Money on Our Minds

A few weeks back I attended a reading and book signing at a bookstore in Berkeley.  The folks who gathered didn't number many -- 17 by my count -- but the reading was excellent and the discussion that followed was quite interesting (for instance, I learned how fiction writing has changed since Reagan took office).  But not many books sold.  I know that the only reason a commercial bookstore hosts author readings is to sell books, and that this was consequently the chief concern of the bookstore's event coordinator. When I think of him owning the idea that book sales is the measure of a successful book reading event, I yearn for simplicity.  Isn't it enough that people were moved to near tears by incredible prose?  That we were impacted and inspired by engaging each other in discussion about the themes presented, the characters, the conflict, and why the story resonates?  Does it matter at all that we actually connected with each other?

And so a poem on the subject . . .

Poetry Slam!

Those two words juxtaposed always seem to

close

my

mind.

Who’s corporate brain thought up the idea of competing on a stage

with poetry?

Must be the same brain that thought up baby contests &

gospel choir competitions.

Some things are pure and are

oddly tainted

by the desire to win or be the best.

Since when did, Oh, she’s absolutely adorable! 
Hallelujah, bless the Lord!

and a room filled with Ah, yes! following the delivery of a profound poetic line

fail to fully satisfy?

Once we start pretending that money adds something

will we ever stop?

Copyright November 2013 by Dianne Durham

What If?

We live in a construct we call reality.  The rules of this construct are both visible (e.g., traffic signs) and invisible (e.g., women are inferior to men).  The visible rules are of course tangible; we generally know or can research their parameters, determine who put them in place and why. But few people will actually admit that the invisible rules are actually rules, largely because these rules have become our basic operating assumptions about the way things are – i.e., our reality.  We accept and rely on these assumptions (or frames of reference) to the extent that getting through the day without them is pretty much unthinkable.

Questions about these invisible rules will inevitably arise when our adherence to them becomes uncomfortable or burdensome.  This questioning process is one of introspection until we develop the courage to pose these questions publicly.  If you’ve begun this process and feel daunted by it, or just feel lonely in your quest, I’d like to offer some encouragement.  How?  By publicly posing some thoughts and questions for all to consider:

What if actively engaging our imagination is more productive and valuable than any other human pursuit?

What if the most highly evolved and intelligent species on earth is dolphins?  or bees?  or sunflowers?

What if digital technology is actually the single greatest deterrent to human advancement and progress?

What if everything we've learned – from our nuclear families, our friends and associates, our teachers and mentors, and our various news and information sources – is skewed or wrong?  For example, when I was a child in the early ‘60’s, I learned that cow’s milk was an absolutely essential part of a healthy diet; had my parents refused to give me milk, they most likely would have been considered neglectful parents.

Since over the passage of time research changes the facts, should not our thinking right now embrace the possibility that what we understand and accept as valid in any given area of thought just might be completely wrong?

What purpose do these questions and thoughts serve?  How do they help us to live and get through the problems we encounter every day?  Questioning our reality helps us to better understand the nature  and essence of the problems we face, enabling us to actually solve them rather than apply mere temporary fixes.  Questioning our assumptions means that we’re willing and able to think freely for ourselves, a fundamental quality of freedom.

What if our ability to live as free human beings hinged on the questions we asked?

Copyright October, 2013 by Dianne Durham

Running for the Bus!

When I moved to Mendocino County in 2010, I sold my car, knowing that I could survive among the magnificent trees up north without wheels.  I recently moved into a poor West Oakland neighborhood, where getting around without a car is slowly but surely changing me.

Public transportation in my neighborhood is quite the standard, and those of us who rely on it have become intimate with frustration and desperation.  Despite the positive aspects of  becoming adept at trip planning and learning to be flexible, the little amount of control we have to arrive at our destination at an appointed time redefines us.  Last week, a middle-aged woman got off the bus I was on and ran with all her might to catch her connecting bus, only to see it pull away.  My heart sank, and I believe that everybody on my bus who witnessed the woman literally felt her defeat. Something slowly falls apart inside when we regularly experience doing everything we can, to no avail.

Defeat.  I'm more acquainted with the word and experience now than I've ever been. Missing a bus now and then is not in itself defeating; knowing that I can do everything in my power and still miss the bus, is. This is a necessary life adjustment, yet it gives me pause about the society of low-income people we are becoming.  I won’t here repeat the oft-quoted stats about the increase of poverty in the United States; what I will say is that increasing poverty absolutely means increasing despondency. 

I honestly don't know what to say about the growing despondency.  So what's my purpose in writing this blog post?   I would just ask that all artists – critically thinking and creatively engaged people – make a conscious effort to think about what life is like for those without the comforts you may take for granted.  Then weave those thoughts and imaginings into your political discourse or abstract paintings or photography or whatever may be your particular art form.  Your personal experience and perspective are indeed precious, as is your willingness and ability to allow your artwork to reflect more than that.  I believe that in these most difficult times, we must extend beyond ourselves if we are to survive.

Copyright September 2013 by Dianne Durham

Let's Go To War!

Critical thinking will always discredit the validity of what government officials say when they’re gearing up for war.  And creative thinking will always render a war option foolish, even idiotic and diabolical.  So as artists – creatively engaged people – we must declare war on the shameful stupidity of a government that rushes to engage militarily when alternatives are available and desperately indicated.

Artists could begin a “truth campaign” in which we use creative ways to, for example, expose how the U.S. in recent years used white phosphorus (yes, a chemical weapon!) in Fallujah.¹ The U.S. military also dropped depleted uranium (DU) in Kosovo,² Iraq,³ and Libya,⁴ and of course used Agent Orange in various places during the Viet Nam war, causing serious long-term damage not only to the “enemy” but to U.S. soldiers!⁵  An artistic truth campaign might not result in immediate embarrassment and remorse among our elected officials, motivating them to change their behavior, but it would enable folks to be more clear about what’s really going on – the first step in making fundamental societal change.

Remember the song, “We Are the World,” the 1985 collaborative project  written by Michael Jackson and Lionel Ritchie and performed by 47 artists? Whether or not you liked the simple song, artists came together to make a profound statement.  Artists do have power, and I’m not just talkin’ collective celebrity power, but power to paint a different picture for all to see, images painted with indelible ink that will remain in the minds and hearts of those who partake of them.

So, let’s go to war against insanity!  Let’s embark on a mission to expose lies and tell the truth in our poems and essays, our song lyrics and theatre scripts, our murals and photography, in the stories we read to our children and grandchildren, and in our celebratory dances that exalt the human spirit.  Let us individually and collectively resolve to remain honest, untainted by the lies that would lure us into justifying the killing of people in Syria or anywhere else!

Photo:  Ede Morris singing her tribute to Trayvon Martin at an "All Humanity March" in Ukiah, CA, March, 2012.

¹ ”America’s Fallujah Legacy,” by Karlos Zurutuza. http://www.globalresearch.ca/america-s-fallujah-legacy-white-phosphorous-depleted-uranium-the-fate-of-iraq-s-children/30372

² “Uranium Risks Haunt Kosovo Survivors,” http://www.dw.de/uranium-risks-haunt-kosovo-survivors/a-16366645

³ “US Depleted Uranium as Malicious as Syrian Chemical Weapons,” http://www.huffingtonpost.com/craig-considine/us-depleted-uranium-as-ma_b_3812888.html

⁴ “US-NATO Forces Used Depleted Uranium Ammunition in Libya. Selected Articles,” http://www.globalresearch.ca/us-nato-forces-used-depleted-uranium-ammunition-in-libya-selected-articles/24367 

⁵ “Vietnam veterans exposed to Agent Orange, increased cancer risk – study,” http://tvnz.co.nz/lifestyle-news/vietnam-veterans-exposed-agent-orange-increased-cancer-risk-study-5556223

Copyright Dianne Durham, September 2013

Getting Through Today

I can so easily become heavily burdened by the racistsexistmoneyhungrydeceitfulmasterfulmanipulation called life in these United States.  This morning I pondered the thought that many folks are painfully aware that our society (indeed, our world) is in desperate need of transformation – I’m certainly not the only person with this realization and burden.  Yet, we all somehow get through each day.  How?  What is it that we do to stay centered, what do we tell ourselves?

I’ve experienced some very difficult days these past few weeks, during which I completely forgot that I’m connected.  I allowed my inner turmoil to jeopardize my relationship with my family, and I was so internally focused that I lost sight of my connection with nature.  I forgot how much calm and perspective I've derived in the past from walking slowly among the trees, from looking closely at a flower. 

In my quest to live freely, I'm deeply comforted by the unconditional love of my family and immensely grateful for the ever-present opportunity to indulge myself in the simultaneous euphoria and grounding offered by nature. 

So I will get through today.  And what about you?  Are you ever overwhelmed by the injustice and insanity offered up on a platter daily? Pretending that things aren't so bad is not a truth that can maintain a strong connection.  Looking closely at a flower may not impact you like it does me, but hopefully you can find something that will remind you that life is diverse, and cannot begin to be summed up by your own perspective or experience. Knowing how downward-pulling disconnection can be, I encourage you to somehow make yourself remember that you're connected!  Our sustained connection to each other and to the Earth will make the transformation of our society and world possible.

Copyright August, 2013 by Dianne Durham

A Work of Art

I think about commissioned art:

does the commission cause a compromise? 

If anyone ever commissions me to write a poem

I hope I will confer with the Writing Spirit

then

just

let

the poem

Be

I listened to Amy Goodman interview Cornel West a few weeks ago¹ and I was incredibly moved by Dr. West’s courage to expose the hypocrisy of the Obama administration.  A well-known philosopher and intellectual, Dr. West spoke freely and passionately.  His words weren’t beholden to anyone with power or influence, but to his own standard of moral integrity. 

I'm inspired by his words to do likewise:  to not allow the promise of success, comfort, or any convenience to weaken my character, and to not allow the various agendas of people and powers to compromise my art.  I don’t pretend that this will be easy; it will be a work of art.  May we all develop the eye for detail, the perfect timing, the critical analysis and profound courage that will create the masterpiece of an uncompromising life.

¹ http://www.democracynow.org/2013/7/22/cornel_west_obamas_response_to_trayvon

Copyright August 2013 by Dianne Durham

Out of Water Experience

Can  you imagine imposing rules

on a fish?

it would simply swim away and never come back.

but don’t you remember? we used to be fish!

During the past couple of years of devoting my energy and time to social justice issues, I’ve come to realize that we’re living outside of our element.  The economic, political, and judicial systems that govern our society are by nature inflexible constructs.  We are by nature flexible; thus, any system, regardless of how efficient, constrains our flexibility and hinders our authentic expression. 

The imagination is a place where anything can happen, anything at all, a place without constraints.  I submit that this is our true element.  

My grandmother used to always tell her young grandchildren, Remember who you are and what your name is!  Her intention behind these cautionary words was for us to always be mindful of our behavior, and they are actually quite profound.  When we remember our true nature and live accordingly – i.e., as flexible, imaginative, and creative beings -- we will be free!


Copyright August 2013 by Dianne Durham

Heaven Must Be Like This!

Feeling like a fool for driving across the Bay Bridge this past Friday evening when I could easily have taken BART, I endured the 50 minute drive across the upper deck into foggy San Francisco while listening to static-filled Reggae music  broadcast by a radio station that never identified itself.  I arrived at the 3.9 Art Collective on Fillmore Street, right across the street from Yoshi’s Jazz Club, right on time.  

The occasion was a Meet & Greet. I walked into a lively room that immediately embraced me with color!  The spectacular art on the walls, the myriad of folks mingling, the table piled high with fabric scraps begging folks to weave them, the world music singing out from the DJ’s corner, and the Spirit of freedom that permeated the room -- all came together in the creation of an artistic masterpiece!

The 3.9 Art Collective is an association of artists, curators, art writers, and art enthusiasts who live in San Francisco and bear witness to the city’s dwindling black population.  The Collective is dedicated to reversing this trend and has set out to do so by drawing attention to the historical and ongoing presence of black artists in the city.  This Meet & Greet event, free and open to the public, brought folks together to appreciate the artwork of several Collective members exhibited on the walls.  The event also celebrated the artist in each of us.  While music and drumming harmonized, some of us crocheted, others painted, and we shared conversations about how art has had its way with us.  As I sat crocheting and groovin' to the sound of the drum, Melorra, the sister next to me, smiled and proclaimed, "Anything can happen here!"  One of the Collective members who shared welcoming words at the mic said, "You won't find news about things like what's happening here tonight on the front page of the Chronicle." 

We were all connected by the desire to live fully, freely.  And for the 3 hours that we spent together on a cool July night in San Francisco, we did that with precision.  Heaven must be like this!

For more information about the 3.9 Art Collective, visit: www.threepointninecollective.com

Mama Bear

I’ve come to realize that I’m a pacifist.  I find it difficult even to look at a gun closely – I can count the number of times I’ve done so on two fingers.  When I find it necessary to confront someone, I’m driven by the need to resolve conflict rather than wanting to humiliate, exact revenge, or in any way keep conflict going. However, I’m also a mother.  Years ago when I saw that my 4-year-old son’s safety was at risk due to a neighbor’s idiotic behavior, I became MAMA BEAR!  The only thing on my mind was making sure that my neighbor regretted the very thought of endangering my child. 

As a pacifist, feeling the surge of this Mama Bear energy has been rare.  And as a pacifist, I also know that this energy is purposeful – it’s supposed to be directed at the source of a problem in order to immediately and effectively eradicate it.  So, where do I direct this energy when it rises in response to the idiotic, self-serving, criminal behavior that permeates the various systems of our society, endangering our lives?  There is no tangible receptor for my righteous rage.  My rage has thus become pain, a pain that I must learn to manage if I am to live a healthy, productive life.

Or so I’m told.  You can’t save the world.  These familiar words gently grace my ears, whispered from the lips of those who love me.  They worry that my carrying pain is unhealthy, and they  believe that I might enjoy more inner peace by directing my energy toward a single cause where I might actually see some positive impact. But I'm in pain because it's my compassion that makes me want to "roar." Wouldn't managing my pain also require me to "manage" my compassion, essentially denying who I really am?  Hmmm.

My son, now 27, lives 3000 miles away in New York.  I was so sure that once he grew up  and became independent, my Mama Bear energy would go into long-term hibernation.  Little did I realize that his independence would actually enable me to see beyond his immediate well-being and bring into my view the fundamental threats to our society and our world:  white supremacy, global capitalism, and a general disdain for Mother Earth and all her non-human species.

I am a pacifist.  I am also Mama Bear.  And yes, I must “roar” -- I must feel my full compassion and let it profoundly guide me rather than managing it in efforts to protect myself from being deeply pained.  I also believe that each of us knowing who we are and being true to who we are is absolutely necessary in order for us to truly transform our society and our world.

Copyright 2013 by Dianne Durham

Okay, here's what we need to do . . .

These words are what I so longed to hear from someone charismatic and wise on this morning following the Zimmerman verdict.  Instead, I heard birds singing and the heavy footsteps of the people who live upstairs.

I longed for clear, inspiring instruction on how to effectively respond to the Trayvon Martin case, but found none.  And finding no comfort, I felt alone, helpless, angry, and utterly defeated.

And this is how I’m supposed to feel in a system that survives on illusion.  If I were to feel engaged and powerful and righteous, I would surely expose the illusion and live according to truth.  I believe we all know the truth -- or at least we all know better than the lie.

So, before we vote for another political candidate, or sign a petition, or participate in a protest, the questions are:  Are we willing to live accordingly to the truth?  How do we live according to what we know is true?  The problem is that what we know and what we accept are very different matters.  So, we begin by accepting the truth about ourselves

     in everything your greatness is not you

     it’s your eyes

    they are your salvation 

and then we open our eyes!

Copyright Dianne Durham, July 2013

Name-calling As Art

What's in a name -- recognition?  Power?  Understanding?  Without attempting a scientific explanation, I will say that when I can call something by name -- whether a person, place, or thing -- I feel more confident about that thing.  I have pinpointed it, which results in a very real sense of satisfaction.

Art is a way of naming how we experience something.  It helps us to reason, to make sense of our world, giving rise to the phrase, Ahh, I see it!  To belittle or in any way treat art as merely an object -- something that can be provided or not, in public schools; something that can be made accessible or not, to poor people; something that is possessed and purposeful only to the extent that it is personally beneficial -- is a tragic misunderstanding of ourselves.

We are intrinsically artistic, having the ability to label our experience using words, paint, clay, movement, instruments, touch, textiles, song.  Our insistence on making art, of naming our experience through various means, will maintain our humanity and will provide a sense of satisfaction that just may see us through every difficult circumstance.


Copyright 2013 by Dianne Durham

Can't You See Him?

What’s next, reinstatement of the Fugitive Slave Act?  This is the question my brother asked incredulously when the Supreme Court gutted the Voting Rights Act last week.  Of course, I wish I could say that he was joking, but honestly, he wasn’t.  His question pinpoints the reality that even though the Supreme Court, during the same week, sensibly ruled the Defense of Marriage Act  (DOMA) to be unconstitutional, there are those who remain determined to continue setting limits on our quality of life. 

My niece, who just finished a session of student teaching, witnessed an elementary  school teacher praise and  hand out doughnuts to the children who did well on their standardized testing; none for those who didn’t do so well . . .  My nephew had an eye appointment recently and was told he’s in the early stages of glaucoma, a disease which, if left uncontrolled, causes blindness. My nephew has no medical insurance; a 30-day supply of his eye drop medication costs $200 . . .  The U.S. imprisons more people – and more people of color – than  any other country in the world.^1,2. . . Last week President Obama reassured us that the NSA isn’t actually listening to our phone calls – they’re simply monitoring when, and to whom, and for how long, we talk. 

There he is!  Can’t you see him?  He’s a huge gray elephant with yellowing tusks and big floppy ears, and when he bellows, my palms don’t protect my ears from the blaring sound.  Can’t you see him?  His name is Calamity.  I often hear folks complain about him – how disgusting, expensive, insensitive, and dangerous he is.  I join in and we talk as though he exists in some faraway place like Mars . . .  but now I can see him everywhere I turn – in my dining room, and my bathroom, and in my public library  down the street.  He muscled his way through airport security and managed  to get on my fully-booked flight to New York a few weeks back.  He’s in the exam room at my doctor’s office, and whenever I go to the pharmacy, he’s right there, standing in line.

We refuse to see this elephant named Calamity in our every space, and until we do, he will continue to have his way with us.  Only when we acknowledge his intimate presence and call him by name will we be able to figure out how to make him go away.  If we fail to do these things, one day sooner than we think, this mighty elephant will raise his huge body on his powerful hind legs, cry out triumphantly, and then trample us!

Written by Dianne Durham

¹ As reported on the International Centre for Prison Studies website, http://www.prisonstudies.org/info/worldbrief/wpb_stats.php?area=all&category=wb_poprate

² Alexander. M. (2012). The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness. New York: The New Press.  (Page 8).

The Courage To Be Creative

When I experience a poetry slam, dance performance, live music event or art gallery, I often walk away wondering why we haven’t yet channeled the full power of our creative energy in a way that radically transforms our society.  I think it’s because we’re justifiably scared.

Some of our fear has to do with our own capabilities.  Many of us believe that being creative requires having a specific talent.  We forget that everyday we’re creative with things like how to provide low-cost, yet educational summer activities for our kids, or how to raise the extra money needed to pay for a new transmission when savings don’t exist.  Sad to say, but if we don’t write poetry or dance or draw extremely well, we conclude that we’re not creative.    And it doesn’t take long for this ill-conceived conclusion to become a basic operating assumption; to seriously question it is guaranteed to be a time-consuming and frustrating process, possibly even an emotionally painful one.  That’s scary.

On a societal level, the institutions and systems that are firmly in place – governmental financial, educational, and legal – are just that:  firmly in place!  They’re deeply entrenched, inflexible, massive, and so intimidating that they stifle creativity.  The governmental and corporate institutions that dominate our society also oppress many, including communities of color, poor communities, men and women who have been incarcerated, and gender non-conforming folks.  But the continued existence of these oppressive institutions is threatened by our creative potential.  Think about it:  the expression of some creative thinking, such as how we might live more connected to our planet and to each other, may even constitute a terrorist threat given the verbiage of such laws as the Patriot Act and the National Defense Authorization Act (NDAA). 

So, we do have reasons to fear developing our own creative potential.  But if, on a personal level, this is your desire, consider overcoming your fear by making a list of what you think might be gained by developing your creative potential.  This thoughtful process may inspire you to plunge deeper, no longer hindered by fear.  As you gain greater familiarity and confidence with your creative potential, you will also likely gain the courage to live creatively.  And it’s our collective, courageous, creative living that will shake the very foundation of our oppressive society.

Tell Me More

While visiting family in New York City this past weekend, my son took me for a walk through a small section of the Chelsea District, an area flourishing with art galleries.  We had a good time peeking into several galleries; with our somewhat limited time frame our primary goal was just to get some sense of the art scene in one of the world’s major art destinations.  The art we saw in Chelsea was interesting enough, yet it was during my solo stroll up 125^th Street in Harlem the next day that I encountered art that conjured a range of emotions and left me longing for a fuller picture. 

When I walked into The Studio Museum in Harlem on 125^th Street, I was excited about seeing a photography exhibition featuring a series of Gordon Parks’ photos from 1967, many of which appeared in LIFE magazine as a photo essay that year.  I hadn’t seen any of Parks’ work in years, so I was eager to revisit his portrayals from over forty years ago.  The exhibition depicted various scenes in the life of an impoverished Black family, the Fontenelles, who lived in Harlem.  The photos were somber, sullen, even sickening in their depiction of abject urban poverty.  I was also startled by the sheer absence of smiles or celebrations in this series of Fontenelle family photos, a family who appeared incapable of mustering up the strength to demonstrate anything other than their victimization.  And so in my mind the photo series was skewed. 

Parks’ camera lens zoomed in on the squalor in which the Fontenelle family lived.  The gaping holes and exposed pipes in the walls made me angry about the penetrating racism that Black people have always endured in this country.   But the family’s own squalor – clothes piled and trash strewn throughout the apartment – also made me angry.  I could only imagine that those pictures in 1967 conveyed the message that all poor Black people are consequently incapable of maintaining cleanliness and the accompanying sense of self-worth.  I’m sure Parks’ portrayal of such living conditions was part of a larger purpose at the time his photo essay appeared in LIFE magazine – perhaps he intentionally focused on the utterly debilitating effects of poverty. 

I’m not at all saying that Parks should have portrayed a contented or happy poverty-stricken family.  I’m saying that oppressed people are always more than their state of oppression.  Parks presents a family photo album that depicts only the family's dire impoverishment. While I most certainly honor and appreciate Mr. Parks for his telling photos of the Fontenelles, I just wish his photos had told me more.

Visit The Studio Museum in Harlem online at www.studiomuseum.org.

Just Imagine!

For my first Steppin’ Way Out blog post, I wanna talk about the imagination – remember that sweet place that you were pulled back from by your 3^rd grade teacher until you got the message that it wasn’t a place you should go, that there were many more important things to do?

For too many of us, such 3rd grade experiences have pushed the imagination way outside of our comfort zone.  We just don't know what to expect in that unfamiliar place, though we know that literally anything can happen there.  Accessing our imagination, our internal playground, is a lot like taking a bike ride when we’re working against a tight deadline.  Our imagination simply gets in the way of all the things we have to do just to live.

But when I desperately needed "just to live," I rediscovered my imagination. Panic and desperation drove me into that barely recognizable place, and I wasn’t there long before I realized it was a wide open, welcoming space where I could ask anything, consider anything, accomplish anything.  Using my imagination enabled me to create real and effective alternatives to the limited, unworkable choices I had previously faced. 

The next time you find yourself facing ridiculous or intolerable options, knock on your imagination’s door by asking, Does it have to be this way?  Then, imagine letting go of all the requirements, all the assumptions . . . just imagine.