Wednesday, December 23, 2015
The id Post: This Christmas
The id Post: This Christmas: Mend a quarrel. Seek out a forgotten friend. Dismiss suspicion and replace it with trust. Write a love letter. Share some treasure. Give ...
This Christmas
Mend a quarrel. Seek out a forgotten friend. Dismiss suspicion and replace it with trust. Write a love letter. Share some treasure. Give a soft answer. Encourage youth. Manifest your loyalty in word and deed.
Keep a promise. Find the time. Forego a grudge. Forgive an enemy. Listen. Apologize if you are wrong. Try to understand. Flout envy. Examine your demands on others. Think of others first. Be appreciative. Be kind and gentle. Laugh a little. Laugh a little more.
Be deserving of the confidence of others. Guard your heart against malice. Rise above mediocrity. Express your gratitude. Extend your hand to a stranger and the warmth of your heart to a child. Take pleasure in the beauty and wonder of the earth.
Speak your love. Speak it again. Speak it still, once again.
Anonymous
Thursday, December 17, 2015
The id Post: Either/Or? Or Both/And?
The id Post: Either/Or? Or Both/And?: by Irene Daniel Bob Dylan's great ballad perennially warns us that "the times, they are a-changin'." And today in the la...
Sunday, December 13, 2015
The id Post: Political Correctness, Anyone? Isn't it Just Good ...
The id Post: Political Correctness, Anyone? Isn't it Just Good ...: by Irene Daniel Political correctness seems to have taken on a negative connotation through the years. I was astounded when a contestant a...
Thursday, December 10, 2015
The id Post: What Did You Expect Would Happen?
The id Post: What Did You Expect Would Happen?: by Irene Daniel There appears to be much shock and awe regarding the latest divisive suggestion from Donald Trump; this time to ban all Mu...
What Did You Expect Would Happen?
by Irene Daniel
There appears to be much shock and awe regarding the latest divisive suggestion from Donald Trump; this time to ban all Muslims from entering the United States for an unspecified period of time. Even other Republicans are denouncing his remarks, and the GOP establishment is in a panic. Well, what did they expect would happen?
This is not the first time, nor will it be the last, I'm sure, we hear of Trump's maliciously vitriolic statements directed at one group of persons or another. This has been going on for weeks and months. And yet, this is the first time that GOP leaders have made any real attempt to call him out and denounce him.
I'm not going to take the time to explain that Trump's proposal is unconstitutional, because it is. That should be obvious. Nor will I engage in comparisons to Hitler. I'll let my readers draw their own conclusions. If you look up the word fascist, and do a little research on how Hitler came to power, you will find similarities, as well as distinctions.
My question is for the Republican party: what did you expect would happen?
What did you expect would happen when Trump's GOP opponents proposed policies that may seem less outlandish, but are equally unconstitutional and divisive? For example, Jeb Bush suggested that only Christian refugees should be allowed into the United States. Isn't that just one small click to the left of the GOP front-runner?
And then there's Ted Cruz, perhaps the most similar to Trump in tone, who refuses to denounce Trump outright. Cruz is a strong 2nd choice to Trump in many GOP polls, and stands to gain the most should Trump leave the race, or simply becomes unpalatable to a majority of Republican primary voters; neither of which seems likely at this point.
There are many other examples of Republican candidates and Republican leadership making statements and adopting policies that blame and shame "the other." The immigrant, the non-white, the working poor and women have had to fight for respect in the party of Lincoln for a very long time. This kind of language and demonizing has been going on since Lee Atwater's Southern Strategy so successfully elected Republicans in the 1970s.
This monster of subtle racism and blaming those with the least power in our society, "the least of these," has been allowed to fester for far too long. So long that it has grown into a cancer in our American soul, and may very well doom the Republican party next year, and perhaps for several election cycles to come.
For now, not only does Trump refuse to leave the presidential race, he is openly suggesting that he will bolt the party and run as a third-party candidate if he is "not treated fairly," whatever that means. I'm sure that only Donald Trump has the answer to that question.
I laud the comments of so many Republican leaders who have openly and unmistakably denounced Donald Trump. Bob Dole -- for whom I have the utmost respect -- among others like Senator and fellow GOP presidential candidate Lindsay Graham, Speaker Paul Ryan and even Dick Cheney can see how very dangerous Trump and his words are; not only to their party, but to our national security. I thank them for speaking up. Finally.
However, for those of who have witnessed decades of messages aimed squarely at the subliminal and subconscious bias of middle-class white Americans, throwing the rest of us under the bus in order to win elections, we could have told you where this divisiveness would lead. Moreover, the emerging demographics for our 21st century America -- predominantly Latinos, women and millennials -- does not favor the GOP, a party that is 90% white and over the age of 50.
So, for the GOP, it might just be too little too late.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
There appears to be much shock and awe regarding the latest divisive suggestion from Donald Trump; this time to ban all Muslims from entering the United States for an unspecified period of time. Even other Republicans are denouncing his remarks, and the GOP establishment is in a panic. Well, what did they expect would happen?
This is not the first time, nor will it be the last, I'm sure, we hear of Trump's maliciously vitriolic statements directed at one group of persons or another. This has been going on for weeks and months. And yet, this is the first time that GOP leaders have made any real attempt to call him out and denounce him.
I'm not going to take the time to explain that Trump's proposal is unconstitutional, because it is. That should be obvious. Nor will I engage in comparisons to Hitler. I'll let my readers draw their own conclusions. If you look up the word fascist, and do a little research on how Hitler came to power, you will find similarities, as well as distinctions.
My question is for the Republican party: what did you expect would happen?
What did you expect would happen when Trump's GOP opponents proposed policies that may seem less outlandish, but are equally unconstitutional and divisive? For example, Jeb Bush suggested that only Christian refugees should be allowed into the United States. Isn't that just one small click to the left of the GOP front-runner?
And then there's Ted Cruz, perhaps the most similar to Trump in tone, who refuses to denounce Trump outright. Cruz is a strong 2nd choice to Trump in many GOP polls, and stands to gain the most should Trump leave the race, or simply becomes unpalatable to a majority of Republican primary voters; neither of which seems likely at this point.
There are many other examples of Republican candidates and Republican leadership making statements and adopting policies that blame and shame "the other." The immigrant, the non-white, the working poor and women have had to fight for respect in the party of Lincoln for a very long time. This kind of language and demonizing has been going on since Lee Atwater's Southern Strategy so successfully elected Republicans in the 1970s.
This monster of subtle racism and blaming those with the least power in our society, "the least of these," has been allowed to fester for far too long. So long that it has grown into a cancer in our American soul, and may very well doom the Republican party next year, and perhaps for several election cycles to come.
For now, not only does Trump refuse to leave the presidential race, he is openly suggesting that he will bolt the party and run as a third-party candidate if he is "not treated fairly," whatever that means. I'm sure that only Donald Trump has the answer to that question.
I laud the comments of so many Republican leaders who have openly and unmistakably denounced Donald Trump. Bob Dole -- for whom I have the utmost respect -- among others like Senator and fellow GOP presidential candidate Lindsay Graham, Speaker Paul Ryan and even Dick Cheney can see how very dangerous Trump and his words are; not only to their party, but to our national security. I thank them for speaking up. Finally.
However, for those of who have witnessed decades of messages aimed squarely at the subliminal and subconscious bias of middle-class white Americans, throwing the rest of us under the bus in order to win elections, we could have told you where this divisiveness would lead. Moreover, the emerging demographics for our 21st century America -- predominantly Latinos, women and millennials -- does not favor the GOP, a party that is 90% white and over the age of 50.
So, for the GOP, it might just be too little too late.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Sunday, December 6, 2015
The id Post: It's A Lot of Little Things
The id Post: It's A Lot of Little Things: by Irene Daniel We hear a lot of talk these days about our nation's many woes. We hear a number of solutions offered. Some are a littl...
Thursday, December 3, 2015
The id Post: On PTSD
The id Post: On PTSD: by Irene Daniel Surrounded by so much violence lately -- Paris, Planned Parenthood in Colorado Springs, and now San Bernadino -- I've ...
The id Post: On PTSD
The id Post: On PTSD: by Irene Daniel Surrounded by so much violence lately -- Paris, Planned Parenthood in Colorado Springs, and now San Bernadino -- I've ...
On PTSD
by Irene Daniel
Surrounded by so much violence lately -- Paris, Planned Parenthood in Colorado Springs, and now San Bernadino -- I've been doing a lot of thinking about PTSD. There sure is an overabundance of it lately. And I wonder if we are becoming so used to watching mass slaughters on television that we don't have the time or emotional energy to ponder what it really means.
PTSD, or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, is as old as the hills; even though it's been called different things at different times. Shell shock. Battle fatigue. These terms were used during the World Wars to describe its effects on those traumatized in combat. However, such veterans were still often seen as weak or too frail. This changed somewhat in the post-Vietnam era; and now we seem to have a better handle on this condition than ever before. That's a good thing because we seem to be experiencing it more and more. And it proliferates now, not just in theaters of war, but in "soft targets" that have left us more shocked than ever.
I am privileged to have a neighbor who is not merely a WWII vet, but one of the few survivors left of the USS Indianapolis, the greatest naval disaster in American history. He's an old man now, although he is in great physical shape. He takes much better care of himself than I do and is quite agile. He knows all about PTSD, with all the depression and anxiety that it brings. It's one of the many things we have in common. We have survived trauma. And it has never completely gone away.
Even after decades have passed, children and grandchildren have been born and we have moved to different locations, it's still there. Not all the time, but lurking in our memories and occasionally in our dreams. It's still there.
And I thought about Gabby Giffords, who was nearly murdered outside of a shopping mall a few years ago as she was serving her congressional constituency. She survived too; and lives with the knowledge that a lot of people didn't. I wonder what goes through her head every time another one of these mass shootings takes place. It can't be easy. And yet, she lets her voice -- her survivor's voice -- be heard every single time. And there have been a lot of those times since then, all too many.
But PTSD doesn't just affect those of us who directly experience the trauma. It affects our families and friends, our unborn children and our co-workers. It is invisible and sneaks up on us when we least expect it, as well as when we revisit it by watching other traumatic events; not to mention anniversary dates that loom large every year. We know how it feels.
Tonight in Southern California, there are 14 families grieving; 14 families whose Holiday Season will never, ever be the same. They may recover and have future Happy Thanksgivings and Merry Christmases, or Kwanzas or whatever Holiday they celebrate in December, but they will never be the same. Ever.
And for those who survived the trauma, their new reality is just beginning. Some may have permanent physical injuries and scars that will eventually heal to the extent possible. Some may be permanently disfigured -- a constant, and usually physically painful, reminder of what happened. For some, the survivor's guilt may be so great that they may wish they hadn't survived. Undoubtedly, they will need extensive medical and mental health care for a long time, if not for the rest of their lives.
My neighbor has sparked my curiosity about the Indianapolis, and I've been doing a lot of reading about this historic event. I have learned that other survivors (there are only 29 left now) have also suffered greatly. Some of them, especially the officers, were so overwhelmed with grief and guilt that they committed suicide; often years later.
The trauma we experience in our lives never leaves us completely. It messes with us and often prevents us from being at our best, mostly in subliminal ways that we don't even notice until later, if ever. And we lament the lost part of our souls as we find ourselves unable to give our all to our families and to our work. Many of us escape into drugs, alcohol or some other distraction that disables us from being the parents, husbands, wives and friends that we wish we could be.
Trauma is a demon that never dies. It lives on in the PTSD of its victims, as well as in all the lives we survivors touch.
So why are we so anxious to create more of it?
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Surrounded by so much violence lately -- Paris, Planned Parenthood in Colorado Springs, and now San Bernadino -- I've been doing a lot of thinking about PTSD. There sure is an overabundance of it lately. And I wonder if we are becoming so used to watching mass slaughters on television that we don't have the time or emotional energy to ponder what it really means.
PTSD, or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, is as old as the hills; even though it's been called different things at different times. Shell shock. Battle fatigue. These terms were used during the World Wars to describe its effects on those traumatized in combat. However, such veterans were still often seen as weak or too frail. This changed somewhat in the post-Vietnam era; and now we seem to have a better handle on this condition than ever before. That's a good thing because we seem to be experiencing it more and more. And it proliferates now, not just in theaters of war, but in "soft targets" that have left us more shocked than ever.
I am privileged to have a neighbor who is not merely a WWII vet, but one of the few survivors left of the USS Indianapolis, the greatest naval disaster in American history. He's an old man now, although he is in great physical shape. He takes much better care of himself than I do and is quite agile. He knows all about PTSD, with all the depression and anxiety that it brings. It's one of the many things we have in common. We have survived trauma. And it has never completely gone away.
Even after decades have passed, children and grandchildren have been born and we have moved to different locations, it's still there. Not all the time, but lurking in our memories and occasionally in our dreams. It's still there.
And I thought about Gabby Giffords, who was nearly murdered outside of a shopping mall a few years ago as she was serving her congressional constituency. She survived too; and lives with the knowledge that a lot of people didn't. I wonder what goes through her head every time another one of these mass shootings takes place. It can't be easy. And yet, she lets her voice -- her survivor's voice -- be heard every single time. And there have been a lot of those times since then, all too many.
But PTSD doesn't just affect those of us who directly experience the trauma. It affects our families and friends, our unborn children and our co-workers. It is invisible and sneaks up on us when we least expect it, as well as when we revisit it by watching other traumatic events; not to mention anniversary dates that loom large every year. We know how it feels.
Tonight in Southern California, there are 14 families grieving; 14 families whose Holiday Season will never, ever be the same. They may recover and have future Happy Thanksgivings and Merry Christmases, or Kwanzas or whatever Holiday they celebrate in December, but they will never be the same. Ever.
And for those who survived the trauma, their new reality is just beginning. Some may have permanent physical injuries and scars that will eventually heal to the extent possible. Some may be permanently disfigured -- a constant, and usually physically painful, reminder of what happened. For some, the survivor's guilt may be so great that they may wish they hadn't survived. Undoubtedly, they will need extensive medical and mental health care for a long time, if not for the rest of their lives.
My neighbor has sparked my curiosity about the Indianapolis, and I've been doing a lot of reading about this historic event. I have learned that other survivors (there are only 29 left now) have also suffered greatly. Some of them, especially the officers, were so overwhelmed with grief and guilt that they committed suicide; often years later.
The trauma we experience in our lives never leaves us completely. It messes with us and often prevents us from being at our best, mostly in subliminal ways that we don't even notice until later, if ever. And we lament the lost part of our souls as we find ourselves unable to give our all to our families and to our work. Many of us escape into drugs, alcohol or some other distraction that disables us from being the parents, husbands, wives and friends that we wish we could be.
Trauma is a demon that never dies. It lives on in the PTSD of its victims, as well as in all the lives we survivors touch.
So why are we so anxious to create more of it?
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Tuesday, December 1, 2015
The id Post: How We Decide: A Personal Story of Choice
The id Post: How We Decide: A Personal Story of Choice: by Irene Daniel About 34 years ago, I made the most profound and challenging decision of my entire life. I was pregnant, unmarried, emo...
Sunday, November 22, 2015
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...
Thursday, November 19, 2015
The id Post: What If?
The id Post: What If?: by Irene Daniel What if we chose differently? Curiosity over suspicion? Wonder over warring? Listening over shouting? Benevolenc...
What If?
by Irene Daniel
What if we chose differently?
Curiosity over suspicion?
Wonder over warring?
Listening over shouting?
Benevolence over ambition?
Communication over outrage?
Connectedness over separation?
Understanding over discord?
Love over hatred?
What if?
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
What if we chose differently?
Curiosity over suspicion?
Wonder over warring?
Listening over shouting?
Benevolence over ambition?
Communication over outrage?
Connectedness over separation?
Understanding over discord?
Love over hatred?
What if?
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Monday, November 16, 2015
The id Post: Paris -- From Light to Darkness
The id Post: Paris -- From Light to Darkness: by Irene Daniel Pretty much like the rest of the sane world, I am just shaken and heartbroken by the images coming out of Paris, the City ...
Paris -- From Light to Darkness
by Irene Daniel
Pretty much like the rest of the sane world, I am just shaken and heartbroken by the images coming out of Paris, the City of Lights. Nearly 130 people dead; over 500 injured, 99 of them critically so; 6 separate attacks; and the entire city in chaos. This great city of the western world has not seen this kind of violence since WWII, over 70 years.
I thought about my Uncle John and my Aunt Bertha. Uncle John was a soldier in WWII, fighting in some of the heaviest battles in the European theatre; including D-Day, the Battle of the Bulge and the Remaugen Bridge. He was wounded many times, but always hurried to get back to his unit to fight again. A photo of him and Aunt Bertha greets me every morning with their beautiful smiles. My aunt is so lovely and gracious, and my uncle is dressed in full Captain's dress, with a chest full of medals, including 7 Purple Hearts and 3 Bronze Stars.
I thought of them yesterday because one of my favorite stories that my Aunt Bertha and I speak of often is how those two poor Mexican kids from Ajo, Arizona, once dined at the restaurant atop the Eiffel Tower. Uncle John was stationed in Germany in the 1960s as a commissioned officer, and when he had time off, they traveled all over Europe -- post-war, rebuilt, fabulous Europe, where the American dollar was very strong.
My Tia loves Paris. Since my uncle's death 3 years ago, those memories of Paris, as well as many others, bring her much comfort and peace. I've not yet been to Paris, and I still want to go there and experience this city of rich history, the city of my dreams. But I know that I will never know the Paris that my Aunt Bertha experienced.
As France retaliates and tensions mount, I wonder if I am watching the birth of the next major global conflict right from my living room on my TV. It seems almost inevitable. I hope not, but only time will tell.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, All rights reserved.
Pretty much like the rest of the sane world, I am just shaken and heartbroken by the images coming out of Paris, the City of Lights. Nearly 130 people dead; over 500 injured, 99 of them critically so; 6 separate attacks; and the entire city in chaos. This great city of the western world has not seen this kind of violence since WWII, over 70 years.
I thought about my Uncle John and my Aunt Bertha. Uncle John was a soldier in WWII, fighting in some of the heaviest battles in the European theatre; including D-Day, the Battle of the Bulge and the Remaugen Bridge. He was wounded many times, but always hurried to get back to his unit to fight again. A photo of him and Aunt Bertha greets me every morning with their beautiful smiles. My aunt is so lovely and gracious, and my uncle is dressed in full Captain's dress, with a chest full of medals, including 7 Purple Hearts and 3 Bronze Stars.
I thought of them yesterday because one of my favorite stories that my Aunt Bertha and I speak of often is how those two poor Mexican kids from Ajo, Arizona, once dined at the restaurant atop the Eiffel Tower. Uncle John was stationed in Germany in the 1960s as a commissioned officer, and when he had time off, they traveled all over Europe -- post-war, rebuilt, fabulous Europe, where the American dollar was very strong.
My Tia loves Paris. Since my uncle's death 3 years ago, those memories of Paris, as well as many others, bring her much comfort and peace. I've not yet been to Paris, and I still want to go there and experience this city of rich history, the city of my dreams. But I know that I will never know the Paris that my Aunt Bertha experienced.
As France retaliates and tensions mount, I wonder if I am watching the birth of the next major global conflict right from my living room on my TV. It seems almost inevitable. I hope not, but only time will tell.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, All rights reserved.
Thursday, November 12, 2015
The id Post: We Have Stopped Listening to Each Other
The id Post: We Have Stopped Listening to Each Other: by Irene Daniel On Monday morning, Tim Wolf, the President of the University of Missouri, resigned in response to student protests and the...
We Have Stopped Listening to Each Other
by Irene Daniel
On Monday morning, Tim Wolf, the President of the University of Missouri, resigned in response to student protests and the announcement by Black football players that they would refuse to take the field unless Wolf resigned. I have no particular comment on this latest evidence of the seemingly daily mounting racial divisions in our nation. There will be plenty of those; and most, I'm afraid, will be vicious and venomous, no matter whose side you're on; or from what vantage point the issue is perceived.
I applaud the man, however, for the gracious manner in which he delivered such a difficult message; proclaiming it as an act of love and encouraging all involved to engage in a more meaningful and productive dialogue. He said, "We've stopped listening to each other."
We all have a voice. We all have a point of view. And we all have grievances. And yet, like the story of the Six Blind Men and the Elephant, we all have our own blind-spots. My experience has been that the only way I become aware of my blind-spots is when they are pointed out to me by somebody else. Sometimes that somebody is a friend, and often that somebody is a foe. However the message gets communicated to me, I cannot receive it without actually listening to that somebody.
White privilege that stems from centuries of legalized white supremacy is a real problem in our nation today. It is not spin. It is not distortion. And we are all affected by a subliminally accepted form of discrimination that had been the prevailing attitude for most of our 240 years as a nation, and for generations prior to the Revolutionary War.
Acknowledging white privilege does not mean that ALL white people are racist, or even that most of them are. Most people I know, of any stripe, perceive themselves as fair-minded and unbiased. It does not mean that white people are inherently bad or inherently good. It just means that our society long ago adopted social mores that were unjust and unenlightened; and the long-lasting ripple effects of previous choices are still with us today.
Unless and until we can learn to examine our problems honestly and justly, those problems will remain unresolved. And we cannot engage in the self-examination and reflection necessary to resolve these issues if we cannot listen to one another with some sense of compassion, and an honest desire to create understanding among the many glorious tribes of our humanity.
How to create that effective dialogue for the 21st century?
Watch this space.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
On Monday morning, Tim Wolf, the President of the University of Missouri, resigned in response to student protests and the announcement by Black football players that they would refuse to take the field unless Wolf resigned. I have no particular comment on this latest evidence of the seemingly daily mounting racial divisions in our nation. There will be plenty of those; and most, I'm afraid, will be vicious and venomous, no matter whose side you're on; or from what vantage point the issue is perceived.
I applaud the man, however, for the gracious manner in which he delivered such a difficult message; proclaiming it as an act of love and encouraging all involved to engage in a more meaningful and productive dialogue. He said, "We've stopped listening to each other."
We all have a voice. We all have a point of view. And we all have grievances. And yet, like the story of the Six Blind Men and the Elephant, we all have our own blind-spots. My experience has been that the only way I become aware of my blind-spots is when they are pointed out to me by somebody else. Sometimes that somebody is a friend, and often that somebody is a foe. However the message gets communicated to me, I cannot receive it without actually listening to that somebody.
White privilege that stems from centuries of legalized white supremacy is a real problem in our nation today. It is not spin. It is not distortion. And we are all affected by a subliminally accepted form of discrimination that had been the prevailing attitude for most of our 240 years as a nation, and for generations prior to the Revolutionary War.
Acknowledging white privilege does not mean that ALL white people are racist, or even that most of them are. Most people I know, of any stripe, perceive themselves as fair-minded and unbiased. It does not mean that white people are inherently bad or inherently good. It just means that our society long ago adopted social mores that were unjust and unenlightened; and the long-lasting ripple effects of previous choices are still with us today.
Unless and until we can learn to examine our problems honestly and justly, those problems will remain unresolved. And we cannot engage in the self-examination and reflection necessary to resolve these issues if we cannot listen to one another with some sense of compassion, and an honest desire to create understanding among the many glorious tribes of our humanity.
How to create that effective dialogue for the 21st century?
Watch this space.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Sunday, November 8, 2015
The id Post: Farewell Frank Lautenberg: Farewell To Our America...
The id Post: Farewell Frank Lautenberg: Farewell To Our America...: Senator Frank Lautenberg was the last surviving veteran of WWII to serve in our United States Congress. I mention this not only to honor him...
Thursday, November 5, 2015
The id Post: Why Do We Need to Escape?
The id Post: Why Do We Need to Escape?: by Irene Daniel I recently viewed a 60 Minutes episode, Heartbreak in the Heartland , regarding the epidemic of heroin addiction in the B...
Why Do We Need to Escape?
by Irene Daniel
I recently viewed a 60 Minutes episode, Heartbreak in the Heartland, regarding the epidemic of heroin addiction in the Buckeye State of Ohio. I was reminded of a Lisa Ling piece, Inside Utah's Struggle with Drug Addiction, aired last October on CNN, which told a similar story in conservative Mormon, middle-class households in Utah.
What should be clear to everyone by now, is that no one is immune from addiction. Every day in the United States of America, 44 people die of a drug overdose. Every single day.
The good news is that issues of mental illness and addiction are finally being discussed without labeling every addict as a low-life, evoking compassion even from conservative Republicans like Chris Christie. I applaud Governor Christie for sharing a very personal and relevant story about losing a beloved friend to addiction, and expressing a commitment to helping addicts rather than stigmatizing and jailing them. Bravo Governor!
While all mentally ill people are not addicts and all addicts are not mentally ill, both maladies originate in our brains and how our brain chemistry affects our perspectives of life. We are beginning to understand that a defect in brain chemistry is not the same thing as a defect in character. And while our brain activity affects our choices, and those choices may reflect upon our character, the fact remains that the origin of those bad choices is a defective brain chemistry.
Having lived with the effects of both mental illness and addiction in my family, I come away with an appreciation of how these afflictions can intersect and collide with one another; creating nothing but chaos. And the underlying foundation for all addictions is the need to escape. I know this was true for me. I have spent most of my life running away from myself and my past, and am happy to no longer have the need to escape life in my own skin and in my own head. It took awhile.
And so, the question: Why do we need to escape? From what great horror must we distance ourselves? What monsters and demons chase us to a place where we do damage to ourselves in our escape hatches constructed from our own silent desperation?
I know what I was escaping. And I know now that what was scaring me wasn't actually real. I self-medicated for years in an attempt to tame the demons of depression, until I crashed and burned. It was only in the void of the aftermath that I could find my own truth; the void of broken dreams and empty promises. And it was in the capacity to replace that void with better choices and sober company that I have been enabled to surrender my need to escape from the pain of life.
And that's where our American addiction epidemic starts -- with the need to escape pain; physical pain with prescription drugs. Prescription pain killers seem to be the Alpha and Omega in many an addict's story. It might commence with taking Vicadin or Oxy for post-surgical pain. And it too often ends with an overdose of either prescription meds or heroin, or both; and often includes alcohol.
So, back to the initial question. Why do we need to escape? What is so monstrously overwhelming about life that so many of us just can't handle it without a little help from our local apothecary of either legal or street drugs?
Medicating appropriately for pain is different than self-medicating to escape, and it is necessary to draw this distinction. Many of us need medication to live, and should take appropriate pain meds and/or psychotropic drugs under the proper supervision. Emotional balance can lead to emotional enlightenment, and help us to see our own light and stay focused upon our own tasks and and our own path.
Self-medicating to escape, however, can only lead to darkness and death; whether instantly or by a thousand cuts.
And so, I can only wonder -- what is making my fellow Americans so unhappy that the need to escape into very dangerous drugs has become so prevalent?
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
I recently viewed a 60 Minutes episode, Heartbreak in the Heartland, regarding the epidemic of heroin addiction in the Buckeye State of Ohio. I was reminded of a Lisa Ling piece, Inside Utah's Struggle with Drug Addiction, aired last October on CNN, which told a similar story in conservative Mormon, middle-class households in Utah.
What should be clear to everyone by now, is that no one is immune from addiction. Every day in the United States of America, 44 people die of a drug overdose. Every single day.
The good news is that issues of mental illness and addiction are finally being discussed without labeling every addict as a low-life, evoking compassion even from conservative Republicans like Chris Christie. I applaud Governor Christie for sharing a very personal and relevant story about losing a beloved friend to addiction, and expressing a commitment to helping addicts rather than stigmatizing and jailing them. Bravo Governor!
While all mentally ill people are not addicts and all addicts are not mentally ill, both maladies originate in our brains and how our brain chemistry affects our perspectives of life. We are beginning to understand that a defect in brain chemistry is not the same thing as a defect in character. And while our brain activity affects our choices, and those choices may reflect upon our character, the fact remains that the origin of those bad choices is a defective brain chemistry.
Having lived with the effects of both mental illness and addiction in my family, I come away with an appreciation of how these afflictions can intersect and collide with one another; creating nothing but chaos. And the underlying foundation for all addictions is the need to escape. I know this was true for me. I have spent most of my life running away from myself and my past, and am happy to no longer have the need to escape life in my own skin and in my own head. It took awhile.
And so, the question: Why do we need to escape? From what great horror must we distance ourselves? What monsters and demons chase us to a place where we do damage to ourselves in our escape hatches constructed from our own silent desperation?
I know what I was escaping. And I know now that what was scaring me wasn't actually real. I self-medicated for years in an attempt to tame the demons of depression, until I crashed and burned. It was only in the void of the aftermath that I could find my own truth; the void of broken dreams and empty promises. And it was in the capacity to replace that void with better choices and sober company that I have been enabled to surrender my need to escape from the pain of life.
And that's where our American addiction epidemic starts -- with the need to escape pain; physical pain with prescription drugs. Prescription pain killers seem to be the Alpha and Omega in many an addict's story. It might commence with taking Vicadin or Oxy for post-surgical pain. And it too often ends with an overdose of either prescription meds or heroin, or both; and often includes alcohol.
So, back to the initial question. Why do we need to escape? What is so monstrously overwhelming about life that so many of us just can't handle it without a little help from our local apothecary of either legal or street drugs?
Medicating appropriately for pain is different than self-medicating to escape, and it is necessary to draw this distinction. Many of us need medication to live, and should take appropriate pain meds and/or psychotropic drugs under the proper supervision. Emotional balance can lead to emotional enlightenment, and help us to see our own light and stay focused upon our own tasks and and our own path.
Self-medicating to escape, however, can only lead to darkness and death; whether instantly or by a thousand cuts.
And so, I can only wonder -- what is making my fellow Americans so unhappy that the need to escape into very dangerous drugs has become so prevalent?
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Sunday, November 1, 2015
The id Post: Desert Rain
The id Post: Desert Rain: by Irene Daniel Standing on my beloved desert floor Clouds of gray and white intermingle with blue sky beyond Blue and pur...
Desert Rain
by Irene Daniel
Standing on my beloved
desert floor
Clouds of gray and white
intermingle with blue sky beyond
Blue and purple mountains
holding centuries of secrets
The Superstitions
Apache Leap
They have stories to tell
I can hear them
if I listen carefully
intensely and truly
A gentle rain begins
Drop by luscious drop
I am still
I smell the earth
I hear the wind
that gently graces
chimes nearby
And I hear each raindrop
fall upon my beloved
desert floor
Deafeningly sweet sound
Unspeakable beauty
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Standing on my beloved
desert floor
Clouds of gray and white
intermingle with blue sky beyond
Blue and purple mountains
holding centuries of secrets
The Superstitions
Apache Leap
They have stories to tell
I can hear them
if I listen carefully
intensely and truly
A gentle rain begins
Drop by luscious drop
I am still
I smell the earth
I hear the wind
that gently graces
chimes nearby
And I hear each raindrop
fall upon my beloved
desert floor
Deafeningly sweet sound
Unspeakable beauty
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Thursday, October 29, 2015
The id Post: Things I Cannot Escape
The id Post: Things I Cannot Escape: by Irene Daniel My Cowboy Cradle hometown An abiding faith My love of the printed word My historic Catholic Church The mystic des...
Things I Cannot Escape
by Irene Daniel
My Cowboy Cradle hometown
An abiding faith
My love of the printed word
My historic Catholic Church
The mystic desert
The love of my true friends
My curly hair
The way that history
so enamors me
My need for music
My love of beauty
My need for art and books
The light that shines within me
These are the things I love
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
My Cowboy Cradle hometown
An abiding faith
My love of the printed word
My historic Catholic Church
The mystic desert
The love of my true friends
My curly hair
The way that history
so enamors me
My need for music
My love of beauty
My need for art and books
The light that shines within me
These are the things I love
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Thursday, October 22, 2015
The id Post: Dramalogue v. Dialogue
The id Post: Dramalogue v. Dialogue: by Irene Daniel Last week I lamented the great American dialogue that is not taking place as we prepare for the next presidential election...
Dramalogue v. Dialogue
by Irene Daniel
Last week I lamented the great American dialogue that is not taking place as we prepare for the next presidential election cycle. What we have is a dramalogue.
Merriam Webster defines dramalogue as the "reading of a play to an audience;" while thefreedictionary defines it as "a dramatic monologue." As there is nothing inherently threatening about reading a play or experiencing a dramatic monologue, I find these definitions insufficient to describe the manner in which Americans discuss political and social issues with one another these days.
It's not that our political discourse has always been one of deferential and compassionate treatment of one's opponents. Our beloved democracy has a very long history of political opponents being most uncivil towards one another. Let us not forget that during the Civil War era, a United States Senator was literally beaten to death by another United States Senator on the very floor of the United States Senate. Certainly not the best example of democracy at work; not our finest hour by any stretch of the imagination.
We don't want to go back there, do we? Do we? We don't have to go back there, or back anywhere else in our imperfect, yet glorious American past. Isn't forward where we want to go? Can we get there with so much misinformation, deceptive spin and conversation-stopping name-calling and vitriol that is way in excess of zeal?
I am a lover of history. In our history, I see not only our present, but our future. I see the unfulfilled promise made to the American people nearly 240 years ago. A promise born in times of great upheaval, tremendous risk, extraordinary courage and violent revolution. That promise of liberty, equality and opportunity for every American has been a taller order to fill than our founders could have imagined in their limited understanding of those words when our nation was in its infancy. While it seemed perfectly logical in the 18th century that only propertied white males had the right to vote, or any meaningful decision-making power; we have evolved greatly past that limited perspective. It is our constant evolution toward that ideal, that "more perfect union," that has created the nation that we are today.
Our American ideal of freedom is so great, so mighty and so expansive that it has taken us nearly two-and-a-half centuries to grow into the mature and evolved democracy for which we all yearn. Americans are a restless bunch by nature, it seems. And we are again restless and yearning for something we believe to be eluding us. And that "something" is different for everyone.
Some yearn for an illusory perfection that is behind us. Others yearn for inclusion in that "more perfect union," from which they have been previously excluded. Their yearning is palpable.
All we have is today. Whether we want to reconstruct something of the past, or to construct something entirely different for the future, all we have to work with is today. This day. This year. This election cycle.
Illusions of past glories and dreams of a brilliant future can be given life only today and only by us; all of us Americans living here in the land of the free and the home of the brave. We give our dreams life with our voices and wings with our efforts.
So, what kind of voices and what kind of effort do we want to breath into our American dreams for the 21st century?
Watch this space.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Last week I lamented the great American dialogue that is not taking place as we prepare for the next presidential election cycle. What we have is a dramalogue.
Merriam Webster defines dramalogue as the "reading of a play to an audience;" while thefreedictionary defines it as "a dramatic monologue." As there is nothing inherently threatening about reading a play or experiencing a dramatic monologue, I find these definitions insufficient to describe the manner in which Americans discuss political and social issues with one another these days.
It's not that our political discourse has always been one of deferential and compassionate treatment of one's opponents. Our beloved democracy has a very long history of political opponents being most uncivil towards one another. Let us not forget that during the Civil War era, a United States Senator was literally beaten to death by another United States Senator on the very floor of the United States Senate. Certainly not the best example of democracy at work; not our finest hour by any stretch of the imagination.
We don't want to go back there, do we? Do we? We don't have to go back there, or back anywhere else in our imperfect, yet glorious American past. Isn't forward where we want to go? Can we get there with so much misinformation, deceptive spin and conversation-stopping name-calling and vitriol that is way in excess of zeal?
I am a lover of history. In our history, I see not only our present, but our future. I see the unfulfilled promise made to the American people nearly 240 years ago. A promise born in times of great upheaval, tremendous risk, extraordinary courage and violent revolution. That promise of liberty, equality and opportunity for every American has been a taller order to fill than our founders could have imagined in their limited understanding of those words when our nation was in its infancy. While it seemed perfectly logical in the 18th century that only propertied white males had the right to vote, or any meaningful decision-making power; we have evolved greatly past that limited perspective. It is our constant evolution toward that ideal, that "more perfect union," that has created the nation that we are today.
Our American ideal of freedom is so great, so mighty and so expansive that it has taken us nearly two-and-a-half centuries to grow into the mature and evolved democracy for which we all yearn. Americans are a restless bunch by nature, it seems. And we are again restless and yearning for something we believe to be eluding us. And that "something" is different for everyone.
Some yearn for an illusory perfection that is behind us. Others yearn for inclusion in that "more perfect union," from which they have been previously excluded. Their yearning is palpable.
All we have is today. Whether we want to reconstruct something of the past, or to construct something entirely different for the future, all we have to work with is today. This day. This year. This election cycle.
Illusions of past glories and dreams of a brilliant future can be given life only today and only by us; all of us Americans living here in the land of the free and the home of the brave. We give our dreams life with our voices and wings with our efforts.
So, what kind of voices and what kind of effort do we want to breath into our American dreams for the 21st century?
Watch this space.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
The id Post: It's A Lot of Little Things
The id Post: It's A Lot of Little Things: by Irene Daniel We hear a lot of talk these days about our nation's many woes. We hear a number of solutions offered. Some are a littl...
Thursday, October 15, 2015
The id Post: It's A Lot of Little Things
The id Post: It's A Lot of Little Things: by Irene Daniel We here a lot of talk these days about our nation's many woes. We hear a number of solutions offered. Some are a littl...
It's A Lot of Little Things
by Irene Daniel
We hear a lot of talk these days about our nation's many woes. We hear a number of solutions offered. Some are a little oversimplified; some filled with rhetoric and vitriol. And almost always, there are at least two sides venomously pitted against one another.
Let's take the discussion of gun violence, for example. Some claim the solution is more guns; for others, it's less availability of certain kinds of guns and ammo. For still others it's all about mental health issues; as well as the prevalence of violence offered as entertainment in our culture.
Here in the land of the free and the home of the brave, we liberally exercise our right to free speech; even if we don't know what we're talking about. We label one another this thing or that, even though most of the people we label, blame and shame are complete strangers to us; persons of whom we know little or nothing. Free speech is something that is so precious, that only the most narrowly tailored time, place and manner restrictions are legally imposed upon it, and only in the face of a compelling state interest, like public safety. And that is a very good thing.
However, is all this insistence on adopting only the solution we personally advance, based upon our own limited perspectives, really getting us anywhere? Are we engaging in any meaningful dialogue when refuse to see past ourselves? Or are we just shutting down the conversation with fearful name-calling and baseless accusations? Is it possible that the other person on the other side of any issue may actually have a valid point to contribute to a potential solution on gun violence, as well as a whole host of other issues?
Is there really only one solution, based upon one perspective? Don't we all wish it were that easy; but it's not. Democracy, if practiced with passion as we do here in the USA, is a messy thing; full of all kinds of people with all kinds of jobs, interests, priorities and anxieties. We all deserve to be heard. It is the very essence of who we are. And very much like the story of the Six Blind Men and the Elephant, we are all at least partly correct, from our limited vantage point.
In 1980, after coaching the San Francisco Forty-Niners to their first Super Bowl victory, Coach Bill Walsh was asked a lot of questions about his secret to success. Is it your passing game? Running? Suicide squads? Is it your front-line? Secondary? Pass-rush? What is your focus, he was asked. I have never forgotten his answer.
He said that he never focused on any one thing, because it's never just one thing that's gonna win the game for you. He said, "It's a lot of little things."
A lot of little things. Little things. A lot of them. Isn't that really how life is? Isn't raising kids about a lot of little things? Farming and ranching are still big out here in the Cowboy Cradle of the Southwest; and any farmer or rancher can tell you that growing crops and running a ranch are comprised daily of "a lot of little things." Writing, and writing well, I assure you, is about "a lot of little things." It's really all about paying attention to those myriad little things, that contribute to a positive outcome.
Why then, when advancing solutions to reflect the needs of our citizens, do certain voices insist that it is only "this," and cannot be "that?" Isn't mental illness a component of the epidemic of mass shootings that we are experiencing? Is it the only one? Of course not. Is it necessary to make available high-powered assault rifles and huge magazine clips, that are specifically designed to kill as many human beings as possible in an instant? Isn't this another component of the problem that we could examine objectively and discuss as patriots who have compassion for the hundreds of our fellow citizens who have been murdered by someone using this weaponry?
Yes, we live in an often violent culture. We are born of violence, of revolution. And this spirit of aggressive revolution seems to be ensconced in our American DNA. That, in and of itself, is not necessarily a bad thing, nor necessarily a good one; but it is another piece of this violent puzzle. We should be grown-up enough to look at these many ingredients that have resulted in this unsavory mess in which we now stew, and examine how they contribute to the problem, as well as the solution.
I have no direct answers or suggestions to gun violence in America, nor to any of the other issues facing us in this election cycle. I believe that there are answers out there and that we can find them together; but it won't be easy and it won't be quick. And it won't be a democratic one if voices are shut down instead of invited to contribute.
I don't have the answers. I seem to have more and more questions as I get older, and find myself less wedded to one perspective or another. For questions beckon the answers when faced honestly and courageously, and I believe that my fellow Americans have the courage to face one another honestly. What we do not have is a compassionate dialogue with one another.
How do we create that dialogue? How can we evolve into the 21st century thinking that is necessary to solve 21st century problems and create 21st century innovation and prosperity?
Well, I'm getting started right here in this space that I have occupied with my words every week now for the past 3 years. I want to create a true 21st century dialogue with my friends and readers. I want to have deep and delicious conversations that illuminate solutions. Doesn't that sound better than name-calling and vitriol? I hope so.
Watch this space.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
We hear a lot of talk these days about our nation's many woes. We hear a number of solutions offered. Some are a little oversimplified; some filled with rhetoric and vitriol. And almost always, there are at least two sides venomously pitted against one another.
Let's take the discussion of gun violence, for example. Some claim the solution is more guns; for others, it's less availability of certain kinds of guns and ammo. For still others it's all about mental health issues; as well as the prevalence of violence offered as entertainment in our culture.
Here in the land of the free and the home of the brave, we liberally exercise our right to free speech; even if we don't know what we're talking about. We label one another this thing or that, even though most of the people we label, blame and shame are complete strangers to us; persons of whom we know little or nothing. Free speech is something that is so precious, that only the most narrowly tailored time, place and manner restrictions are legally imposed upon it, and only in the face of a compelling state interest, like public safety. And that is a very good thing.
However, is all this insistence on adopting only the solution we personally advance, based upon our own limited perspectives, really getting us anywhere? Are we engaging in any meaningful dialogue when refuse to see past ourselves? Or are we just shutting down the conversation with fearful name-calling and baseless accusations? Is it possible that the other person on the other side of any issue may actually have a valid point to contribute to a potential solution on gun violence, as well as a whole host of other issues?
Is there really only one solution, based upon one perspective? Don't we all wish it were that easy; but it's not. Democracy, if practiced with passion as we do here in the USA, is a messy thing; full of all kinds of people with all kinds of jobs, interests, priorities and anxieties. We all deserve to be heard. It is the very essence of who we are. And very much like the story of the Six Blind Men and the Elephant, we are all at least partly correct, from our limited vantage point.
In 1980, after coaching the San Francisco Forty-Niners to their first Super Bowl victory, Coach Bill Walsh was asked a lot of questions about his secret to success. Is it your passing game? Running? Suicide squads? Is it your front-line? Secondary? Pass-rush? What is your focus, he was asked. I have never forgotten his answer.
He said that he never focused on any one thing, because it's never just one thing that's gonna win the game for you. He said, "It's a lot of little things."
A lot of little things. Little things. A lot of them. Isn't that really how life is? Isn't raising kids about a lot of little things? Farming and ranching are still big out here in the Cowboy Cradle of the Southwest; and any farmer or rancher can tell you that growing crops and running a ranch are comprised daily of "a lot of little things." Writing, and writing well, I assure you, is about "a lot of little things." It's really all about paying attention to those myriad little things, that contribute to a positive outcome.
Why then, when advancing solutions to reflect the needs of our citizens, do certain voices insist that it is only "this," and cannot be "that?" Isn't mental illness a component of the epidemic of mass shootings that we are experiencing? Is it the only one? Of course not. Is it necessary to make available high-powered assault rifles and huge magazine clips, that are specifically designed to kill as many human beings as possible in an instant? Isn't this another component of the problem that we could examine objectively and discuss as patriots who have compassion for the hundreds of our fellow citizens who have been murdered by someone using this weaponry?
Yes, we live in an often violent culture. We are born of violence, of revolution. And this spirit of aggressive revolution seems to be ensconced in our American DNA. That, in and of itself, is not necessarily a bad thing, nor necessarily a good one; but it is another piece of this violent puzzle. We should be grown-up enough to look at these many ingredients that have resulted in this unsavory mess in which we now stew, and examine how they contribute to the problem, as well as the solution.
I have no direct answers or suggestions to gun violence in America, nor to any of the other issues facing us in this election cycle. I believe that there are answers out there and that we can find them together; but it won't be easy and it won't be quick. And it won't be a democratic one if voices are shut down instead of invited to contribute.
I don't have the answers. I seem to have more and more questions as I get older, and find myself less wedded to one perspective or another. For questions beckon the answers when faced honestly and courageously, and I believe that my fellow Americans have the courage to face one another honestly. What we do not have is a compassionate dialogue with one another.
How do we create that dialogue? How can we evolve into the 21st century thinking that is necessary to solve 21st century problems and create 21st century innovation and prosperity?
Well, I'm getting started right here in this space that I have occupied with my words every week now for the past 3 years. I want to create a true 21st century dialogue with my friends and readers. I want to have deep and delicious conversations that illuminate solutions. Doesn't that sound better than name-calling and vitriol? I hope so.
Watch this space.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Thursday, October 8, 2015
The id Post: I Remember You: When We Were Just Kids
The id Post: I Remember You: When We Were Just Kids: by Irene Daniel The other day I was sitting in my house chatting with some old friends, Pamela and Tommy Cathemer III. We all grew up toge...
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
The id Post: Between the Sun and the Moon
The id Post: Between the Sun and the Moon: by Irene Daniel Between the sun and the moon I see the world from my mother's grave To the east the rising sun illuminates Apach...
Between the Sun and the Moon
by Irene Daniel
Between the sun and the moon
I see the world
from my mother's grave
To the east
the rising sun
illuminates Apache Leap
To the west
a waning lunar globe
full just hours ago
Long and lean
early morning shadows
shade the graves
of centuries past
And newer, fresher graves
that entomb my friends;
playmates and classmates
beckon remembrance
I walk among them
sometimes I weep
sometimes I talk
but mostly I just listen
They seem at peace
in the afterglow
of lives well-lived
and well-loved
They wonder why
I linger here
for life is to be lived
they tell me
Do not weep for us
they say
go out and live
and work
and play
I tell them that
I seek their peace
their prayers
and blessings
It's hard to leave
my little bench
beside my mother's grave
for here lies peace
and the memory
of love's sweet embrace
The sun climbs higher
as the moon slips away
beneath the western horizon
It's time for me to go
And live my life
for I'm still here
my mission incomplete
new dreams beckon
every day
a new Phoenix awaits
But I return here every day
Seeking peace and solice
Between the sun and the moon
I see the world
from my mother's grave
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Between the sun and the moon
I see the world
from my mother's grave
To the east
the rising sun
illuminates Apache Leap
To the west
a waning lunar globe
full just hours ago
Long and lean
early morning shadows
shade the graves
of centuries past
And newer, fresher graves
that entomb my friends;
playmates and classmates
beckon remembrance
I walk among them
sometimes I weep
sometimes I talk
but mostly I just listen
They seem at peace
in the afterglow
of lives well-lived
and well-loved
They wonder why
I linger here
for life is to be lived
they tell me
Do not weep for us
they say
go out and live
and work
and play
I tell them that
I seek their peace
their prayers
and blessings
It's hard to leave
my little bench
beside my mother's grave
for here lies peace
and the memory
of love's sweet embrace
The sun climbs higher
as the moon slips away
beneath the western horizon
It's time for me to go
And live my life
for I'm still here
my mission incomplete
new dreams beckon
every day
a new Phoenix awaits
But I return here every day
Seeking peace and solice
Between the sun and the moon
I see the world
from my mother's grave
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Thursday, September 24, 2015
The id Post: It's Cool to Be a Catholic Again Here in the Land ...
The id Post: It's Cool to Be a Catholic Again Here in the Land ...: by Irene Daniel Growing up in the 1960s, I remember how good it felt to be a Catholic, just like the president. I remember the familiarity...
It's Cool to Be a Catholic Again Here in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave!
by Irene Daniel
Growing up in the 1960s, I remember how good it felt to be a Catholic, just like the president. I remember the familiarity and feeling of inclusiveness during those all too many Kennedy funerals. How comforting it was to witness the extraordinary and historic ritual that is my church; that draws Catholics into a sense of solemnity and fealty to our universal Catholic and Apostolic faith. I felt not alone in the world, but connected to, and a part of, something truly sacred and shared by many.
As I grew older, I stopped going to mass, stopped praying and -- on and off -- stopped believing. As I write this, I cannot describe my God to you. It would be like a drop of water trying to describe the entire universe; way above my pay-grade. I don't know what I believe all the time, but I like Maya Angelou's response when asked to define God. She simply stated, "God is all."
And if God is all, then God is my confusion. God is my doubt. God is even in my darkest places; maybe even especially there. But I know that whatever God is or isn't, I cannot access Spiritual power by myself, isolated in my home and in my own head. And so it is necessary for me to participate in a community of faith. And that community exists in the Church of the Assumption of Mary in my hometown of Florence, AZ. It is the Alpha and Omega of my Spiritual walk.
Having just recently been reconciled with the faith of my childhood, it has been exhilarating to witness the Pope's visit to the United States. Let's face it, the Catholic church has taken some hits lately after enabling pedophiles for too long, as well as the continued discounting of women and other 4th century ideas, which often conflict with 21st century reality. And I have walked away from the Catholic church many times; experimenting with other belief systems before returning again to a parish in my neighborhood. This was my cycle of faith for decades.
The Taoist believes that there are many mules that can take you to the summit of God, for they all arrive at the same destination, the same zenith. Well, Catholicism is my mule and I have surrendered to it completely. And it has made a complete difference in my life. I don't think I'm holier than anyone, nor that only Catholics go to heaven. This is just what works for me.
Witnessing this historic visit from His Holiness Pope Frances has, I hope, inspired all of us whether Catholic or not, to replace our suspicion of one another with compassion, our closed-off exclusivity for acceptance and inclusion and our biased and blind hatred for love of one another. A tall order, yes I know; but what else is faith for if not to enable us to choose love above all else? This is the example of Pope Francis. He is teaching us all how to choose love; all the while acknowledging that it is often a difficult choice to make. It is so much easier to exclude, because that seems safer. But how can moving away from the love of God make anyone safer?
To open our hearts to love -- to truly love and be loved -- requires risk. We invite hurt, exploitation and confusion when we love unconditionally and we all instinctively avoid pain. Loving others and opening our hearts does not require that we abandon reason, nor that we should not set healthy physical and emotional boundaries for our own well-being. Love asks us to choose higher; to access "the better angels of our nature," to borrow the words of Abraham Lincoln.
We need Pope Francis right now. We need to see somebody make the kind of choices we would like to make, to open our hearts to love in the manner of His Holiness. We need leadership that challenges us to rise above our pettiness, our vitriol, our self-righteousness and our greed.
So when I say that it is cool to be Catholic again, I am not communicating a sense of superiority, but of great humility. Those who know me well know that humility is not my strong suit. I have to work hard to keep my mouth shut and stash my judgmental ego. It's a daily challenge, let me tell you. But I meet this challenge happily because now I know that I am not alone, that I am loved and that we all basically want the same things in life -- love, happiness and peace of mind.
What His Holiness reminds us today is that we already possess all of those things, for they have been bestowed upon us by Almighty God. They are gifts for us to use and enjoy. However, these gifts can only be opened and enjoyed when they are relevant to our relationships with other human beings. We are all children of the same God, no matter what you call Him or Her. And we are all connected to the same eternal source of love and all things that matter.
We are all connected, whether we like it or not. And we all have the power to choose whether we will invest our energy into lifting each other up, or in tearing each other down. This is the gift of His Holiness.
The only measure of a true Christian is to behave like Jesus Christ, to make the choices that He showed us how to make -- in all things. Pope Frances gives us this example, and for that, I am joyfully grateful.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Growing up in the 1960s, I remember how good it felt to be a Catholic, just like the president. I remember the familiarity and feeling of inclusiveness during those all too many Kennedy funerals. How comforting it was to witness the extraordinary and historic ritual that is my church; that draws Catholics into a sense of solemnity and fealty to our universal Catholic and Apostolic faith. I felt not alone in the world, but connected to, and a part of, something truly sacred and shared by many.
As I grew older, I stopped going to mass, stopped praying and -- on and off -- stopped believing. As I write this, I cannot describe my God to you. It would be like a drop of water trying to describe the entire universe; way above my pay-grade. I don't know what I believe all the time, but I like Maya Angelou's response when asked to define God. She simply stated, "God is all."
And if God is all, then God is my confusion. God is my doubt. God is even in my darkest places; maybe even especially there. But I know that whatever God is or isn't, I cannot access Spiritual power by myself, isolated in my home and in my own head. And so it is necessary for me to participate in a community of faith. And that community exists in the Church of the Assumption of Mary in my hometown of Florence, AZ. It is the Alpha and Omega of my Spiritual walk.
Having just recently been reconciled with the faith of my childhood, it has been exhilarating to witness the Pope's visit to the United States. Let's face it, the Catholic church has taken some hits lately after enabling pedophiles for too long, as well as the continued discounting of women and other 4th century ideas, which often conflict with 21st century reality. And I have walked away from the Catholic church many times; experimenting with other belief systems before returning again to a parish in my neighborhood. This was my cycle of faith for decades.
The Taoist believes that there are many mules that can take you to the summit of God, for they all arrive at the same destination, the same zenith. Well, Catholicism is my mule and I have surrendered to it completely. And it has made a complete difference in my life. I don't think I'm holier than anyone, nor that only Catholics go to heaven. This is just what works for me.
Witnessing this historic visit from His Holiness Pope Frances has, I hope, inspired all of us whether Catholic or not, to replace our suspicion of one another with compassion, our closed-off exclusivity for acceptance and inclusion and our biased and blind hatred for love of one another. A tall order, yes I know; but what else is faith for if not to enable us to choose love above all else? This is the example of Pope Francis. He is teaching us all how to choose love; all the while acknowledging that it is often a difficult choice to make. It is so much easier to exclude, because that seems safer. But how can moving away from the love of God make anyone safer?
To open our hearts to love -- to truly love and be loved -- requires risk. We invite hurt, exploitation and confusion when we love unconditionally and we all instinctively avoid pain. Loving others and opening our hearts does not require that we abandon reason, nor that we should not set healthy physical and emotional boundaries for our own well-being. Love asks us to choose higher; to access "the better angels of our nature," to borrow the words of Abraham Lincoln.
We need Pope Francis right now. We need to see somebody make the kind of choices we would like to make, to open our hearts to love in the manner of His Holiness. We need leadership that challenges us to rise above our pettiness, our vitriol, our self-righteousness and our greed.
So when I say that it is cool to be Catholic again, I am not communicating a sense of superiority, but of great humility. Those who know me well know that humility is not my strong suit. I have to work hard to keep my mouth shut and stash my judgmental ego. It's a daily challenge, let me tell you. But I meet this challenge happily because now I know that I am not alone, that I am loved and that we all basically want the same things in life -- love, happiness and peace of mind.
What His Holiness reminds us today is that we already possess all of those things, for they have been bestowed upon us by Almighty God. They are gifts for us to use and enjoy. However, these gifts can only be opened and enjoyed when they are relevant to our relationships with other human beings. We are all children of the same God, no matter what you call Him or Her. And we are all connected to the same eternal source of love and all things that matter.
We are all connected, whether we like it or not. And we all have the power to choose whether we will invest our energy into lifting each other up, or in tearing each other down. This is the gift of His Holiness.
The only measure of a true Christian is to behave like Jesus Christ, to make the choices that He showed us how to make -- in all things. Pope Frances gives us this example, and for that, I am joyfully grateful.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Thursday, September 17, 2015
The id Post: Either/Or? Or Both/And?
The id Post: Either/Or? Or Both/And?: by Irene Daniel Bob Dylan's great ballad perennially warns us that "the times, they are a-changin'." And today in the la...
Either/Or? Or Both/And?
by Irene Daniel
Bob Dylan's great ballad perennially warns us that "the times, they are a-changin'." And today in the land of the free and the home of the brave, they are also a-polarizin'!
I have to admit, I'm one of the worst offenders when it comes to hyperbole and vitriol at times when I am frustrated and angry. So please don't think that I am calling out anyone more than I am calling myself to the truth about this fact; for the only real change I can ever make is in myself. That's why I write and read and keep on trying to discover the truth; and once discovered, not betray my truth with false dichotomies and overzealous representations or flat-out distortions of facts.
I much prefer to surrender to what Abe Lincoln described as "the better angles of our nature," than to the false sense of superiority that my ego (not my amigo, by the way) tells me I have earned. As most of you who regularly read my posts (thanks a lot) already know, I often fail in my attempts to do so, despite my best intentions. I will never stop trying, however, to improve this flaw in my own betrayal of a well-honed critical thinking acumen.
I am frustrated and angry too; just like everybody else. But more than I am frustrated with certain events, policies or laws, I am frustrated with the conversation our nation is having of late. It seems that many of us try to persuade our fellows by proclaiming that those who disagree are just plain dumb. In my experience, name-calling of any kind usually serves to stop-cold any meaningful or intelligent discussion, and may very well start a fight. Just check out the facebook page of anyone who has any opinion on anything to get a whiff of what I'm talking about here.
Another tactic often used is the false dichotomy; forcing a choice between two opposite extremes, neither of which may be true, or both of which may be partly true. This stark choice is offered as the only rational one, rather than allow other alternatives to even be explored or discussed. Forcing one another into extreme choices against those who would not entertain that choice for whatever reason they may have is the tactic of a bully. For example: You're either part of the solution or part of the problem. I have to admit that I've done this; and it really isn't fair. It doesn't look or sound any better on me than it does on anyone else.
I am reminded of the story of the Six Blind Men and the Elephant (or five or three in certain versions). So, I did some research on the story and found that there is a lot to know about this little fable of Indian origin. There is also a Chinese story in which there were three blind men, and another in which there were five. There is also an excellent and entertaining poem written by 19th century American poet John Godfrey Saxe, as well as many other writings. All of these versions and writings warn us about relying solely on our own human, thus limited, perspectives. We all have blind spots which can often only be revealed to us in our reflection in the eyes of another human being.
The point of the story is that each of them touched a different part of the elephant and described their experiences accordingly. None of them were factually wrong. To the one with the tail, it was just like a rope. For the one with the ear, it was like a fan. And so on, and so on. However, each of them was not entirely correct because, in their blindness, they were unable to appreciate the experiences of their fellows. Hence, they each thought the others were just plain wrong. Isn't that how we are?
We all experience this world and our lives in our own humanly unique fashion. We live in different places, choose different lifestyles and have different priorities. We may all even witness the same event and perceive it differently based upon our cultures, our faiths, locations and other circumstances that influence our world view. We are all different. Isn't it time we started celebrating that fact instead of trying to destroy one another over those differences?
I know why what makes sense to me makes sense to me. What I do not know is why what makes sense to you makes sense to you. And I cannot know why it makes sense to you unless and until I am willing to allow my imagination to travel outside of my comfort zone in order to better understand. And understanding cannot be had without the ability to listen with an intent to learn, rather than listening defensively in order to be able to immediately pounce upon perceived weaknesses in the logic of others.
I don't have the answers. I mostly have questions. I get on people's nerves a lot with my insatiable curiosity at times; but for me the answers are all in the asking. Asking questions is acknowledging my own ignorance about whatever it is that has captured my imagination. Asking invites information and, hopefully, delicious conversations that I love so much.
Perhaps if the blind men could have reached out to touch the hand of the other, and gently guide him through his own experience, and allow all the others to take his hand and do the same, there would have been no need for argument. Moreover, they each could have experienced the totality, the wholeness of the elephant before them. How magnificent a creature they could have discovered together.
We can all ague for a space in our lives where we deliberately exclude and/or dismiss "the other." But what does that really do? Does our clinging to our limited, albeit not necessarily incorrect, perspectives help us to move forward together? As one nation? A "more perfect" union? Not so far.
Is it really "either/or"? Isn't it really more like "both/and"?
What do you think?
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Bob Dylan's great ballad perennially warns us that "the times, they are a-changin'." And today in the land of the free and the home of the brave, they are also a-polarizin'!
I have to admit, I'm one of the worst offenders when it comes to hyperbole and vitriol at times when I am frustrated and angry. So please don't think that I am calling out anyone more than I am calling myself to the truth about this fact; for the only real change I can ever make is in myself. That's why I write and read and keep on trying to discover the truth; and once discovered, not betray my truth with false dichotomies and overzealous representations or flat-out distortions of facts.
I much prefer to surrender to what Abe Lincoln described as "the better angles of our nature," than to the false sense of superiority that my ego (not my amigo, by the way) tells me I have earned. As most of you who regularly read my posts (thanks a lot) already know, I often fail in my attempts to do so, despite my best intentions. I will never stop trying, however, to improve this flaw in my own betrayal of a well-honed critical thinking acumen.
I am frustrated and angry too; just like everybody else. But more than I am frustrated with certain events, policies or laws, I am frustrated with the conversation our nation is having of late. It seems that many of us try to persuade our fellows by proclaiming that those who disagree are just plain dumb. In my experience, name-calling of any kind usually serves to stop-cold any meaningful or intelligent discussion, and may very well start a fight. Just check out the facebook page of anyone who has any opinion on anything to get a whiff of what I'm talking about here.
Another tactic often used is the false dichotomy; forcing a choice between two opposite extremes, neither of which may be true, or both of which may be partly true. This stark choice is offered as the only rational one, rather than allow other alternatives to even be explored or discussed. Forcing one another into extreme choices against those who would not entertain that choice for whatever reason they may have is the tactic of a bully. For example: You're either part of the solution or part of the problem. I have to admit that I've done this; and it really isn't fair. It doesn't look or sound any better on me than it does on anyone else.
I am reminded of the story of the Six Blind Men and the Elephant (or five or three in certain versions). So, I did some research on the story and found that there is a lot to know about this little fable of Indian origin. There is also a Chinese story in which there were three blind men, and another in which there were five. There is also an excellent and entertaining poem written by 19th century American poet John Godfrey Saxe, as well as many other writings. All of these versions and writings warn us about relying solely on our own human, thus limited, perspectives. We all have blind spots which can often only be revealed to us in our reflection in the eyes of another human being.
The point of the story is that each of them touched a different part of the elephant and described their experiences accordingly. None of them were factually wrong. To the one with the tail, it was just like a rope. For the one with the ear, it was like a fan. And so on, and so on. However, each of them was not entirely correct because, in their blindness, they were unable to appreciate the experiences of their fellows. Hence, they each thought the others were just plain wrong. Isn't that how we are?
We all experience this world and our lives in our own humanly unique fashion. We live in different places, choose different lifestyles and have different priorities. We may all even witness the same event and perceive it differently based upon our cultures, our faiths, locations and other circumstances that influence our world view. We are all different. Isn't it time we started celebrating that fact instead of trying to destroy one another over those differences?
I know why what makes sense to me makes sense to me. What I do not know is why what makes sense to you makes sense to you. And I cannot know why it makes sense to you unless and until I am willing to allow my imagination to travel outside of my comfort zone in order to better understand. And understanding cannot be had without the ability to listen with an intent to learn, rather than listening defensively in order to be able to immediately pounce upon perceived weaknesses in the logic of others.
I don't have the answers. I mostly have questions. I get on people's nerves a lot with my insatiable curiosity at times; but for me the answers are all in the asking. Asking questions is acknowledging my own ignorance about whatever it is that has captured my imagination. Asking invites information and, hopefully, delicious conversations that I love so much.
Perhaps if the blind men could have reached out to touch the hand of the other, and gently guide him through his own experience, and allow all the others to take his hand and do the same, there would have been no need for argument. Moreover, they each could have experienced the totality, the wholeness of the elephant before them. How magnificent a creature they could have discovered together.
We can all ague for a space in our lives where we deliberately exclude and/or dismiss "the other." But what does that really do? Does our clinging to our limited, albeit not necessarily incorrect, perspectives help us to move forward together? As one nation? A "more perfect" union? Not so far.
Is it really "either/or"? Isn't it really more like "both/and"?
What do you think?
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Thursday, September 10, 2015
The id Post: Good Neighbors
The id Post: Good Neighbors: by Irene Daniel Good fences make good neighbors so they say I have a fence and so do they Our fences are mostly ...
Good Neighbors
by Irene Daniel
Good fences make good neighbors
so they say
I have a fence
and so do they
Our fences are mostly
porous
not walls or forts
not for us
No motes to keep
each other out
gated communities?
Not what we're about
Here in south Flo town
in my space
my neighbors know me
they remember my face
It is the people
that I know
their faces, hearts
and sentiments that flow
With some, sweet memories to share;
others? not so much
with all I share an intimacy
of our embrace, our touch
I thrived in the City of Angels
once upon a time
living behind fences
of every shape and kind
I didn't know my neighbors,
not really, not that well
although we shared a neighborhood
and anecdotes to tell
We learned each other's patterns
the coming and the going
of raising kids and working
but not a true knowing
As I gaze out my window now
I see them and they see me
From this small town intimacy
I no longer want to flee
To the east, west and south
are families I have known
and across the street, a new mentee
raw talent yet to hone
Enveloped in familiar love
I no longer fear
For I am home and I am safe
I like it better here
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Good fences make good neighbors
so they say
I have a fence
and so do they
Our fences are mostly
porous
not walls or forts
not for us
No motes to keep
each other out
gated communities?
Not what we're about
Here in south Flo town
in my space
my neighbors know me
they remember my face
It is the people
that I know
their faces, hearts
and sentiments that flow
With some, sweet memories to share;
others? not so much
with all I share an intimacy
of our embrace, our touch
I thrived in the City of Angels
once upon a time
living behind fences
of every shape and kind
I didn't know my neighbors,
not really, not that well
although we shared a neighborhood
and anecdotes to tell
We learned each other's patterns
the coming and the going
of raising kids and working
but not a true knowing
As I gaze out my window now
I see them and they see me
From this small town intimacy
I no longer want to flee
To the east, west and south
are families I have known
and across the street, a new mentee
raw talent yet to hone
Enveloped in familiar love
I no longer fear
For I am home and I am safe
I like it better here
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Thursday, September 3, 2015
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...
Thursday, August 27, 2015
The id Post: Why I Put It Out There Like I Do
The id Post: Why I Put It Out There Like I Do: by Irene Daniel I've often heard it said that we shouldn't put our business out in the street. Don't reveal the messiness of o...
Why I Put It Out There Like I Do
by Irene Daniel
I've often heard it said that we shouldn't put our business out in the street. Don't reveal the messiness of our lives, our broken hearts and dreams. Move on, they say. Just get past it. Don't wallow in self-pity, fishing for sympathy from others. Our community seems to value the stoic, but not those of us who cry out in our pain.
I put it out there because I know that there are people who read my posts who are suffering from a self-imposed silent, and unhealthy, isolation because they are afraid of their very selves. We can't reveal our problems and perceived weaknesses to our fellows. We are afraid of being judged. We don't want people to look down on us when we are struggling. We wouldn't want our neighbors to think we're crazy. We fear mental illness; in others and especially in ourselves.
I used to do that too. And it has not worked. My harsh self-judgment was born of many messages I have received throughout my lifetime; messages subliminal and covert, as well as blatant and overt, telling me that our society does not value the weak, the depressed, the bi-polar, the "sensitive" among us. We have seen our kind lobotomized, over-medicated, institutionalized, marginalized and otherwise kicked to the curb in more ways than one. And it is very frightening.
It is frightening to see how we are perceived and what might happen to us if we don't "buck up" and get ourselves together. So, we deny ourselves the treatment and/or medication we need to treat our disease of mental illness. We don't want to be thrown away like garbage. We can't let our employers, circle of friends or potential lovers know that we are ill. We want to be loved and valued just like everybody else; and we are afraid that we won't be if people think we're crazy.
However, I have learned that the more I deny myself the care I need, the more I tend to overvalue others and undervalue myself. And then I get afraid; afraid of being thought of as "less than." I tend to isolate myself from the rest of the world; not answering my phone for days, not going out of the house, not responding to those who love me. Woefully, this isolation of shame only makes matters worse.
I have found that the more I stuff my feelings and my psyche into a closet in my soul, the more likely it is that my illness will surface at the worst possible time. The angst and frustration just builds up and builds up until one day I will just lose my entire cool. When this happens I often hurt those closest to me, and especially cause even more damage to myself. And then my soul gets sick; for it has been infested with a darkness that does not belong there. And I put it there myself. And then, I just hate myself more and isolate more and on and on and on.
I saw this dance of shame play itself out with my mother, who undoubtedly suffered from depression and anxiety. She never sought treatment, for to do so would be a disgrace to her family and her community. And so, in her fits of rage, her illness was visited upon her family, especially her children. We all knew that she needed help, but no one knew how to talk to her about it without inducing more rage. So we never really talked about it and she was never treated.
I do not share this to shame my mother. In fact, I am very, very proud of her and all that she accomplished, and I am proud to be her daughter -- very proud. Rather, I share this to honor her; because in spite of her illness, she faced her life every day with courage and faith. She raised 3 kids by herself with no money, and still bought a house; the house in which I now reside. I just know now that it didn't have to be so hard for her. She could have experienced much more enjoyment in life and a greater and deeper emotional intimacy with those she loved had she been afforded some relief from her illness; and illness which took the life of her mother.
I am named after my maternal grandmother, Irene Velasco Cervantes. I never met her because she ate rat poison in the throes of menopause at the age of 52, ending her sad and difficult life. I can't help thinking sometimes that this is the only reason my mother never killed herself. I know she wanted to, and sometimes talked about taking a bunch of pills and never waking up again. I cannot even tell you how much I love her for sparing me this horrible tragedy which she and her sisters suffered. I always knew how unhappy and frightened of the world she was, and how ready she was for it to end. It could have been different for her. I want it to be different for me. And I want it to be different for you. Yes, you, the one reading this hoping that no one can see how desperate you are for relief.
As with many diseases, mental illness can be hereditary. My father's side of the family is also not spared of mental illness. Both sides of my family are rife with stories of rages, alcoholism, "nervous breakdowns," and other manifestations of our family disease. There are people in the world I am related to who I have never met; as well as many that I have not seen in years. All the angst and unresolved anger led to a diaspora of family members who are strangers to one another. What a waste!! What a waste of love -- precious, life-affirming love. As I write this, I lament what might have been.
With all the abuse and abandonment, not to mention the trauma of watching my house burn down on Christmas night when I was only 5 years old, I really should have been treated as a child instead of waiting until I was almost 40 years old to deal with this illness. Although it is never too late as long as you're alive, by that time I had compounded my condition for decades by carrying around all that hurt, anger, shame and sadness for so long. The sustaining damage takes a lot longer to heal.
And so, if you are reading this and you recognize yourself or someone you love, please don't ignore this illness that has taken my family away from me. Don't let it take you. Don't let it take away someone that you love because you don't know what to do.
Please, please, please get help!! I am not asking. I am not suggesting. I am BEGGING you -- you my readers, my friends -- GET HELP!!
You are worth saving, and so am I. Maybe if my grandmother had been treated, then perhaps I would have a memory of being held in her embrace. I wish, I wish I wish. But wishing will not heal me. Only action will do; seeing my doctor, taking my meds as prescribed, seeking therapy when necessary. And taking action will not happen without the courage necessary to move from the darkness to the light.
Judge me if you want to, but I am too busy getting well to notice. If reading this post can enable just one person to value themselves enough to seek treatment or to stay on their meds, how could I ever be ashamed of such an outcome.
I wish all of you love and happiness and, above all, wellness.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
I've often heard it said that we shouldn't put our business out in the street. Don't reveal the messiness of our lives, our broken hearts and dreams. Move on, they say. Just get past it. Don't wallow in self-pity, fishing for sympathy from others. Our community seems to value the stoic, but not those of us who cry out in our pain.
I put it out there because I know that there are people who read my posts who are suffering from a self-imposed silent, and unhealthy, isolation because they are afraid of their very selves. We can't reveal our problems and perceived weaknesses to our fellows. We are afraid of being judged. We don't want people to look down on us when we are struggling. We wouldn't want our neighbors to think we're crazy. We fear mental illness; in others and especially in ourselves.
I used to do that too. And it has not worked. My harsh self-judgment was born of many messages I have received throughout my lifetime; messages subliminal and covert, as well as blatant and overt, telling me that our society does not value the weak, the depressed, the bi-polar, the "sensitive" among us. We have seen our kind lobotomized, over-medicated, institutionalized, marginalized and otherwise kicked to the curb in more ways than one. And it is very frightening.
It is frightening to see how we are perceived and what might happen to us if we don't "buck up" and get ourselves together. So, we deny ourselves the treatment and/or medication we need to treat our disease of mental illness. We don't want to be thrown away like garbage. We can't let our employers, circle of friends or potential lovers know that we are ill. We want to be loved and valued just like everybody else; and we are afraid that we won't be if people think we're crazy.
However, I have learned that the more I deny myself the care I need, the more I tend to overvalue others and undervalue myself. And then I get afraid; afraid of being thought of as "less than." I tend to isolate myself from the rest of the world; not answering my phone for days, not going out of the house, not responding to those who love me. Woefully, this isolation of shame only makes matters worse.
I have found that the more I stuff my feelings and my psyche into a closet in my soul, the more likely it is that my illness will surface at the worst possible time. The angst and frustration just builds up and builds up until one day I will just lose my entire cool. When this happens I often hurt those closest to me, and especially cause even more damage to myself. And then my soul gets sick; for it has been infested with a darkness that does not belong there. And I put it there myself. And then, I just hate myself more and isolate more and on and on and on.
I saw this dance of shame play itself out with my mother, who undoubtedly suffered from depression and anxiety. She never sought treatment, for to do so would be a disgrace to her family and her community. And so, in her fits of rage, her illness was visited upon her family, especially her children. We all knew that she needed help, but no one knew how to talk to her about it without inducing more rage. So we never really talked about it and she was never treated.
I do not share this to shame my mother. In fact, I am very, very proud of her and all that she accomplished, and I am proud to be her daughter -- very proud. Rather, I share this to honor her; because in spite of her illness, she faced her life every day with courage and faith. She raised 3 kids by herself with no money, and still bought a house; the house in which I now reside. I just know now that it didn't have to be so hard for her. She could have experienced much more enjoyment in life and a greater and deeper emotional intimacy with those she loved had she been afforded some relief from her illness; and illness which took the life of her mother.
I am named after my maternal grandmother, Irene Velasco Cervantes. I never met her because she ate rat poison in the throes of menopause at the age of 52, ending her sad and difficult life. I can't help thinking sometimes that this is the only reason my mother never killed herself. I know she wanted to, and sometimes talked about taking a bunch of pills and never waking up again. I cannot even tell you how much I love her for sparing me this horrible tragedy which she and her sisters suffered. I always knew how unhappy and frightened of the world she was, and how ready she was for it to end. It could have been different for her. I want it to be different for me. And I want it to be different for you. Yes, you, the one reading this hoping that no one can see how desperate you are for relief.
As with many diseases, mental illness can be hereditary. My father's side of the family is also not spared of mental illness. Both sides of my family are rife with stories of rages, alcoholism, "nervous breakdowns," and other manifestations of our family disease. There are people in the world I am related to who I have never met; as well as many that I have not seen in years. All the angst and unresolved anger led to a diaspora of family members who are strangers to one another. What a waste!! What a waste of love -- precious, life-affirming love. As I write this, I lament what might have been.
With all the abuse and abandonment, not to mention the trauma of watching my house burn down on Christmas night when I was only 5 years old, I really should have been treated as a child instead of waiting until I was almost 40 years old to deal with this illness. Although it is never too late as long as you're alive, by that time I had compounded my condition for decades by carrying around all that hurt, anger, shame and sadness for so long. The sustaining damage takes a lot longer to heal.
And so, if you are reading this and you recognize yourself or someone you love, please don't ignore this illness that has taken my family away from me. Don't let it take you. Don't let it take away someone that you love because you don't know what to do.
Please, please, please get help!! I am not asking. I am not suggesting. I am BEGGING you -- you my readers, my friends -- GET HELP!!
You are worth saving, and so am I. Maybe if my grandmother had been treated, then perhaps I would have a memory of being held in her embrace. I wish, I wish I wish. But wishing will not heal me. Only action will do; seeing my doctor, taking my meds as prescribed, seeking therapy when necessary. And taking action will not happen without the courage necessary to move from the darkness to the light.
Judge me if you want to, but I am too busy getting well to notice. If reading this post can enable just one person to value themselves enough to seek treatment or to stay on their meds, how could I ever be ashamed of such an outcome.
I wish all of you love and happiness and, above all, wellness.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Thursday, August 20, 2015
The id Post: Ashes of LA
The id Post: Ashes of LA: by Irene Daniel I gaze out at a desert where the sun paints the sky in myriad dazzling hues orange yellow purple and deep, deep blu...
Ashes of LA
by Irene Daniel
I gaze out at a desert
where the sun paints the sky
in myriad dazzling hues
orange
yellow
purple
and deep, deep blues
I see nature
everywhere
I'm home
I've paid my dues
As the city of the angels
became a living hell
I knew the time had come
to don my walking shoes
The ashes of remembrance
are blowing in the wind
as my little baby Phoenix
becomes my only muse
Some ashes of my LA past
are scattered to the winds
and some remain here with me,
the Phoenix to reuse
Another zenith approaches me
and once more I will soar
but my soul lives here now
in pre-Phoenix recluse
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
I gaze out at a desert
where the sun paints the sky
in myriad dazzling hues
orange
yellow
purple
and deep, deep blues
I see nature
everywhere
I'm home
I've paid my dues
As the city of the angels
became a living hell
I knew the time had come
to don my walking shoes
The ashes of remembrance
are blowing in the wind
as my little baby Phoenix
becomes my only muse
Some ashes of my LA past
are scattered to the winds
and some remain here with me,
the Phoenix to reuse
Another zenith approaches me
and once more I will soar
but my soul lives here now
in pre-Phoenix recluse
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Thursday, August 13, 2015
The id Post: A Birthday Tribute to Justice Arthur L. Alarcon, a...
The id Post: A Birthday Tribute to Justice Arthur L. Alarcon, a...: by Irene Daniel Today is my birthday. Happy Birthday to me. Tomorrow would have been the 90th birthday of the Honorable Arthur L. Alarcon,...
A Birthday Tribute to Justice Arthur L. Alarcon, a True Gentleman and Scholar, Who Always Had Time to Be Kind
by Irene Daniel
Today is my birthday. Happy Birthday to me. Tomorrow would have been the 90th birthday of the Honorable Arthur L. Alarcon, Senior Associate Justice of the United States Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit. I, like most people who worked for him, just called him Judge or Jues; mostly Judge. He left this world on January 31, 2015. Somehow, my world just doesn't seem the same without him in it.
I had the esteemed honor and privilege of working in his chambers as a Judicial Extern during the fall term of my third year in law school in 1989.I learned more in one semester under his careful tutelage than in all of my other classes in law school combined; and that takes some doing because most of my law professors, like Judge Alarcon, were truly brilliant. It was a real thrill for me.
He took great pains to push me into improving my legal writing and I owe him a tremendous and eternal debt of gratitude for really caring about what kind of lawyer I would be. He swore me into the Federal District Court; another historic milestone for me. And in 2006 when I celebrated my appellate victory in The Fifth District Court of Appeals for the State of California, I knew I owed it all to him. From opening brief to oral argument, his mentoring was with me all the way.
Since our Leo birthdays were just one day apart, we celebrated them together on occasion when as many of his former law clerks and externs were available in the LA area would throw him a little birthday party at Barragan's, an old favorite Mexican restaurant in Echo Park. On one very special birthday, I got to have him all to myself for lunch at Barragan's for my birthday. As well you might imagine, the staff of Barragan's treated him like a king, reserving his special booth in the back of the bar, and serving a dish named after him: frijoles al Jues.
My favorite thing about this man was not his genius, nor the fact that he really enjoyed finding extraordinary talent in unlikely places. Many of his externs were not at the head of the class or on law review, as is usually the case with such coveted opportunities. But he had the confidence in himself to trust his own judgment and people-reading skills, and to cultivate the raw talent he often found in us. Perhaps it is this confidence that so enabled my favorite thing about him, which was his infinite kindness and compassionate tone. You see, the Judge always had time to be kind.
He was no push-over, mind you. He was on a Supreme Court short-list twice, a testament to his legal genius and professionalism. He was an exacting task-master and set extremely high standards for all of his law clerks, externs and support staff. And we were so inspired by him, as well as encouraged by him daily, that we always wanted to put forth our best effort. None of us wanted to let him down. He inspired us by his example of courtesy and respect for all persons with whom he came into contact. Always. I never heard him say a cross word or respond in like-kind to any slight or discourtesy on the part of others. People who knew him much better than I did will tell you the same thing.
The Talmud says that the highest form of wisdom is kindness. If this is so, then Arthur Alarcon was one of the wisest persons I will ever know. How lucky I am to have had a mentor such as him. His emotional wisdom, more than his intellect, is what I remember most about him; and what I most wish I could emulate.
So when I hear Donald Trump say that we have no time for political correctness, and insist that his insults to women, Mexicans and everybody else, are just "in good fun" or "telling it like it is," I think of Judge Alarcon. He was a conservative Republican too, and yet I never heard him insult anyone. He loved to laugh and could be quick with a joke, but those laughs were never at the expense of someone's feelings.
True leadership is about inspiring others, not bullying them. It is possible to elect people who know how to solve problems without insulting and demeaning thousands of people every day. I wonder why it is that so many Americans would choose cruelty over class, divisiveness over compassion, and insults over inspiration.
Insulting people is easy. Maintaining a lifetime of leadership and professionalism based in the wisdom of kindness is not. If it were easy, everyone would do it. I'm so glad I had this example of unrelenting kindness early in my career. I wish everybody had a Judge Alarcon in their lives. Maybe this world would be a better place.
Happy Birthday, Judge. Thanks for everything -- the opportunities, the mentoring, the laughs, the birthdays. But more than anything else, thank you for your example. I remain forever in your debt.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Today is my birthday. Happy Birthday to me. Tomorrow would have been the 90th birthday of the Honorable Arthur L. Alarcon, Senior Associate Justice of the United States Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit. I, like most people who worked for him, just called him Judge or Jues; mostly Judge. He left this world on January 31, 2015. Somehow, my world just doesn't seem the same without him in it.
I had the esteemed honor and privilege of working in his chambers as a Judicial Extern during the fall term of my third year in law school in 1989.I learned more in one semester under his careful tutelage than in all of my other classes in law school combined; and that takes some doing because most of my law professors, like Judge Alarcon, were truly brilliant. It was a real thrill for me.
He took great pains to push me into improving my legal writing and I owe him a tremendous and eternal debt of gratitude for really caring about what kind of lawyer I would be. He swore me into the Federal District Court; another historic milestone for me. And in 2006 when I celebrated my appellate victory in The Fifth District Court of Appeals for the State of California, I knew I owed it all to him. From opening brief to oral argument, his mentoring was with me all the way.
Since our Leo birthdays were just one day apart, we celebrated them together on occasion when as many of his former law clerks and externs were available in the LA area would throw him a little birthday party at Barragan's, an old favorite Mexican restaurant in Echo Park. On one very special birthday, I got to have him all to myself for lunch at Barragan's for my birthday. As well you might imagine, the staff of Barragan's treated him like a king, reserving his special booth in the back of the bar, and serving a dish named after him: frijoles al Jues.
My favorite thing about this man was not his genius, nor the fact that he really enjoyed finding extraordinary talent in unlikely places. Many of his externs were not at the head of the class or on law review, as is usually the case with such coveted opportunities. But he had the confidence in himself to trust his own judgment and people-reading skills, and to cultivate the raw talent he often found in us. Perhaps it is this confidence that so enabled my favorite thing about him, which was his infinite kindness and compassionate tone. You see, the Judge always had time to be kind.
He was no push-over, mind you. He was on a Supreme Court short-list twice, a testament to his legal genius and professionalism. He was an exacting task-master and set extremely high standards for all of his law clerks, externs and support staff. And we were so inspired by him, as well as encouraged by him daily, that we always wanted to put forth our best effort. None of us wanted to let him down. He inspired us by his example of courtesy and respect for all persons with whom he came into contact. Always. I never heard him say a cross word or respond in like-kind to any slight or discourtesy on the part of others. People who knew him much better than I did will tell you the same thing.
The Talmud says that the highest form of wisdom is kindness. If this is so, then Arthur Alarcon was one of the wisest persons I will ever know. How lucky I am to have had a mentor such as him. His emotional wisdom, more than his intellect, is what I remember most about him; and what I most wish I could emulate.
So when I hear Donald Trump say that we have no time for political correctness, and insist that his insults to women, Mexicans and everybody else, are just "in good fun" or "telling it like it is," I think of Judge Alarcon. He was a conservative Republican too, and yet I never heard him insult anyone. He loved to laugh and could be quick with a joke, but those laughs were never at the expense of someone's feelings.
True leadership is about inspiring others, not bullying them. It is possible to elect people who know how to solve problems without insulting and demeaning thousands of people every day. I wonder why it is that so many Americans would choose cruelty over class, divisiveness over compassion, and insults over inspiration.
Insulting people is easy. Maintaining a lifetime of leadership and professionalism based in the wisdom of kindness is not. If it were easy, everyone would do it. I'm so glad I had this example of unrelenting kindness early in my career. I wish everybody had a Judge Alarcon in their lives. Maybe this world would be a better place.
Happy Birthday, Judge. Thanks for everything -- the opportunities, the mentoring, the laughs, the birthdays. But more than anything else, thank you for your example. I remain forever in your debt.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Thursday, August 6, 2015
The id Post: Political Junkie Season Begins!
The id Post: Political Junkie Season Begins!: by Irene Daniel I am preparing for the debate(s) tonight. I have plenty of food and drink; and am catching up on Daily Show and Nightly Sh...
Political Junkie Season Begins!
by Irene Daniel
I am preparing for the debate(s) tonight. I have plenty of food and drink; and am catching up on Daily Show and Nightly Show episodes that I missed earlier this week. I am taking the day off after several days of problem-solving, and just allowing myself to have some fun. For me, history and politics is fun. I was a nerdy kid; ask anyone in town.
I have been a political junkie since I was 8 years old, over 50 years. Maybe it's a birth defect. I don't know; but I've always been like this. Because I am a bleeding heart, liberal Democrat, I'm hoping for a full-on train wreck. With Donald Trump leading in GOP polls, this doesn't seem like such a stretch. Bring it!
As much as I am looking forward to this evening, as evidenced by my stock-piling of diet coke and potato chips, a part of me laments all of this excess. The actual election is 15 months away, and soon we will all tire of the endless political ads that will barrage us full-time once primary season is over in about another year. Until then, only those of us living in primary states will be overwhelmed, at least for the moment. Billions of dollars will be spent, lots of insults will be hurled, the truth will still be obscured and a whole lot of people are gonna end up unhappy in the end. Sometimes it seems that we are more engaged in the excess than the outcome of political campaigns.
In 1944, President Roosevelt began campaigning in October for the November election. I realize that comparing the 1944 election to the 2016 presidential election is really unfair and not a very informative comparison. I know that. However, even in 1960, the campaign pretty much began at the beginning of 1960, not 1959; and no one spent nearly this much money on political silly season. And while it is true that the parties, and party bosses, were much more in control of the process than they are now; the control of the choices of candidates paraded before us is now clearly in the hands of a very few, very wealthy men. Is this better? I don't think so.
While the party bosses were just as male, white and wealthy as they are today, they at least had some sense of respect for the hard work of governance and vetted their candidates for good leadership skills. They knew better than to run a buffoon like Donald Trump, for such a choice would reflect negatively upon them among the prominent members of their respective parties. While it wasn't perfect, the job of governing was honored and respected much more than it is today. Government was something to take pride in, instead of loathe. This attitude is also reflected in the caliber of some of our contestants this evening. All you need today is a Sugar Daddy. Ideas and responsible compassion for all Americans is not essential.
And so, in the midst of all of the fun this evening, I'm sure that at some point, I will long for the good old days, when uplifting messages about the concerns of all Americans used to score points with the electorate. Today, insults and mean-spirited personal attacks rule the day.
Hurling insults is not difficult. It might be fun and might even be useful in conveying a serious message. But an insult, especially one with no truth to it, can never, ever replace a message of hope and optimism; for this is what the American spirit, what that American "Exceptionalism" is all about.
This is the 21st century, America. Whatever your perspective, as we watch this debacle continue to unfold before our very eyes for the next 15 months, let's keep our eyes on our prize, our extraordinary march forward, toward that "more perfect union." Who can bring us that future?
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
I am preparing for the debate(s) tonight. I have plenty of food and drink; and am catching up on Daily Show and Nightly Show episodes that I missed earlier this week. I am taking the day off after several days of problem-solving, and just allowing myself to have some fun. For me, history and politics is fun. I was a nerdy kid; ask anyone in town.
I have been a political junkie since I was 8 years old, over 50 years. Maybe it's a birth defect. I don't know; but I've always been like this. Because I am a bleeding heart, liberal Democrat, I'm hoping for a full-on train wreck. With Donald Trump leading in GOP polls, this doesn't seem like such a stretch. Bring it!
As much as I am looking forward to this evening, as evidenced by my stock-piling of diet coke and potato chips, a part of me laments all of this excess. The actual election is 15 months away, and soon we will all tire of the endless political ads that will barrage us full-time once primary season is over in about another year. Until then, only those of us living in primary states will be overwhelmed, at least for the moment. Billions of dollars will be spent, lots of insults will be hurled, the truth will still be obscured and a whole lot of people are gonna end up unhappy in the end. Sometimes it seems that we are more engaged in the excess than the outcome of political campaigns.
In 1944, President Roosevelt began campaigning in October for the November election. I realize that comparing the 1944 election to the 2016 presidential election is really unfair and not a very informative comparison. I know that. However, even in 1960, the campaign pretty much began at the beginning of 1960, not 1959; and no one spent nearly this much money on political silly season. And while it is true that the parties, and party bosses, were much more in control of the process than they are now; the control of the choices of candidates paraded before us is now clearly in the hands of a very few, very wealthy men. Is this better? I don't think so.
While the party bosses were just as male, white and wealthy as they are today, they at least had some sense of respect for the hard work of governance and vetted their candidates for good leadership skills. They knew better than to run a buffoon like Donald Trump, for such a choice would reflect negatively upon them among the prominent members of their respective parties. While it wasn't perfect, the job of governing was honored and respected much more than it is today. Government was something to take pride in, instead of loathe. This attitude is also reflected in the caliber of some of our contestants this evening. All you need today is a Sugar Daddy. Ideas and responsible compassion for all Americans is not essential.
And so, in the midst of all of the fun this evening, I'm sure that at some point, I will long for the good old days, when uplifting messages about the concerns of all Americans used to score points with the electorate. Today, insults and mean-spirited personal attacks rule the day.
Hurling insults is not difficult. It might be fun and might even be useful in conveying a serious message. But an insult, especially one with no truth to it, can never, ever replace a message of hope and optimism; for this is what the American spirit, what that American "Exceptionalism" is all about.
This is the 21st century, America. Whatever your perspective, as we watch this debacle continue to unfold before our very eyes for the next 15 months, let's keep our eyes on our prize, our extraordinary march forward, toward that "more perfect union." Who can bring us that future?
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Thursday, July 30, 2015
The id Post: Political Correctness, Anyone? Isn't it Just Good ...
The id Post: Political Correctness, Anyone? Isn't it Just Good ...: by Irene Daniel Political correctness seems to have taken on a negative connotation through the years. I was astounded when a contestant a...
Political Correctness, Anyone? Isn't it Just Good Manners, Really?
by Irene Daniel
Political correctness seems to have taken on a negative connotation through the years. I was astounded when a contestant at a beauty pageant was asked if political correctness was destroying our society. And I wondered what that term, "political correctness" meant to both the person asking the question and the person asked. Did it mean the same thing to them? What does it mean to you?
I'm Mexican. 2nd generation, Mexican-American. The social customs and mores of my native culture dictate a certain kind of conduct in relationship to others, chief among them simpatico and respeto. Simpatico is just what you might glean from this word's romantic root -- sympathetic, but more empathetic really. A Mexican family will practically walk over glass to ensure that you are comfortable and feel welcome in their home. It doesn't matter how big or small the casa, mi casa es su casa. A Mexican hostess would consider the evening a failure if her guests did not feel, not just welcome, but honored. Honor. That always reigns supreme in my culture. And the honor is not about ourselves, but about how we treat others.
Respeto is a whole 'nother kettle of fish. Again, it's Latin root intimates the English meaning: respect. Sure. But it's more than that. It's respect all dressed up, all the time. First and foremost, respeto is what we are trained to always give to our elders, our guests and those in position of authority over our lives, e.g., parents, teachers, law enforcement. But it is more than just respect; it is honoring those who have come before you and being open to what they have to teach you. It is a sense of fealty; something sacred. This social custom honors the passage of time, and those who have come before, who have accomplished something in their lives. Those with professional degrees and licenses are treated with great deference.
So you see, my culture instilled in me a sense of myself by the way that I treat other people from the time I was learning to walk and talk. Now I'm not saying I'm always good at this; being something of a loner. It is, however, indelibly ingrained in my DNA. I passed this on to my son by teaching him magic words: please, thank you, you're welcome, how do you do? Stuff like that. Now, I'm not saying my culture is better than any other. It's just mine, that's all. It's what I know.
So, imagine my shock at the manner in which I have been made to feel unwelcome, unwashed, and somewhat "less than" in places that boasted of welcoming me. What kind of places, you ask? Places like UCLA. Oh yes, this liberal mecca also educates, as well as hires, many an elitist. Big law firms claim to aggressively recruit "affirmative action" hires, but then insult us in our interviews by telling off-color Mexican jokes or asking us questions about traveling abroad when they know we come from a family of working stiffs and that we are on scholarship and living off of school loans. It's almost as though they want to see if we can take it, if we are tough enough to work in the piranha tank they call a prestigious law firm. They seem to have no idea how much harder we had to work, just to get to the same place, than the armies of preppies they hire every year. They have no idea how resourceful we are. Because we have to be. But, because our parents couldn't afford to take us to Europe, somehow we are considered "less than."
And let's not forget those truly unforgettable Rotary meetings (District 5300), where lynching jokes were unabashedly told from the podium at a noon luncheon meeting in the presence of about 200 community and business leaders in the Pasadena area. The joke was offered by an Annapolis grad who later, at a most convenient moment, admitted to have actually marched with Dr. Martin Luther King. And this man held himself out as a political consultant. This really happened. And that was only one of the myriad examples of a verbalized hostility to "the other," especially liberals, in this internationally renown service organization.
And this form of banter from an organization that prides itself on applying their "4-way test" to all circumstances. What is that test? Is it the truth? Is it fair to all concerned? Will it build good will and better relationships? Will it be beneficial to all concerned? Racial slurs and sexist jokes cannot pass this test, and yet they fly about their meeting rooms, even at the District level. And they wonder why they are losing 10% of their membership every year. Like the Republican party, they cannot seem to understand why certain kinds of people do not relish their company and don't want to waste the time or pay money to hang out with people who are insulting us. Would you?
These are but a few examples of what I have experienced in my life. Rudeness. Crudeness. Insensitivity. A lack of knowledge of other cultures. A lack of respect for others, especially when you are inviting them in to be a part of your group. Inviting someone to lunch and then insulting them; well, where I come from, it simply isn't done. Even the least educated child in my culture knows that you don't make fun of your guests, your elders or anyone to whom you owe respect for having gone before you.
I do not expect a conservative white male to understand everything about my culture; nor do I expect molly-coddling or ass-kissing. But I think it is reasonable to expect to be treated with just common courtesy and some modicum of respect. Why is it that the dominant American white culture insists upon an unwritten entitlement to be rude, insensitive and sometimes just plain mean to "the other"? Don't they know that their words and tone and looking down their noses at others hurts us? Shocks us? Do they enjoy observing our deer-in-the-headlights look when our sense of self-esteem is so carelessly toyed with by people who don't really know anything about us? Moreover, don't they know, or even care, how they appear to us? Do they think we do not see the ugliness of their attitude?
Words can hurt or words can heal. Why would those who boast of their "Christian nation" choose words that hurt over words that heal? The name of Washington, D.C. football team is a racial slur to Native Americans. The Confederate flag is a symbol of hatred for those who have been oppressed by slavery and it's centuries long ripple effects, which the descendants of slaves still experience to this day. The words we use when addressing one another matter.
What is it about the dominant white culture that feels disabled if they cannot feel superior to "the other"? Why are they so afraid of equality? Why would anyone choose meanness over kindness? Divisiveness over inclusion? Rudeness over courtesy? Ignorance over understanding?
What does it cost any of us to be kind to one another? If you invite someone to your home and you inadvertently and unknowingly said or did something that offended them, wouldn't you stop saying and doing that thing? Wouldn't you feel grateful to have learned something about someone else and expanded your universe and your thinking just a little?
So this is what I don't understand about the revulsion to the term "political correctness." I don't understand why some Americans choose to cling to the mistakes and limitations of the past, instead of embracing their fellow Americans and fellow human beings today, in order to create that "more perfect union," that we all envision.
Racial slurs and sexist jokes won't get us there.
Copyright 2105, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Political correctness seems to have taken on a negative connotation through the years. I was astounded when a contestant at a beauty pageant was asked if political correctness was destroying our society. And I wondered what that term, "political correctness" meant to both the person asking the question and the person asked. Did it mean the same thing to them? What does it mean to you?
I'm Mexican. 2nd generation, Mexican-American. The social customs and mores of my native culture dictate a certain kind of conduct in relationship to others, chief among them simpatico and respeto. Simpatico is just what you might glean from this word's romantic root -- sympathetic, but more empathetic really. A Mexican family will practically walk over glass to ensure that you are comfortable and feel welcome in their home. It doesn't matter how big or small the casa, mi casa es su casa. A Mexican hostess would consider the evening a failure if her guests did not feel, not just welcome, but honored. Honor. That always reigns supreme in my culture. And the honor is not about ourselves, but about how we treat others.
Respeto is a whole 'nother kettle of fish. Again, it's Latin root intimates the English meaning: respect. Sure. But it's more than that. It's respect all dressed up, all the time. First and foremost, respeto is what we are trained to always give to our elders, our guests and those in position of authority over our lives, e.g., parents, teachers, law enforcement. But it is more than just respect; it is honoring those who have come before you and being open to what they have to teach you. It is a sense of fealty; something sacred. This social custom honors the passage of time, and those who have come before, who have accomplished something in their lives. Those with professional degrees and licenses are treated with great deference.
So you see, my culture instilled in me a sense of myself by the way that I treat other people from the time I was learning to walk and talk. Now I'm not saying I'm always good at this; being something of a loner. It is, however, indelibly ingrained in my DNA. I passed this on to my son by teaching him magic words: please, thank you, you're welcome, how do you do? Stuff like that. Now, I'm not saying my culture is better than any other. It's just mine, that's all. It's what I know.
So, imagine my shock at the manner in which I have been made to feel unwelcome, unwashed, and somewhat "less than" in places that boasted of welcoming me. What kind of places, you ask? Places like UCLA. Oh yes, this liberal mecca also educates, as well as hires, many an elitist. Big law firms claim to aggressively recruit "affirmative action" hires, but then insult us in our interviews by telling off-color Mexican jokes or asking us questions about traveling abroad when they know we come from a family of working stiffs and that we are on scholarship and living off of school loans. It's almost as though they want to see if we can take it, if we are tough enough to work in the piranha tank they call a prestigious law firm. They seem to have no idea how much harder we had to work, just to get to the same place, than the armies of preppies they hire every year. They have no idea how resourceful we are. Because we have to be. But, because our parents couldn't afford to take us to Europe, somehow we are considered "less than."
And let's not forget those truly unforgettable Rotary meetings (District 5300), where lynching jokes were unabashedly told from the podium at a noon luncheon meeting in the presence of about 200 community and business leaders in the Pasadena area. The joke was offered by an Annapolis grad who later, at a most convenient moment, admitted to have actually marched with Dr. Martin Luther King. And this man held himself out as a political consultant. This really happened. And that was only one of the myriad examples of a verbalized hostility to "the other," especially liberals, in this internationally renown service organization.
And this form of banter from an organization that prides itself on applying their "4-way test" to all circumstances. What is that test? Is it the truth? Is it fair to all concerned? Will it build good will and better relationships? Will it be beneficial to all concerned? Racial slurs and sexist jokes cannot pass this test, and yet they fly about their meeting rooms, even at the District level. And they wonder why they are losing 10% of their membership every year. Like the Republican party, they cannot seem to understand why certain kinds of people do not relish their company and don't want to waste the time or pay money to hang out with people who are insulting us. Would you?
These are but a few examples of what I have experienced in my life. Rudeness. Crudeness. Insensitivity. A lack of knowledge of other cultures. A lack of respect for others, especially when you are inviting them in to be a part of your group. Inviting someone to lunch and then insulting them; well, where I come from, it simply isn't done. Even the least educated child in my culture knows that you don't make fun of your guests, your elders or anyone to whom you owe respect for having gone before you.
I do not expect a conservative white male to understand everything about my culture; nor do I expect molly-coddling or ass-kissing. But I think it is reasonable to expect to be treated with just common courtesy and some modicum of respect. Why is it that the dominant American white culture insists upon an unwritten entitlement to be rude, insensitive and sometimes just plain mean to "the other"? Don't they know that their words and tone and looking down their noses at others hurts us? Shocks us? Do they enjoy observing our deer-in-the-headlights look when our sense of self-esteem is so carelessly toyed with by people who don't really know anything about us? Moreover, don't they know, or even care, how they appear to us? Do they think we do not see the ugliness of their attitude?
Words can hurt or words can heal. Why would those who boast of their "Christian nation" choose words that hurt over words that heal? The name of Washington, D.C. football team is a racial slur to Native Americans. The Confederate flag is a symbol of hatred for those who have been oppressed by slavery and it's centuries long ripple effects, which the descendants of slaves still experience to this day. The words we use when addressing one another matter.
What is it about the dominant white culture that feels disabled if they cannot feel superior to "the other"? Why are they so afraid of equality? Why would anyone choose meanness over kindness? Divisiveness over inclusion? Rudeness over courtesy? Ignorance over understanding?
What does it cost any of us to be kind to one another? If you invite someone to your home and you inadvertently and unknowingly said or did something that offended them, wouldn't you stop saying and doing that thing? Wouldn't you feel grateful to have learned something about someone else and expanded your universe and your thinking just a little?
So this is what I don't understand about the revulsion to the term "political correctness." I don't understand why some Americans choose to cling to the mistakes and limitations of the past, instead of embracing their fellow Americans and fellow human beings today, in order to create that "more perfect union," that we all envision.
Racial slurs and sexist jokes won't get us there.
Copyright 2105, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Thursday, July 23, 2015
The id Post: CJ's Front Porch
The id Post: CJ's Front Porch: by Irene Daniel I gaze upon a mighty oak As green leaves of myriad shades Dance in the gentle sea breeze Its branches And those of ot...
CJ's Front Porch
by Irene Daniel
I gaze upon a mighty oak
As green leaves of myriad shades
Dance in the gentle sea breeze
Its branches
And those of other trees too
Sway just a little
As all the greens of mid-summer
Shimmer
There is the bright green of new life
And the deep green of a pine
All changing every second
To the whims of the Pacific wind
And the exacting revolutions
Of earth and sun
And sometimes leaves float to the ground
Some already changing color
It is quiet
It is peaceful here
On CJ's front porch
Where I sit and watch
The world go 'round
On this mid-summer afternoon
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
I gaze upon a mighty oak
As green leaves of myriad shades
Dance in the gentle sea breeze
Its branches
And those of other trees too
Sway just a little
As all the greens of mid-summer
Shimmer
There is the bright green of new life
And the deep green of a pine
All changing every second
To the whims of the Pacific wind
And the exacting revolutions
Of earth and sun
And sometimes leaves float to the ground
Some already changing color
It is quiet
It is peaceful here
On CJ's front porch
Where I sit and watch
The world go 'round
On this mid-summer afternoon
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Monday, July 13, 2015
Thursday, July 9, 2015
The id Post: The Power of a Community of Faith
The id Post: The Power of a Community of Faith: by Irene Daniel A couple of weeks ago, as we all know unless you've been living under a rock, all hell broke loose in South Carolina w...
The Power of a Community of Faith
by Irene Daniel
A couple of weeks ago, as we all know unless you've been living under a rock, all hell broke loose in South Carolina when 9 black people were murdered by a horribly misguided young white man filled with hatred and rage. The ensuing events were nearly as shocking in their compassion and faith, as was the massacre itself.
I'm speaking of course, of the powerful message of forgiveness offered to the racist murderer from the families of the slain at his arraignment hearing. It was, I believe, this jaw-dropping display of the kind of love that is beyond the capacity of mere mortals like me, more than the evil act itself, that moved this entire nation to tears, and to change. It was that act of forgiveness that has moved sons of segregationists and descendants of Jefferson Davis to proclaim from the floors of both houses of the South Carolina legislature, a resounding and emotional condemnation of the Confederate flag as a symbol of hatred.
Whatever you believe, or don't believe, about race relations in this country, or how you feel about President Obama and/or his eulogy for South Carolina State Senator Clemente Pinckney, I think that we can all agree that the Spiritual energy on display and in practice at the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church on that day was a most powerful message of love. As I watched the service in the comfort of my living room, I was deeply moved and inspired by what I was witnessing. And I said to myself, "I want that."
I want that capacity to love. I want that ability to forgive. I want that courage to surrender to an abiding faith. And I want that openness to give and receive love without fear. I want that. And I know where to go to get it. It really doesn't require superior critical thinking skills to plainly see that the source of all that loving and forgiveness was an abiding faith. And that faith was born of the powerful fellowship of the strong and consistent faith powerfully practiced at the Emanuel AME church.
I like to call myself a Catholic Taoist. While I have always had issues with the faith of my childhood; with its treatment of women, as well as its legion excesses and abuses of privilege throughout its long history, somehow I keep coming back to it, no matter where I am. At certain difficult times in my life I even attended daily masses, and used to read scripture daily in accordance with the liturgical calendar. And now that I am back in my hometown, I have the privilege to attend the little church where I made my First Holy Communion. My Catholic faith is something I simply can't seem to escape, and to which I have finally surrendered. I can't explain it really, it just is. The Taoist part of my soul is the yin to my Catholic yang, and helps me to see the Oneness of all things.
I have been Spiritually ill lately. My soul died last year. In March I buried it so deep that only a series of miracles could unearth it, and permit the light to shine through it again. I stopped praying, which I used to do every day, and I stopped going to mass. I hated everything, especially God.
And then, on Easter week-end as fate would have it, I began to wake up a little. On Good Friday, I realized that I really did love myself and the life that I was living, even though the challenges I was facing still seemed insurmountable. On Easter Sunday I attended mass with one of my dearest friends, whose faith has been an example to me for over 50 years. I truly felt like a new creation, and still do every day. In the ensuing months, I have experienced a number of miracles, big and small, which enabled me to completely surrender my soul to God, the Universe, the Tao -- whatever you want to call that undeniable Spiritual energy that is the metaphysical truth of our universe.
Lately, when I attend mass I am much more vested in the service. I participate fully in the traditions and rituals. I don't have to be in alignment with everything the priest says and does, I just have to show up and be all in. And in so doing, I am able to experience a greater sense of peace, Christ's Peace. And I am better able to engage with my fellows, instead of isolating in suffering. I am able to appreciate the beauty of the world and the love that is all around me. I am better able to appreciate how totally this very community embraced and cared for me, even when I shunned all things Spiritual and hated God.
But I'm just getting started. If I want to be able to forgive more readily, to be more patient and kind with others as well as myself, if I want to experience the freedom that only peace of mind can give, then I need to keep showing up the Church of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Florence, AZ. For I know that I am still a long way from being able to forgive a hurt within a 72 hour period of time, even a small one, much less the murder of a loved one. My recent acts of forgiveness for hurts big and small pale in comparison to that which we witnessed in South Carolina. I will have to work and pray in order to build up my Spiritual muscle before I can be that kind of example for anyone.
But now I know I want it because I have witnessed the power of forgiveness and faith. I have seen and heard the results of human beings spending a lifetime in faith and working up their Spiritual muscle week by week, month by month and year by year, surrounded and supported by their own community of faith. That kind of grace doesn't manifest overnight. It takes time, effort and complete free-falling surrender to cultivate the Spiritual empowerment that enables the forgiveness of murderers within days of the killing.
I want that. And I know where I can get it. And I especially know now that I cannot get there by myself. Thank you to empowering communities of faith, of all creeds and denominations, everywhere that enables us to see past this human foil in order to embrace our highest selves. Thank you. I want that; I want what you have. I want that.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
A couple of weeks ago, as we all know unless you've been living under a rock, all hell broke loose in South Carolina when 9 black people were murdered by a horribly misguided young white man filled with hatred and rage. The ensuing events were nearly as shocking in their compassion and faith, as was the massacre itself.
I'm speaking of course, of the powerful message of forgiveness offered to the racist murderer from the families of the slain at his arraignment hearing. It was, I believe, this jaw-dropping display of the kind of love that is beyond the capacity of mere mortals like me, more than the evil act itself, that moved this entire nation to tears, and to change. It was that act of forgiveness that has moved sons of segregationists and descendants of Jefferson Davis to proclaim from the floors of both houses of the South Carolina legislature, a resounding and emotional condemnation of the Confederate flag as a symbol of hatred.
Whatever you believe, or don't believe, about race relations in this country, or how you feel about President Obama and/or his eulogy for South Carolina State Senator Clemente Pinckney, I think that we can all agree that the Spiritual energy on display and in practice at the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church on that day was a most powerful message of love. As I watched the service in the comfort of my living room, I was deeply moved and inspired by what I was witnessing. And I said to myself, "I want that."
I want that capacity to love. I want that ability to forgive. I want that courage to surrender to an abiding faith. And I want that openness to give and receive love without fear. I want that. And I know where to go to get it. It really doesn't require superior critical thinking skills to plainly see that the source of all that loving and forgiveness was an abiding faith. And that faith was born of the powerful fellowship of the strong and consistent faith powerfully practiced at the Emanuel AME church.
I like to call myself a Catholic Taoist. While I have always had issues with the faith of my childhood; with its treatment of women, as well as its legion excesses and abuses of privilege throughout its long history, somehow I keep coming back to it, no matter where I am. At certain difficult times in my life I even attended daily masses, and used to read scripture daily in accordance with the liturgical calendar. And now that I am back in my hometown, I have the privilege to attend the little church where I made my First Holy Communion. My Catholic faith is something I simply can't seem to escape, and to which I have finally surrendered. I can't explain it really, it just is. The Taoist part of my soul is the yin to my Catholic yang, and helps me to see the Oneness of all things.
I have been Spiritually ill lately. My soul died last year. In March I buried it so deep that only a series of miracles could unearth it, and permit the light to shine through it again. I stopped praying, which I used to do every day, and I stopped going to mass. I hated everything, especially God.
And then, on Easter week-end as fate would have it, I began to wake up a little. On Good Friday, I realized that I really did love myself and the life that I was living, even though the challenges I was facing still seemed insurmountable. On Easter Sunday I attended mass with one of my dearest friends, whose faith has been an example to me for over 50 years. I truly felt like a new creation, and still do every day. In the ensuing months, I have experienced a number of miracles, big and small, which enabled me to completely surrender my soul to God, the Universe, the Tao -- whatever you want to call that undeniable Spiritual energy that is the metaphysical truth of our universe.
Lately, when I attend mass I am much more vested in the service. I participate fully in the traditions and rituals. I don't have to be in alignment with everything the priest says and does, I just have to show up and be all in. And in so doing, I am able to experience a greater sense of peace, Christ's Peace. And I am better able to engage with my fellows, instead of isolating in suffering. I am able to appreciate the beauty of the world and the love that is all around me. I am better able to appreciate how totally this very community embraced and cared for me, even when I shunned all things Spiritual and hated God.
But I'm just getting started. If I want to be able to forgive more readily, to be more patient and kind with others as well as myself, if I want to experience the freedom that only peace of mind can give, then I need to keep showing up the Church of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Florence, AZ. For I know that I am still a long way from being able to forgive a hurt within a 72 hour period of time, even a small one, much less the murder of a loved one. My recent acts of forgiveness for hurts big and small pale in comparison to that which we witnessed in South Carolina. I will have to work and pray in order to build up my Spiritual muscle before I can be that kind of example for anyone.
But now I know I want it because I have witnessed the power of forgiveness and faith. I have seen and heard the results of human beings spending a lifetime in faith and working up their Spiritual muscle week by week, month by month and year by year, surrounded and supported by their own community of faith. That kind of grace doesn't manifest overnight. It takes time, effort and complete free-falling surrender to cultivate the Spiritual empowerment that enables the forgiveness of murderers within days of the killing.
I want that. And I know where I can get it. And I especially know now that I cannot get there by myself. Thank you to empowering communities of faith, of all creeds and denominations, everywhere that enables us to see past this human foil in order to embrace our highest selves. Thank you. I want that; I want what you have. I want that.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
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