My White Person Manifesto Statement

Two years ago, I had no idea about what it meant to be white.
Two years ago, I thought racists were individuals who were outright and visibly cruel to members of the BIPOC community and racism was something that had mostly died out after the Civil Rights Movement.
Two years ago, I thought BIPOC communities were making a big deal out of nothing.
Two years ago, I would’ve thought “enough already” about drudging up the past of slavery.
Two years ago, I would’ve subscribed to the notion that to not see race was a good thing and meant that I was treating everyone equally.
Two years ago, I would’ve been the white person to counter BLM with ALM.
Two years ago, I would’ve sloughed off such things as white privilege and deemed white supremacy as something that applied only to extremists.
Two years ago, I believed what it says in our Declaration of Independence about how all men are created equal and endowed with certain unalienable rights including life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Two years ago, I was extremely un-educated and harmfully mis-informed.

Two years ago, I never would’ve possibly considered saying what I’m about to say: I am a racist; I help propel white supremacy; I have white privilege.

Let me break it down for you:

Am I Sure?

Prompted by a teaching from Thich Nhat Hanh that I’ve been reading and reflecting on this week (see pic below), centered around asking ourselves as mindfulness practitioners Are You Sure?, I made this creation (see pic above) from some recently purchased Modge Podge and a package of scrap cardstock.

from Thich Nhat Hanh’s “Everyday Peace Cards” set

It’s easy for me to hold this teaching in the abstract and just sorta hang out and linger in a place of theory and rhetoric with it. Oh yes, my perceptions are usually not accurate. I get it. Makes sense. Okay. Moving on.

As so often is the case for me, I need ways of unpacking Dharma teachings and Buddha-inspired wisdom offerings, in order to embody them in my practice in such a way that brings them to life in an experience-based way. Otherwise, I situate myself at risk of spiritual bypassing, thinking I have something in particular “down” or “figured out,” when in reality I have little to no actual understanding that penetrates down through my intellect and into the heart of my practice.

Work worth doing

There ain’t just one way
one catch-all setting
for being “woke.”

There’s a gradient scale
on which we all fall.

It ain’t a matter of
whether we are woke or not woke,
it’s a matter of where we are on the scale.

It’s about knowing no matter where we are,
we will always have further to go
more work to do.

There ain’t no end game
to woke-ness
no end of the line.

How can we possibly think
that in the span of one human being
exists the possibility
of tending to all the important matters
that would benefit us all in transforming?

Understanding, healing, support, and advocacy
are needed for so many threads that comprise
our global landscape:
our homeless population;
those with mental illness;
the health of our environment;
animal cruelty in slaughterhouses;
our LGBTQ+ community;
our BIPOC community;
justice reform;
young single mothers;
inner city youth;
our working class poor;
abuse victims;
those who are differently abled;
those we are sick and suffering;
our elderly population;
those who have the disease of addiction;
refugees in need of a safe place to land;
abandoned and neglected children…

Let us not declare our self “woke.”
Let us not shame others for not being “woke.”
Let us instead lean into the fortitude
of our human family
and focus and commit our own self
to the work we’re called forth to do.

Let us know our work

do our work

and work hard

at work worth doing.

This is me…

This is me not knowing what to write; knowing only enough to know that I should just start clacking away and see what happens; knowing that if I allow my current state of I don’t feel like writing to continue that I’ll suffer more for it.

This is me amid a much longer process of inner recallibration than I would prefer, wishing I could just be onto the next thing already – whatever the thing is – with this clunky awkward exhausting stage behind me as something I could point back to and say I came out better for it in the long-run.

This is me, a usually very decisive, action-based dame, being un-nerved by not knowing what the heck comes next in the book of my life.

This is me being antsy & agitated on my meditation cushion in the mornings  (but at least still sitting); missing my time spent as a hospice volunteer; missing my time spent as a super amateur drummer for a local African dance troupe; missing spending time with my friends; missing gathering people together for the sake of helping to foster the building of community; missing the attending of music shows; missing the places I used to go and realize now I took for granted pre-virus; missing….

This is me wondering if I have what it takes to actualize my husband and I’s shared long-held vision of building a mindfulness practice center here in our much beloved home state of Montana.

This is me wondering if perhaps I could use a long stay at Deer Park Monastery, my home away from home, to help me refuel and re-hydrate and re-balance.

This is me wondering what my future holds, as I step back and away from certain roles I’ve been invested in for a long long time.

This is me wondering what comes next.

This is me, being human.

 

 

 

Turning 41-years-old

This body –
my body –
of flesh, bones, organs,
a forever pumping heart and breathing lungs,
turns 41-years-old today.

I wonder if my mom and my dad,
each in their own separate states,
will travel back in time today,
thinking back to the day I was born.
Will they will reflect on what it means
to be the parent of a 41-year-old woman,
self-possessed, dwelling in the mountains
so many hundreds of miles away
from the land of her raising?

This day is not in celebration of me,
as though I were self-created,
self-propelled, self-contained.
Today I want to elevate my heart
in celebration not of me but of my parents;
my grandparents; my ancestors, blood and land;
my tribe of people near and far, past and present;
the wealth of resources and privileges
I’ve been so richly and generously afforded.

Did I mention I am filled to over-flowing with gratitude?
Did I mention that I try my very best
not to take it all for granted?

Have I mentioned that each day
when I rise, I form a smile of love
on my lips for the sheer joy
that comes from waking?