insurance salesmen to nurses

to the retired to the grill-girl at McDonald's.

We are all the ones who pay the taxes and bills, with interest,

on every single living and dying step we take.

We're the ones who keep the company

woops, country

alive.

And now the ghoulish parade of hopeful GOP's

have donned their Halloween masks;

every day a new trick,

with promises of impossible treats.

Today, we discard our masks and return

to drudgery;

for them, the masquerade

has only just begun.

We're doomed to listen to them,

and to be required to believe

actually believe

that one of them,

just one of them,

is more capable than the current one man in office

 of relieving us of the mess we're in,

and restoring us to 1960's prosperity.

No no no no No

On this day, 11/1/11,

I say to you:

no one single American citizen

can turn this mess around.

Only us,

together,

can turn it around.

And we must start by stopping

our bickering,

start by stopping

our partisanship

start by stopping

believing

that we're right

and the other person

is wrong.

Start by listening,

and looking

with both eyes wide open,

and we will see

the Statue of Liberty

sailing away to sea.

We're all right,

and we're all wrong.

We have

lived so well,

so long,

and now

our biggest challenge is

finding a new way to live

well

together --