Launching is a Process

to listen to this post click here:Launching is a Process, blogpost 9_10_13

Last night in the middle of the North Carolina State Fair midway, I launched myself toward the night sky. It was a “ride” variously called the Quad Jump, the EuroBungee or the Spider Jump Trampoline. I crawled onto one of the four trampolines, harnessed up to my fiberglass pole, and bounced over twenty feet straight up to the waxing crescent moon. Oh my Goddess, how gravity and decades fell away from me!

My jumpmates were all children. When I first inquired of the operator what the weight limit was, he had replied that twenty pounds were required. No, I mean the limit, on the other end, I said. He assured me the ride could handle up to 200 pounds. Hmmm, but there were no other adults doing the jumping— I worried about being self-conscious. But once I was jumping, hoowee, self-consciousness fell away too. I felt younger than I have in at least the last twenty of my sixty-six years. My love told me later that people stopped to watch my obvious joy, and listen to my totally unstoppable laughter!

This morning I realize my launch toward the stars was the perfect metaphor for my e-book launch. Well, easier and more fun, maybe, than my launch of Tales from My Teachers on the Alzheimer’s Unit, but still.

I’m ready to launch the e-Book, finally have the content and cover files all uploaded. Now I’m waiting to find out if I can enroll in Kindle Select, which requires exclusive distribution, for one enrollment period of three months, and still hire BookBaby to distribute to their eleven distribution partners, including Amazon. I’m planning to submit to Kindle Singles too, which does not require exclusivity, and that excites me almost as much as the bungee jumping. My nonfiction e-book is just the right length for Kindle Singles, and if it’s accepted, it could have a huge effect on reaching my readers.

Yet another day I have harnessed up to the work of being a writer. Today I made the decision to participate in November in the Namelos novel workshop with editors Stephen Roxburgh, Carolyn Coman, Joy Neaves, and Karen Klockner. By then, my e-book will be launched, and I will have gratefully returned to my focus on writing young adult fiction. All of it is risk, all of it is fascinating, all of it keeps me joyously alive!



Bearing Witness

The e-book I am about to launch, Tales from My Teachers on the Alzheimer’s Unit, describes elders at an intersection of aging, illness, and inadequate social solutions. It can be called poetry of witness, a category of writing that reveals human pain and can allow an understanding, and sometimes, a transcendence, of tragedy. Carolyn Forché (See her anthology, Against Forgetting: Twentieth-Century Poetry of Witness) describes poetry of witness as writing that does not distinguish between personal and political. It emerges from concerns that cannot be defined as exclusively private or public.

The theme of witness came to my mind again last night, when I heard Medea Benjamin of CODEPINK speak on the U.S. use of military drones. Benjamin showed slides of witness in her presentation, and it was her personal witnessing around the world that startled me into understanding— how drones are a weapon of collective punishment, and how our country’s drone use promotes a Playstation mentality toward war.

It was the same day I finished reading Barbara Kingsolver’s Flight Behavior, a novel addressing the issue of climate change through a lens of personal story. I realized the power of Kingsolver’s novel came from witnessing the characters’ (and our own) motives for denial and belief about this contentious subject.

The company I wish to keep is with those such as Carolyn Forché and Medea  Benjamin and Barbara Kingsolver, those who bear clear witness to our precarious world. It is my hope that my own writing of witness, Tales from My Teachers on the Alzheimer’s Unit, may help caregivers allow their heartbreak to break open their hearts to the wider world.BKCover72RGB

Protest Packs Asheville

Mountain Moral Monday
Adelante Juntos, Forward Together

The repressive ALEC agenda happening in North Carolina is slated to arrive in your state sooner or later, so this report on yesterday’s Mountain Moral Monday protest is more than local news. Through the corporate-funded American Legislative Exchange Council, global corporations and state politicians vote behind closed doors to try to rewrite state laws that govern your rights. Yesterday I participated, not only in a rally but in a movement against this agenda, as ten thousand of us gathered to protest the North Carolina legislature’s restrictive new voting rights law and their draconian cuts to the full spectrum of human services.

The homemade signs people carried told the story even better than the line-up of speakers and singers. My favorite, featuring a lion illustration, was, When Spiders Unite, They Can Tie Down a Lion, Ethiopian Proverb. Many placards linked the seemingly disparate issues. Some examples: NC protects the rights of, followed by a list with all items crossed out except one. Here’s the list and you can guess which one was left inviolate: Voters, Women, Minorities, Underprivileged, rich White Men, Lbgt People. I imagined families creating these signs on their living room floors; carpeted floors, stone floors, wooden floors. I imagined people bent over their kitchen tables with markers, in their apartments or houses or churches or senior housing complexes, thinking about what it was they cared about. Keep Your Hands Off My Voting Rights, Medicare, Water, Uterus! Yes, the NC legislators this session dipped their hands deep into every one of these areas, and did drastic harm. A man with a sign lettered in thick red marker holds it high. It says, CUTS HURT, blood is dripping from each letter.

In a six-month session, 1700 bills were introduced in the NC legislature, hundreds of them straight out of the ALEC manual. This organization promotes legislation all across the country that works against the people. Shame on You, said one protest sign. What About Progress? asked another. An elder couple strolled by carrying an American flag between them. A woman stood in front draped in a huge rainbow flag with the single word imprinted on it: PEACE. One of the “jailbird” women asked us from the stage to find out which members of our so-called representatives have attended the ALEC conferences, and which members have accepted money from millionaire Art Pope, whose outsized political machine has caused judges to buckle and legislators to fawn. You are supposed to work for us, not against us, said a sign carried by an outraged mother. Cruelty will not be re-elected, said another.  Our governor is a pusher for the ALEC agenda, proclaimed the next. These signs were mostly hand-lettered, and some were works of art. The woman sitting next to me was a middle-aged redhead who told me her people have been in these mountains since after the Revolutionary War. It took her all morning to create her beautiful colored drawing of a huge tree standing by the water, with glitter letters spelling out, We Shall Not Be Moved. She said if she didn’t know it would cost her job, she too would have gotten arrested in Raleigh along with the 930 others.

Mountain Moral Monday Rally Asheville NC 8/5/13
Person Waking Up and Fed Up

This is what democracy looks like. A labor speaker told us we have found our way back into union on issues. A speaker on Immigration Reform spoke about undocumented workers arrested at the Shogun Buffet Restaurant who are scheduled for deportation, without even being paid by the Shogun Buffet for their 70 hours a week labor at less than minimum wage. (August 19 ,8:00 AM, Wages Claim case at the Buncombe County Courthouse). His speech in Spanish was translated sentence by poetic sentence. He said we are like birds in the mountains singing with one marvelous voice. Rev. Jasmine Beach-Ferrara, executive director of The Campaign of Southern Equality, made me cry when she declared that, “Our elders need to know we will be recognized in their lifetimes.” She brilliantly linked gay rights to voting rights, saying that the restrictive new Voter ID law and Amendment One will both be defeated.

In between speakers, Emmy-award nominated, local blues singer Cat Williams belted out Stand By Me; the Green Grannies, who sing for the climate every third Saturday in front of the Vance Monument, led us in their version of the Battle Hymn of the Republic; Peggy Ratusz gave us a profound rendition of Leonard Cohen’s Alleluia with her lyrics, We’re not shades of black and white, we’re the human race and we unite tonight. While she sang, a little girl handed me a flyer to come back at 3 PM on August 8 to rally for FemCare, the reproductive health clinic closed down in Asheville last week, the last abortion clinic that had been open in North Carolina after the regulation bill passed in the NC legislature.

Reverend Barber of the NAACP, who started Moral Mondays in Raleigh, gave us the history of resistance and reminded us that we have reversed the course of history before, that we are children of a multicultural movement, that we can use our hearts to love the legislators even while we stand against their actions. Because he has schooled himself to add all sexualities to his litany of all those who are being brought together in this movement, I could tolerate his overuse of the Lord, and let go of his tendency toward the military lexicon of enemy, warrior, army of resistance, right winning out over wrong. He ended his exhortation with a secular plea for peace: We are saved by hope. As I left the rally, I passed one more amazing sign, held by a teacher who told me that North Carolina is now 50th in the nation in teacher salary increase. Her sign was a quote from Audre Lorde: The learning process is something you can ignite— like a riot!

And then I saw the two children. I will let these future citizens have the last word. Here are their handmade signs.



 Adelante Juntos!Forward Together, Not One Step Back. 

Praise All Our Choices

Eastbourne-Lammas-Festival-2011-54-200x300Today is the sacred midpoint between Summer Solstice and Autumn Equinox. For this Lammas festival and the first harvest of summer, I share a poem by Marge Piercy. It not only reminds us of Habondia’s gifts, but it highlights the right of choice, which women are again seeing violated. This week the only abortion clinic in my town was shut down by the state of North Carolina, following the legislature’s passing yet another appalling measure, this one designed to regulate such clinics out of existence. Can we celebrate Lammas, can we dance while the fiery gasps of the dying patriarchy torch our choices? How do we stand as witness to suffering while claiming our sacrament of joy? Piercy shows us a way. We can dance today as a way to enliven and empower ourselves in the face of suffering. We can move towards life even as the toppling structures around us move toward death. Dance and joy and celebration must be enacted as ways to address oppression. It is not a superficial pleasure, this Sabbath of Mutual Respect. It is the deepest dance there is.

The Sabbath of Mutual Respect

In the natural year come two thanksgivings,
the harvest of summer and the harvest of fall,
two times when we eat and drink and remember our dead
under the golden basin of the moon of plenty.

Abundance, Habondia, food for the winter,
too much now and survival later. After
the plant bears, it dies into seed.
The blowing grasses nourish us, wheat
and corn and rye, millet and rice, oat
and barley and buckwheat, all the servicable
grasses of the pasture that the cow grazes,
the lamb, the horse, the goat; the grasses
that quicken into meat and cheese and milk,
the humble necessary mute vegetable bees,
the armies of the grasses waving their
golden banners of ripe seed.
The sensual
round fruit that gleams with the sun
stored in its sweetness.
The succulent
ephemera of the summer garden, bloodwarm
tomatoes, tender small squash, crisp
beans, the milky corn, the red peppers
exploding like cherry bombs in the mouth.

We praise abundance by eating of it,
reveling in choice on a table set with roses
and lilies and phlox, zucchini and lettuce
and eggplant before the long winter
of root crops.
Fertility and choice:
every row dug in spring means weeks
of labor. Plant too much and the seedlings
choke in weeds as the warm rain soaks them.
The goddess of abundance Habondia is also
the spirit of labor and choice.
In another
life, dear sister, I too would bear six fat
children. In another life, my sister, I too
would love another woman and raise one child
together as if that pushed from both our wombs.
In another life, sister, I too would dwell
solitary and splendid as a lighthouse on the rocks
or be born to mate for life like the faithful goose.
Praise all our choices. Praise any woman
who chooses, and make safe her choice.

Habondia, Artemis, Cybele, Demeter, Ishtar,
Aphrodite, Au Set, Hecate, Themis, Lilith,
Thea, Gaia, Bridgit, The Great Grandmother of Us
All, Yemanja, Cerridwen, Freya, Corn Maiden,
Mawu, Amaterasu, Maires, Nut, Spider-Woman,
Neith, Au Zit, Hathor, Inanna, Shin Moo,
Diti, Arinna, Anath, Tiamat, Astoreth:
the names flesh out our histories, our choices,
our passions and what we will never embody
but pass by with respect. When I consecrate
my body in the temple of our history,
when I pledge myself to remain empty
and clear for the voices coming through
I do not choose for you or lessen your choice.

Habondia, the real abundance, is the power
to say yes and to say no, to open
and to close, to take or to leave
and not to be taken by force or law
or fear or poverty or hunger.
To bear children or not to bear by choice
is holy. To bear children unwanted
is to be used like a public sewer.
To be sterilized unchosen is to have
your heart cut out. To love women
is holy and holy is the free love of men
and precious to live taking whichever comes
and precious to live unmated as a peachtree.

Praise the lives you did not choose.
They will heal you, tell your story, fight
for you. You eat the bread of their labor.
You drink the wine of their joy. I tell you
after I went under the surgeon’s knife
for the laparoscopy I felt like a trumpet
an Amazon was blowing sonorous charges on.
Then my womb learned to open on the full
moon without pain and my pleasure deepened
till my body shuddered like troubled water.
When my friend gave birth I held her in joy
as the child’s head thrust from her vagina
like the sun rising at dawn wet and red.

Praise our choices, sisters, for each doorway
open to us was taken by squads of fighting
women who paid years of trouble and struggle,
who paid their wombs, their sleep, their lives
that we might walk through these gates upright.
Doorways are sacred to women for we
are the doorways of life and we must choose
what comes in and what goes out. Freedom
is our real abundance.

c. Marge Piercy