The id Post: My Christmas Gift to Everyone I Know

The id Post: My Christmas Gift to Everyone I Know: by Irene Daniel This year I am giving one gift to everyone! That's right. Just one gift for all of my friends and family. I made a d...

My Christmas Gift to Everyone I Know

by Irene Daniel

This year I am giving one gift to everyone! That's right. Just one gift for all of my friends and family.

I made a donation to the K.I.N.D. fund, a partnership between Lawrence O'Donnell of MSNBC's Last Word and UNICEF. K.I.N.D. stands for Kids In Need of Desks. The purpose of this fund is to purchase desks for children in Malawi, Africa, who do not presently have one -- at all. I purchased one desk on behalf of everyone that I love. And that is the extent of my Christmas shopping this year. (Except for the Brodylicious one.)

Not only am I broke, disorganized and short on time and other resources, I simply cannot participate in the greedfest the season has become. It has pretty much taken a lot of the fun out of Christmas for me. Moreover, I have essentially zero friends who are pining away for another little gadget to dust or figure out what to do with. In fact, most people I know are in a stage in life where, for whatever reason, they are downsizing and throwing out most of the junk from Christmases past that have already cluttered their living spaces for long enough. I know I don't need, or want, anything this year except to know that I am loved. And I know that now. So, I'm good. Please send me no cute little things. Cards and letters are always welcome, but spend no time, money and angst on me, because I hate waste. I'm sure you do too.

The real Spirit of Christmas is about giving where there is lack, where true need exists. Isn't that what the story of the Nativity is all about? A Spirit of giving that stems from a family in dire need? About opening our hearts and minds to a new way of seeing the world and one another? Well, that's what I want it to be about this year for me and mine.

I realize that "everyone" is a pretty big category, and some may feel less special because I have not singled them out for special attention. But those who love me and know me well are constantly made aware of how special they are to me because I tell them so every chance I get. And they know that I am struggling mightily with other priorities in my life, and so have no material expectations of me. So, this is my way of loving you all back.

My gift is to everyone. No exceptions. Even those with whom I disagree, or just plain dislike, have contributed something to my life. This is my expression of humble and loving thanks; not because I'm so good, but because that is what I believe Jesus would have me do, and what the gift of the Magi is all about.

That being said, there are some special people I feel a need to mention. So here goes:

Daniel and Brody Boise, my son and grandson;
David Daniel, my darling and sweet big brother;
The entire Cathemer family, and that's a lot of people;
The entire Celaya family, even bigger than the Cathemers;
The entire Boise-Geisler Clan;
The Pope-Schienle Clan;
My People of the Dog in LA;
All my old friends in southern California;
The entire town of Florence, AZ (my home sweet home);
And anyone else not on this list that I have loved, even if you hate me now.

That's about it for now. One week from today is Christmas Day, and I will be taking the day off and enjoying my Brodylicious grandson in Ft. Smith, Arkansas! And so, I wish you all a very Merry Christmas, a Happy Hanukka, a Sweet Solstice, Happy Kwanza, or whatever else makes you merry this time of year.

See you next year!  Love, id

The id Post: My Christmas Gratitude List

The id Post: My Christmas Gratitude List: by Irene Daniel I anticipate being unavailable all day tomorrow, so rather than post a day late, I decided to post a day early this week. ...

My Christmas Gratitude List

by Irene Daniel

I anticipate being unavailable all day tomorrow, so rather than post a day late, I decided to post a day early this week. And I decided to publish a list of things for which I am the most grateful this Christmas season of 2014. It's harder for me to get myself into trouble when I am truly grateful.

So, here goes:

1.   My one and only child, Daniel James Boise, who brings the greatest light to my heart;

2.   My one and only grandson, Brody Atticus Boise, who is a genius; I just know it;

3.   The fact that I get to spend this Christmas with my son and grandson in Fort Smith, AK;

4.   Mahatma Magellan, the Magnificent, aka Maggie, my beautiful and loyal black Labrador;

5.   Milagro, the Smokey Cat! My new little gray kitten who was rescued by my neighbor, Olga;

6.   My neighbor, Olga Cathemer, who has been a friend of our family for over 50 years;

7.   All my neighbors, in my new place of residence, my hometown of Florence, AZ;

8.   All of the opportunities I have had in my life thanks to my US citizenship;

9.   My family, those who are gone and those still around;

10. My home, our Daniel family homestead;

11. My memories, and all who visit me there;

12. And you, my readers and friends who support me and sometimes fight with me.


So, what about you? Are there a dozen things that you're grateful for today? I'm sure you can find something, even as the business of the season can make us all crazy.

Always remember to enjoy yourself! Give and receive love every day!

Until next week, id

                                                                                Irene Daniel, Copyright 2014, All rights reserved

The id Post: The id Post: Truth and Reconciliation: What if We ...

The id Post: The id Post: Truth and Reconciliation: What if We ...: The id Post: Truth and Reconciliation: What if We Tried That He... : by Irene Daniel As Nelson Mandela lies in state this week, I have bee...

The id Post: Take Your Time

The id Post: Take Your Time: by Irene Daniel Take your time. We've been hearing these words since we were children. Running on the sidewalk? Take your time. Figuri...

Take Your Time

by Irene Daniel

Take your time. We've been hearing these words since we were children. Running on the sidewalk? Take your time. Figuring out a math problem? Take your time. Slow down. Take your time.

These words of wisdom seem simple enough -- take your time. And yet, in this age of ATMs, instant oatmeal and a 24/7 media blitz urging us to act immediately in order to resolve some emptiness inside of us, how many of us actually know how to do this anymore?

Let's take these words one at a time. Take. Simple concept, right? We take things all the time. We take phone calls; we take freeways, subways, trains, buses and taxies every day. We take chances. We take our children's toys away in order to discourage certain behaviors. And we take a dozen doughnuts home on Sundays.

But how often do take our time? We may give our time away to worthy causes, or we may fritter our time away on mind-numbing entertainment. We sell our time; to our employers in exchange for paychecks, and to our customers in exhcange for cash. But how often do we take our time? How often do we even permit ourselves the healing power of taking a deep breathe, or the freedom to take a walk on a beautiful day? How often do we allow something to take our breath away, like a glorious sunset, the early morning coo of a dove, or holding a sleeping infant?

We take things all the time and mostly, we take a lot for granted. But take our time? Or do we allow our time to be stolen from us by worry, want and chasing our many addictions to substances and material identities? What are you chasing with your time? What do you take time for in your day?

And what of the word "your"? This pronoun trumpets possession: 2nd person, singular and plural. Take your time. Not somebody else's time, but your time. Every one of us has the exact same number of minutes and hours in each day. YOUR time.

This time that I am taking to draft this post belongs to me and no one else. It is I who gets to choose how to spend my time -- every blessed second. I do not have to steal this time or pay for this time because it already belongs to me. Mio, mio, mine!

And what is this thing we call time? Is it a mere linear measure we humans use to make sense of our world and bring order to our lives? One thing is for certain for each and every one of us -- time is a finite resource. I have it on good authority that none of us gets out of here alive! For most of us, time is a blissfully unknown sum certain; but make no mistake, that sum total is finite for every living thing on this planet.

So how are you using your time? What time are you taking just for you? To rest, to relax and enjoy life. To take a hot bath? Or to take a good book to bed, instead of falling asleep to the drama of the late news?

During the Holiday Season, it is very easy run out of time to do all the things we need to do to plan and enjoy festivities. But the fact remains that we can either choose how to spend our time, or we can choose to allow material priorities to take our time.

Somewhere between overindulgence and Ebenezer Scrooge, there is a balance in which we may find grace and serenity. This Christmas season, I hope you find that balance. It's always a challenge for me. Therefore, I humbly and lovingly remind all of us to TAKE YOUR TIME!!


                                                                                                  Irene Daniel, Copyright 2014, All rights reserved.you

The id Post: The id Post: This Is the Me I Used to Be

The id Post: The id Post: This Is the Me I Used to Be: The id Post: This Is the Me I Used to Be : by Irene Daniel Selling, moving, rearranging; yes indeed, my life is changing Cleaning, pa...

The id Post: If Everything Had Gone the Way it Should . . .

The id Post: If Everything Had Gone the Way it Should . . .: by Irene Daniel If everything had gone the way it should, The sweet good-byes to my Fiona would have gone unsaid. The fruits and flower...

If Everything Had Gone the Way it Should . . .

by Irene Daniel

If everything had gone the way it should,
The sweet good-byes to my Fiona
would have gone unsaid.
The fruits and flowers of my garden
Would have gone unpicked
For I would have been gone instead.

If everything had gone the way it should,
How could Jerry have come to my rescue?
Joyous moments with this pal
Would have gone unlived.
How could I miss that,
I ask you?

If everything had gone the way it should,
My child would not have told me things
He never knew he could;
Words son to mother,
Now clearly spoken
And perfectly understood.

If everything had gone the way it should,
I would not have cried out in desperation
And been lifted from despair
From my people of the dog,
My congregation.

If everything had gone the way it should,
I could not have known how much I needed
All of you;
And unasked favors
Would have gone unheeded.

If everything had gone the way it should,
I never would have known how much I am loved.

If everything had gone the way it should . . .



                                                                                                           Irene Daniel, All rights reserved, copyright 2014

The id Post: A Plague on Both Your Houses: Has The Southern Str...

The id Post: A Plague on Both Your Houses: Has The Southern Str...: by Irene Daniel Today's political landscape seems simple. The Democrats are generally the liberals and progressives; the Republicans ...

The id Post: People of the Dog

The id Post: People of the Dog: by Irene Daniel There's no people like dog people. About a year or so ago, I became acquainted with a group of neighbors who exercise ...

People of the Dog

by Irene Daniel

There's no people like dog people. About a year or so ago, I became acquainted with a group of neighbors who exercise their dogs in a local park at a certain time of day. My dog Maggie, the Labrador that I adore, is a very social animal; much more so than I am. And she broke the ice for me, in getting to know various collies, boxers and other mutts, and their people (not owners). We got to know one another well and supported each other's efforts in work and art. We are our own community.

Almost 2 weeks ago, my left eye collided with my husband's huge closed right fist at a high velocity. Since he outweighs by at least 200 pounds, this sucker-punch sent me flying about the room before landing in a bloody heap upon the floor. It hurt a lot. Still does. However, this is a topic for another post, as there is just too much to unpack there right now, and I need to sit with it for awhile before I can write about it, or write well anyway.

So today, instead, let me unleash this burning desire to tell you about my dog people, who I honor by calling them, The People of the Dog (or POD). Many friends have responded to my recent needs with armfuls of loving support, but none with the immediacy and intensity of my POD. I only had to tell one or two people in our group, and they mobilized our tribe into action. They came with food, moving boxes, money, organizational skills, packing expertise, referrals for needed services, rides to the doctor and to the LAPD, as well as taking Maggie for walks. They packed my entire kitchen and helped me organize what remains to be done. Identifying next steps and who to call for what, helped me to replace my monkey-mind with some semblance of serenity.

And did I mention that they brought food? And I don't mean just food, I mean really good local LA food! Fresh tamales from a Mexican deli in East LA, cheese ravioli from Casa Bianca -- right in my 'hood, and pastries still warm from the bakery down the street. I wasn't hungry until they showed up with all this food -- really good food!

And they still call and check up on me every day. And as other friends from different places in my life and in my heart showed up this week-end (most of them are dog people too), I experienced the greatest blessing of all -- the opportunity to watch new friendships bud right before my eyes, in my own home -- all because they came to help me. How cool is that?

And to think that, before Maggie, I used to be a cat person. I still love cats, but there is something about the way my dog changed my life that is uniquely canine. And I believe it is this:  Dogs introduce us to other dog people; and dog people so absorb the love and loyalty of the animals we care for, that we must find someplace to put it all. And that place that is to be the receptacle of all this dog love, is in the lives of other human beings.

They say that, if you want a friend in this world, get a dog. Not only will a dog love you in ways that no other being can, they will always lead you to other people who will love and show you the truest colors of friendship; all because they love -- and especially are loved by -- a dog. Any dog.

If you love and care for a dog, good for you. If not, what are you waiting for? Start looking for love in all the right places. Start by looking into your dog's eyes. But first, you have to get a dog. Go to the pound and pick up as many pounds of eternal love, loyalty and devotion as you can handle.

So, whether Labrador or Shepard, Chihuahua or Chow, Beagle or St. Bernard, not a thing in this world will ever love you like your dog. You not only will have a best friend, but a best friend who brings you new, and loyal, friends. And the dog and the friends will be there for you when you need them the most.  Where else in this world can you get a deal like that?

                                                                                      Irene Daniel, Copyright 2014, All rights reserved.

The id Post: I Close My Eyes

The id Post: I Close My Eyes: by Irene Daniel I close my eyes and I am in the desert, la tierra of my youth. I smell the earth and feel the breeze, and I am hot, ...

The id Post: Do You Hear the People Sing?

The id Post: Do You Hear the People Sing?: by Irene Daniel This question captured my imagination this week. This cry for democracy -- the right of every human being to choose his or...

Do You Hear the People Sing?

by Irene Daniel

This question captured my imagination this week. This cry for democracy -- the right of every human being to choose his or her own destiny -- is the never-ending cry of humanity all over the world. Today we hear that cry in Hong Kong, China. We heard it in Egypt during the Arab Spring of a couple of years ago. This song has been sung in India, Africa and South America. It used to be our song too.

They want what we have here in the United States: the right to vote and to choose our own leadership. And yet, here in the land of the free, most of us don't exercise that precious right of choice in mid-term elections like this one. And local elections not held during presidential election years go largely unnoticed. This precious right, bought by the endless blood, sweat and tears of generations of Americans, and for which people all over the world are clamoring, often goes ignored here.

And I started to wonder just what song the American people are singing today. It seems that we are all singing different songs, in different keys, to a different measure. Our current American song is one of discord and dissention. The right wing extremists sing a song of separation from the rest. While in Ferguson, Missouri, the song of the people there asks a different question: Which side are you on, boys? Which side are you on?

And we are, of course, free to choose whatever song we want to sing here in the home of the brave. But we have all witnessed the miraculous power of the iron American will when we are all singing the same song. When we sing in tune and in time, there is nothing that we can't do; I mean absolutely nothing.

During WWII, the captains of industry and President Roosevelt halted their war with one another to go to war with Nazi Germany, fascist Italy and the Empire of Japan. Ford Motor Company shipped tanks and equipment to Stalin to help the Russians fight Hitler on the eastern front. Big business, big labor and big government were all singing the same song then, united against a common enemy.

And when President Kennedy challenged us to go to the moon, big business, big labor and big government took us there -- and back, a bunch of times. Growing up in the sixties, I remember what a big deal it was, and how much pride we all felt at that moment when Neil Armstrong took that "giant leap for mankind." Not even the sky can limit us Americans when we sing together, united in common purpose.

So what song will we sing in the 21st century? Will we band together and unite against our 21st century challenges? Or will we all drown each other out and be drowned by the rising tide of climate change? Or financial collapse? Or global terrorism? Armageddon may very well be upon us, and it has many opportunities to simply wipe us out, especially if we continue with our discordant note.

Will this be our Swan Song? Or can we, once again, realize the power of our American greatness when we are all on the same page?

Sometimes we need big government to solve big problems. But that government is powerless without the will of the people, the cooperation of capital and the muscle of our American workers.

We have faced big challenges before, and we have excelled and become a stronger people as a result. It's up to you, America! We are all in the same boat now. Do we choose to be apart from, or a part of, our 21st century American song?


                                                                                      Copyright 2014, All rights reserved, Irene Daniel

The id Post: The Afternoon in Autumn

The id Post: The Afternoon in Autumn: THE AFTERNOON IN AUTUMN The afternoon in autumn Is often still and deep Even children’s laughter With wisdom, seems to speak...

The id Post: Going Home -- My Last Move

The id Post: Going Home -- My Last Move: by Irene Daniel I am going home. Soon. Home to my hometown of Florence, AZ. If you had told me this at the beginning of the summer, I proba...

Going Home -- My Last Move

by Irene Daniel

I am going home. Soon. Home to my hometown of Florence, AZ. If you had told me this at the beginning of the summer, I probably would have scoffed. What changed? I suppose, mostly me.

41 years ago this past June, I left home at the age of 16. I had intended to return to graduate from Florence High School with classmates who had known me from the age of 6. But, as I was desperately unhappy as a teenager, which I have since learned is pretty commonplace, I stayed in Tempe, and graduated with a bunch of strangers.

At that time I could never have imagined how homesick I have become, or that this dusty little town would ever be a longed-for destination for me. It was full of painful memories and a sense of something greater elsewhere calling to me. But now it is home that calls to me.

I'm glad that I left, and that I have been able to experience a great many things that would have been impossible in Florence. Higher education, for one, as well as a chance to practice law at the Los Angeles County DA's office, the largest prosecutorial agency in the world. Had I not gone to law school at UCLA, that opportunity could never have manifested. I learned a lot there and made many friends who will always be just a phone call away.

Looking back, I realize that the success I manifested in Los Angeles was actually grounded in what I had learned in that 2 stop-light town. Even the victory in the 5th District Court of Appeal for the State of California (Mendoza v. Rast, 142 Cal.App.4th 1395, 2006), in which I represented Mexican farmers suing commission merchants for denying them compensation for their fruit, was strengthened by my memories of all the farms surrounding Florence. I felt like I knew my clients' hardships so much better because I grew up around farmers and ranchers and people who drew their livelihood from the earth. This is probably why I have always had a very healthy respect, and even awe, of farmers. Growing up in Florence made me a better lawyer, a better fiduciary and a better human being.

And as I return, I feel a sense of completeness. Wholeness. Oneness. And I am at peace with myself. For I realize now that it was my upbringing and the amazing education I got in Florence, that made everything else possible.

I realize now that, for a country girl, big city success gets old after awhile. While I have enjoyed my time here in Los Angeles, for the most part, it never filled me up the way my desert abode does now. I had to leave it to appreciate it, and I am glad that I have choices in my life. And it all leads me back home; home to my desert hearth.

Florence, Arizona -- the Cowboy Cradle of the Southwest -- is, as fate would have it, my Alpha and Omega. And for that, I am eternally grateful.


                                                                                           Irene Daniel   Copyright 2014   All rights reserved

The id Post: Child Abuse: The Seed of Violence; Not the NFL

The id Post: Child Abuse: The Seed of Violence; Not the NFL: by Irene Daniel Last week I couldn't stop thinking about Janay Rice. This week my mind wanders to the safety and well-being of Adrian ...

Child Abuse: The Seed of Violence; Not the NFL

by Irene Daniel

Last week I couldn't stop thinking about Janay Rice. This week my mind wanders to the safety and well-being of Adrian Peterson's sons. Several incidents of late, involving several different players on several different teams in the NFL, have drawn the nation's attention to domestic and family violence once again. And Roger Goddell has failed miserably in articulating a coherent message about how this crime will be dealt with by the NFL.

It's not like incidents of men beating their wives, as well as men and women beating and otherwise abusing their children, is anything new in the NFL; or anywhere else for that matter. Every generation seems to pass through the familiar patterns of family violence and dysfunction, storing hurts forever in our memories, and then pretending for the rest of our lives that nothing happened. What better example have we that violence just begets more violence?

I do not condone cold-cocking a spouse into unconsciousness or leaving marks on a preschooler's scrotum, at any time for any reason whatsoever. At the same time, let's stop demonizing Ray Rice and Adrian Peterson and the rest of the violent offenders. They didn't get that way all by themselves overnight. It took a long time to turn these former preschoolers into men who use violence as a problem-solving tool on their loved ones. And they had a lot of help along the way: from their abusers when they were too little to fight back; from coaches and teachers who looked the other way because they had a particular talent that could create wealth for lots of people someday; from a society that values athletic skills over almost everything else, including us fans. They had a lot of enablers. They all learned at a very early age that violence is an effective problem-solving tool.

I realize that maybe some people don't know what it's like to be terrorized with beatings from someone who loves and cares for you when you are a small child. It's pretty frightening stuff. I realize now that my mother should have been medicated, but when I was little I couldn't know that. I was always afraid of her when I was a little girl -- every single day. The Mexican family and Mexican culture that I was born into was one wherein violence and machismo went together like soup and salad.

In exploring the seeds of abuse, I am in no way suggesting that those who abuse children should not be stopped immediately and held accountable for their misaligned sense of discipline. Most parents who violently impose discipline upon their children are just doing what makes sense to them; what was done to them. Thus, the vicious cycle of violence goes on and on with no seeming beginning or ending. And that is what makes it so dangerous.

Each generation continues until one person says enough. I'm sure that my mother did not intend the consequences of her unpredictable fits of rage, in which she dragged me around the house by the hair, or beat me with broomstick handles. And I can tell you I've had a lot of bad days around it all. It was like living shell-shocked and always on high alert because it could happen at any time, for any reason, or for no reason at all.

Most child abusers and wife beaters were abused as children. And this need for violence-based solutions is usually something we experience and/or observe as children, and we remember how effective it was. And so, when we are frustrated, we may lash out with angry words and clenched fists, just as we observed. I often felt out of control at times, and it really scared me. And much of the time, it's as if the decision was already made for me, as though I was giving in to a subconscious predisposition without even realizing it. I know that my mother experienced this too. It's as though she could not help herself, could not calm down. Without medication, neither can I.

As a survivor of frighteningly wicked child abuse, I tend to be very aware of respecting and protecting the person and physical space of children. However, I might have turned out to be an abuser. I had a gift with language arts, which enabled me to educate myself and learn more about child abuse. I also sought treatment for anxiety and depression and take medication as directed. My mother couldn't do that for herself. In her own torment, she couldn't look at it. We never really talked about it, or came to a resolution about her violent temper, but I know that we had both gotten to a place in our relationship that was healed many years before she died. As Maya Angelou used to say, "When you know better, you do better."

And the sad truth is that those guilty of any kind of family violence were mostly beaten and belittled as children. Hitler's father savagely beat him bloody, breaking boards on his back. And look how beautifully he turned out. And for those in the Black community, savage whippings that drew blood were witnessed by generations of little Black children for several centuries. They came to accept it as a part of life.

Although, the truth is that, family violence knows no ethnic or economic bias. It happens in rich Black and White families, as well as poor families of all colors and creeds. Even Judges and people of prominence beat up on their families. No segment of our society has escaped the harvest of the bitter seed of child abuse.

Children who were abused are more likely to experiment with drugs, alcohol and sex and to act out in other self-destructive ways. Moreover, they are more likely to use violence as a problem-solving tool as adults.

It seems to me that, if we want to solve some of our most epidemic social problems, the best place to start is where it all begins -- with child abuse.


                                                                                                           Copyright 2014, All Rights Reserved

The id Post: Oh Unhappy Universary: How 9/11 Gave Americans A N...

The id Post: Oh Unhappy Universary: How 9/11 Gave Americans A N...: by Irene Daniel Another anniversary of the most shocking foreign attack on US soil, and another year to contemplate how we got here from t...

Oh Unhappy Universary: How 9/11 Gave Americans A New Reason to Give In to Fear, And Pander to the Lowest Common Denominator

by Irene Daniel

Another anniversary of the most shocking foreign attack on US soil, and another year to contemplate how we got here from there. It was a pivotal moment in our American history. In our immense grief, we pivoted way too far to the right, in the name of nationalism and patriotism; and ended up back in the 1950s and 60s. The good old days that white conservatives lament at your local Rotary club meetings; the days when white male heterosexuals could exploit the rest of the population at will, without the 'gov'ment' telling them what to do.

These good Christians, it appears, need to be ordered by law to: pay people a decent wage, treat everyone they do business with fairly -- without the discrimination that naturally accompanies their hatred of others based upon their white Jesus, to clean up after themselves, and to take responsibility for their actions and make amends when they damage others. How is that? How is it that they don't already know these basic tenets of common decency? These conservatives?

September 11, 2001, in many ways, paved the way for a new nationalism, very much in the spirit of the Reagan revolution. In this 21st century version of voodoo economics, the national greed-fest enjoyed by the wealthiest of the wealthy bankers and defense contractors, came with not only a huge price tag for the American taxpayers, but a 21st century bloodbath that killed or crippled thousands of our best and brightest young sailors and soldiers.

And as if that were not enough to set us back a bit, 9/11 made it okay to be biased against dark skin, not just Muslims, but Blacks and Latinos too. Let's not pretend that the demon of white supremacy was not bolstered with this new excuse to "otherize" our very own citizens. Again. Otherizing is one of the things we do best here in the land of un-equal opportunity and unjust enrichment for the wealthy and the pale-skinned. Remember Japanese internment during WWII? Japanese Americans do.

And last night President Obama addressed the nation, telling us that, once again, we must resolve to not let them get away with it, not let ISIL get away with beheading our citizens. Our mission now is to degrade and destroy them, and chase them down wherever they go! Although President Obama is, fortunately, much less cowboy about going to war than his predecessor, I am still profoundly suspicious of an administration that says no combat troops, when there are now nearly 1500 additional troops sent to Iraq within the last few months. Don't let this be your Vietnam, Mr. President.

And this ugliness of otherization has clearly manifested itself in the ongoing debate over immigration. 9/11 made it okay to fear little brown children. And call them names and throw rocks at the vehicle transporting them to a "safe" place. 9/11 made it okay to be afraid of people. Any people. But especially the ones that are "different;" that somehow feel foreign and, let's face it -- dirty. I've even heard nice Christian conservatives refer to dark skinned Indigenous people as "the mud races." Right to my face even. 9/11 made this man appear reasonable to others like him.

I was very disappointed to hear that President Obama has given in to the lowest common denominator, as have all too many American Presidents, by deciding to postpone any Executive Action on Immigration until after the election. Why do dark-skinned people always have to "be patient" and keep our "eyes on the prize" in order to cater to those who are uninformed, unenlightened, uneducated and just plain mean?

LBJ and Ike had many a quarrel over moving forward with Civil Rights legislation in the 1950s. Johnson was livid at Ike's excuses that "the south's not ready for Civil Rights." Johnson knew what that meant. That meant that his black employees could not stop at a restaurant or gas station in most states while driving from Texas to D.C. The south "not ready" meant that an employee of the Majority Leader of the United States Senate had to squat by the side of the road to pee, while traveling on business on behalf of her boss. That's what "not ready" and "be patient" means to people with dark skin in America.

 We are tired of waiting. We are tired of leaders who lack the political and moral courage to do the right thing and actually live up to our often way over-the-top rhetoric; rhetoric, I might add, that our enemies, as well as our allies, see to be the BS that it is much of the time. Don't our leaders remember that fortune favors the bold? And that the arc of the moral universe still bends towards justice?

President Obama and the Democrats are making a huge mistake throwing Latinos under the bus until a more convenient time. We are the largest growing demographic in the nation. And if you want to know what happens when you push us over the edge with immigrant bashing and legislation like SB 1070, just look at what happened in California after the similar failure of Prop 187.  Latinos boast of immense political clout in the Golden State because they mobilized like never before in the wake its passage. No one who insults Latinos gets elected statewide here. Right Meg Whitman?

But it is up to us, Latinos, to show up at the polls and show up for jury duty if we want our lives to be taken seriously by the leadership in our communities. Every month 50,000 Latinos become voter-eligible. There are more of us than there are of them. And a million votes trumps a million dollars. As uninspiring as it is to be cast aside in order to satisfy smaller minds, we cannot stay home at election time. We must mobilize. We must vote!

We have to make our voices heard and let it be known that, 9/11 or no 9/11, we are not settling for the back of the bus any longer. I am very tired of the Democratic Party giving lip-service to its base, as a sacrifice to the Republican conservative, and largely unenlightened and racist, base. Why do we do that? Why do we encourage them by pandering to the lowest common denominator?

The United States of America will never live up to all its rhetoric if we keep mollycoddling the know-nothings of our communities, who cling to an inglorious past. It's time for progressives, liberals and all who have been "otherized,"  to stop being "patient" and stop being understanding of smaller minds and even smaller hearts, and get out there and participate actively, and even aggressively, in our democracy. Vote! Show up for jury duty!

No more waiting. No more pandering to the fears of the low-information voters, those followers of millionaires who exploit them with talk of hatred and the fear of "the other."

Why in the world is the country that calls itself the greatest on earth, perennially pandering to those with the emptiest heads and the meanest spirits among us? That has to stop. Now!

No more. Bastante!

Si se puede! Andale!


                                                                                          Copyright 2014, All Rights Reserved

The id Post: Irreconcilable Differences: It's More Than A Box Y...

The id Post: Irreconcilable Differences: It's More Than A Box Y...: by Irene Daniel I practiced Family Law for over 20 years in California. I have filed numerous petitions on behalf of my many clients. On t...

Irreconcilable Differences: It's More Than A Box You Check

by Irene Daniel

I practiced Family Law for over 20 years in California. I have filed numerous petitions on behalf of my many clients. On the second page of the Petition for Dissolution of Marriage is a list of boxes to check to inform the court of the reason that an Order of Dissolution is necessary. The box most often checked is that which reads: Irreconcilable Differences. After all these years, I am now intimately familiar with what these words really mean.

My husband and I are splitting up, and have had our house up for sale for over a month now. Still no takers. The first week-end that we had an Open House, we were ready to sell the house, cash checks and be on our individual merry ways. Since the house didn't sell right away, as we had totally anticipated, we've had more time to reflect and think, and re-think. We even talked about taking the house off the market and trying to stay together.

We don't hate each other. My husband is not a bad man. In fact, in many measurable ways, he is a very good man. What happens to him will always matter to me. We spent 13 years together, 8 of them married, and built a home and a life together, here in Los Angeles. I will miss all of it, and him.

When we discussed all of our options, and the consequences thereof, it became clear to both of us that our union could not survive its recent damage. Things could not be undone, and words could not go unsaid. Too much had changed. We just don't want the same things anymore. We did at one time, and too much has changed since then.

As much as I am tempted to lament and find fault, with one or both of us, I simply cannot entertain either of those options. I choose to look at my one and only marriage ever -- and I waited until I was in my 50s -- as a smashing success.

When we decided to join our lives together, we talked about the foundation upon which our home life would be built. There were 2 essential elements: a Spiritual foundation, and family. We wanted to create a haven, a respite from all family drama and trauma. And we succeeded in providing just that for our children and grandchildren -- until we couldn't any longer.

Our Spiritual foundation became shaking after my husband lost a son, my step-son, at the age of 23. Just a baby, really. And I began to change too. Gradually, we drifted apart Spiritually, but still found a foundation for staying together in the love of our families. When family became something dreaded, rather than welcome in our home, our entire foundation seemed to crumble.

So, when we talked about staying together, I think we were both just sharing a loss that we both lamented, more than advancing a new way forward. I am grateful that we could be honest with one another and admit that, for whatever reason, we had both lost the capacity to be a comfort to one another. Honesty is loving, when gently delivered.

The emotional and Spiritual cavern between us has grown too vast, and the distance between our hearts too great, to believe that a sustainable bridge between that abyss can ever be even imagined, much less built.

Sometimes letting go is the most loving thing to do. I suppose that's what "Irreconcilable Differences," really means.



                                                                                        Copyright 2014, All rights reserved.

The id Post: To Pledge, or Not to Pledge? Pledge to a Fantasy?

The id Post: To Pledge, or Not to Pledge? Pledge to a Fantasy?: by Irene Daniel Every now and again, a friend sends around a post reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, affirming same, and encouraging other...

To Pledge, or Not to Pledge? Pledge to a Fantasy?

by Irene Daniel

Every now and again, a friend sends around a post reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, affirming same, and encouraging others to post and share.  "I grew up saying 'the Pledge' every day, and that's what once made America great," they suggest to the rest of us. Is that so?

Well, I grew up saying the Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag every day too, and I grew up to have my heart broken when I realized that "liberty and justice for all," were just empty words. They simply didn't apply to me. 'Justice for all'? Since when?

When has there ever been liberty and justice for all in the USA? When I voice my curiosity at the perennial ability of Americans to suspend disbelief, and encourage rote memorization and repetition -- in a very chant-like manner I might add -- of a solemn oath to something that does not yet exist, I invariably get a response expressing horror at what this country is becoming; and bemoaning "what this country once stood for!" Something like that.

“What this country once stood for?” What does that mean? Let’s go back to the beginning when USA stood for slavery. Is that when we were great? Separate, but equal?

When, I ask you, was there a time that liberty and justice were in abundance for black people, whose labor was stolen for generation upon generation? And as if that weren't enough to ensure generations of extreme poverty, of the flesh as well as the Spirit, the finally "free" generations of Americans of African descent were red-lined out of the best housing and education for their families. Is that what America once stood for that is worthy of our praise?

Certainly, none of us can pretend that 'liberty and justice for all' were even remotely present in the metropolitan area of St. Louis, MO, this month of August, 2014; wherein -- not once, but twice within a two-week period  -- a young and unarmed black man was shot down like a rabid dog in the street by a white police officer. Shooting young blacks is not, unfortunately, a rare occurrence in these United States. What happened in Ferguson, MO and a neighboring community a few miles away, happens twice a week here in the land of the free and the home of the brave, that brainwashes its children into pledging to the falseness of "liberty and justice for all."

So, how about westward expansion, or what the white man calls ‘manifest destiny’? The indigenous call this the American Holocaust, in which Andrew Jackson and his racist ilk destroyed more lives over a greater period of time than Adolf Hitler could have ever dreamed of during his much shorter reign of terror. Those were the good ol' days, huh?

 

How about WWII, when FDR, one of my heroes, interned Japanese-American citizens for no other reason than their ancestry? And even while many of those interned and ripped-off and dehumanized had family members fighting for this “pledge,” that clearly did not apply to them? Liberty and justice for all?

The truth is, and unfortunately a fact of which most privileged white people remain blissfully ignorant, that this “land of freedom” has NEVER lived up to the words in that pledge – NEVER! It is only within the last 50 years that this nation has even begun to walk its talk, and falteringly so, I might add. And only within the last few years have non-heteros even begun to enjoy basic human rights that white heterosexual men have always taken for granted, here in the land of the free.

So, what this country “once stood for” is the right of white mediocrity and ignorance to enjoy success at the expense of “the other.” White men, especially those with means, have always enjoyed an unjust enrichment because they were able to grossly, and often violently, and usually legally, exploit everybody else. Teaching children that we are what we have never been is just white-washing the true American story. Perhaps, if we taught children that this standard is what we strive for, and have often failed to achieve, then it might be worth the time it takes to say the words.

This fall semester of school, it is estimated that nonwhite, ethnic minorities will make up 50.3% of the public school population. I would prefer that these children be taught that this pledge is not reality, but an ideal -- a good one, one worth striving toward. And in so doing, teach our children that what makes this country great is that we are the only one that has continually strived to create that, "more perfect union," and have continued to do so for 238 years. That striving is what separates us from the rest of the world, not memorizing a cheap fantasy.

I don't hate the Pledge, or my beloved country. I love the USA enough to pledge to continue to strive toward an idea of liberty that, to this very day, is extraordinary and forever revolutionary; albeit as imperfect as are we humans.

What makes the United States of America great is that we keep moving forward, chasing an ideal worthy of each and every one of its citizens. Now that is something worthy of us.

                                                                                               Irene Daniel   Copyright 2014   All rights reserved

The id Post: Major Depression and Me: What Works, What Doesn't

The id Post: Major Depression and Me: What Works, What Doesn't: by Irene Daniel Last week I received an overwhelmingly positive response to my piece about my personal experience with anxiety and depress...

Major Depression and Me: What Works, What Doesn't

by Irene Daniel

Last week I received an overwhelmingly positive response to my piece about my personal experience with anxiety and depression. It made my birthday even more special than it already was, and I thank all of you who expressed your loving support for sharing some of my darkest moments.

This week, even though there is so much happening in the world that I care about and want to write about, I choose to offer a few more words about my experience in darkness. However, rather than just sharing horror stories (I think we all have plenty of those), I want to shed some light on all that darkness, and talk about what works for me, and what doesn't. I have no illusions about creating some kind of movement or program or religion. (We have plenty of those too.) I have no "magic" answer to anyone's woes. All I have is my experience, and at this time, I believe that it may be valuable to you or someone you know.

First and foremost, I have to say that I am just lucky that my appetitive and addictive nature first manifested itself in something that was actually good for me; and that is reading. (Actually, I think my first addiction was food and reading was second -- just to keep it honest here.) My love for the printed word, which led to a love for writing, manifested itself early, even before my first day of school. So, I am lucky in this respect, for my love for reading and knowledge enabled me to get a stellar education -- all the way to UCLA Law School.

More importantly though, is the fact that I have kept a personal journal since I was 19 years old. Every year around my birthday, I randomly choose one to read. This year, I happened to choose the one that recorded my first year of law school. What a terrifying time! And when I revisit my past experiences, my journals remind me of what I have already overcome in my life, with fewer resources and less self-confidence than my current state. Journaling has provided me with, not only a manner in which to record my life experiences, but a very personal and honest mirror reflecting my own strength back to me.

Okay, maybe you're not a writer. Maybe English was your worst subject. No matter. What I have found to be a universal truth is that everyone, and I mean EVERY SINGLE PERSON has something special and unique to offer that is theirs alone. I can say this because I know that my father, with whom I had no contact after age 11, and never made it past 3rd grade, had a special gift for fixing things. Even my mother would admit that throughout their marriage, she never had to call a handy-man or a plumber or an electrician or a carpenter, for anything. My dad could fix it and/or make it work. That was his gift. And even though I often feel robbed of his gentle presence in my life, I am glad that he was able to use his gifts to improve his station in life, from sweeping out the machine shop at Magma Copper, to operating equipment, and always improving himself. Everyone has a gift. No exceptions. Find yours, whatever it is. Even if it doesn't make you a millionaire, even if it is a hobby or past-time, find your specialness. It is there.

I do realize, however, that finding your talent may be difficult, or even impossible, when you are swimming in darkness. This darkness may manifest in many ways that deprive us of our ability to see ourselves for who we truly are. Addiction, depression and hopelessness make it difficult to find the light. Even though I was very gifted in language arts, there were many times in my life that I could not see it, could not manifest success therefrom. I self-medicated with alcohol, drugs, sex, education, money, prestige. None of it was ever enough because I was never enough without those things. None of that ever fixed me. I kept wanting it to, but it never did. No matter how much education or money I had, it was never enough because I wasn't enough. Period. Full stop.

So, let's start with simple daily life. This is what works for me. It might not work for you, and if that is the case that does not mean that you are hopeless, or in any way "less than." You reading this -- YOU ARE SPECIAL!! And you are worthy of good self-care. So let's start there. The following is a list of things I do to maintain a sense of serenity and peace each day.

1.  Good self-care:  For me, this includes a daily appreciation of my person by engaging in the following: 

     a.  Basic Hygiene -- This may seem simple, but for someone who has spent days living in the same pair of sweats and a t-shirt, without bathing or even brushing my teeth and washing my face, it's not as simple as it sounds. This is a very common experience for those afflicted. If you recognize yourself here, take a shower and clean up a bit. You'll feel better.

     b.  Diet -- I don't mean counting calories, or cutting out sweets and fats, although these are not good for you when taken in excess. This is just about eating protein, green and yellow vegetables and drinking plenty of water. Maybe you don't like vegetables. Find one that you do like. When my son was a child, I never made him eat food that he really didn't like, but I made a deal with him on vegetables. If I was serving a vegetable with which he was unfamiliar, he had to at least try it. If he didn't like it, he could have a raw carrot, which he loved. Surely, you can think of at least one thing that's good for you that you like. You are worth the healthy diet you feed yourself. Invest in you!

    c.  Exercise -- Even taking a 20-30 minute walk every day is helpful. When I was in law school I ran 20-30 miles a week. My stress level was so high at that time that it warranted this extraordinary amount of running. These days, I do some basic exercises a few times a week and take my dog for a 30 minute walk at least once a day, sometimes twice. Do what you can. Start from where you are and know that you are investing energy in your own well-being.

2.  Spiritual Ritual -- I realize that this may be challenging for some of us who are, plainly and simply, just pissed-off at God; as well as non-believers. Well, I've been there. I was brought up to be a good Mexican Catholic girl. It didn't hold. From my first Catechism class, I had more questions than answers. However, I never stopped searching for a Spiritual answer. I never found it until I created my own daily ritual which includes all of the findings of my Spiritual quest. This includes liberal use of Hail Marys, 12-step readings, Scripture from various disciplines, the Tao and journaling. This is what I have created that works for me. Find your way to connect to your soul, for it is the only part of you that lives forever.

3.  Have Fun -- Whatever makes you laugh or smile, whether it's a funny old movie, a good book, hanging out with friends, riding a bike, whatever. You deserve to be happy and loved.

4.  Stay Connected -- This may be the most important activity of all. I tend to be really bad at this. I like solitude, which in and of itself is not a bad thing. But when I am swimming in the darkness of depression, I can go for a long time without returning phone calls or correspondence. Those who know me well, are lovingly patient with me in this regard. Sometimes I have to make a real effort to pick up the 500 pound telephone. When I do, I am always relieved and grateful. I feel whole knowing that I am loved, and in order for people to express their love, I need to show up for myself. Moreover, it is really a blessing to be loved by someone, and a double-blessing to show them how much their love matters to you. Like I said, I need to work at this one. But I know that I am worth the effort.

These are just a few examples of what works for me. And if one of these practices doesn't get me out of my funk, I go to another tool, and another and another; until I get relief. My life-long Spiritual quest has provided me with many arrows in my quiver to draw out and direct at the darkness that surrounds me at times. I am happy to have an opportunity to share them, for then they multiply in the relief they bring.

Maybe you have a particular practice that you would like to share with me and/or others. Please do. I am insatiably curious about everything.

It really all comes down to loving one's self. I have spent many precious hours yelling at myself in the mirror when I was unhappy. I don't do that anymore.

Whatever it is that I have to do to be happy, whatever effort, inconvenience, embarrassment or expense, I will use one or multiple tools that I have learned, to find that light.

I am worth it -- and so are you!


                                                                                                 Irene Daniel   Copyright 2014   All rights reserved








    

The id Post: Robin Williams and the Dark Side of Life

The id Post: Robin Williams and the Dark Side of Life: by Irene Daniel I was having a bad day Monday. That's how it is with depression; some days are just dark, especially in times of stres...

Robin Williams and the Dark Side of Life

by Irene Daniel

I was having a bad day Monday. That's how it is with depression; some days are just dark, especially in times of stress and change. As I am in the process of divorcing my husband and selling the home that I love, I've had some bad days around it all.

So, I called my BFF since 4th grade and we talked for almost two hours. I felt so much better after our talk because I knew that I had value to -- at least -- this one person in the world right now. I felt unconditionally loved, and knowing this helped me to remember that she is not the only person in the world who loves me, and that my life really is a gift.

Then, I went back to my computer and learned about the death of Robin Williams. As I learned more details about the violent manner in which he took his life, I just cried and cried. I was glad that I had just talked to my friend, for the darkness and depth of severe depression can smother me like a blanket, and can be exacerbated by sad news. That could have been me -- many times in my life.

The first time I attempted suicide, I was eight years old. I took a butcher knife out of the kitchen drawer one night, and put it to my wrist. I couldn't go farther than that, not at that time. Many times throughout my life, I have often thought that driving my car off a cliff would be a great solution to all my woes. I can't even count how many times I thought about it.

In the fall of 1991, after failing the California Bar Exam, in the presence of my then boyfriend, his children and my 11 year old son, I announced that I was going to kill myself. I was also very drunk at the time. I will never completely know what that did to those children, but it messed up my kid for a long time -- a long time. It was years before he felt that he could trust me emotionally again. It took a lot of hard work to get that trust back. As a result, I made a promise to my only child that I would never, ever do that again.

I have never shared this story publicly. Only a few of my closest friends ever knew. And I never wanted to share this story. I never thought that I could ever be at peace with that moment, much less feel compelled to share it. But tell it I must because I have to admit today that even such a horrible moment in my life was a real blessing to me. I am not only unashamed of it, but grateful that it happened at all.

You see, had I not made that firm commitment to my son, I might be dead right now. For the past two and a half years I have been in the grips of extreme anxiety and severe depression. My mother died in the spring of 2012. Shortly thereafter my high school principal, and a dear family friend who was always looking out for my mom and our family, also died. Then, in August of 2012, I lost my Uncle John, my hero. All of this loss sent me into a tailspin, and that is where I have been ever since. I thought about killing myself a lot during this time. I would awake feeling angry to have to be alive. I wanted out, out, OUT of here. Thank God for the promise I made or I would have taken that deadly drive. My son saved my life -- over and over again. Only recently have I begun to feel really lucky and happy about being alive -- for the first time in my life.

I've suffered from depression all my life. My maternal grandmother killed herself with rat poison at the age of 52 in the throes of menopause. My mother was always extremely anxious and probably suffered from some kind of psychosis, for which she would never seek any treatment. She verbally and physically abused her children in fits of uncontrollable rage instead. It took a long time, a lot of therapy and medication for me to be able to see past her illness and be emotionally reconciled with her before she died. My father's side of the family is also replete with cases of mental illness or disorder. The fact that I suffered some pretty serious trauma as a very young child could only have exacerbated what I inherited.

Yesterday was my birthday. I turned 58 -- six years more than my grandmother, for whom I am named. I think of her often, even though I never had the privilege to know her. And I am here to tell you that it was the happiest birthday I have ever had, just because I am alive and actually glad to be alive. Even though I am having to jettison many things precious to me to stay alive, I know that I have lost nothing. Because I AM ALIVE!! That's it! That's all I need today. It took a lot of hard work, therapy and medication to get to a point where I feel happy just to be alive. So now I see my life as a huge success -- just because I am alive. I made it through all that darkness.

I've never felt that I belonged in this world. I felt alien always, like I just didn't get what the big whoop was all about. Why am I here? That's how I felt. Even though I have many blessings -- the greatest being my son and grandson -- when I am in my darkness I cannot see it, cannot connect with it at all. None of that seems to matter. To those fortunate non-sufferers, depression looks a lot like sloth. It's not. It is a gripping, all-encompassing immobility, physically and emotionally.

I share this story because social stigma remains the primary reason that many people will not seek treatment for mental illness. 34,000 people commit suicide in this country every year. For every one of them that succeeds, there are 20 others who attempt suicide. It is the second-leading cause of disability in the workplace, and depression boasts of a 15% mortality rate. Aside from this, it robs all of us of the joy we could be living and sharing.

Maybe someone reading this will recognize themselves in my words. Maybe they will pick up the phone and call a friend or a psychiatrist or a hot-line. Maybe somebody will be inspired to remember to take their meds, just like I do every night. Maybe someone will go for a walk instead of taking a bottle of pills. Maybe, maybe, maybe -- just maybe -- this writing will encourage just one person, and help that one person to see that he or she is not a throw-away item, but a precious jewel.

Robin Williams once suggested to those suffering from depression that they reach out to someone, and to know that they are loved. How we all wish that he could have done that, instead of isolating and withdrawing the way depressed people do. The only way I know of to honor him is to share my story, as unflattering as it may be, for the more we hide ourselves away in shame, the more of us will die. It really is that simple for me.

Farewell to our alien friend. Thank you for your life and love. And, for me personally, thanks for the wake-up call. I hear you. I choose life today. I choose joy. I insist on doing whatever I need to do to keep that darkness at bay and to celebrate my imperfect human life.

I needed a lot of help to get here, and I may need more help again. I am not afraid of myself or my life anymore. I have never known more joy and freedom, and I didn't get here all by myself.

If you need help, please, please, please -- REACH OUT!!

                                                                                               Irene Daniel   Copyright 2014   All rights reserved

The id Post: Andee's Garden

The id Post: Andee's Garden: by Irene Daniel Many greens on display and various shades of purple; sweet orange and yellow fruit hang from the trees. Small creatur...

Andee's Garden

by Irene Daniel


Many greens on display
and various shades of purple;
sweet orange and yellow fruit
hang from the trees.


Small creatures dance about,
furry scurriers and winged beauties;
and then a lovely little bird
alights upon a branch nearby.
What a magnificent spectacle!


All dressed in blue
with a white underbelly,
the bluebird of happiness
come to chase away
my aggressive sorrow?


And now it's flown away.
It doesn't need to hang around,
for there are other trees
and other gardens.
Another's blues to chase away?


And I am left in all this splendor,
reminded of the fleeting
constancy of
the illusions
of happiness
and sorrow.




                                                                                                                                          Irene Daniel   Copyright 2014   All rights reserved

The id Post: This Is the Me I Used to Be

The id Post: This Is the Me I Used to Be: by Irene Daniel Selling, moving, rearranging; yes indeed, my life is changing Cleaning, packing, scraping, painting, lo and behold ...

This Is the Me I Used to Be

by Irene Daniel

Selling, moving,
rearranging;
yes indeed,
my life is changing

Cleaning, packing,
scraping, painting,
lo and behold
husband fainting

Hope we sell
this sucker fast,
what cheer remains
just cannot last

Cops called for
family drama
For sure this day
is wrought with trauma

And suddenly, I get a glimpse
of the me I used to be
both frightened child
and heart of glee

I see the lonely one
studying, reading
and writing from
the soul that's bleeding

Always, always
moving forward
to chase the dream
that I march toward

And when I get there
Once again
I start all over --
And then?

And then is when
I clearly see
this is the me
I used to be

                                                                                      Irene Daniel   Copyright 2014   All rights reserved

The id Post: The Central American Refugees Need Protection from...

The id Post: The Central American Refugees Need Protection from...: by Irene Daniel For the past few weeks we have witnessed the consequences of our American choices, and now must come face to face with the...

The Central American Refugees Need Protection from US; It's the Least We Should Do

by Irene Daniel

For the past few weeks we have witnessed the consequences of our American choices, and now must come face to face with the human beings who are suffering from an international crisis of our own making. The drug consumption in the United States drives the greater and greater demand for them. Since most of them come from South America, it is necessary to traffic these drugs through Central America and Mexico; creating a culture of violence that none can escape, except to just leave.

As if that weren't bad enough, what we give back in exchange is the fresh hell of guns and gangs that we export to them, empowering the violence that naturally flows therefrom. These children were strong enough to survive, not only their war-torn homeland, but the treacherous journey to the US border. When I see the throngs of "patriots" and "Christians" surrounding buses full of these incredibly brave children, I wonder how many of them could have overcome any one of the many challenges these young refugees have endured. I would bet exactly zero on the air-conditioned Americans to make it through a hell like that.

And then to be greeted by American flags, angry white faces and signs saying, "JESUS WOULD OBEY THE LAW!"

They're kidding, right? Jesus was murdered because he was a trouble-maker, a rabble-rouser of the highest order. Jesus made it his mission to disrupt the inequity and brutality of the status quo of his times, which served only to empower the powerful and enrich those already unjustly enriched.

The Son of Man went about his mission in various ways: preaching justice, peace and love to those on the margins of society, empowering them Spiritually; healing the sick on the Sabbath at no cost; encouraging youth and lavishing his love on children; as well as empowering women, even menstruating and "fallen" women, which was very taboo at the time.

And one day, he became so angry at the money-changers in the temple, exploiting the impoverished in the name of God, that he took a bull-whip to them all, overturning their tables full of money; and generally causing a huge ruckus. This act directly challenged and threatened the rules of the game, as set by the very Pharisees who, like their self-righteous counterparts today, didn't want the convenience of their Darwinian status quo upended.

Jesus specifically disobeyed the law of his time and his people by healing the sick on the Sabbath. When reprimanded by the Pharisees, he retorted by holding up a mirror to their hypocrisy for being more concerned with obedience to arbitrary rules, than with the suffering of human beings right before them. His shocking display of violence at the temple was definitely not in keeping with the moral conduct expected of him in Jerusalem at that time.

Jesus realized how the elite and powerful use rules and boundaries and tradition to exploit those without power and without means. So, how did the Jesus of the Sermon on the Mount become a compassionless observer of rules? When did the famous challenger of the Pharisees, become that which he abhorred?

The true message of Jesus, as well as with any religion, is to love one another, and to recognize the soul of the stranger, the heart of the homeless beggar, and to preserve the innocence of our children. To be a disciple of the Son of Man is to surrender one's very soul to the power of love and acceptance of everyone and, especially, to see past our differences to the oneness of our humanity.

Oneness. Humanity. What is it about these words that the, so called Christian right can't seem to understand? It seems that they believe that God, with Jesus at his right hand, created the USA just for stingy white people, and no one else.

How Christian is that? How American is that?

Those angry "Christian" "Americans" shouting at children, telling them that they are "less than" don't deserve to call themselves either.

The least we could do is provide them refuge from the hell we created for them. It's the very least we should do.

                                                                                            Irene Daniel   Copyright 2014   All rights reserved.





                                                                                    

The id Post: theidpostisonvacation

The id Post: theidpostisonvacation:                       HAPPY SUMMER DAY!!!

theidpostisonvacation

                      HAPPY SUMMER DAY!!!

The id Post: I Close My Eyes

The id Post: I Close My Eyes: by Irene Daniel I close my eyes and I am in the desert, la tierra of my youth. I smell the earth and feel the breeze, and I am hot, ...

I Close My Eyes

by Irene Daniel

I close my eyes
and I am in the desert,
la tierra of my youth.

I smell the earth
and feel the breeze,
and I am hot, hot, hot.

I see the succulents shrivel
as lizards and gophers
scamper about.

Morning shade gives way
to brilliant sunshine
and the heat
of nature's oven.

No escape, except inside
with air conditioning.
Neither shade nor swamper
can tame the demon heat.

And then I see
the earth turn orange
with the color of the sunset,
sky and earth are one
and show off many colors.

Blue, purple, peach,
red, orange, fuchsia;
blend into a miracle
of a dusty dusk

that transforms to
a moonless night
when stars overcome
the dark spaces,
and sometimes fall
from the sky.

And then the desert
comes alive
with predators nocturnal;
the mountain lion,
the spider,
the bat,
hungry and awake
as prey animals hide.

And then the morning
comes again
another glorious miracle
of light and clouds and earth.

Sweet cool breezes
become heated
waves of air,
that blows the dust
of rusted dreams
waking me from my slumber.


                                                                                         Irene Daniel   Copyright 2014   All rights reserved

The id Post: Independence from Two-ness: My New Life Begins

The id Post: Independence from Two-ness: My New Life Begins: by Irene Daniel I love the Fourth of July. My mother was born on the Fourth of July; and even though it wasn't planned that way, it is...

Independence from Two-ness: My New Life Begins

by Irene Daniel


I love the Fourth of July. My mother was born on the Fourth of July; and even though it wasn't planned that way, it is also my sobriety birthday. 17 years now. And this Independence Day, I will celebrate a new freedom: freedom from two-ness.


E.W. Dubois talked about this in an Atlantic Monthly article titled “Strivings of the Negro People” in 1897, coining the term "double-consciousness;" wherein one must observe themselves through the eyes of those in unearned authority over them in order to survive, much less thrive. Johnny Cochran also discussed this social condition in his book, "Journey to Justice." Many others have spoken and written on this mental station over the generations, as nonwhites must succumb to indignities, and sometimes betray their natures, in order to succeed in a white man's world.


I too have succumbed to domination in my life, in order to get what I wanted; to feel safe, to get that job, to be included and recognized in the great American Dream. I have been in polite white company in order to advance my dreams, and listened to their racial slurs and sexist jokes; mostly ignoring them, for to pay heed to all of them would leave women and nonwhites with no time to accomplish anything else in our lives. But no more.


I am cleaning out all of the excuses that keep me in my comfort zone these days. I have been in a deep state of grief and depression for much of the past two years, following the death of my mother, as well as my beloved Uncle John. I was in a very dark place for a very long time. And now I'm not.


I miss my mother so much lately. And I hear her whispering to me, "no te dejes, mi'ja; no te dejes." "Don't let them have you. They don't deserve you." And I know that she is right. They don't deserve me. So who is this "they," anyway?


THEY are the men who afford themselves instant credibility, while denying even common courtesy to women.


THEY are the so-called "Christians" who claim to love America, yet seem to hate Americans, unless of course, they are white, "Christian," racist, sexist, xenophobic and close-minded, like themselves.


THEY are the disciples of Ayn Rand, who must enforce a protective scheme, built by their unearned privilege, in order to look down upon "the other;" and then claim to be disciples of Jesus.


THEY are the hypocrites who hide behind the Son of Man to justify their lack of compassion and disdain of sick and poor people.


THEY are the unjustly enriched, who wrap an American flag around their greed, proclaiming the need for more unjust enrichment for themselves, and austerity for "the least of these."


THEY are the know-nothings, who fly their confederate flag and vote for more poverty and ignorance for their children.


THEY are the 21st century Pharisees, who would crucify Jesus all over again; and, somehow, blame it on Barack Obama.


THEY are the ones, wherever they are, who value money over love, rules over compassion, and conformity over creativity.


THEY are the ones who would rather see me enslaved than happy.


I am free of two-ness now because I have no need to ask THEM for anything anymore. I am free! Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, I am free at last!


Free from having to ever sacrifice even so much as a micro-smidgen of my dignity and self respect to conform to a status quo that mocks and feeds me at the same time. No more two-ness for me -- of any kind.


I realize that in claiming this independence from the judgment and scorn of THEM, I have to be willing to give up something; let go of that which is holding me back by keeping me physically comfy. This is not an easy thing to do.


But I am worth much more than all of the physical comforts I now enjoy, combined -- and multiplied by infinity. Acknowledging this true fact is the foundation of my celebration this year.

So, this Fourth of July is truly a new Independence Day for me!


How about you? Are you free? I hope so.


Happy Independence Day!


                                                                                                                                                   Irene Daniel   Copyright 2014   All rights reserved

The id Post: Our Faux Christian Nation

The id Post: Our Faux Christian Nation: by Irene Daniel Koch and ALEC policies, rife with exploitation, devoid of social justice in our faux Christian nation. Millions give...

Our Faux Christian Nation

by Irene Daniel


Koch and ALEC policies,
rife with exploitation,
devoid of social justice
in our faux Christian nation.


Millions give they to charity
for a tax-deductible donation;
names forever emblazoned
in our faux Christian nation.


The deck stacked in their favor
and blissful adoration;
theft of land and labor
in our faux Christian nation.


Have-nots now must rely on them
a Pavlovian mutation;
instead of opportunity
in our faux Christian nation


Like dogs at their feet
we grovel for our ration,
just to have enough to eat
in our faux Christian nation.


Ayn Rand, not the real Jesus,
ensures their rich salvation,
wrapped in an American flag
in our faux Christian nation.


And as we pal around with them,
Rotarians and Kochs by invitation,
we make excuses for them
in our faux Christian nation.


We touch the silk and smell the roses,
we like this sweet sensation;
and we become seduced
in our faux Christian nation.


Well maybe they are not so bad
in their machination.
White linen adorns this comfy trap
in our faux Christian nation.


21st century Pharisees,
oh the bloviation;
we worship greed and gold here
in our faux Christian nation.


They'd crucify him all over again
the Nazarene of lowly station.
Would we still hide their messes
in our faux Christian nation?


Or sell perhaps at auction
for portfolio inflation,
of gods of greed and capital
in our faux Christian nation?
.
How long 'til citizens grow weary
of this constant degradation?
and pick up their feet and voice and vote
in our faux Christian nation?


Or will they just destroy our earth
every province, state and all creation?
For they will die in comfort
in our faux Christian nation


Oh how lamentable,
the lethal lack of preparation;
they are the brick that drags us down
in our faux Christian nation.


One day we will no longer be;
we face our decimation.
What will historians tell
of our faux Christian nation?






                                                                                                                                        Irene Daniel   Copyright 2014   All rights reserved.