When I was a child, one of my favorite books was “where the Wild things Are” by Maurice Sendak. It was a beginning of a love affair with books and ideas that pushed the boundaries of what common culture might find acceptable. Maruice Sendak was one of a group of slightly seditious children’s book authors of the 1960’s, along with Dr. Seuss and others, who weren’t afraid to take on political issues in their books. As an example, “Where the Wild things Are” was banned due to Max’s wild behavior and the Ladies Home Journal stated that the book could be “psychologically damaging and traumatizing to young children.” The book was banned, largely in the south.
Later on in my love of literary rebels came William S. Burroughs, Jean Genet, Emma Goldman, bell hooks, Angela Davis, Allen Ginsberg, but it all began, I think with this story of a misbehaving boy named Max. Dressed as a wolf in the opening scenes we find him causing all sorts of mischief in his house. He is jumping off furniture, growls at passerby, and is even seen in one seen in one scene chasing after the family dog with a fork. His mother called him a “Wild thing” and young Max replied, “I’m going to eat you up”. Needless to say this is not a very nice thing to say to your mother, and so young Max is sent to bed without his supper. While in his room, the space is transformed into a forest and Max crosses the sea in a little boat to the land of the Wild Things. Real wild things- with fur, and claws, and feathers, and beaks and teeth and all manner of wild appearances. After growling and sniffing and proving himself, Max wins his place as King of the Wild Things. He should after, “Let the Wild Rumpus Start”. And Max and the Wild Things howl at the moon, they dance, they swing from the trees, they make a huge ruckus in the jungle. But the time comes when Max has to go, and a memorable line goes, “please don’t go, we’ll eat you up we love you so”. Nonetheless, Max ventures back into his boat across the sea, into his forest/room and finds his supper waiting for him, and it was still hot.
Max was a very lucky boy. When I was done with my “wild rumpus”, which is likely an improper comparison but I’m going to go with it anyway, I didn’t have warm supper waiting for me. I had a cold jail cell. And yet, it doesn’t matter what we’ve done, where we’ve been, we can always choose any moment to start again. We can pick a day- any day really- to be the one to begin to live with intention, love, forgiveness, witness, justice, or hope- these things our souls most call out for.
I’d like to share with you one of the most profound meditative experiences I’ve ever had in my life, and the setting may surprise you. When you first get to prison you are sent to a diagnostics and classification unit, where basically they determine where you might be placed based on a number of things that somewhat make sense, and some that probably don’t. Behavior while in custody, type of crime, etc. After this period, you get sent to your regular unit. I had just been transferred to a regular unit, and shortly before I received a write up for talking in line (they actually called this “disobeying a direct order” because we had been told to be quiet). When I reported for my new job assignment, I assumed I would be transferred to the education department, as I was a teacher’s aid before, and they usually keep the jobs the same. The man reading the job assignment- stereotypical Texas-police academy dropout type, large belly hanging over too small pants moustache, says to me “Oh! So you don’t like to listen to direct orders do ya?” Well how about we put you on the field squad for a few months and train that right outta ya. Ya’ll, I’ve never had a problem listening or following directions but this man who saw me for less than a minute made an assumption and went with it. I was just another prisoner after all. So to the field squad I went. In Texas, the Prison units are mostly self- sustaining, which isn’t bad. The food is grown there, processed there, etc. And the field squad, is the modern day version of the chain gang. It is not a coveted position in prison. It is 8-10 hours of nonstop hard work in the Texas Sun (or cold- we would go out unless it was 24 degrees or less). If you drive through the Gatesville area of Texas you are likely to see them at work cutting grass along the highway in a line. Now one thing we did that I did enjoy, was plant food. And on this particular day, we were planting potatoes. It was a misty sort of day, cool but not cold, and we’re out in this field completely surrounded by different prison units and satellite units, which are all in the same area. Surrounding us there are guards on horseback with rifles in case someone decides to run. I had reconnected with a meditation and yoga practice while incarcerated and so I decide that I would use this as an opportunity to practice a moving meditation. Thich Nhat Hanh describes a practice of intentionality and mindfulness in doing everything with intention so I decide that I’m going to do this while I’m hoeing potatoes. So I work my way out kind of away from the other prisoners. There is the smell of rich, wet soil and mist, and that green smell that Portlanders know all too well, but is a luxury in Texas. And I start hoeing the potatoes. I have a large garden tool called an “aggie” which is an oversized garden hoe with the metal piece on the end weighing about 5-6 pounds. And I start swinging it. I feel the muscles pull in my arms and my back. And I breathe into it, and start a little pattern. Swing, swing, breathe in, swing swing breathe out. Stepping in between breaths. For a moment, my back and arms begin to burn as usual, my mind wanders to the world outside as it often does, but then, something happens and I just let go. I’m fully present, right there in that moment. Nothing is good or bad about it, it just is. I’m not the villain in my story, I’m not Max in the wolf suit trying so hard to convince others I’m a Wild Thing- I’m there with the soil, and the mist, and the green just beyond the fields. It doesn’t matter that I’m a prisoner. It doesn’t matter that I’m surrounded by other prisoners. The guards don’t matter either, and neither do their rifles, tools of fear and oppression. I’m perfectly, 100% in that moment. And I hung there for quite a while. I’ve never been able to repeat an experience quite like that. But it was presence to life, to the world, despite where I was. I was there, whole, human. Like Max, my dinner was there on the table, still hot.
Our stories are not the same, or at least I’d be surprised if they were. But that doesn’t mean that we’re not built in the same ways, or that we don’t long for the same things. And our lives here are finite. One blink, and it’s over. Our lives, whoever we are, wherever we come from, are brilliant but brief sparkles in an otherwise empty universe. There are physicists now who are proposing that we- that consciousness- is the point. So what does that mean for us?
Of course we have these systems we have to live in- this capitalist system that makes us exchange our time for money to survive, some better than others, we have systems of oppression that limit or enhance our chances based on things outside our control. We are not on an even playing field- you can see this by looking outside our windows, or even around this room. But we do have today. We have this moment. Every day that we are alive is a miracle gifted to us. The odds of us even existing at all is 1 in 286,000,000th power; 1 with 2 million 685,000 zeroes behind it. I’ve mentioned this before, and I mention it again now because I want us all to understand that we are all walking, talking miracles. The people you meet on the street are miracles. The person who made your latte is a miracle. Our houseless neighbors outback on 13th street and the surrounding areas are miracles. And yes, that jerk who cut you off in traffic is a miracle. We, we are miracles. We are a magical blip in this universe- a miracle that depending on your perspective, never should’ve, or was always meant to be. And despite my tendencies toward dourness and being somewhat of an Eeyore as I mentioned in the blog post a few weeks back, I believe the latter.
And science, or some science at least, is behind me. There is the fascinating idea called “biocentrism” and it posits that the universe was made for consciousness- was made to be experienced. What an incredible idea is that?
So all of us miracles sitting around here, how do we live in a world that is, well, somewhat less than miraculous at times. I have to admit this is one that I struggle with. It seems like I’ve had my heart broken time and time again every time a see a little deeper into the ways in which we prioritize money and profits over human lives and dignity, and the distance we have to go to make amends to the harm done in the name of white supremacy and colonialism. It feels unbearable. And yes, it sounds like some ridiculous minister stereotype but I WEEP at the state of the world. And I weep because I want us to wake up and realize that all of these traps and systems are things that we’ve created and we can just as easily unmake them. It’s like that famous Ursula LeGuin quote, “We live in capitalism. Its power seems inescapable. So did the divine right of kings. Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings.” The rest of what she said, is not so often quoted. She says at the end of that same quote “Resistance and change often begin in art, and very often in our art, the art of words.”
I’ve thought long and hard about words I could say that would bring the rafters down, that would change in an instant hearts and minds. And maybe I have that gift, and maybe I don’t. But I do know that WE do. It’s just about consciously deciding what we are going to do with our lives.
We watched two videos earlier, one from Maurice Sendak with Terry Gross from NPR’s fresh air, which I also happened to catch and left me weeping, and the other, from Ze Frank. In both of them we are encouraged that time passes, and it passes quickly. We are left with precious little after the necessities are taken care of.
So what do we do with them? The first part of my life, and admittedly occasionally now, nihilism seems the answer. TO give up. To admit that it’s too big, too hard, too, embedded in the way we live to try to change it. I escaped that pain every way I knew how, and ultimately, found myself deeper in it I than I ever imagined possible. Our lives are too brief. They are shooting stars in the night- a passing flash and then they are gone. What will we do with them?
What will we do with this year? This month? This week?
What will we do with this one, single day? None of them are guaranteed, after all.
I’d like to hope that we would use them to actually DO rather than talk. We UU’s are great at talking sometimes. We love our committees, and while I think that they are important for people to get involved in and stay active, they mean little if we are not moving forward. The connections that they bring have value, but what else? What do you dream of for this year?
For yourself? For your loved ones? For your church community? And how do we make it happen?
If this was your last year, last month, or last day, and while I pray it’s not maybe it is, what would you do if you could to touch the lives of those around you?
Would you pray with me before we begin our jelly bean ritual, in which you have one jellybean representing one day. Pray with me now and be present.
Precious spirit, it’s easy to be overwhelmed by all of the things that this life throws at us. Help us to tune in to the things that are most important- to connection, to community, to love, to opening our doors to our neighbors, to building relationships here, to supporting one another. We believe in the power of community. We believe in the power of spirit and justice, which you embody. Help us move this year toward connection, toward hope, toward love.
Topics: Creation