Republicans

It is difficult, as a democrat (a registered one, anyway, not really) not to gloat. It is hard to find compassion for this ailing political party that seems to have no compassion for anyone but those privileged from birth and 100% normal. But I am trying.

Really, there is nothing I would like to see more than Rush Limbaugh getting bigger, fatter, greedier, louder, and eating himself and his fans.

But when it gets to the point that a racist, sexist, creedist, homophobic, foam-at-the-mouth drug addict is referred to as the "voice of the party," what in the living hell is going on? When decent men like Michael Steele grovel and crawl to this hate-mongering clown, apologizing for correctly referring to his words as "ugly and incendiary," what has happened? Where is the Republican party's spine?

For a moment, let me pretend to be a republican. Let's say I am a free-market capitalist, believe in personal responsibility, and value small government. (I can sort of get behind fiscal conservatives; social conservatives arouse my rage like nothing else.) Anyway, if I were a republican, I would be very angry with Steele and Bobby Jindal right now. This party has the opportunity right now to snatch back its dignity and its fire. Jindal, after the State of the Union address, had the opportunity to intelligently disagree and allow for the mistakes of the Bush administration as the party's own and something to learn from. Instead, Jindal and the party at large seem to be pretending that Bush II was not a republican, that the last eight years were not their mess, and that countrified little homilies coming from a nonwhite face are enough to present an opposition to our brilliant president. Disagree with his policies, Bobby. Make us understand why government intervention won't work. But don't invoke Katrina as someone else's failure. You're the governor of Louisiana, for gods' sake. Tell the truth about it.

And Michael Steele. You were right. Rush is "an entertainer." His words are "ugly and incendiary." You were right, and you were telling the truth. Who made you capitulate a lie when you were telling the truth? It's not for nothing you've been chosen as the new (BLACK) face of the party. You are supposed to distance yourself from the white country-club blowhards that the people don't respond to anymore. For gods' sake, you are aligning yourself with a man who makes fun of purple heart recipients, Parkinson's sufferers, and insists that blacks get ahead only because they are black! Grow a spine! Tell Rush off! Remind us what made the party great, adopt a Reagan-ish kinder conservatism. Do something other than crawl before Jabba the Rush and show your belly! Have you no pride? Call Rush on his utter lack of shame!

If this was my party, I'd be lit. I'd feel hijacked. I'd feel misrepresented and ruled by fools.

This is not my party, and I am trying not to be too amused watching it self-cannibalize.

I know who speaks for me. I don't always agree with our president, but I respect him. I don't love our secretary of state, but I have confidence in her. I really like Keith Olbermann, but I'm frankly relieved that no one thinks he's the voice of my party. John Stewart is my absolute favorite, but we all know better than to take him seriously.

And we are supposed to take that Oxycontin sniffing, woman-hating, racist, ranting, paranoid prince of putz seriously? (Megadittoes!)

Who speaks for you?

Nostalgia ain't what it used to be...

No club I have ever been to holds a candle to my junior high.

Tonight, trying to work off some emotional excess, I went searching for songs to dance to that would remind me of my best clubbing days- when I was 20-21 and out three nights a week, scandalous yet chaste, intoxicated by the rhythm of the night. So, I went looking for the best jams. After a while, I realized some of the selections were pretty old school. I kept pulling up songs from '95... '97... DJs are not this retro usually. Upon reflection, I realized I was trying to recall my junior high dances.

I've heard stories from my friends of dances where the girls stood on one wall, boys on the other, and never the twain did meet. I've heard of schools where a Bible was wedged between dancing couples. I did not go to school there. I was a strange, numb, weird kid at 12. I had moved from Missouri to Southern California a few years before and I did not adjust easily. I lived the ghetto, and I'm not exaggerating. I can still give you an intersection where you can buy anything you want. I can't tell you who to ask for though; gangsters and drug dealers don't get old.

I went to Dale JHS in Anaheim. The kids there were largely black and Hispanic, and my education included my first exposure to hip-hop, r&b, and dirty dancing. I couldn't tell you what compelled me to go to the first after school dance. It was the fall of my seventh grade year. I was in the G.A.T.E classes, uncool with my uncool Korean boyfriend. (His mother told him he was not allowed to dance and HAD to marry a Korean girl. She told me, too.) So I went alone. I paid my dollar and walked into the darkened gymnasium. Disco lights swirled and the bass thumped off the walls. The DJ was good, involved and boiling in his turn tables. The music was inappropriate. (Think: the Dogg Pound, 2Live Crew, Tupac, and Inner Circle.) The place was a barely-lit mass of burgeoning teenagers. The kids that lined the walls weren't uncool; they were just too stoned to dance. In the middle of the room were about 90 kids, doing the Freak.

For those of you who don't know what Freaking is, let me enlighten you: the Freak is a vertical expression of a horizontal aspiration.

There weren't couples. There weren't coy circles. There were no boundaries, no groups, no cliques, and no tribes. Their sweat ran together in a common river of hormones and good-natured,immature lust. My first view as an outsider lasted only seconds. More people flooded into the room right behind me and I was swept into the center.

There I was: an uncoordinated white girl, sandwiched between a black girl in front and a Mexican boy in back. The song was simple 4/4 time and the rhythm was as old as mankind. The same moment I thought "I cant." I was already doing it. My body knew how to follow, and I was accepted. I was one of the dancers. I lost myself in it, and it was incredible.

No one was grabby, unlike at a club. No one bought or drank alcohol. I felt perfectly safe, like one enormous group date. We were just expressing ourselves physically for all we were worth. We sweated as clean as any baseball team. We smiled and laughed and broke lines and reformed. We sang and rapped along and I learned words to songs I looked like I had no right nor reason to know.

Four hours later, the dance ended. I had never stopped. Dusk was coming, and I walked home, but I was so high I could have ran all the way. It was the most unexpectedly wonderful feeling.

It is gone now, no more likely to be captured than a dream within a dream. But I remember junior high dances. And no club can compare.

Community

I could spend days listing the things about my community that bother me. I spent the first day at Pantheacon being mildly amused at the thousands of whimsical hats on display, but not impressed by much. Friday was largely a disappointment, company exempted, of course.

Miscellany was satisfactory. Starhawk is an amazing ritual leader and I am so privileged to have stood in circle with her, heard her voice. I ran into every high priest I've ever had, always a joy. The Feri tent revival was a masterpiece of reclaiming. I took communion and sang "Amazing Grace" with 200 witches. It was oddly comforting, and the folks who put it on really know how to work our dry Christian roots.

Saturday was better. But Saturday night brought the drum circle. Ok, you can say a lot about the Pagan community, gods know I do. But the room was dark and warm. Everyone had a drum to hand. We started EARLY. No Pagan Standard Time for us. It was scheduled for 5pm and by 4:30 we were well underway. The people who had so irked me in the lobby of the hotel were sweaty and shirtless, stripped jackets off and grinning, listening and contributing all at once. Belly dancers at all levels of skill flowed to the center of the circle and undulated, sinuously. A tall woman in rainbow veils caught the eye of a four year old girl and taught her a few things. Faces glowed all around the circle, and a man masked with the sun danced the wheel, pounding a bodhran, a perfect enigma. Old women began to dance with surprising grace, and I wiped drops of sweat out of my eyes. My hands ached every time I stopped drumming, but why stop? Across the circle, I saw Irish faces, African faces. A Hispanic man in front of me pounded his own doumbek while his two young daughters held their tiny djembe, faces alight.

Our wordless, timeless ways are our best ways. I will not forget who we can be when we do not bother to pretend. I am edified in my faith, and that's priceless.

Fall '08

Thank gods, thank gods, the semester is over.

This picture is my favorite drawing from Art 108. It's a pencil sketch of a marble statue of Baldur the Beautiful. Baldur is being good enough to present my GPA for this term.

I'm going to post more of of my art, and some of John's as well. :)

Favorite Carols

Top three, to keep it simple:

"We Three Crones" to the tune of "We Three Kings"
We three crones of magic-past are,
Bearing gifts, we traverse afar,
Fields & fountain, moor & mountain,
Following each our star.
Chorus:

Oh, star of wonder, star of might,
Star of radiant beauty bright,
Inward leading, still proceeding,
Guide us with thy magick light.

Gold I bring, the Earth's hidden gleam,
Guards our Mem'ry, draws forth our dream;
Weary-curing, strong enduring,
Holding time's circling stream.
Chorus

Frankincense I carry with me.
Incense aids the spirit to see;
Analyzing, wise, up-rising,
Sense of the Earth, flow free!
Chorus

Myrrh is mine, it's bitter perfume
Lifts new life, a magical broom;
Praying, flying, purifying,
Away with old lingering gloom.
Chorus

Glorious gifts of magic we praise,
Maiden, Mother, Ancient of Days;
Strength, and sense, and energy; whence
Return to our sacred ways.
Chorus


Next, "Share the Light" to the tune of "The First Noel"

On this Winter holiday, let us stop and recall
That this season is holy to one and to all.
Unto some a Son is born, unto us comes a Sun,
We gather together that all paths are one.
Chorus:

Share the light, share the light!
Share the light, share the Light!
All paths are one on this holy night!

Be it Chanukah or Yule,
Christmas time or Solstice night,
All celebrate the returning light.
Lighted tree or burning log,
Or eight candle flames.
The light is what's holy, whatever their names.

and third, "Gloucester Wassail," with no changes necessary. :)

Wassail, wassail all over the town
Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown
Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree
With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee

So here is to Cherry and to his right cheek
Pray God send our master a good piece of beef
And a good piece of beef that may we all see
With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee

And here is to Dobbin and to his right eye
Pray God send our master a good piece of pie
A good piece of pie that may we all see
With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee

So here is to Broad Mary and to her broad horn
May God send our master a good crop of corn
And a good crop of corn that may we all see
With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee

And here is to Fillpail and to her left ear
Pray God send our master a happy New Year
And a happy New Year as e'er he did see
With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee

And here is to Colly and to her long tail
Pray God send our master he never may fail
A bowl of strong beer! I pray you draw near
And our jolly wassail it's then you shall hear

Come butler, come fill us a bowl of the best
Then we hope that your soul in happiness rest
But if you do draw us a bowl of the small
Then down shall go butler, bowl and all

Then here's to the maid in the lily white smock
Who tripped to the door and slipped back the lock
Who tripped to the door and pulled back the pin
For to let these jolly wassailers in.

I totally love singing these same old songs every year- sometimes with new words, sometimes not. I adore "Do You Hear What I Hear," always have. I'd love to hear anyone else's favorites.

Give Thanks

Fun fact about Meg: a major part of my spiritual practice is gratitude. I use prayers of thanks to ground, center, and remind myself how lucky I am. This season brings this practice to the forefront because I get the unusual opportunity to hear from others on the subject of that which makes them feel most thankful.

A litany, then, of blessings. I am so very blessed.

The elements of life are all around me. I am them, they are me.






The world is full of hungry desperate people and I am lucky enough to live among people who do not go hungry, who do not allow each other to go hungry. I am fed by these people and the Earth every day.




I have a strong, beautiful faith that informs and comforts me. I have a community of like minded people building a future together.


I have an awesome husband. He is my best friend and my equal, and I love him so much.


I have a wonderful family.




I have amazing, intelligent friends who shape my world.







I am privileged to go to school.


My life is not always easy or ever perfect, but it is lovely. I learn something every day, love someone every day, work hard, play hard, and think hard. I am so, so lucky this Thanksgiving.

Tolerance II

It has been brought to my attention that my blog of late has been angry, hateful, and unfair.

I agree with that assessment.

I have been angry, absolutely outraged. I feel almost as bad as if mine were one of those marriages now put in jeopardy. I feel threatened, my beliefs and way of life attacked, and betrayed by people I have come to respect and trust.

However, in my anger, I became blind to the sensibilities of those same people that I do so love and respect. I have been needlessly offensive because I was offended. I have reacted to the actions of a body of people and hurt individuals. I am so sorry for this.

I am old enough to know that it's not going to solve a damned thing. I'm also old enough to have very few outlets for feelings like the absolute disbelief and rage I have felt. I'm not marching on anybody's temple; I find violence and vandalism in the name of any cause abhorrent. I let off my steam here, in my blog, and I crossed the line.

I am so very sorry. I have had a stone tied to my heart since I realized how hurtful some of my posts have been. If I had been on the receiving end of the same, I would have gone absolutely nuclear.

I thank the gods that I have wonderful, courageous people in my life like my mother in law and sister in law who are willing to set me on my ass and tell me they are angry. It takes a lot of guts to do that with family and I am humbled and instructed by it. It is thanks to them that I am able to see this from another angle.

I love my LDS family, without exception or qualification. I have to remember to hold that separate from politics.

I am so, so sorry for any harm I have done here. Please understand it was never my intention, though it may look that way. I just needed to scream and be heard. I'm not excusing myself or justifying what I said, but trying to explain.

I, too, am learning to be tolerant. These are the times that try our souls.

All apologies are rendered with a contrite heart and a sincere wish to make this right.

I am sorry.