Joy to despair . . . and back again
A Native American elder once described his own inner struggles in this manner: “Inside of me there are two dogs. One of the dogs is mean and evil. The other dog is good. The mean dog fights the good dog all the time.” When asked which dog wins, he reflected for a moment and replied, “The one I feed the most.”
Saturday, January 13, 2001
What a joyful morning! I’m with more than a thousand of my brothers and sisters at the Annual Prayer Breakfast commemorating the birthday of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. The passion of the choir’s songs touches my heart. The stirring speeches by Mayor Leni Sitnick and NPR reporter Juan Williams move my soul. I am filled this morning in a way that the plate of eggs and biscuits could never come close to. In this moment my vision of true community lives.
Saturday, January 27
12:45 p.m. Just when I was getting sort of OK with seeing Bush’s name in print with “President” attached to it. I’m in my car listening to This American Life on WCQS. Reverend Richard Harris, a black minister from Florida is describing how he personally registered more than twelve hundred African-Americans to vote, only to witness many of them intimidated and turned away from the polls for spurious reasons on election day. Here is a man of God, questioning his spirituality because he wants to forgive local and state authorities, but is presently unable even to bring himself to stand for the national anthem at a college basketball game.
3:00 p.m. I receive a card from my friend, Jenny Meadows, who is just back from South Africa. She has been visiting Chris Bateman, a fifth-generation South African who was involved in the work of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, the group that is helping South Africans to come to terms with their past and to promote reconciliation in their nation. She has had an awe-inspiring time there, attending the premiere of Long Night’s Journey Into Day, a movie about the work of the commission, and meeting Archbishop Desmond Tutu, commission chairperson. In Jenny’s own words: “I see so much that Americans can learn from South Africa about race relations. They (South Africans) have come so much farther in the six years since apartheid ended than America has come in the one hundred thirty years since the end of slavery.”
4:45 p.m. I’ve tuned to Don Pedi’s Close to Home program on WCQS. This is about the time each Saturday when he plays an early Bob Dylan tune. And though I own almost all of Dylan’s CDs from the ’60s, I still relish hearing them on the radio. Instead, however, I hear Tracy Chapman, the powerful and gifted singer-songwriter lamenting the plight of a woman of color.
The life I’ve always wanted
I guess I’ll never have
I’ll be working for somebody else
Until I’m in my grave
I’ll be dreaming of a life of ease
And mountains oh mountains o’ things
I weep unashamedly.
That evening. Carlos Nakai, Peter Kater, Mary Youngblood, Rita Coolidge, and a number of other folks perform at a tribute for Hawk Littlejohn, a local Native American flute maker who recently died from cancer. Carlos says it all. Truly powerful music emanates from the heart of the artist and touches the hearts of its listeners. The natural rhythms, the humility and graciousness of the performers, the reason for being there touches a responsive chord in me and gets my one-sixteenth Native American blood flowing freely.
Sunday, January 28
I sit quietly to discern the meaning of the events during the past few weeks. One day, I am filled with hope that the tide is turning, that understanding and acceptance will prevail. A few days later, deep despair wells up about those who attempt to build themselves up by trying to tear others down. Then jolted back to the reality: Change is possible. South Africans have shown us that. I wonder, why not a Truth and Reconciliation Commission for the United States of America? An opportunity to cleanse ourselves by coming together, admitting our transgressions, receiving and granting forgiveness, and moving forward hand in hand.
From A Course in Miracles: “When you meet anyone, remember it is a holy encounter. As you see him, you will see yourself. As you treat him, you will treat yourself. As you think of him, you will think of yourself. Never forget this, for in him you will find yourself or lose yourself.”
“We must become the change we want to see in the world,” said Mahatma Gandhi.
Our work is not to change our enemies nor to vanquish them. Our work is to transform ourselves by rooting out the lies we tell ourselves, by reconsidering the beliefs we hold to be undeniably true, by casting out ill-founded assumptions. If we are willing to do this, our “enemies” will mysteriously disappear. I said that.
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