Keeping the Dream

Tonight I walked with my sisters and brothers, those who have suffered loss to themselves or their loved ones, all of whom suffer injury. I met a most remarkable woman of small stature and big heart. She lost her husband some years ago gunned down by men he had given the benefit of the doubt. She thought I was supporting her as I held her hand after she lit the candle in memory of her husband. She did not know it was I who was blessed by her strength, her stoic gentleness.

As last year, I felt a lump in my throat and my heart filled with emotion, as we walked down Market Street to the beautiful music of The Kiltie Band of York. I thought of my sister. “I’m walking for you”, I said silently, even as I knew she was walking with me just as if she were still alive.

We entered the church, Trinity United Church of Christ. An opening speech from the DA’s office, and then a moment of silence for the victims of the Virginia Tech slayings. After a pause, I stood up, walked quietly to the microphone and sang a prayer, “Be Thou My Vision”. I sang for those who were not here. I sang for those who were. I prayed a song for all of us. At that moment, there was no differentiation for me for perpetrator or victim.

Candle lighting - each participant invited to light a candle in honor of themselves or someone else. Each given the opportunity to say something. Many did. Some stoically, others fighting back tears, and others not trying to stop the flood of emotions.

After a very moving sharing by two people who have suffered incredible loss, each in their own way, and an affirmation of empowerment, I sang once more, “How Can I Keep From Singing?”

I had thought my nine year old daughter too young to witness this, and so when she had the opportunity to be with her father, I did not protest. Except in vague and general terms, I have yet to share with her what had happened to me and why I do what I do with my music and songs.

She is young and very sensitive. But during the evening, as I sat there, listening, watching the victims one by one light their candle and speak their words, I found myself wishing she were here, that there was something profoundly powerful going on, something that shouldn’t be missed. In this space, in this moment, perhaps in a wider community of people than we are used to, there was a realness, an authenticity born of suffering and sorrow that was too rich to pass up.

And I thought how most parents would not want their children to see this. Most people don’t want to see this. And a thought suddenly occurred to me that many who would not want their children to witness such expressions of sorrow by victims of violence, think nothing of offering violence as entertainment to their children.

Oh, but that’s different.

But violence isn’t entertainment. And what you see on television really isn’t violence. It’s a kind of hypnosis, designed to titillate and deaden your sensitivity, and it portrays violence, but it isn’t violence. Violence bleeds. Violence has impact. It looks like the people I saw - this is what violence does. It makes people cry. It causes suffering.

Someone said tonight that we need to educate people that violence is not the answer. But I think that, perhaps, we need to let people see what violence is. Violence without impact is dangerous. It’s more dangerous than real violence, because violence without impact seduces us into equating it with the harmless.

We need to make it personal, give it a face - not on T.V., but in person. We need to be close enough to it to almost smell the salt in their tears to know that this is pain.

Because when we do, we will also see something else. We will see, like the phoenix rising from the ashes, a dignity of the human spirit, a depth of compassion and a stubborn sense of hope that will fill your heart so full it will hurt almost as much as the pain, itself. And that is a good thing, because when that happens, we know we are opened up, and from the wellspring of other people’s suffering and strength, we will find a way to tap into our own.
In doing so, we will realize that we, too, can take flight.

I will bring my daughter next year. We live in a violent society. I want her to know what that means so that she will not be fooled by the counterfeit one in the name of entertainment or rendered helpless and cynical when faced with the real thing. Because she will remember, not only the sorrow that such a night as this one brings, but the breath-taking beauty of the human spirit, which is just as much, and maybe even more so, a part of this evening as anything else.

…does that make it abuse?

If a person says, “You can take advantage of me”, does that make it usury?

Some people think if consent is involved, that absolves the other person of any wrong doing. After all, “they knew…they agreed…”

Sometimes agreement can be read through inference. “Well, they should have known, so in a sense they agreed to…whatever”

But let’s think about this. Even if a someone is mixed up enough to “agree” to being abused, does that justify the person agreeing to do it?

A woman who walks into a relationship knowing the man has a tendency to cheat, and he even tells her he does, does that make his actions right, when he does it? This woman may be more a victim of her own dysfunction, her lack of worth or self esteem, for which she is responsible to deal with. BUT does that make his choosing to behave in a way that he knows will inflict pain, right?

If a person admits they lie, does that give them permission to do so without any accountability, just because they told you the truth that one time? And do you, then, not have any right to your feelings, the pain you feel when he does? Yes, you should learn, you should take note, and you should get the hell out of there as quickly as you can, but does make the lies, themselves, not wrong, just because he told you he’s not always truthful beforehand?

How about if a person says, “Shoot me”. Does that make the person who pulls the trigger less culpable? Oh, that’s okay. The dead person did ask you to shoot them, they agreed, so you were justified. You can go.

Not likely. And yet, it’s amazing to me, in matters of the heart, how many people can feel justified in taking advantage of a vulnerable person, knowing that someone will say just about anything, hoping against hope that by saying yes to being a “sub-girlfriend” or “sub-boyfriend”, that somehow they will achieve a greater status.

How many women or men have allowed themselves to become sex partners with no public standing, counting on a day their partner will some day realize how much they love them…and how many women and men have been willing to take advantage of that?

And that’s sad, and without a doubt, when we deceive ourselves in this way, we are accountable, but so is the person who takes advantage of that.

An honorable person would say, “No, thank you. I will not use you in this way.”

A person who allows others to hurt them, has a choice. But a person who chooses to hurt them is making a choice, too, for which they are accountable.

Still, there are people who help themselves to others in this very sad situation without batting an eye, because, the other person is willing to be helped to.

It is NEVER right to take advantage of a weakness in another person, because it hurts, and that matters - people matter, their feelings matter.

Stop agreeing to be abused. You deserve better.

And stop helping yourself to other people. They’re not a food item on a menu. If they don’t treat themselves with respect, that does not grant you permission to do likewise.

Last night I discovered the duplicitous nature of several conversations I had with someone a while ago. I was pretty pissed and wrote about it, “Why Do We Do This?“, on my website about relational aggression.

You know, on this healing journey, I’ve noticed a recurring theme throughout a lot of situations that hurt people and in my own experiences. For the longest time, I thought the main issue for me to deal with was the fallout from the incest. I thought it was the sexual abuse that inflicted the greatest damage, that presented the biggest obstacle for me to overcome and process through.

But there’s something else, something even more insidious that seems to be like a source, a wellspring of dysfunction that supports and gives life to myriad forms of abuse.

Incest is one of them. Physical violence is another. Emotional violence, thievery, murder, slander, even “idle” gossip that actually has the well-being of another person as its target, all have their roots in this. I see a common thread in all the conversations I’ve had with people, the manipulation, the deceiving, the entitlement that appear over and over again no matter the form of abuse.

It’s narcissism. Not just the shallow vanity stuff of conceit, but the pervading sense of entitlement and total lack of empathy for other people. Oh, not that they can’t read people and even go through the motions of caring. But they don’t care. What they pick up is noted for what use it can be put to - either now or later. And if they feel an emotional charge that they call caring, it can be turned off at the drop of a hat, when it is to their advantage…or on a whim.

In its more extreme forms narcissism appears as the sociopath. Other times it skirts along an almost benign shallowness, except that it can leave an emotional devastation in people’s lives, as if it were a tsunami, or just slowly erode the banks of your spirit, as one selfish act after another gently laps up against your shore… Continue Reading »

Yesterday I went to Washington, D.C. for the Cherry Blossom Parade. Actually spent more time at the Japan Culture Festival, a couple museums and memorials.

It was so strange to walk by the stands and even more strange to hear the vendors speaking in Japanese. I remember so many years ago, the summer fairs in Japan, when I was just a little girl.

I knew this weekend would be more than just sharing an adventure with a good friend and my little daughter. I knew there would be sounds and smells and sights that would bring me back to the days of childhood, to the time when I shared a world more predominated by my mother, her world and her influence, than my father’s. I remember very little of my father, when we lived in Japan.

I remember mostly my mother and all the culture associated with her.

There’s a lot to process, to sit with. Perhaps tonight, when my daughter is at her dad’s, I will make a cup of green tea and let myself go back.

Well, I did it!

It was a really good experience for me. I think I learned more about myself in the process of preparing for the talk, than the actual talk, itself. It just felt right to be there.

One thing I noticed though and was echoed in the words of the Karen Ferguson of Victims Assistance Center, “Where is the media?”

Teens on the Move, an organization made up of young people against violence, were acknowledged that day. Some members got up to speak. They expressed their concern over violence, their commitment to address it and their request for help from the community.

But no press was there to take their words or highlight their deeds.

And I thought, “What does a kid have to do to get attention around here? Shoot a gun?”

And perhaps the answer is, more often than not, yes. Teenagers gunning down other teenagers made the front page the other week. Teenagers lifting one another up didn’t even draw a glance.

But I know that will not deter them. These youth that I saw on this day inspired me and encouraged me, and I walked away knowing that somehow we’re all going to make it. They do not act on impulse, but commitment. They do not live for the instant fame of notoriety, but on conviction.

Yes, I did it. I got up and spoke, but it’s these young people and those like them who are going to do it - make the difference that’s going to make all the difference in the world.

This Thursday I speak at a press conference for Sexual Violence Awareness Month. I know this is the right thing to do, and I know I want to do this. So why do I feel like I want to hyperventilate?

I usually write my words in cyberspace or sing them behind the safety of music and notes. This time I will speak…and I’m freaked. Somehow, there’s a part of me that’s more panicked about “betraying the secret” of our family.

Well, it’s no secret…not like it used to be…and not by me.

But still, it’s sending parts of me into a panic…parts of me that I shall listen to, and embrace and reassure everything will be all right.

I’m crazy.