Covid Pentacost

Grief walks the streets, masked.
Isolation is summer’s undesired shield
from the hum of bees,
of birdsongs,
of joy.

Help me—oh mama!
I cannot breathe!
Bye-bye!

Injustice walks the streets, armed.
Legal structures and strictures shield
ideologies of subjugation;
they rule with impunity,
sparking outrage.

Help me—oh mama!
I cannot breathe!
Bye-bye!

A virus propelled by breath runs unabated.
Much needed conversation is stifled
—not to mention song,
medicine the spirit
longs to feel.

Help me—oh mama!
I cannot breathe!
Bye-bye!

Gather, all ye in the village squares,
mourn that capture by all such restraints
as leads to the stifling of breath,
sending, untimely, more men of color
to meet Jesus in Paradise.

Help me—oh mama!
I cannot breathe!
Bye-bye!

Fire beetles, light the night,
signal the elusive dove to morning flight,
and when comes here the sun,
rain upon us a fire for righteousness.

Transform these hearts of stone
into the living hearts of compassion;
Make us to speak only justice,
to understand the language of love and no other.

Let not the riotous soul go unheard,
that stands by with help for all humanity;
strengthen us to bring comfort and blessing
to every neighbor, in these times of trial. Selah!

© 2020 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen and songsofasouljourney.blogspot.com

We live in dangerous times. People who should be leaders are fomenting unrest for political gain. Innocent people are caught in the crossfire. Some sworn members of that profession intended to “protect and serve” abuse their power.

I am reminded of Ezekiel, Chapter 7, a description known as “The End Has Come.” At the very end is this line:

“I will deal with them according to their conduct,
and by their own standards will I judge them.”

As bleak as this seems, there is much to hope for. There are good and compassionate and loving people in every place.

Martin Luther King, Jr. said:

“Man must evolve for all human conflict a method which rejects revenge, aggression and retaliation. The foundation of such a method is love.”

Love truly is the answer, and the only one.

Final Walk - A Good Friday Meditation

After the dust and palm frond waves,
no steps seem more daunting,
even though each one forward paves,
despite bullies and faithless taunting,
a way, of being and living, that saves.

Servant leadership nixes vaunting
whose lie of pride and wealth behaves
so conspicuously mean and flaunting
— but all who would deny, poor knaves,
might ultimately be left empty and wanting
once redeeming love frees all of us slaves.

Good Friday is a day intended introspection rather than guilt. A newspaper headline about this day might read, “Man Acting Suspiciously Executed in Name of Empire,” and that brings it forward a few thousand years, doesn’t it?

I mean, why kill someone like the man from Nazareth? Why not sentence him to jail? After all, he did advise people that they should give Caesar what was due.

Well, it is all about the meta-message, and that was in part about upending the social strata. But that wasn’t the whole story.

Jesus tried to communicate to people that nothing about their lives was inevitable, unless they allowed it to be so. Oppression at the hands of functionaries of the Empire was the least of the difficulty. Tribalism and taboos; orthodoxy and the inevitable hypocrisy that accompanies that way of being and thinking; the creation and maintenance of ghettos—and by that I don’t just mean the ghettos that are imposed to shut people in (those are very real and devastating), but the ones we willingly create to shut people out. Jesus was trying to let us know that the fastest way to redress societal ills is not to blame, condemn, and fight, but to mitigate, ameliorate and serve.

Said another way, whenever we complain, act out or wait for someone else to solve a problem, we’re not writing ourselves into the solution; further, we are diminishing ourselves. This is not at all to say that organization and protest can be minimized to “complaint” or “acting out.” Jesus and his followers were construed to be rabble-rousers, but when they went into communities, their intent was to serve, and serve they did.

Some tried to say that what Jesus and his followers were doing was illegal, and if there was indeed a real trial, Jesus would have been convicted based on court legalities. In truth, what Jesus suggested is that to do the right thing, we are sometimes forced to act outside human law, especially where it is constructed to ensnare and weaken people in ways that serve no positive societal purpose (a real example: A court demanded a million dollars in bail for the release of a transient accused of arson. What purpose did that serve? There was no one to come forward for the man; the bail might even have been as low as $10K, and this man would have been stuck in jail.) or that are divisive toward the community.

When I reflect on the gospel message, I see that Jesus is saying we cannot use “the system” as an excuse. If “the system” needs fixing, we have to do it ourselves, even if our DIY is a “work around.” The can is kicked forward because the task of dismantling and reassembling the Tower of Babel is too daunting. So, what happens in the meanwhile? Nothing? Status quo? Complacency? All we like sheep, awaiting a new shepherd?

No. The message is clear and irrefutable: There is no easy way out of the thicket of wrongs and the legalese of inequity, but love finds the way. Love can only find the way if we have compassion and if we truly care about and are empowered toward just outcomes. This is such an outcome driven world, and yet so few people invest in the good outcome unless “good outcome” means wealth and status.

Jesus took the final walk trying to awaken us to a desire for the “right outcome.” If we want “right outcomes,” we need to invest self into the equation. Denials and excuses don’t cut it in the Kingdom of Heaven, which is here, inside each of us, and all around us in this life we are living, right now. The charge to “love thy neighbor” is a call to be and do the controversial (loudly or even secretly, if necessary), to buck the system, to do the right thing, the just thing, the very best thing.

Don’t let the dream die. Go in peace, my friends, to love and to serve.

© 2018 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Truly Human

This is something like a prayer, to see if a simple strand of words can be a catalyst to unity and dedication.

Violence, on the rise,—
            tasked to criticize,
            ostracize,
            criminalize,
            and victimize
—solves nothing.

Life is a blender,
            in which we surrender
            to learn, to render
            and engender
            hearts to be more tender
—inclined toward cooperation,
if not affection.

If we are to carry forward life,
there is a need to end strife;
we need to make a progression
away from mindless aggression.

This calls for us to reframe
            and retrain,
            even entrain
            and entertain
an understanding what civilization means,
            and retain it.

In order to survive,
            we must realize,
            and prioritize,
            modernize
            and acclimatize,
            fraternize
            and solemnize
A truly compassionate bond,
that we may recover,
            or even discover,
what are the needs
and what it means
to be truly human.

Shall we go, I say,
into the darkness? Nay!
In despair for us, I pray:
Let us resolve
to evolve!

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Meditations in Fast Times: 29. Since we were talking about words

Note to Readers: “Meditations in Fast Times” is a devotional writing experiment for the Season of Lent. Each day during the season, I am writing a poem as a meditation on, taking as my inspiration and intertextual basis, T.S. Eliot’s “Four Quartets”, as well as incorporating the daily office, current events, and other readings—some the same as those Eliot used while composing his seminal work and others.

                29.

Since we were talking about words, and words inspired us

    To perfect language and clarify understanding,

    To practice communication with using past and future,

Let me review the epic failure of that enterprise

    That we thought would bring us renown.

We spoke in tongues,
but not with the tongues of angels;
full of and with self,
we sought to be known communicants with the Divine,
rather than in community with other people,
and so our words fell flat,
spiraling downward into obscurity,
so lacking they were in music
or meaning

—if the trumpet sounds uncertainly,
how shall we understand the signal?

If we are to spread love,
it must be into the field of our life and action,
even if we never know the result of our labor.

Love of place cannot rank above love of people;
people are the servants of creation;
they are all the gardeners of Eden,
just as you are—this what memory taught me:

To be free, the self must be regularly emptied,

a sign of giving and receiving in equal measure;
emptiness is the sign of a life well spent,
regardless of any past or future claims.


Of all that I ever knew about language,
of all the words and ways,
I’d rather have just five words
that I could speak with compassion and love,
that I could be compassion and love,
that I could truly be,
and be so for everyone.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Down in the Tube Station At Midnight (or anywhere, anytime of day)

Every so often, I have a guest commentator on my blog. Today, my guest is my husband, Rick Dougherty. At the dinner table, Rick related the story you are about to read. I felt it was vital and important; a story that needs to be shared and thought about deeply. This is a story about people in the Bay Area, about homelessness, about addiction, about suffering. It is also a story about intuition, compassion and engagement. I hope you will take this story to heart.

***

I was coming home from work in San Francisco today, heading down the escalator to the BART station, and noticed a young man in a grey hoody and jeans standing near the turnstile. His backpack lay against the column behind him and, as people walked past to head down to the trains, he was asking for fifty cents.

Normally I would have walked past, but something about him caught my attention. He had a very gentle demeanor, a soft voice and spoke very well. He was very thin but didn’t seem to be ill or worn like so many of the homeless do. I had taken this all in as I put my ticket into the slot and walked through the stile, and was about to move on but instead, just out of curiosity, I turned back and asked him where he was going. For a moment he looked a little puzzled, so I said that fifty cents wouldn’t take him very far. Then he gave a slight smile and a conversation ensued that moved me deeply.

He told me he was just trying to get enough for something to eat, and when I asked him where he lived he said he was from Danville but hadn’t been home in three years. He had been sleeping on benches at the airport along with many other homeless people. The police would walk past them every night on their way to eat but so far didn’t seem interested in them. I asked why he didn’t go back to his parents and he said that they had thrown him out of the house because he had become hooked on heroine.

Before it all fell apart, he had seemed to have a great life in store. He loved baseball and was a great pitcher, a lefty with a 90 mph fastball, and had received a full scholarship at St. Mary’s. But at the end of his sophomore year a teammate saw him shooting up at a party, and when the news got out, he was not only off the team but was expelled from the school.

He said that in the past three years he had overdosed eight times and that each time the medical team had been able to revive him, the last couple of times only barely. You’d think having gone through that he would have learned his lesson, he said, but within half an hour of being released he was out looking for his next fix.

I told him my own family had been riddled with alcoholics and I had learned that the only person who can save an alcoholic, or an addict of any kind, is themselves, so there was nothing I could do for any of those family members but walk away. I said that it was because of that experience that I was reluctant to give him any money. To my surprise he said, “No, don’t give me any money. I’ll just go buy heroine with it.”

I asked if he had looked into any treatment programs that could help him, and he said that he didn’t think he could make it through the twelve-to-fifteen month programs. But if he didn’t even try to grab onto a rescue line, I replied, the there was no chance at all that he could change his fate. But if he took that very first step, he might begin to feel the confidence that he could control his life and could regain the determination to see it through and pull himself back up on his feet.

He shook his head again and said he wasn’t sure he could do it. I told him that in the end there were parts of him trying to run his life, his body and his mind, and that he would have to decide which one would run it in the end.

He nodded solemnly, as did I. I wished him well and we shook hands. Then I headed down to the trains.

***

This is a simplified version of the story from the way it was told at our dinner table, but that is the whole story.

There are a great many things that could be said about the story you have read, but the one aspect I want to draw your attention to has to do with engagement. 

I know that I have had similar encounters with people, over the years--people who were, for all intents and purposes, struggling to deal with something. Who knows what it was that made Rick turn back? I can only think there is some sort of intuition involved. 

We will never know if anything Rick had to say to this young man will have a lasting impact (he has survived overdosing eight times, but cats only have nine lives), but I cannot help but feel that when we follow the intuition that tells us to engage,--that it is not only okay, but we need to engage--this opens a pathway for positive change.

In your dark night, whose face was it that made you smile? Whose warm hand touched yours? Whose kind word or funny joke? How was the darkness dispelled? What unexpected encounter changed your life? 

When you pass people huddled on the street or in the tube station or in the airport, what is it that will make you talk to one of them? Are you tethered to a virtual muffler, or are you tuned to what is happening around you?

Whose life might you unknowingly influence for the better?

One last thought: We shall all be changed, of that there is no doubt. If we shall all be changed, let it be through compassionate, caring engagement.

The Jam: Down in the Tube Station At Midnight

Kind Heart

            For Janet W., and all who quietly go about the business of

                   life-changing-miracle-making

Kind heart,
loving, your art,
finds each open door,
all the ways in, and more;
smiles are not sufficient,
favors and deeds not efficient,
for ‘tis the lingering hour
of connection that ignites the power
to move mountains with eyes,
to conquer despair, save lives;
Love spins its tale true
by never resisting the urge to do.

Storm Eye Witness

From a troubled sea, I came;

From the tumult of my crashing waves,
longing for relief from my raging storm,
I came from a troubled sea.

Greeted by no berceuse
in this port from my storm,
instead by ringing and singing,
a laughing and crying and carrying on
about out and in relationships, on and off
emotions, pitching sonic waves and weavings,
an undulating web of rattling words in herds,
like the very waves I’d fled.

Troubled seeing, I became
witness to my world and wavering,
aware now that my dreams and waking
must be born of a troubled sea.

What started with prayerful hopes
ended with praying and awaking to active now;

I went up to thank them, to thank her and she,
but she conferred further blessing.

“You brought calm,” said she,
“having you here was calming,
like an anchor for our tossed ship,”
and from her I received kisses,
as though I had been the gift.

Thus anointed, I turned away,
thoughtfully moved to my return:
Eye of the Storm, I seem to be,
though storm-tossed I had felt;
calm came with me in my pocket,
along with my keys, my hanky and tears,
and fragments of hope and place
—and I never knew it was there.

I have had eyes, but did not see,
ears, but they did not hear—until now:
when you become the Eye of the Storm,
calm comes to be a friend and guest of your heart,
to share in the love, the pain and the laughter,
the onward, spiraling music of your being.

© 2012 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Updated 8/28/12:

Most of you don't know this, but my poetry is my diary. I sometimes write infrequently, but when I do write, it is to crystalize an experience that stands out and apart from the everyday. Music often inspires me. This particular poem was inspired by a performance of new chamber music in San Francisco by CMASH (an acronym for Chamber Music Art Song Hybrid). It was a wonderful performance! The lesson here: Art Inspires More Art!!! Find out about the wonderful people who make music happen at CMASH, and how you might even make a donation, by following the link. http://www.cmashmusic.org/

Reality

Materialism:

products are petted,
becoming self-referential fetishes
for our admiration,
critique &
worship.

Compassion:
heart opens out
ever more outwardly mobile
in the exploration
of life &
of love.

A middle way:
experience of form and spirit,
accepted as inherent
to every journey
—moderately lived,
appropriately embraced.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Kindness and Cooperation: Lessons in Daily Living

We so often hear that "boys will be boys", particularly if the phrase is being offered as an excuse for episodes of bad behavior. Girls can also be mean. And so can parents be mean, as well as people of an adult age who do not have children. How much mean-spiritedness are we modeling for our children and youth? If we see our child behave badly, do we step in and say something, or hang back, because it is too much trouble?

We hear so much in the news about bullying, and there have lately been many tragic consequences. We wonder at the decline in civilized behavior, and we comment on how "those other people" should behave (whomever "they" are).

But, here is a news flash, people: we are all "them".

Kindness is a blessing, but generally not a natural gift to most people, although I have met some people who are, I think, naturally kind in every encounter. Meeting the embodiment of kindness and generosity is edifying and humbling for me.  Hopefully this is true for everyone, but perhaps not; many merely take someone else's kindness for granted. Some people meet kindness and generosity believing that is a form of weakness, and feel free (or obliged) to take advantage; little do they realize that they are the losers in such an exchange.

In a world of kindness, there is no pecking order, no top-down authority; all are equal and respected in the eyes of the observer. A world of kindness requires a specific type of engagement with the world: mutual attentiveness between any two people. Martin Buber characterized this beautifully in his book I and Thou:

The primary word I-Thou can be spoken only with the whole being. Concentration and fusion into the whole being can never take place through my agency, not can it ever take place without me. I become through my relation to the Thou; and as I become the I, I say Thou. All real living is meeting.

What he means, of course, is that real living requires that two or more engage in an activity; it takes two to tango. If one can acknowledge another, meeting that person as an equal and actively engaging in relationship, even if that relationship is only a simple transaction at the grocery store, or cars merging on the freeway, or a game at the park, that meeting is where life happens. Transcendence occurs in every action between individuals who engage to solve a problem.

In the same vein, Aldous Huxley says of love:

There isn't any formula or method. You learn to love by loving - by paying attention and doing what one thereby discovers has to be done.

You could easily substitute the words "live" for "love" and "living" for "loving".

What is suggested is a type of ongoing education. Goodness and compassion may not be natural, but they can be learned and taught. Teaching goodness and compassion is every bit an attentive action as that meeting that Buber describes and that love that Huxley wrote about. And it requires more than yelling across the park "hey, quit picking on that kid!"

If we want to teach our children well, we cannot avert our eyes and mouth worn phrases like "boys will be boys"--that is inattention at its most self-contained and in complete disregard for "what needs to be done."

If we want to teach kindness, we must recognize and be humbled by our own capacity for meanness. If we can do that, the next step is to engage with our children honestly about meanness and its consequences, about the inattention that leads to disregard or objectification, and likewise about attention leading to mutual engagement and problem solving.

That mutual learning experience is where life really happens; it elevates the everyday world and lifts people up.

But life is all about choices; living life attentively, with kindness and compassion, is a choice, like any other. People are not the isolated beings they like to think they are; we cannot live for ourselves alone. We live in a world that faces destruction if we do not fit ourselves into the picture that is so much bigger than ourselves, and turn our attention to solving the problems we have created from a position of selfishness. An integral world demands mutual integrity; every day introduces the opportunity for a new lesson.

Integral life must be thought of as a continuing journey in the practice of kindness and cooperation.

May we learn from our mistakes and teach our children well.

Multicultural Center

Humanity:

a plural noun,
naming a species
known as mankind.

Swift to divide, conquer,
label, condemn and control;
soon to be extinct
—unless a maturing
awakens people
from a childish
and deadly
slumber.

Awakening is not a revolution
of wars, weapons and
the spilling of blood,
innocent and guilty,
but is nothing less
than an evolution
to the Grand Opening
of the Multicultural Center.

This is the place
where divided mind
becomes one,
melting alchemically
into a plural Heart,
the seat of universal
compassion.

At that opening,
every window and
all the doors
of every singular heart
shall be flung wide open
to the light of Life,
a truer rite of passage,
so that the living play of radiance
reveals the visible spectrum
of all people
as joined in living
a lifelong embrace
of all colors,
all kinds,
all sounds
of life,
to be of one being
on the Earth.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen