Thoughts on the eclipse

Yeah, I watched the solar eclipse. We only got 58%, and it never got dark outside. But it was still awe-inspiring; a numinous experience - great word, that. I've used it before, and I'll use it again, because it is one of those words that describes a specific experience exactly. 

I had to wonder what it must have been like for the ancients to experience an eclipse. No news service warned them in advance, or told them not to look at it. If it was total, the day would become night and return to day. In those breathtaking moments, they had no idea what was happening. How could they not perceive it as a message from their Gods?  

How wonderful it is to live in a time when we have a more complex understanding of reality, right? To the educated mind science actually magnifies the complexity of the universe. I'm pretty sure some might think that complexity divine. Who knows? Not me. Outside of direct experience, it's all just words and wonder.

Magical thinking is a basic human reaction. In our innocence, this is how we are delivered to the world. However, the ability to think and reason are what separate us from animals. So, I was shocked to discover there are still people in these United States who thought it was The Rapture last Tuesday. Geez O Pete! I despair.

Metaphysical woo woo

I often think of my paternal Grandma. I love her beyond words. Well, maybe I'm being dramatic. I could probably describe how much I love her in any number of ways. 

I could write a litany to describe her. I like litanies, especially the Litany of the Blessed Virgin Mary. A litany drills you right down to the core of an archetype. Words of power and images of faith. After an invocation was read by the priest, the congregation would reply in unison the following supplication: "Pray for us!" If you could pay attention long enough, it was magical. Not much different than a Babylonian prayer to Ishtar.

Those old fathers of the church really knew what they were doing on a deep psychological level. In addition, the BVM litany gave you an indulgence of 7 years off your time in Limbo! But I digress. Grandma.  

She was Protestant to my Catholic. Raised Southern Baptist, she became Pentecostal in middle-age. She could talk in the language of the angels if the spirit moved her. I was scared of her church and only went with her once. You may think pre-Vatican II Catholicism was metaphysical woo woo, but that's only because you never went to Grandma's church. Still, she believed. Her life wasn't easy and it got her through a lot.

I never told her I lost my faith. How could I?

The nuns said non-Catholics wouldn't go to heaven. They told us lots of crazy stuff, trying to make sure we'd never think for ourselves. That's how I knew religious dogma was purposely manipulative, because my Grandma was the holiest person I ever met. If Grandma couldn't go to heaven, then there must not be a heaven. 

To be fair, Pentecostals believe Catholics are a cult and will burn in hell. With 7 Catholic grandchildren, I wonder what Grandma thought about that? 

A Mother Goddess if I ever saw one!

Sunday musings from one who is limited in her understanding

Below is a rendition of my favorite sacred music. As a young girl going to mass in pre-Vatican II South Bend, Indiana, when the choir in the loft behind the congregation sang this, I was sure it was the angels sharing the essence of God with us. The fact that it was in Latin made it even more numinous. I'm agnostic now, but if there is a God, I'm convinced S/He is always present when we experience the beautiful. And artists, musicians, actors, writers, and singers are Her/His angels.

"Numinous is a term derived from the Latin numen, meaning "arousing spiritual or religious emotion; mysterious or awe-inspiring." The term was given its present sense by the German theologian and philosopher Rudolf Otto in his influential 1917 German book The Idea of the Holy. Wikipedia"

Agnostic: "a person who believes that nothing is known or can be known of the existence or nature of God or of anything beyond material phenomena; a person who claims neither faith nor disbelief in God."

Definitions from Oxford Languages

Good Old Matthew

I've been meaning to write about the political trauma in this country. I certainly live it everyday, and have been as active as I can manage without losing my mind.

I am heartened by the outpouring of public support fighting to end the cruel policy of stealing children from their parents at the Texas/Mexico border. I have even learned a new bible quote (is that what you call them?) that is now my favorite. I use it to shut down hateful, heartless, soulless trolls: Matthew 25:31:46. 

You know things are getting complicated when a heathen agnostic like me starts reading the bible to get clear on what is and what is not Christ-like. But I was raised pre-Vatican II Catholic. That stuff (the golden rule, morality, aversion to sin) never really goes away. At least it never went away for me. What I don't understand is why so many Fox News Christians don't follow the teachings of Christ? What's that all about? It is almost like they are following the anti-Christ, ya know? At any rate, they certainly are giving Christianity a bad name. Oh well, their choice.

Here's a fun meme, ha! Feel free to download and share it widely. And then vote as if your immortal soul depended on it come November.  See, I can still talk that talk!

Christmas, redux

It is early December and Christmas frenzy is in full swing at my house. I'm ordering presents, actually venturing out of the house to go to real live local stores, making all sorts of lists, and starting those damn Xmas cards. I'm already tired of it all. However, if past years are an indication, it will soon take over every thinking moment. I will be obsessed with the holidays any minute now and I won't resurface until January. Ho ho ho I think there are sugar plums dancing in my head.  Perhaps it is the time for a change. Maybe Christmas should be much, much more about giving, caring, and helping others.  Maybe everyday should be like that?

By the way, the U.S. has received an early Christmas present in the form of #PoorPeoplesCampaign, a revival of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s 1960's era Civil Rights movement. According to a post on the Repairers of the Breach facebook page, 

"Poor, Disenfranchised," (and) "Clergy to Launch New Movement For Moral Revival of America: Leaders to Announce Historic Wave of Direct Action, Non-Violent Civil Disobedience

Washington – On Monday, 50 years to the day after Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and others called for the original Poor People’s Campaign, organizers will announce a new moral movement to challenge the enmeshed evils of systemic racism, poverty, the war economy, ecological devastation and America’s distorted national morality.

The Monday launch of the Poor People’s Campaign: A National Call for Moral Revival by co-chairs Rev. Dr. William Barber II, Rev. Dr. Liz Theoharis and other leaders will include the unveiling of details around six weeks of direct action next spring at statehouses and the U.S. Capitol, including plans for one of the largest waves of civil disobedience in U.S. history."

Yes!

Here's a video that was posted live yesterday to start their campaign:
 

https://www.facebook.com/brepairers/videos/1532936543410163/?hc_ref=ARQyw3q5T5pJXFFa-XP0J3igWk4YwfhI4xcec919dkvoIhr8LBv2mI4DFwnnJYkyfHM&pnref=story

Grandma Told Stories

The last Grandma story (for now):

Grandma was a fundamentalist Protestant and a Pentecostal charismatic who talked in tongues when the spirit moved her. This was quite different than the European Catholicism of my mother's people, which was the way I was raised. However, loving someone with a different religion was my first clue that mysticism and goodness belong to all religions, and all (or none) are valid paths. She also retained many old Appalachian mores, superstitions, and beliefs.

She often told me ghost stories about events that happened in the family over the years.  One of my favorite stories was the one about "The Three White Horses.”

The Three White Horses
Grandma’s paternal grandmother, Luella, lived on a farm in Pickett County, Tennessee with her husband, Ewell. She was sitting on her front porch on 1 Jun 1919, when unbeknownst to her, their son Thomas (my great grandfather) died. Luella told Ewell that she saw three white horses running in the fields by their house that day. He just laughed at her and told her she was seeing things. Three months to the day, she went into the cornfield to fill her apron with ripe corn for dinner. There she had a stroke and died on 1 September 1919.   

Grandma also told me she once heard a strong, decisive knock on the front door to her house.  When she opened the door no one was there.  Later she discovered that a relative had died at the exact moment she heard the knock. These stories scared me half to death, and I had trouble sleeping for many nights after hearing that one.  Still, I was fascinated and could not stop asking for more.

My father died in 1995, and Grandma was bereft at losing her son. I came into town for the funeral, and I was dropped off at Grandma's house a couple hours before with the understanding I was to keep Grandma company until my mother came to pick us both up. It never occurred to me that Grandma hadn't been told I would be coming. She answered the door red eyed and with tears streaming down her face. It killed me to see her that way. She said she didn't want company right then, something I had never heard her say before. I felt so bad for intruding. I apologized and hugged her and said I'd walk to my Mom's house (probably only about a 15 minutes walk - no big deal). When Grandma realized I didn't have a car she refused to let me leave. 

Then I had to make it right somehow, you know what I mean? It was super awkward and one of those moments you will always remember. I realized it couldn't be Grandma who made it right, she was a 90 year old woman beside herself with grief. I had to do or say something that would change the tone, but still honor the feelings of that day. The best I could come up with was (in a small voice) "Grandma, could you tell me the story of the three white horses?"

She look at me out of the corner of her eyes for one long moment (as if to say, "Are ya kiddin' me, Colette?). Then her eyes crinkled up and she laughed out loud, a most welcome sound. She patted my knee, and proceeded to tell me the story. She was the grandmother, I was the grandchild, and we both knew how that worked. 

This brooch belonged to Grandma.  Not three WHITE horses, but still...

The more things change

Politics stink! Each side would have us believe the world will end if their candidate doesn't win. I understand dehumanizing one's opponent is part of the game. And don't misunderstand me, I feel quite strongly about my own preference for the next president. And okay, make me say it: I don't like her opponent. However, I dislike the "fear and loathing" that politics invoke even more. I have had all I can take. From here on in, I refuse to hate. Can you stand it?

I am amazed when people believe the most outrageous lies that each side spreads about the other. So few of us want to listen to the facts. It is wrong, there is no justification for it. It would be a better world if we all made our political decisions based on our heads (intellect) instead of our hearts (belief system). I'm going to start with me.

I think back to the first presidential campaign I can remember. It was when John F. Kennedy was running against Richard Nixon in 1960. I suppose it is imprinted on my mind because JFK was Catholic and I was a Catholic school girl in 1960. We were all so proud that a Catholic was running for president, which was unheard of at the time. It was a different world and there was still deep distrust for Catholics left over from the freakin' Middle Ages! I am NOT kidding. Hate runs long and deep.

I was Roman Catholic because that was how my mother was raised. Her form of Catholicism was very European. Her grandparents immigrated to the U.S.A. from France and Germany between 1850 - 1860. They settled in a large German Catholic community near Chicago.

My father's people were as Protestant as Protestant can be. His ancestors arrived in the Colonies between 1625 and 1714 from England, Germany, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, and France. My paternal grandparents were raised Southern Baptist in Kentucky and Tennessee. When they moved up North in the 1920's, they joined a Pentecostal Protestant church.

FYI, I am proud of both sides of my family and their historically different but equally profound cultural traditions. Each family had an original immigrant to America at some point in time. I try to never forget that. It was interesting growing up in a complex and diverse family.

My paternal grandfather distrusted Catholics. It was hard for him when his son converted to Catholicism to marry my mother in the 1940's. My paternal grandparents were Democrats until JFK got the Democratic nomination for president in 1960.  Then they became conservative Republicans because my grandfather refused to vote for a Catholic. I guess the idea that a Catholic would run for president made them feel like the world was changing too much. They probably felt threatened, left out. They were used to having leaders who were just like them. They thought if a Catholic became president then he would start persecuting Protestants and the Pope would become the de facto president. It sounds so silly and hard to imagine now, but that was what many people actually "believed" back then.

I was 9 years old. I was trying to understand religion, politics, and family dynamics even though my heart was aching. I was confused and a little frightened to see the people I loved at odds with each other. Luckily, both my mother and my paternal grandmother went out of their way to remain friends. They did their best to reassure us children that no matter who became president, or what church we went to, we would still be a family. It was a great example of how to respect someone you don't necessarily agree with. 

My paternal grandmother was a different age, religion, and political persuasion than me. She was also a huge influence on my life. There was not much we agreed on as I grew older and the 1960's Culture Wars ensued. However, I knew she loved me and I knew there was no ideology or barrier to that love. I also knew not to discuss religion or politics with her. 

Grandma goofing around with two of her granddaughters in 1962

Cool Jazz and Buddhist Chants

Last night T and I went to hear Wayne Shorter and Herbie Hancock play jazz. In the context of jazz music I am merely trying to be a supportive wife. Imagine my surprise when I found I liked it.

Truthfully, I have always enjoyed listening to contemporary jazz more when it is live versus when it is blasting from our CD player. There is something about our small house being bombarded by disembodied dissonant chords that sets my teeth on edge.

All the music was improvised last night. I was amazed they could sustain a creative dynamic nonstop for almost 90 minutes. In front of an audience of strangers, no less. It made me think they had discipline, confidence, and faith.

Herbie Hancock worked his magic on a grand piano and a synthesizer. It was crazy, the musical noise he made. I lack a musical nomenclature, but I could almost follow what he did because there is something seemingly linear about piano. There is at least the appearance of a beginning and and end with whatever they play. Please don't assume I know what I'm talking about. I am just writing this trying to figure out what I think.

The musician who knocked my socks off was Wayne Shorter. Jazz sax players do NOT seem linear to me. They are explosively expressive and endlessly, belligerently creative. It was nuts how he played around the piano music, how he filled up space with bursts and bleeps. Like I said, I do not have the language to describe it. I certainly don't "understand" what they were playing. I only know these two guys are in touch with some deep creative groove and I enjoyed watching and hearing them settle in to it.

T reminded me that we saw Wayne Shorter perform a million years ago, when he was in the band Weather Report. I have no memory of that performance. It was the early 1970's and believe me, at that time I was way more interested in David Bowie than jazz. I am still more interested in David Bowie than jazz.

Wayne Shorter is a jazz saxophonist, one of the best. He has been referred to as jazz's greatest living composer. He is also a Buddhist, as is Herbie Hancock. They both practice Nichiren Buddhism through an organization called Soka Gakkai International. I knew nothing about this religious discipline before starting this post, so I am absolutely not writing this to promote SGI. I just reference it so I can try to understand what motivates these two guys. Pretty much all I know is what I found on one of the SGI website pages:

"The core Buddhist practice of SGI members is chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo and reciting portions of the Lotus Sutra (referred to as gongyo), and sharing the teachings of Buddhism with others in order to help them overcome their problems."

Okay...

When I heard these guys playing I knew they were plugged in to something heady. It must be nice to have a spirituality that encourages you to lose yourself in abstraction and beauty. I kind of envy them that.

Mucky stuff in the lake