bayardboy

[bayardboy]

On Masculinity

 “If boys are raised to be empathetic and strong’ autonomous and connected; responsible to self, to family and friends, and to society; able to make community rooted in a recognition of interbeing, then the solid foundation is present and they will be able to love. To make this solid foundation, men must set the example by daring to heal, by daring to do the work of relational recovery.” -- bell hooks, “The Will to Change”

A man is someone who pursues masculinity, in whatever traditional sense befits that society. All boys and male-aligned youth are attempting to become their fathers, coaches, teachers, and guides. It is possible for girls to cast off femininity and find themselves along this path, but it’s not just careers or societal positions that create men; It’s the seeking of masculine impact, masculine energy, that makes a man. That is why we say lazy or unmotivated men are not fulfilling their potential.

Similarly, a woman is someone who creates femininity. Femininity cannot be pursued, it is cultivated, cherished, grown. Where masculinity is a goal, femininity is a garden. It must be tended to and honored. When girls become mothers, leaders, healers, and consorts, they become the space for someone to see themself loved. When men do the same in small amounts, it can enhance their ability to be strong and gentle guides, but in large amounts it results in self-centeredness and a lack of drive. Men do not have the same emotional core to pull energy from; they have the pull towards the pursuit of safety for these containers to exist.

That is why heterosexual relationships function, because one can look inwards, and one can look outwards. However, any combination or imbalance can also create a loving home if these energies are found in other places. That’s why single-parent households can still raise healthy children.

In the absence or neglect of these energies, therein lies compensation. But unhealthy standards don’t require extremes. Anyone can understand the shock of being chosen last for something, or not completing a project the way they’d like to, or having their feelings dismissed.

People can choose energies to assist them on their paths, but there is always one choice that will be easier than the other. Only two spirit people walk with both energies and that is why they are seen as holy people.

As a trans man, my personal narrative is that I was always expected to draw from my own emotional core. As I grew older, it became clear it was lacking. But when I gave up the expectation of being a garden and stepped outward, suddenly I could see so much clearer how my gifts could be used. I imagine my life as a forward-forging pursuit of service to others. My healing will come from obtaining and releasing knowledge, from being the skeleton for others’ feminine energies to flourish as meat, muscles, nerves.

Living in a patriarchal society, the pursuit of masculinity has become one that discards the foundation of fluidity that femininity honors. If men ever afforded the time to rest or rationally react, they could see much clearer how important it is to continually assess, as women do. Parallel to this, women are restricted from the amount of space they can hold in this accomplishment. In fact they are encouraged to discard their possessed emotional cores and take up the path of pursuit as well. That’s not to say women should not accomplish goals; just to say that they need not accomplish what masculinity asks of men, because there is the nature of their womanhood to be honored.

And what does masculinity ask of men?

And what does the nature of womanhood require?

These are much better questions than, “what is a man”, or “what is a woman.”

~~~

I credit bell hooks and Marcus Aurelius for this breakthrough of thought. I’ve been considering this for a while.

#femininty #masculinity #essay #lgbt #gender studies #prose #writing #-

[bayardboy]

The Best Day of My Life

  I wrote this story for a class assignment titled “A Place Where I Belong.”  In cabins and canoes I grew; into my voice, out of my insecurities, and towards Creator, at Suttle Lake United Methodist.

All three of my collegiate summers were spent at Camp.

Camp for me has almost always been synonymous with church. I have fond memories of counselors dancing around campfires in praise of the Lord, of catching fish and hiking, of singing to the stars. As an annoying kid, I also have a lot of memories of turned backs and scoffed remarks, of finding solace in tree branches and the whispering of the wind.

Counseling is something that conjures a feeling of belonging. In the safety of camp spaces, I was not only allowed but encouraged, to sit at every table, to play in every game, to try my hand at every craft, to laugh and sing and cry the loudest. I became magnetic. I was asked to pour my energy into others and to be renewed, and I’ve learned to do so with fervor.

Suttle Lake, in Central Oregon, is my favorite place on earth. The ecology of the space is gorgeous. Nestled into the Central Oregon mountain range, the flush green pine trees and bristled bushes are a great compliment to a sky that is often clear. I’ve been told it’s stunning in the winter, but my mind’s eye paints it as a summer refuge. The heat rises off barkdust roads that lead to small wooden cabins in a semicircle around a large bathhouse and an open pavilion. The director lives in a large house with her husband and two quiet sons. Her husband takes great care of a field used for games and barbecues.

Suttle Lake is settled on an incline; although most of the property is flat, going down under the main road leads directly down to the small lake, a lakeside chapel, and a boating dock; going up past the upper campfire circle leads to a ridge hike overlooking Black Butte and Mt Jefferson. We made an annual tradition of sleeping under the stars and waking up to hike to sunrise on the last day of camp.

My favorite part about the place is the bugs. They are allowed to flourish there. There are so many colors, shapes, and sounds that come from these creatures. It amazes me to think of how different their reality is from mine. During the smoke season, orange butterflies descend to flit on the lawn. When I write in the hillside chapel, a red or black beetle will often descend onto my open page. Sometimes, a cabin’s porch will be filled with soft, docile moths that sleep during the day and fly at the window at night. One time, I shook a cockroach as big as my thumb out of the pants I’d been drying on the deck!

Suttle Lake is one of the four Methodist camps in their conference. My first summer, I joined as an agnostic. My second summer, I studied the Quran and the Bible side by side, and took Islam as my path midway. (That is a long and thrilling story). As I stepped towards understanding God as my experience, I met many beautiful friends and confidants in that space. The people who spoke most to my spirit were found here.

The best day of my life was here:

I wake up before everyone else, even the sun. The trees and bushes quietly shift awake as I crunch bark chips to the main hall. Chaplain Jesse is waiting for me in the dining room with a cup of coffee already drawn. We giggle for a moment, then turn to see a supersized full moon hanging between the tops of the pine trees. “Is that God?” I ask jokingly.

  We knock on the doors around the cabin circle, and soon teenagers in blankets stir in the pavilion. A small army of sleepy-eyed children begin the trek up the ridge, whispering and pushing each other. The windy path in single file and the twisted branches block the view of the valley, until we reach the spot we know from years past. Felled trees make great balcony seats for huddling together to watch the sun rise. My best friend Moxxy sings a Beatles song as rays spill over the top of Mt. Jefferson. You can see the grass awaken, and hear birds begin to brighten the day. A light rain mist refreshes. “Is that God?” a teenager smiles.

  The return gets mixed reviews; some children decide to go back to bed, while others change immediately into swimsuits and play cards for an hour. Then we gather again and head in the opposite direction, down the snaking path to the lake. In the early morning coldness, a jump in a warm lake is actually a welcome shock. Because the water line receded in years past, kids and counselors 6’0” and over can jump in without wetting their heads. While we splash around, a piece of a rainbow appears… then a full, total rainbow stretches from one side of the lake to another. The kids scream and counselors gasp at the surprising beauty. “Is that God?” a younger girl screeches.

  This week I am charged with the youngest children, five 7-9 year olds who played together in a tuned way. I walk with two of them back to dress in the cabin. After, we step out into a glittering rain that sparkles in the light rays. The littlest spins in circles and holds her tongue out to catch some magic on her tongue. As we walk back, single rainbow lights -- purple, blue, green -- greet us between the trees. “Is that God?” a counselor muses.

   Breakfast is filled with laughter and compliments. I sit with my favorite camper, who is very sweet to the youngest girls. One little girl cries after breakfast, sad to leave camp early, sniffling at the promise of getting to stay the whole summer next year. We sing them home. Her dad tells me she is a great talent at the piano, and it brings tears to my eyes to think of my own dad’s pride. I feel very lucky to have had a cabin of autistic campers who created a wavelength I understood.

  I rest for twenty minutes in the chapel with the bugs, but then I’m called to the boating dock, where campers are gearing up for a lunch trip to the beach across. I’m seated with three twelve year old boys who trust me to issue commands, but who don’t have a great grasp of the handles. The lake isn’t large, but there’s a lodge protruding into the water that we have to navigate around. When we attempt to pass, one of the kids loses his balance, and we all fall in the water! The boating instructor appears quickly to pull them to shore. One of the boys keeps a strong hold on his chanclas, but another loses his socks. Once we’re all at shore with the boat sturdy, Moose asks if we want to go back in, and all respond with a resounding, “yes!”

The lunch is delicious and simple. We spread our blankets over the sand and ditch them immediately to play in the water. I throw for a game of 500, then wrestle with the larger campers in the water. Laughter bounces off the blue-gray water when a water fight breaks out. Right before we leave, a bald eagle dips down to greet us and depart. Is this God?

  Returning to camp is followed by a heavy, content silence as the campers settle in for an extended nap time. With an empty cabin, I take a long shower then settle on the vibrant field to journal. At that moment I am joined by the orange butterflies, flitting around small white flowers. I feel I am so happy and relaxed my heart could just stop. Is this God?

  At our staff meeting we discover a counselor is sick, so I take charge of her cabin, a group of teen girls who I had the year before. It warms me to be greeted lovingly by them. We reminisce on our shenanigans as we sit down to a game of cards before dinner. They tell me they rarely get the chance to be kids and relax, so that’s what we prioritize.

  Dinner is excellent, and campfire is a blast, but this day just won’t end. I am charged with leading a worship for the teenage group. We walk quietly with candles and flashlights down to the chapel by the lake, overlooking the place where we shared great memories all day. We open in quiet song, but get louder and louder until we commit to a SCREAMING prayer. In the pews, we go down the line to each kid and counselor. They stand up, and I say their name, then they say their name, then everyone says their name, followed by “you are worthy. You are loved”. I feel good about the way they straighten up after hearing that, but it’s easy to tell which kids don’t believe it. After looking in the eyes of the last kid and turning back to the front, my favorite camper screams my name, and they all tell me I am worthy and I am loved. I am surrounded suddenly by the faces and bodies of young people I love, hugging me from all sides. The warmth of their arms makes me cry. They’re hugging each other, I’m hugging them, taking turns sharing affection until it’s clear everyone has gotten their full worth. Is this God?

  The night doesn’t end there. We head down to the boat dock with a speaker for a dance party! These kids really know each other, live together outside of camp in community, and demand the counselor on aux to play Spanish songs they know and love. An eleven-year-old teaches me and Moxxy a few steps, and a few campers get the chance to show off on the sand. We move for an hour around a single glowing light, then the director comes and tells us it’s time to wrap up. The kids resist by beginning to earnestly express their love and appreciation for one another. I hug Moxxy and we slow dance for a moment, my head on hers, both of us looking at the stars and listening to lovely sentiments. “This is God,” she sighs.

  We walk slowly, most of us crying, back to our cabins. It’s very late and quiet. We promise to see each other first thing tomorrow. I fall asleep after everyone else, with a giant smile on my face.

I have images of this day and more, here on my instagram: https://www.instagram.com/p/B0KGeGRhKMl/?utm_source=ig_web_button_share_sheet

[bayardboy]

Letter Alerting Portland Public School Admin of Student Organized Walk-out for Global Climate Strike

Dear Portland Public School Admin,

My name is Micah Bishop, and I'm writing to you as an adult organizer working with Portland Youth Climate Strike teen activist, to inform you of a walk-out occurring next week on Friday, September 24th. I’ll refer you to the letter sent in 2019, September 24th, written by the North Clackamas student strike group, for what compels these youth to act. Students across your district will be leaving school to join their peers across the globe in calling for dramatic, systemic change to the current structures that make their futures bleak. Multnomah County, having air quality in the bottom 2% of the nation, is at the frontline of a clean air crisis. Additionally, our homeless population levels necessitate a humanitarian crisis. These students, in their bravery and strong will, are building a future that will keep us safer. So I ask you, directly and clearly, as someone who has been both student and teacher:                                                    Let them leave. I understand school is a difficult place to cede control to students, and that the rules and regulations of this time are more difficult to navigate. But I encourage you to join us. They will be walking to the Oregon Department of Transportation, and to City Hall, to put the pressure on political leaders who uphold the systems killing families, adults, and children. I’ll refer to your Climate Resolution 5272, to Develop an Implementation Plan for Literacy, in a shared commitment all the Portland Public schools made:            "All Portland Public Schools students should develop confidence and passion when it comes to making a positive difference in society, and come to see themselves as activists and leaders for social and environmental justice—especially through seeing the diversity of people around the world who are fighting the root causes of climate change; and it is vital that students reflect on local impacts of the climate crisis, and recognize how their own communities and lives are implicated…" These kids have a greater understanding of what is at stake than we ever will, because they have only lived to see the decline of our society. They have never been accustomed to normalcy. There is no point of return for them. I say again, I encourage you to join us. Your families, friends, and jobs are also on the line as we create a future that actually serves the livelihood of living beings, as opposed to the profits of the few. I know many of you have felt the pinch of the disconnect between life and livelihood in this moment. If you have any questions about how to support these teenagers in their strike, or need advice on how to free them from their 40 hr a week obligation for a single day, don't hesitate to call me. I will be near my phone the entire week, awaiting your call. My final request, should you choose to support this effort, is to send this letter to all staff working directly with students. If you, as leaders, are gesturing to taking action on climate equity, this is the path to take.

[bayardboy]

Open Letter to Sunrise 3.13

“To Fellow Leaders: Sometime in my journey in Sunrise you impacted the way I move in this space, and I thank you for it. As someone who holds a title with weight I wanted to address my beliefs and role in the hub, especially as we head into the next stage of our course to win a livable future, together. I present my story of self, in hopes that I will hear yours one day!” - me, march 2021

OPEN LETTER TO ALL MEMBERSHIP AND LEADERSHIP OF SUNRISEPDX

March 13, 2021.

Hello Sunrise Hub Members; Hello my friends,

My primary purpose in this letter is to write the things I do not say, so you will know me better.

For those who skim, here’s the layout: First, my identities; Second, my roles; Third, my beliefs (including many quotes); Fourth, my observations; Fifth, cited sources. This is how I processed these thoughts; I encourage you to also reflect on your core tenants, in a way that’s most fruitful for you.

I am feeling called to write this letter because lately, many things are going unsaid. I don’t know if all of you are aware, but I have autism, and I don’t pick up on nuanced social signals. I’ve described it as, “when people tell me their story, I cannot read between the lines, unless I have read another book that tells me what may be within their pen.” However, I can tell something is amiss, because people have stopped talking to me without being explicitly asked to. There are many reasons this could be occurring. This silence is something I can hear, and something I want to highlight.

             I will first be clear about myself. My communication style is direct, and as honest as the English language can be (which is not very, speaking from experience). If you feel a strong emotion by reading this letter, please let me know and I’d love to have any length of conversation about your reflection.

             First, my identities: I am a white trans man, an educated youth, and a musician. I like to live my life in beats. I forget how big I am and that it is easier in this identity to intimidate people. I have been pushed to hold leadership my entire life, including girlscouts, theater troupes, camp counseling all ages, and many other privileged programs, but I would rather be sharing in a group of people. I live in the SunriseHaus because I have been financially independent since I was 18 and I love the culture of being working-class, except for capitalism’s burden. I was raised poorer than my younger siblings, in a majority-white Oregon town, which shaped my understandings about belongings and care. I like to joke around, and I don’t like when people are instructed how to show up. We should be here as our fullest selves.

             Second, my role: when I joined Sunrise, we had five hub Coordinators and weekly in-person meetings. When we locked down, a lot of the nuanced energies from being in person (which again, I do not read, but I can sense when they are awry) dissipated entirely and people moved away from online space.

             I was at my friend’s apartment on MLK on the first night of the grieving of George Floyd. We heard the people amassing on the boulevard, and we jumped up to join them. I realized quickly my earplugs wouldn’t be enough to keep me sensible in this crowd. An impressive Black man on a motorcycle drove into the mob to give instructions. I pressed close to hear him, devastated when he rode away. I began to shake with misunderstanding; in that moment, I knew I wouldn’t be of help to anyone. So I rode home, called everyone I knew, and figured out ways to support from home: water bottles, NLG numbers, jail support, bullying politicians, changing the public dominant narrative online, redistributing money, cleaning up after Riot Ribs… employing a diversity of tactics, outside of being frontline, excepting daytime rallies... in this work I do not understand the trauma of my peers from this summer, and I will not pretend I do.

Because of the way I showed up in online spaces (consistent, healthy, and truthful), I felt comfortable stepping into the trainings team co-coordinator role, then realized what I was actually doing was in the realm of Hub Coordination. It was a natural step to take on that title because of my focuses and my skillset, both things that were informed re: my identities. In the endnotes is a description of the Hub Coordinator roles that were drawn when Pauline and I transitioned in.[i]

             I’m learning that hub Coordination has a quality called, “soft power”. Defined by Wikipedia, “in politics, soft power is the ability to attract and co-opt, rather than coerce (contrast hard power). In other words, soft power involves shaping the preferences of others through appeal and attraction. A defining feature of soft power is that it is non-coercive; the currency of soft power includes culture, political values, and foreign policies.”[ii] This is an inescapable component of having organizers who are core tenants to the hub, as well as a community of friends who respect each other.

Also, Slack culture as a community has been severely shaped by the fact that some are very comfortable online, in writing, and others are not.[iii] As our community is also afraid of hard power, all our decisions in the last six months have been made by influence. I am very comfortable writing and therefore I am addressing that I know I wield more power.

             Is soft power problematic? It depends upon how it is wielded. There are hubs that operate and benefit without hub Coordinators. If I am ever asked to step down from this role, I will. Honestly, I’d rather be wholeheartedly focused on recruitment and relationship building. But what I’ve been hearing from our JEAO assessments[iv] is that we actually need more processes to bring leaders into soft power, to ensure that everyone has the equipment this work is asked for by our society. These are processes I am familiar with, but I also know that my understanding of leadership is inherently oppressive re: my identities and how I have been raised to interact with these constructs. Even though I’ll make mistakes and frustrate people, I will continue to show up everyday in the process of unlearning.

             Third, my beliefs: Because I wield this soft power, I need to be open about the way I encounter this work. If we interact often, these are the core tenants informing my words and movements.

1.       I believe in the complete abolition of the settler-colonial state, partnered with a societal reimagining and restructuring co-created by the most oppressed peoples of this nation-state.[v]

“As prison abolitionists, grassroots organizers, and practitioners of transformative justice, our vision for 2018 is one of clear-eyes awareness and discussion of the horrors of the prison system – and the action that awareness demands. As a society, we have long turned away from any social concern that overwhelms us. Whether it’s war, climate change, or the prison-industrial complex, Americans have been conditioned to simply look away from profound harms. Years of this practice have now left us with endless wars, dying oceans, and millions of people in bondage and oppressively policed. It is time for a thorough and unflinching examination of what our society has wrought and what we have become. It is time to envision and create alternatives to the hellish conditions our society has brought into being.” Mariame Kaba, “A Jailbreak of the Imagination: Seeing Prisons for What They Are and Demanding Transformation”. Truthout, May 2018.

“So, what might a Green New Deal built with rather than for Indigenous peoples look like? It would look like honoring what came before: the treaties, the tribes, the rivers from which we drink, the air we breathe, the land where we plant and gather our food and to which we return when our time is up. And by finally honoring these things – which have always been there, but which this country has ever respected or protected – we might build something Green and New.” Julian Brave Noisecat, “Green New Bingo Hall,” Winning the Green New Deal. Sunrise Movement, Simon&Schuster Paperbacks, 2020. p.124

2.       I believe in a complete just transition[vi] of our economic and power systems lead by social and racial justice reform and community building.

“Environmental justice isn’t a free-floating term. It was originally used by Black, Latino, Indigenous, Asian, and Pacific-Islander organizers to rebel against exploitative, unsustainable farming practices, fossil fuel plants, toxic waste dumps, destruction of natural landscapes they call home, and more. The harsh truth is that these communities have been organizing against environmental degradation from the beginning—white environmentalists just didn’t notice because the campaign message wasn’t flagged as pro-environment.” Rachel Levelle, “Confronting the Whiteness of Environmentalism”, 350pdx website, June 2017.

3.       I believe nonviolent civil disobedience is the primary tactic I must personally implement to be an accomplice in the accomplishment of the previous two goals.[vii]

“Peace is not something which exists independently of us, nor is war. It is true that certain individuals – political leaders, policymakers, army generals – do have particularly grave responsibilities in respect to peace. However, these people do not come from nowhere. They are not born and brought up in outer space. Like us, they were nourished by their mother’s milk and affection. They are members of our own human family and have been nurtured within the society which we as individuals have helped create. Peace in the world thus depends on peace in the hearts of individuals. This in turn depends on us all practicing ethics by disciplining our response to negative thoughts and emotions, and developing basic spiritual qualities.” Dalai Lama, “Peace and Disarmament”, Ethics for a New Millennium. Riverhead Books, New York 1999. p.203.

“Either [white people] accept that they have inherited this house of white supremacy, built by their forebears and willed to them, and they are now responsible for paying the taxes on that inheritance, or the status quo continues. I hope they will become radicalized by this moment and begin to fight fiercely for racial justice; but more than that, I hope they start at home, in their own minds and hearts. As I tell my students: a white person rushing to do racial justice work without first understanding the impacts, uses, and deceptions of their own whiteness is like an untrained person rushing into the ER to help the nurses and doctors—therein probably lies more harm than good.” Salvala Trepczynski, Black and Brown People Have Been Protesting for Centuries. It's White People Who Are Responsible for What Happens Next. Time Magazine website, June 2020.

             Fourth, my observations: The people who are called to this work know how to LOVE. Deeply, wholly, truly. We fight in love and we sing in love. We create amazing, beautiful projects together. I believe that we are called into this future together. We love the earth and all its peoples together.

             We do not extend that LOVE to ourselves. I take strong issue with the way people who are called to this work, approach this work. We create deadlines, overwork ourselves, and create stress that is mostly meaningless. We can be self-centric and self-serving in our immediate interests, but forgo food, water, and sleep in those moments. We replicate capitalist culture in determining value of projects and styles of work. We need to make better praxis of asking questions as we go, taking patience in our work and our bodies. It’s not our fault this is how we’ve been trained; but it’s our responsibility to resist echoing the structures that harm us.

             I am neutrally confused that we are afraid to take power as we position ourselves directly next to it. We have done the good work to recognize our voice as widely affluent, time-consuming, and progressive. This is a sound the State WANTS to capture, wrangle and blur in complacency. This dynamic is something we encounter so often in electoral organizing especially. Still working through this one, and the way it shows up in our lack of decision-making processes.[viii]

Subconsciously, we are adherent to the Jemez Principles for Democratic Organizing, which I think is a massive benefit to our partnerships and ourselves.[ix] We are also learning actively how to be representative and reflective of constructive allyship to people we cannot serve in our space.

             I am proud of how many teenagers and parents are in our hub. I am saddened by how often fighting for a livable future causes stress and burnout. This can be a joyous, relieving act: if we do not replicate the school systems that oppress us all, particularly Black youth; if we do not replicate the demands made of people with children, particularly by their workplaces. We should be working intentionally to create a safe, spiritual place to encounter these terrifying truths with patience and heart. We should be asking more direct questions of what will make this work enjoyable.

We don’t sing together lately, because singing to our screen is weirder than singing to our friends. I am anxious for the day we can lift our voices and spirits together again.[x]

I am EXCITED! to know YOU! And I hope YOU! Are equally excited to know ME!

I take responsibility both for my acts and their underlying motives. I own any contradictions.

We will be smiling in the end,

Mikhaila “Micah” Bishop (he/him) SunrisePDX Hub Coordinator text me with anything.

[i] Hub Coordinator roles

[ii] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soft_power

[iii] White Supremacy Cultural Traits: Worship of the Written Word is number 5.

[iv] JEAO assessments: #3, Structure

[v] LandBack Manifesto, 8toAbolition

[vi] https://www.ojta.org/just-transition-principles

[vii] Bayard Rustin’s Letters are currently building my understanding of what this means.

[viii] Offering Boston’s decision making guidelines, which also did not totally exist? Our issues are replicable.

[ix] Jemez Principles for Democratic Organizing

[x] https://soundcloud.com/sunrisemvmt

[bayardboy]

On Rest (As Opposed to Sleep)

“The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don't go back to sleep.  You must ask for what you really want. Don't go back to sleep. People are going back and forth across the doorsill where the two worlds touch. The door is round and open. Don't go back to sleep.” - Jalaluddin Rumi, Persian poet, 13th century.

Sometimes, sleeping so much feels irresponsible, wasteful. I like my mornings long and slow, with lots of space for brewing my thoughts and my coffee. When I complained of sleeping 11 hours last night, dreaming of misplaced children and gnarled trees, my counselor recommended this poem to me...

Rumi was a Muslim poet who heavily influenced the 13th century Persian classical poetry movement. Over the course of his life he wrote more than 35,000 poems that still move people today, about relatable themes of existence, often with at-the-time unusual rhythms. He speaks to people of all faith backgrounds and time zones, in the way he approaches an understanding of living. 

In Islam, the first prayer of the day occurs in the hour before the day breaks; Fajr. I rely on a faulty alarm clock to wake me up at 5:30. This can be my favorite prayer. I stretch, drink water, use the bathroom. I wash my hands, my face, my feet. I stand in the darkness for God. I’ve been missing it lately. 

 I often sleep between 9 and 10 hours a night. My dreams encapsulate me, energize me. They are vivid and meaningful, if not confusing. Sometimes I will wake up more tired than I went to bed. My stomach becomes an anchor against my bedframe, my arms often without feeling (I shake them awake manually).

So now, at the end of my evening, I want to live interpret this poem, to counter these feelings that linger at the edges of my eyes...

~The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell me. Have I heard these secrets before? I remember days that began at 6am and nights that ended at 530. There was a long period of time when I would walk with the rays of the morning to an insufferable cafeteria job. In a new season, I stretched with the morning mountain and hopped on my bike for half an hour, just to cut fish. All the secrets I’ve heard taste of metal and keycards, with perhaps a sweet accent of birds singing...

I had a friend at camp who used to wake up at 530 to spend time alone. He ended up becoming very tired, doing that everyday, but he spoke of a special silence he craved. This was his time with God, and I admired him for it. 

~I must ask for what I really want. What if what I really want is to REST? What I really want is to learn why I am unsettled in this state of the world, why I mourn the morning. I really want to Live. I really want to know the Present. I can only do those things if I am awake, as opposed to in a fog of not wanting to be.  I have not found rest in sleep for sometime...

One day, this friend encouraged us all to wake the kids up with us, to see the sunrise after a night sleeping under stars. With blankets as armor, 19 of us hiked quickly up a ridge on camp side. We gathered in position on the other side, looking over the central Oregon mountain range, waiting for the first drops of sun to greet us.

~People are going back and forth across the doorsill where the two worlds touch. I certainly do feel as though my dream world holds me hostage. My subconscious desires to impress lessons into me. I can’t escape into my dreams, they are an extension of what I encounter each day. The two worlds could be the present and the spiritual, or the conscious and unconscious. They’re touching at the doorsill, and we’re going back and forth. In my fog today I felt similarly...

When the sun rose, we rejoiced. We sang and jumped in the air. It greeted us so golden and rosy, the grass gleaming all sinewy and silver. In that moment we were grateful to be alive. Some kids even called God’s name there, saw the scene for what it was, a performance of pure beauty, available only for those who were on time.

~The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell me: is the secret to ask for what I really want? What I want is to be awake in a way that preserves me, that keeps me going. What I want is to remain on this side of the door and live in a manner that serves others and myself. 

So perhaps, with these memories in mind, I will not go back to sleep. Sometimes in the movement we refer to becoming activated as “waking up” or “being wide awake”. But, the question I leave with, is if not to sleep, how do I rest?

I believe sitting, alert, will create the rest within myself. I need to sit with myself more, sit with existence more. Perhaps this will counter my desperation to act. I crave a deep peace that one may call enlightenment or awakening. Sleep is not my enemy, but at this point it does call me away from action.

I start with that early morning. Thanks to Rumi for creating something digestible, even 7 centuries later. Tonight I have found rest in the words of a long-dead man who lives in the spirit of his poems, and I thank him.

So next step: meditation!

#rumi #do not go back to sleep #poetry #interpretation #storytelling #freewrite #essay #rest #sleep #dreams #fajr #muslim

[bayardboy]

“the earth lives in you, you just got to listen!” Luna Li.... plays all the instruments in this song.... and wrote it.... I fell back on my bed immobilized by this ABSOLUTE FAIRY MUSIC the first time I heard this. She is truly blessed and shares her blessing with us  “I know what you’re what you’re dreaming of, and I know you’ve got the love. forever isn’t real enough, my love.”

#luna li #up and coming #music #cherry pit #environmental #forever #talented #bless #harp #violin #guitar #bass #songwriter

[bayardboy]

God Told a Good Joke Today: On Being Present (tw pet death)

“We often feel helpless in the face of suffering, especially the suffering of those closet to us, and we wonder how we can help. Simple acts of kindness are so meaningful... food can be so much more than physical nourishment. Or perhaps you offer a flower from your own garden, or just listen to the fears and feelings of someone who is suffering, so they know they are not alone. Sometimes just being there with an open heart and a presence grounded in peace and serenity is enough.” - Ram Dass, Polishing the Mirror, 2013.

If you’ve read the trigger warning, you may get a sense of where this story is going... but I would encourage you to laugh with me, in good faith, at what transpired this weekend.

My house has been talking about getting a cat for sometime; Sierra wants an orange kitten named Ichigo, after the Bleach character. Gabby tells us their friend is looking to rehome his old cat, who is being bullied by the other (4!) cats in the house. So, on Saturday, I come down the attic ladder to see Woolie standing on the woodwork.

This cat is beautiful. Purebred Himalayan with sky shining from his eyes and fur like fog. A tuft of fur off the tip of his tail, dark ears that flatten when he asks for his head to be pet, a tiny pink mouth with a mrowl that echoes. 14 years old, moving so gently his footsteps don’t seem to make sounds.

This cat is stressed. We did all the wrong things bringing him home; immediately introducing him to a dog, moving his litter box four times, feeding him brand new treats, and dropping him in the house without a safe space to call his own. Half of our roommates didn’t even know he was coming, until three days before!  Having rehomed a friendly cat Leo in August (a story for another time), I had read some of the tips, so I sit with Woolie as he spun around me and became more familiar with my scent. Then, I let him call my room, his.

Over the next few days, he does not eat; just sleeps in the sunshine on my lofted bed, and asks me to pet him mid-night. He ventures around the kitchen and living rooms, occupying all chairs at one point or another, encouraged to explore. He loves music, looking especially relaxed listening to Bruno Major and Haley Heynderickx. The Book of Love by Magnetic Zeros made him set his head down in the sweetest way.

The other roommates notice his stomach contracting and pulsating in a concerning way chalked up to stress. By Tuesday, I decide to call the vet. Adam, who has had this cat its whole life, offers to pay for the vet visit.

Wednesday, we think he is doing better. He has not eaten. He is a great addition to the house, helping us avoid our existent tensions by talking about how cute he is. He is inquisitive, but never adventurous.

Thursday, we wake up early to drive him. I hope to avoid the visit when he eats some wet food for the first time, but Adam encourages us to go anyway. We put on Bruno Major in the car while driving past my old apartment. The receptionist tells us he is due for many types of tests, so we go down the street to a familiar cafe. I take one bite of my burger before getting the phone call: “Yes, the stressful breathing is compensation for not getting enough air to the lungs, so we’ve taken an x-ray. This cat has cancer.”

I call Adam, cognizant I’ve never heard his voice before. After phone tag with the clinic, he tells us he can’t be there when they put him down, because his sister is having a baby today! He asks us to have the remains sent to his house. 

So, Vic and I go back into the office, and they allow us to stand in a tiny room, double-masked, to pet him and see him off. We cry, a lot, but when they ask us if we want to be witness to his passing, we both say yes. 

I am reminded in this moment of a Ram Dass quote: “To learn how to die is to learn how to live, and the way you do that is by living each moment by being here now. The moment when the soul leaves the body is palpable and deeply profound. To share consciousness with a person who is dying is one of the most exquisite manifestations of service.” He was referring to humans when he said this, but in the moment when Woolie looks out the window at the pink spring blossoms, I am shaken by the feeling to mourn, and to celebrate. I say a silent prayer for God to bring this soul back into Adam’s life, and for his passing to be peaceful. We say goodbye to the body.

We sit by the Willamette river, Vic & I, and I have a Regina Spektor song in my head, “Laughing with God”. Throwing stones in the river, we talk about how to break the news to our roommates: in that moment our phones buzz, and Gabby has already screenshotted Adam’s mourning instagram post to the groupchat. 

Home is dark and quiet tonight, with grief lingering in empty hallways like a stench. 

So why do I think this story is funny? Come on, it’s a little funny. To meet a kitty, get him accustomed to our house, build a relationship, then see him through the end of his life in five days? To do everything wrong situationally, then for life to win out and take its natural, God-given course anyway? He was a sick cat when we got him, and there was no way to know. 

Spending the last few days of Woolie’s life with him was such a gift. I can’t help but think we were collateral damage in God acting in Adam’s life, although I can’t begin to guess at God’s plan. Bringing comfort to this animal with all the attention he asked for! Being finally attentive to his compounding health issues! Being present for his cat’s death, as Adam is called to celebrate the birth of his sister’s child! 

When I first encountered this particular Ram Dass text, I was able to sit with it; I was on a road trip, and over the course of ten days I read these many speeches. I learned to be patient with elders and my self, and that only the body dies and becomes cadaver. 

Returning today, I am reminded today that matter can neither be created, nor destroyed; but everything dies. We are witnessing the suffering of our entire world, but there is a chance for a peaceful death, and somehow I feel comforted, even consoled, by that. 

Death is treated as something morbid, something to be avoided, but we must be aware of it if we are to live. We should be grateful of the moment we go to sleep even as we are afraid of the next morning. I am smiling as I write this. I was of service to an animal that brought love and light into my life for a few meaningful days.

Of course I am smiling with tears cascading down my face. I will acknowledge here that I am not sharing my feelings I believe could bring harm to someone reading this story. My intention is to heal with words, both myself and my reader. Healing is non-linear, but in this moment of being ALIVE, we can choose to release our anger, our grief, little by little, like air from a pocket.

Be Here Now! Use the time you have to LAUGH and RELEASE! to experience the depth of emotion in the moments every human knows. 

 Being aware of our heartbeats is the greatest gift we can give to ourselves. A moment of recognition that we are on this Earth; You Are Here! Be Here Now!

And isn’t it funny, that after all this, we’re still fucking here? and if we’re lucky, we’ll be here tomorrow? And the next day? and the next day... if we’re lucky.

#be here now #death #pet death #live #ram dass #grief #release #essay #freewrite #restinpeace #godsplan

[bayardboy]

"Learn to be patient with those who were sent to you to test your patience. Allah put them in your life for a reason."

-Imam Omar Suleiman

[bayardboy]

New Journal, Same Thoughts: On Hope as a Discipline

“Together we are very powerful, and we have a seldom-told, seldom-remembered history of victories and transformations that can give us confidence that yes, we can change the world because we have many times before. You row forward looking back, and telling this history is part of helping people navigate toward the future. We need a litany, a rosary, a sutra, and mantra, a war chant of our victories. The past is set in daylight, and it can become a torch we carry into the night that is the future.” - Rebecca Solnit, Hope in the Dark, 2004.

Rebecca Solnit’s love letter to activists, Hope in the Dark, came into my life at the exact right time. Given to me by a trusted spiritual mentor at Camp Magruder (whose name was, ironically, Hope), I began this book the week I stepped into my first Sunrise meeting. I knew no one but, armed with Solnit’s emphatic determination, I knew I was not alone.

This was last January. I could go on about how we’ve changed this year. My writings look the same, though. I go through journals in six-month spurts; I flip through my past pieces and see a collection of inspirations, dedications, conversations, and lists. I came to some pinnacle emotional and contextual realizations. Without being dramatic, the entire perception of my world has changed. Statements like “demythologize warfare”, “redefining community structure away from market base”, and “sustainability as a business buzzword” reflect how as my eyes have opened, they have begun to turn to jade.

Hope. Lately I’ve been eating it in tiny bits, like vitamins. I have to tell jokes about feeling good to placebo my emotions. We are all ailing right now, stressed by the darkness that shrouds the future. It is ok to know that things right now are bad. They are, and we can admit that to each other. It is SCARY to live in the knowledge that our systems are not designed to support human life; so how will we create community that does so? Within the thick veil of shortcomings and dangers, there are many, many holes to poke through to find hope.

I cannot define hope. It is vacuous and filling, it is central and dispersed, it is sun on cheeks and raindrops in hair. We each encounter it differently, and with different senses; for example, my nannying friend often finds herself uplifted by the laughter of children. I love to use my nose to find hope in flowers growing, and pines singing sweet notes.

So with that acknowledgement, I wake up everyday and I Choose to Find Hope. This is not something doctors can prescribe or influencers can bottle. Hope is ever-present and elusive. Especially in the work of an activist, teacher, or community servant, they know that daily tasks do not lend to the commitment to continue; it is the over-arching understanding that Making a Difference is Possible, on any scale.

Perhaps you have a physical quota: ask for hope in hugs from your roommates, comrades, yourself. (it’s ok to stretch your arms around yourself!) Perhaps music drives you: here is one of many playlists curated for revolution. Whatever it is that makes you feel good about living, seek it out, and purposefully begin to implement it into your morning or evening routine. It’s ok to smile in an empty room, your face craves it.

Throughout January I would wake up and feel despair at the opening of a new day. So I wrote this song, about having no choice, when I cannot eat or sleep, but to wake up and drink the sun. By February I was strong enough to exist again. My days begin with drinking my sun from an open window and the pages of my Qu’ran by my bedside, because that is where I find healing.

There is more to action than fear of an unlivable future, my friends. Only chasing, catching, and releasing hope will give us the sustenance to create a positive, and equal, reaction. Fear is resistance to change, to growth, to grief. But all these things will come. Let’s accept them, as heavy as they feel, and let them lift us to new heights. Then, let’s release them from our hearts, float without our anchors. Sometimes I literally get high off life, off the recognition that we all exist, and we must love and struggle!

I offer two more Solnit quotes that to hold on your tongue at the beginning and end of your days:

1. “Hope is not the belief that everything was, is, or will be fine. The hope [Rebecca] is interested in is about broad perspectives with specific possibilities, ones that invite or demand that we act... grief and hope can coexist.”

2. “Hope locates itself in the premises that we don’t know what will happen and that in the spaciousness of that uncertainty is room to act.”

My third and final offering at this beginning of March is that I will send you my copy of Hope in the Dark, if you request it. I also have another work of Solnit’s, Call Them By Their True Names. The Bay Area hub is lucky enough to have her as their hub Auntie. 

I hope that as you read my pieces, you pull hope from them. I have kept these thoughts to myself far too long. Please, an allowance to pull a scrap of hope from the mumblings of an attic-dweller, for a moment to sip a delicious thought together. Together we are powerful, and we are not alone. 

#hope in the dark #essay #freewrite #journal #discipline #sunshine #living is hard #conjuring hope #the little things #rebecca solnit #serve your spirit #song

[bayardboy]

On Having Fun and Breathing Air, Sometimes Simultaneously

“We have to live in a way that liberates the ancestors and future generations who are inside of us. Joy, freedom, peace, harmony, are not individual matters... to liberate them means to liberate ourselves. This is the teaching of interbeing.” -Thich Nhat Hanh, Touching Peace, 1992.

This joke keeps passing through my mind, that “The Revolution Will Not Be Zoomed.” To say nothing of Gil Scott-Heron’s brilliant song, we truly do live in an age of somehow dually immense isolation and immersion with society. 

As most of you know, I just accepted a job working to create and enforce conditions for livable, clean air... which means that I will be working full-time in the dustiest attic I’ve ever met. I spent my monthly 3-hour Land Use Initiative call with a broom, mop, and N95, just to create breathable air within my own house. It was as satisfying and stressful as I predict the coming months to be.

To work in community, entirely virtually, seems like an inherent contradiction. Building meaningful working relationships in community, when my closest contact is our new house cat Woolley? I’m sure there will be good standup for this in the future. I will say that my work with Sunrise, as screen-heavy as it is, does come with some lifting moments, and I’m hoping the same will come for NCA. There is a militant optimism, a hopeful union, that brings us together whether mentally or physically. A shared song or poem can be the equivalent of a shared meal. A moment of crackling honesty, as tasty as a marshmallow burning.

But something my dad said today, articulated this pressure I’d been feeling: “Humans were meant to be hunter-gatherers, to move about in their natural space. To never leave the house, even to order food, feels unnatural.” This coming from a man who has worked from home throughout the entire parental stage of his life! He would take the opportunity to build community with scenic drives, restaurant dates, long phone calls, and games with his peers. 

So now I wonder, how can I live in joy, in peace, when my soul is being poured into a piece of plastic? How do I protect my spirit against the grind of capitalism in my teeth?

Answer: continue to live. Clean after my roommates, my neighbors, and my self. Trade my unused, well-kept clothing to someone who will wear it with love, perhaps for a story. Build a library on my porch, filled with literature that has changed lives. Donate money, if not time, to comrades who distribute food to hungry community members. Give gifts to my close friends, gifts that speak to their interests. Dance for myself, and beg my comrades to stretch their legs, live in their bodies, celebrate movement in a stationary moment. Grow a garden, maybe?? With the recognition the experience of life is different for each person, there are core portions of being human that we share.

Having fun must be more intentional for us than ever before. I celebrate my inner child, who knew joy, freedom, and adventure without question. This part of my self is a great gift in combatting my depression as well. This part of my self, I am SO GLAD to share with people I meet, whether that be on the phone or on the street. 

We are capable of living in community even as we protect our respiratory systems; at least now we are consciously protecting our respiratory systems! No one seems to be totally aware of how bad the air quality is in the surrounding area of Portland, although we became acutely aware of the limits of breathing during the wildfires last fall, during the power outages this winter. We are capable, when we breathe together, when we remember that every living being breathes, and every living being before us. The most natural state of being, is breathing.

Are you aware of your breath, now? take a moment.

this is easy to forget. 

I am not my computer. I am not the work I pour in. I am the way I live, but I am also life, pure life. I carry the breaths of old spirits in my lungs. I carry the breaths of trees in my core. I carry the breaths of clouds in my throat.

All this to say, if these are topics you struggle with, I would be glad to send in the mail, my copy of Touching Peace by Thich Nhat Hanh. Text/DM me your address and request. I had the pleasure of reading it in the first three months of quarantine and it feels appropriate to pass on as spring begins to show its face again.

I don’t know how often I will write these but I have found this freewrite to be very healing.... so I believe I will continue.

~this coming week I am engaging with this essay “the Pitfalls of Liberalism” by Kwame Ture

#essay #breathing #fun #spirituality #living #virtual #community #freewrite #thich nhat hanh #touching peace #life #breath #joy #revolution

[bayardboy]

On Spirituality, Queerness, and Complacency: Care as a Radical Act

“Today I feel that God motivates me to use my whole being to combat by nonviolent means the ever-growing racial tension in the United States; at the same time the state directs that I shall do its will; which of these dictates can I follow-- that of God or of the state? When the will of God and the will of the state conflict, I am compelled to follow the will of God. If I cannot continue in my present vocation, I must resist... through joyfully following the will of God, I regret I must break the law of the state. I am prepared for whatever may follow.” -Bayard Rustin, 1943.

Although I take Mohammad as the final Prophet, every three months I ground myself with a new spiritual teacher: the Dalai Lama and Thich Nhat Hanh have taught me well in the past year about the ethics for a new millennium. This February 2021 I have found enjoyment and excitement in the letters of Bayard Rustin. Shortly after this letter, he was arrested for refusing to enlist in World War ii. He then went on to stir up quite a bit of trouble at prisons for refusing to engage with the segregationist policies within the walls. He took it upon himself to build and teach education courses for poor imprisoned whites, and created a cross-race coalition of prisoners determined to erase the drawn lines in the cells.

Bayard Rustin would later go on to inform nonviolent theory and strategy for some of the biggest names in the Civil Rights movement of the 60′s; although I haven’t yet read about his work organizing that first March on Washington, with John Lewis and MLK Jr. I will say that his work within the prison was derailed massively when it was discovered he was a homosexual. 

Bayard Rustin has been effectively erased from public narrative around nonviolent racial organizing, because he was gay. His letters to his partner, Davis Platt, convey a deep and friendly love that revolve around the deep conviction that segregation was wrong, and during this time, also that the prison systems were necessary to undermine. He also loved to play mandolin. In remembering Bayard Rustin I am holding closely that he was a socialist, pacifist, Christian, homosexual, Black, educated, man. He was easy pickings for the segregationist agenda in a time of rampant homophobia. He was even cast aside by his allies, because his identity could have harmed their agenda. But he held close the will of God in the ways he engaged with this discardation.

In a very recent conversation with a queer organizer friend, we touched on spirituality. It felt like one of the first times I had been able to speak on how deeply my spirit was impacted by this work. We are not taught to care for each other or ourselves. We are not taught to live truthfully or honestly. In this system that would rather create boxes and stuff people into them, than see what shapes their forms may take on their own, we are purposefully not taught to be ourselves. To be one’s self, to let one’s spirit live, is to resist, because the state has already curated an idea of what one should be.

My friend also gave me a quotable belief that I will share here: “If your queerness isn’t radical, you’re doing our elders a disservice.” Within the context of public acceptance for trans and non-binary peoples, we were discussing how Portland has become a sort of haven, where white trans people do not have to engage with the common violence standardly enacted against all trans people, most dramatically against Black trans women. This allows for queers to become complacent in their acceptance; but this must not be so. 

When I cultivate an argument around nonviolent organizing I always root it in my spirit. Not only must we center the voices of people most harmed by the issues we face, but we must simultaneously work to cultivate the path of *least harm possible*. In this understanding, complacency becomes what we must frame our work around. You cannot stand aside as Biden opens the first facility for migrant children. You cannot just observe as our state of Oregon continues the active genocide of the indigenous peoples through ongoing water crises in Warm Springs (donate here). Can you stomach the injustices enacted against all our societies, and keep your head down, and live your unsustainable life?

If we are to be ALIVE and AWARE of the will of the state AND of God, we have no choice but to care! Caring becomes recognized as a radical act; Caring for ourselves, for each other, and for the land we share our livelihood with; Caring for our tools, our resources, our food; Caring for our neighbors, our family, our coworkers; Caring for immigrants, for indigenous peoples, for invalids.

This is why I have named this newly formed account “BayardBoy”. I have every intention to highlight and seek out members of the spiritual and civil rights communities that have been ignored. I plan to share my thoughts and learnings here, because I am wholly aware that one day I too will be forgotten. While I am not a titan, nor an elder, I hold close a similar intention, to cultivate change through positivity and militant disobedience, as God wills it to be so.

this coming week I am engaging with the Indigenous Principles of a Just Transition as relayed by the Indigenous Environmental Network. https://www.ienearth.org/justtransition/

#civildisobedience #nonviolence #bayard rustin #spirituality #queerness #complacency #essay #racial justice #radicalize #climatejustice #pacifism