I Am Changing (Vamos a la Peru)
"Ultimately, we have just one moral duty: to reclaim large areas
of peace in ourselves, more and more peace, and to reflect it
towards others. And the more peace there is in us, the more
peace there will be in our troubled world."
--Etty Hillesum
I got an email the other day from some faithful reader who tells me I am "the biggest piece of shit in history." One of my wonderful friends writhed in jealousy when he heard this. Turns out he had designs on such a turdulous credential. Oh well. We can't all be so blessed as to be the biggest piece of shit, can we?
This insightful young friend of mine also made an observation which hadn't occurred to me. "Do you realize how important you are to this guy?" he asked. I really hadn't thought about it. But he's right. Somebody out there has actually found his Satan, right here on earth, a person so detestable that he would anoint her with a hyperbolic scatological epithet.
I'm honored!
All kidding aside, my first reaction to this guy's missive was that he was certainly far off the mark. I am definitely not the "biggest piece of shit in history." You see, I am simply not that important. Nobody is, really, but surely I, some girl from Pomona, can’t even come close. Nope. Not even close. Now I wouldn't really want to spend my precious time making up a list of folks who might actually belong in that category, so I won't bother to muse upon it further. Besides, one man's turd is another's savior, so who goes on the proverbial shit list would all depend upon one's perspective. Yep, I am one of those awful radicals who sees that every issue has proponents for all sides, each one of whom is convinced of his own superiority. What a piece of shit!
But it was my second reaction that really intrigued me. I wished that I could give this fella a hug. Just find him and put my arms around him and extend to his being some of the love and compassion and understanding that has been given to me. Here's a hug to ya, fella! (I'm not going to point out that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar because I know you are not interested in catching me. But if you do hang with honey, well, you get to hang with honey, know what I am saying? The vinegar, today I save that for salads.)
As to the second part of his message, it reads as follows: "And take down those pictures of your ugly floppy tits." Now surely a gentleman would never say such a thing to a lady, but I doubt this guy is too worried about that. Nor do I really ascribe to the values embedded in "gentleman" and "lady," for these are class-based and biased, separating haves from have-nots predicated on traditional gender roles that don't serve us in modernity, save to prevent each of us from inhabiting our full humanity.
(Still it would be nice for all involved if that guy weren't such a meanie.)
Anyway, I am one more time confronted with some patriarch's fear-based imperative that I cover myself, this time for aesthetic reasons. Well, tough noogies. Don't like, don't look. Those pictures aren't there for you, they are there for me. And when I say "me," I mean the "me" that I have developed in spite of the judgment of men like you. You don't own me, you don't dictate my feelings about my body to me, in short you've no power over me whatsoever.
I must politely reject your rejection. And I do this for the good of all mankind.
They were handing out coupons at the gym the other day that said "How do you measure success? We measure it in inches." Coincidentally I had read a student's essay earlier that day that had documented her spiral into self loathing, occasioned by the stringent standards imposed on females in the United States today. She was weighing herself multiple times a day, looking for acceptance in those numbers instead of in herself.
I certainly identified with her journey. I am on one myself. And I am happy to say that I have found myself decreasingly certain that the answers lie outside, in getting the approval of others (men like that emailer! god help us all!); in getting others to change (men like that emailer! god help us all!); in short, in "getting." I have found instead that the answers lie in "giving," in giving myself approval; in giving strict attention to my instincts; in constantly giving thanks to creation; in giving my time, money, love and understanding to others (men like that emailer! god help us all!).
In doing so I increasingly find myself experiencing a sense of utter satisfaction so deep that I have not even been able to blog lately, so hard is it for me to imagine giving a rip about anything but how I might be of service to someone in pain. And yet I remembered today that this too is a way I am of service to someone in pain (men like that emailer! god help us all!). So I must write.
I had a fascinating chat with one of our football players the other day. We discussed the rape charges, the men charged with the rapes, the effect football socialization has on these young men. "You're trained to be bastards and that has consequences," I said. "Tell me about it," he replied.
I was surprised but not shocked that he agreed with me. I sensed his relief at being able to say this to someone whom he knew would not attack him for it. I realized at that moment that we can all actually get somewhere, that is if we are fearless about our willingness to look at our own part, at what we bring to the table in terms of needs, desires, beliefs, behaviors, actions. I've no interest in slinging accusations and fomenting strife. No interest at all. I’d like to get to solutions. And for that I need to look to myself, tend to my own spiritual condition, so that I might be fit to serve others when the need arises. In doing so I make it clear that they too can have the courage and the conviction to look to and take responsibility for themselves as well. Even if they raped someone after getting drunk.
So I am off to Peru. Yes, Peru. Don't know why I am being called there, but I am. And as such I am open to the lessons, open to healing, open to, well, just open. May my journey, my continued willingness to look at myself and demand that I be responsible for my actions, help to bring peace to this troubled world.
Me, the biggest piece of shit in history, a source of healing and love. What are the odds?
Peace to you all. (Especially you-know-who.)
Love, Diana