Difficult Dharma to Swallow

I recently read a transcript of a dharma talk given by Thich Nhat Hahn in 1996. I've been thinking on it since then. It's difficult for me to digest. Probably because I don't like the taste of the food...

"You don't have to suffer if you have insight -- if you understand and that understanding is the fruit of deep looking. If we suffer so much, it is because we are ignorant. If we get angry at our father, at our mother, our son, our daughter, or our partner, it is because we are still ignorant. Practice in looking deeply will allow you to see how the other person has become like that. He was not like that when you married him, but now he is like this, like this, very hard to be with. And who is responsible? Put the questions in front of you and meditate. When I first married him, he was not like that. When I first married her, she was not like that. Why has she become so unbearable today? Who is responsible? Should I blame her, or should I blame myself, or should I blame society? All these questions help with our meditation. To meditate means to confront reality and not to escape. If you are running away from your real problems, you are not meditating correctly. You need to sit in a mound of calm, of concentration. You need to sit in a mound of mindfulness in order to confront these hardships and to look into the nature of this suffering."
full talk here

He goes on to say that understanding the suffering caused, for instance, by one's parents involves meditating on your parents' lives beforehand to see what has caused them to behave in that manner. With knowledge comes a reduction in suffering. Maybe.

I don't like to think that some suffering that I am currently experiencing is the result of my own doing. I don't like looking into that thought deeply. I would rather feel justified and vindicated in my own assessments. But sometimes admitting my own part in a current state of affairs is the most difficult thing of all. I'm still thinking about it.

--Virgil

I Heart You, Grandma!

You know, I've always loved my Grandma. She wasn't the most approachable lady, and she was always old and gray from my earliest memory. But she always had our interests in mind, and there's no doubt in my mind that she loved us. When I first started taking piano lessons at age 8, she gave me my great-grandmother's piano. My great-grandmother had taught piano and was getting ready to go abroad to study music when World War 1 broke out. Of course, the piano is now at Mom's house "for the family" (read, Mom), and it's probably OK anyway, because I've moved half a dozen times since then, and who really wants to move a piano that many times?

Was my Grandma crotchety? You bet. Hateful? Sometimes. Stubborn? Always. At my dad's funeral, love her heart, she was breaking down on my right side, Mom was bawling on my left, it was truly a terrible moment for me. I put my arms around her and whispered, "It's OK, Grandma, it'll be OK. We'll be alright. I'll make us alright."

And do you know what she said to me?

"Take a tic-tac, honey, before I have to say something."

At my father's funeral. She was her grandma-self to the bitter end. But I knew she loved me. When I got kicked out of the JWs, she never went along with it from the start. When she found out I was pregnant, she called me up and harumphed, "Well, when were you going to tell me?" When I asked what she was wanting me to tell her, she snapped, "Don't be cute with me!" :)

She had a first husband that we never knew the name of until she died. I asked her once, and she brushed me off, saying, "Don't worry about it honey, you didn't know him." Well, obviously!

Her secrets would drive me crazy sometimes. She managed a drunken, abusive second husband, a son who was mentally retarded and who went through electroshock therapy, a son who was drunk all of his life and died young of a drug overdose, and my wonderful father, who was none of those things. All of her pictures look very sad, somehow. Like even when she's smiling, it doesn't reach her eyes. Except for her pictures with her grandchildren.

I remember my grandma on the days I'd pick her wildflowers when I was a little girl, and we all lived out below the mountain. I remember the piano. I was so excited. I remember the desk she bought me because she thought it would help me study better. I remember how sad she was. I remember how stubborn she was. I remember how brave she was in her 80s to stand up to the JWs when they kicked me out. She embraced me maybe even more than she already had.

I was once in The Crucible, a play we performed on campus at the little private college I started out at. I was Goody Somebody, the older woman who gets burned at the stake because of "poppets" or somesuch. I had to put on a lot of pancake makeup and this neat application of a piece of wire mesh and some dark brown makeup--liver spots.

When they turned my chair around, I looked just like her. I wasn't pleased at the time. I've come to smile about it now.

I love you Grandma. Thank you for looking out for me.

--Virgil

Cashed in Karma!!

I'm still giggling maniacally over this one. Here's an update to the gas drilling situation my mother created.

I talked to her yesterday. She gives me the same spiel she did originally about the gas company, blah, blah, blah. Then she says she's sending me a copy of the contract to look over. OK. Just to break my heart, I guess. Then she says, "You have to sign it."

"Why do I have to sign it?"
"Well...a couple of reasons. For one thing, your name is on the tax bill."
Now, I signed over my portion of the land to my mother after my father died. I was just then 18 years old, I trust(ed) Mom, it all comes back to us kids eventually anyway. Apparently this tax bill thing is just a fluke.

"Can't you just take that to court and get it fixed?"
"Well, I could," Mom said. She paused for a while. "But there's a second problem."
"What's that?"
"Well, there's a second deed."
Apparently my grandmother made two deeds. One deeded her land over to my mother, and consequently to us girls at a later stage. The second deed, which she never showed my mother, came up when the gas company went to process the contract.

My grandmother deeded the mineral rights to the land to someone else.

Guess who that someone else is?

While We're All Adding Up How Pissed We Are...

Let me take a moment to share my mother's latest get-rich-quick scheme. This one, unfortunately, has the potential to go wrong in a very realistic way. I get a call from her the other day--she usually calls about every 2 weeks or so to bore me to tears or infuriate me, depending on her mood--and she starts going on about the possibility of finding natural gas on our land. This is a realistic possiblity, and we get propositioned every few years or so (always in the fall) to do something with our timber, mineral or natural gas options. We've always said no.

So as she's explaining the situation to me, which takes about 10 minutes, given all my questions, she keeps using all the usual inducements to get my approval on the matter. Which usually means she's already done something about it. My favorite is when she'll say, "Of course, I'd split any money that I got out of it with you girls." My mother knows enough to know that I'm the one who asks the hardest questions, but not enough to recognize that I have never one time in my life been swayed by motives of money over some other social good. Sigh.

I said, "Maybe you should run this by a lawyer to make sure there aren't any loopholes you've missed."

"Well," she hesitated, "I've already signed."

My heart just fell. For all the years she's spent bitching about how the coal companies came in and raped the land for mineral rights and signed people's lives away for a few dollars a share, she turns around and does the same damned thing. The lease is perpetual as long as there is gas under the ground. If they find any, it will likely outlast her lifetime, mine, and that of Dante's children. She assures me that it's minimal damage to the environment, all of it's underground in pipes, etc. She assures me that it won't affect the water tables or anything like that. How she knows is beyond me. I just can't get over that she signed the rights to our land away, just like that.

She said over and over again, "But they don't have the land, Virgil. They don't own the land."

So finally I just had to say, "Mom, where in the world do you think the gas is?" We won't be able to do anything to/with the land that interferes with the extraction of that gas. If that's not partial ownership of the land, I don't know what is.

The land is in her name anyway, not mine or Sister's. It just aggravated me that she would even bother to couch her choice in language that invited me to share in making the decision, when the decision had already been irrevocably made.

Maybe we'll get lucky, and the company won't find any gas on our land. They have up to two years to drill for it to find out. I hope nothing comes of it. It's just not worth it to me.

Dante on Skates

I was able to acquire several pairs of old roller rink rental skates for free. Dante loves them. He wore them around like shoes, which was really funny when he tried to ride the tire swing later.

Oh, La-adies!

Here's an interesting quiz that I'm curious to see you participate in. All of you. **cough**EVIL MISSY**cough**, **cough**JO!**cough**

You Are 49% Angry

Generally, you are not an angry person. But you're easily frustrated and enraged. You have one heck of a temper. And because of your anger, you tend to feel resentful and even spiteful. You already know how to quell your anger. You just need to do it more often.

How Angry Are You?

While it's true I'm pissed about a lot of things, I think I know just when to unleash. :D

Because This Exercise Is Just Too Darn Addictive

I bet you didn't know that this month marks the 92 year anniversary of what should've been the end of the world. In October, no less, of 1914, the JWs made their first bold--and wrong--prediction. Being wrong hasn't stopped them yet. Although they at least know enough not to try to predict it to the month now.

Around 1995, JW headquarters (the Watchtower Bible & Tract Society, known to those on the inside as "the Society") printed a Watchtower magazine that declared that the end of the world/Armageddon would happen some time before the end of the millenium. You'd think they'd learn after having predicted the end over 5 times now and gotten it flat wrong. However, with a new brainwashed Choir Director for their Kingdom Melodies, they sure could've used Prince to come in and rev up the congregation. You know, get them motivated for yet another doomsday scenario. Perhaps he should've chosen to modify his 1999 lyrics. Given the preoccupation with end times and all...
*To those who aren't former JW's, "other sheep" is the jargon for those who are supposedly not going to heaven after Armageddon, but are staying on Earth for Paradise forever and ever. What a crock.

1999--or, Millenial Freakout Time!

Don't worry, Jah won't hurt U
But only if you're the ones he chose...

God commanded me to witness, forgive me if I go astray
But when I woke up this mornin', I was told it's almost Judgment Day
The sky was all purple, there were Jay-Dubs runnin' everywhere
Tryin' 2 run from Armageddon, U know I didn't even care

Cuz they say 2000 zero zero party over, oops, out of time!
So 2night I'm gonna witness like it's 1999!

I was thinkin' this was crazy, and they'll sue me if I say 2 much
But we're all "other sheeple"-- u know it ain't meant 4 us
They say God's War is all around us, get your armor and prepare 2 fight
And just in case you gotta die, u better deny ur body 2night

Yeah, they say 2000 zero zero party over, oops, out of time!
So 2night I'm gonna witness like it's 1999! (Yeah, yeah)

People, let me tell U somethin'

If U only came to "witness", don't bother knockin' on my door
I don't care if there's a "lion", and I don't care if he's ready 2 roar (Yeah)
Everybody's got a body, and you'll all die one day anyway(Oh)
We all know that's gonna happen, Just keep your doomsday cult away!
Oh, they say 2000 zero zero party over, oops, out of time!
(We're runnin' out of time)

So 2night I'm gonna witness like it's 1999! (We gonna, we gonna, oh! screw it up again)
Try it one more time
2000 zero zero party over, oops, out of time! (Pick another date!)
So 2night I'm gonna witness like it's 1999! (We're gonna, gonna come knockin' at yer door!)

Alright, 1999
U better believe it, 1999
1999 (1999)
Don't stop, pick another date, try it one more time

2000 zero zero party over, oops, out of time! (Yeah, yeah)
So 2night I'm gonna witness like it's 1914! (Whoops that one didn't work out, wait!)
Yeah, 1999 (1918--oh, wait a minute, that one was wrong, too)
Don't U wanna go? (1925--hang on. I think the light is getting brighter)
Paradise on Earth? (1936--Well crap. Guess we'll have to do another reprint.)
We could all die any day (1975--Ha, ha! Got a lot of you with that date, didn't we??)
And if we get it wrong, we'll rewrite all the books anyway (1999--it depends on who you ask)

That's right, everybody say
Don't care about that lion, mama, say!
Ah, we don't care if he's ready 2 roar!
Yeah!

Mommy, why does the Society get it wrong?? (2x)

Jimi Hendrix's Band of Crazies

Thought I'd post an update on the progress of the first ever meet-up group here in Morgantown. It's becoming a very slow, very interesting climb into something good. After my first meet-up that no one came to--my fault for not promoting it louder--I considered whether I should even continue with this project. I mean, what's the point, anyway?

I'll also admit I was concerned about the number of people I was going to get with bizarre mental hangups. JW's have the highest concentration of mental disorders of any other religious group--we're 3 times as likely to be admitted to a psych hospital. So what are the chances of winding up with a band of crazy people? (As if I'm the normal one in this group!)

But bit by bit, it's becoming a little too interesting to let go of...yet. I have a couple of online members who live too far away to make the meetups. One has a countercult ministry where he goes around providing talking points against the JW theology. I'm curious to tag along for the nosy factor. But he's also Southern Baptist/Evangelical, so that's slightly...scary. Another member disassociated himself as a teenager and says he sees angels. I'm not going to argue with him. He's also the only one who knows I'm an atheist. My own religious beliefs have been probably the number two question people are dying to know the answer to, second only to: What made you want to do this? Indeed.

But the best experience to date has been a woman close to my age who called me because her husband saw it advertised in the paper. She has a similar story to mine, and most importantly, no one to talk to about it. At least, no one who understands why we have to keep talking about it. Her husband's typical response is, "Why aren't you over it yet?" He's a very supportive man. But outsiders just don't get sometimes that we'll never be over it. We don't want to get over it. What happened was a crime against humanity, just on a local scale.

She reports that she's still afraid of her father. I remember what it felt like to be afraid of people. And I remembered that's why I wanted to start this group. Not to de-evangalize anyone or to antagonize the JWs (although they could use it). Not to draw away membership. I already am part of a nonprofit. I just wanted to give people like me someplace to go and have a cup of coffee with someone else who "gets" what its like to break out in a cold sweat when you see what looks to everyone else like an ordinary little man.

Someone else who can joke about the inside slang, and who can snort sarcastically with me when I say someone just experienced a "falling away." Someone to mock the rituals and the hypocrisy without having that tone in their voice or look in their eye like "And you joined this cult because of...why, now, exactly?" Most of us were born into it. Our nature railed against it, but our nurture still interweaves every aspect of it. Even after 10 years, I still wake up sometimes thinking Tuesday night is "meeting night."

But I'm not afraid anymore. And I don't want her to be, either. When I was first kicked out, I thought to myself of that old expression that "revenge is a dish best served cold." But through the years, I've come to realize that revenge is, in fact, a life well lived. In the face of those who expect you to turn to ash. That's what's so "dangerous" and "influential." That's what must be stamped out at all costs. So they instill fear to keep you self-regulating throughout your own life--afraid to talk about it to others, deeply ashamed of something you can't put your finger on.

Well, no more. I pulled out the microchip, and I'm sure others can, too. I think I've even figured out a way to make it less bloody & painful. My goal is to give people a space to decide to do that for themselves. A space I never had and desperately wished for. In a way, we're like a band of gypsies. Once we're tossed out, we're never really at home anywhere. We float sometimes from theory to philosophy, looking for a system to put into place. Some of us live in anarchy; we stay in that black hole of being divorced from every known standard you grew up with.

Sort of like when Jimi Hendrix announced at Woodstock that, "We were getting tired of the Experience, you know, it was really bumming us out, so we changed the name to Gypsy Suns & Rainbows, because, you know, we ain't nothin' but a band of gypsies."


We'll meet for coffee at 5 o'clock.

Bloggy Stuff

Fun bloggy stuff! Thanks, Virushead, for the good time!

You Are 59% Passionate, 41% Compassionate

You possess an ideal balance of passion and compassion. You definitely can get swept away and lose your head a little. But you're rarely a fool for love!

Is Your Love Style Passionate or Compassionate?

Your Kissing Purity Score: 31% Pure

You're not one to kiss and tell... But word is, you kiss pretty well.

Kissing Purity Test

Blush!!

You Are Spider-Man

Quick and agile, you have killer instincts (literally). And that kind of makes up for the whole creepy spider thing.

What Superhero Are You?

Who knew that I was like Spidey??

You Are 5: The Investigator

You're independent - and a logical analytical thinker. You love learning and ideas... and know things no one else does. Bored by small talk, you refuse to participate in boring conversations. You are open minded. A visionary. You understand the world and may change it.

What Number Are You?

The questions for this quiz were very strange. It didn't seem to have anything to do with numbers. I like the number 7. It seems like fun. 3 always seemed like a hostile number to me. So slippery looking. The number 7 looks like a tree branch you could swing on.

You Are 7 Up

Understated and subtle, people warm up to you slowly. But once they're hooked, they can't imagine going back to anyone else! Your best soda match: Diet Coke Stay away from: Mountain Dew

What Kind of Soda Are You?

I am soo not a 7-up. I hate Diet anything. But I'll agree with staying away from Mountain Dew. It kills your kidneys. I'd like to think I'm a Dr. Pepper. But I'm probably just your run of the mill Pepsi. But hopefully with lime!

Prince of Who? Prince of What?

He's really gone overboard this time. Even for Prince. What Tom Cruise is to the Scientologists, Prince now is to the Jehovah's Witnesses. He's so caught up in his relationship with the JW's that his reality has gotten itself into a slight kink. Here's the full article about what happened.

Basically, Prince went into a strip club and tried to evangelize the strippers. He begged them to keep their clothes on, saying they were too good to be selling themselves "so cheap." Perhaps they should've raised the price? He even convinced the DJ to not play songs with "offensive lyrics" while he was on the premises. Guess that means "Sexy Motherfucker" and "Jack U Off" are out.

What's great about this, is that if I were to go into the strip club, I could be disfellowshipped (whoops, already am). Prince gets a divorce, parties in a strip club, gets to ogle naked gals and nothing happens to him.

The best part is, he offered to pay the girls double what they made in a night to stop stripping. They said they were very happy showing their bodies. You go, girls! No matter what you might think about stripping, it takes a hell of a lot of self esteem to tell Prince to shove it.

Perhaps his song lyrics need readjusting to fit his new lifestyle??

Darling Nikki

knew a girl named Nikki, I guess you could say she was a fundy
I met her at my front door knocking, standing with a Watchtower magazine
she said how'd u like 2 waste your mind
& I could not resist when I saw little Nikki's design

she took me 2 her Kingdom Hall
and I just couldn't believe my eyes
they had so many excuses--everything that a weak man would buy
they said sign your name on the dotted line
my lights went out, and Nikki took over my mind

The Kingdom Hall started spinning or maybe it was my brain
I can't tell you what they did 2 me
but my mind will never be the same
Jehovah's lovin will kick your behind
He'll show you no mercy
but He'll sho'nuff sho'nuff sho ya what 2 deny

I woke up one next morning but Nikki was no longer there
I looked all over all I found was a phone number on the stairs
It said thank u 4 a funky time, but she's been kicked out
'cause she's got too much mind

[insert wicked guitar riff here]

come back Nikki come back
Your darling prince of peace
wanna crucify-fy-fy-fy-fy.
[gyrate and insert more guitar here]


--Virgil

Off for a bit...and a rant on carnival rides

This weekend I'm going back to Kentucky for a visit with Dante. It's time for the Daniel Boone Festival--an event I haven't missed since I was a little girl. Now it's become part of Dante's life as well. There will be a parade on Saturday. The parade isn't what it used to be. There used to be several marching bands, lots of floats with scenes of pioneer life, and very interesting things in the parade. One year, there were a bunch of Scots who marched through with bagpipes. Usually, though, there is the never ending parade of cars (muscle cars, antique cars, somebody's beloved toy) and then young women on cars (Ms. Kentucky Long Rifle, the Daniel Boone Festival Queen, Princess, right on through to Wee Miss). There will also be funnel cake, a parade, Cherokee dances and songs and carnival rides.

I will probably have to ride The Scrambler enough times to make me sick. I will also probably have to ride the swings with Dante. I hate the swings. I always have visions of those metal chains snapping and sending me flying at however many miles per hour into the brick buildings on the court square.

Come to think of it, anymore I hate most carnival rides. When I was a teenager, they were great. When I got older, I realized just how much chewing gum and paper clip technology went into keeping those rusty rides together. I ride them now with my heart in my mouth.

But I'll get to make the beautiful drive to KY when the leaves are starting to turn, and I'll get to see my little boy--and see just how much taller he's gotten since last time.

I bet he still won't go in the Haunted House by himself, though.

Times I Should've Existed

I was born in 1977 a day later than my buddy Mad Dog. I came of age during the late 80's/early 90s. Because I lived in a small town, the trends came to us a few years later. So while the rest of you were on to flannel shirts and grunge, we were still stuck on fingerless gloves and hairsprayed bangs. The earliest video I ever saw was Aerosmith's "Janie's Got A Gun." I was really impressed. The second earliest video I can remember seeing was Prince's "Little Red Corvette." I was equally impressed. I remember when Nirvana was new (which none of my students can), and I can remember when LL Cool J went from Old School to Comeback (although he's been here for years).

But for so many reasons, I think I missed my time. I realize we're a product of biology, our raising, our communities and our social influences. But I still think I missed my time. There are three times specifically that I think I missed. Or maybe I lived through them in another lifetime and have fond memories?? Either way:

The 20s:
I can so get down with being a flapper in a speak-easy. Screw the rules. The birth of jazz. Those bizzare dances. All the new inventions. Women got the vote!! Susan B. Anthony rocks! Susan B. Anthony day, by the way, is February 15th, the day after Valentine's Day. In high school, we celebrated it in place of Valentine's Day.


The 60s:
I could so have been a flower girl! I could get down with peace and rebelling against straight laced suits and the sexual revolution (and yes, I recognize that the sexual revolution did more for men than it did for women). And the birth control pill! I would've been down for rallies. Third Wave Feminism, which I was born into, has been derailed by eating disorders. I've attended one proper feminist rally in my life. Nobody wants to throw bricks at the system anymore. Sigh.


The 70s:
I don't care if I do lose cool points: I love disco. I love the pants. I love the hair. I love the groovy songs. And yes, I probably would've had the coke problem that came with loving the 70s. But it was the time of funk, baby! Kiss me on my ego!

Preach it, Billie!

I figured this out when I was about 17 years old. I just didn't know they'd already made a song about it. This is for Spring Cloud, Kari, Sandra, Jo, and me and Sister. And for whomever else to which it applies.



The extra song is just a little pick-me-up. :)