Palmettos.

The energy in our body shifts from positive to negative; from negative to neutral and so on. We experience a whole gamut of emotions that lead us across a wide spectrum of neurological responses. Our wellness depends on not only what we eat or how we exercise but also how we think. Have you ever thought about someone you missed only to receive a phone call from them seconds later? Have you ever wished something would take place only to find your daydream coming true? We have the power to manifest (positive or negative) events in our daily existence.

Last night I crawled into bed excited to get a good nights sleep. Out of a deep sleep an hour or two later, I rose to use the restroom, and saw that my phone was blinking indicating I had a message. The message was from my niece and as I was reading it I felt a brush against my foot in the dark. I kicked a little in reaction and put my foot back down on the ground. The second brush was clearly not the cable of my cell phone charger and this time I kicked violently smashing my foot against the bed frame. Ouch! I jumped up an flicked on the light knowing full well what I was about to find. Yep. You guessed it, a palmetto bug. Nasty large beasts in the family of cockroach that fly! Not in my bedroom. Lights on, I am grabbing the poison from the kitchen. I don't like killing things, but I refuse to sleep with that thing in my room.

The whole time I am thinking in my head how I jinxed myself by telling the story of the last palmetto in my kitchen (thankfully over a year ago now) that struggled after I sprayed him. He really refused to die for way too long to watch. I bawled hysterically, really moved by the fact that his life was so important to him and here I was taking it away. I thought that I had gained good karma for being so moved and that was why I had not seen another one in my home in so long. Boy was I stupid for telling that story!

So as I return to my bedroom to spray the intruder, I see him instantly and aim. I hit the edge of his tail and mostly my Japanese sandals that I practically live in. He takes off, under my bed. YAY! All lights on, chills everywhere, I am freaking out and I call my niece Kirstie so I can have some courage while I tear my room apart to find him. She is gracious and talks to me while I begin moving everything. Only trouble is, I don't find him. Kirstie flies over to me and she can't find him either. Great!

We are both hungry (I had fasted the day before) and I decide to take us out to breakfast. We eat, enjoying one another's company and catch up on our lives... When we got home we looked everywhere and still no sign of the critter. It took me a while to fall asleep and less than four hours later, Kirstie and I were up to the alarm getting ready to go about our day.

Eventually I return home, alone. It amazes me that suddenly everything in my house that is the right shade, shape or size is a palmetto. I am looking at every tiny detail of my home waiting for him to show his irreverent face. This is infuriating.

Several things occur to me. Perspective, is the first to find its way to the surface. When you are looking for something that is what you will find. All I could think about is that stupid beast and so I see him everywhere in the most ordinary objects in my home.

Secondly I realize that no amount of worry will make him appear or disappear. In the middle of the night when he brushed across my foot, I certainly was not thinking about seeing a palmetto, and after many hours of worrying that I will see him, he has yet to appear. If we allow worry to invade our senses, all the pleasure and insight we could be gaining evades us.

What am I really worried about anyway? He can't hurt me. It could be months before I even see one again, and as soon as I am done thinking about him, there he will be. So, what sense is it to waste so much energy worrying.

This applies to so many other situations. Waiting for that special someone to call, text, or come by. We often worry that they are mad at us, they are more interested in someone else...when all the time maybe they were just busy. The main point, I am trying to make (especially to myself) is that worrying only robs us of joy. I know all of you that are reading this already know this fact of life, however, I also know most of us still worry. I am making it a daily endeavor not to allow worry about what may or may not come to pass rob me of the beauty already in progress.

I hope you have enjoyed my silly roach story. I hope that you live your lives to the fullest each and every day.

I cannot help but think I manifest this cretin either. I truly believed that by telling the story of how I had cried over a palmettos death I had jinxed myself and sure enough there he was. We have so much power with our spiritual and electric energies.

Daily we become stronger. Daily we become wiser. Daily we learn how to be the best of ourselves.

Namaste,
RAin

Sofia Petrovna (my first paper for Politics and Literature)

The rapport of the gavel echoed through more than merely the four walls of the courtroom. The sound carried through the very constitution of my soul. Agape’s name was emblazoned across my chest and my skin burned with the same heat as the famous chest in The Scarlet Letter (Hawthorne, 1992). What if all the district attorney had said was true? What if it was not? How does one know what to believe? Thomas Jefferson once said, “Follow the truth wherever it may lead” but how easy is it to actually find the truth? Nietzsche said, “There is no truth. There is only perception.”

With all the swirling lines of media propaganda and the constant incoming slew of political statements, how does the general public decide what is truth and what is merely illusion? Travel back with me to the age of Stalin (1929-1953) and imagine just how much information the general public was not privy to. To this day, many still believe that Stalin was a brilliant geneticist, scientist, and strong leader due to the imagery propagated to the working class.

Sofia Petrovna touched me deeply due to my own personal saga dealing with the legal system and the stories that weave their way into the public lore. In the beginning of the story, Sofia Petrovna is a very hard working woman, a loving mother and a woman who exists largely to assess the outside world. She is seen analyzing the women around her in her work place. She notes parts of their personalities, their skills and weaknesses and the way a woman may affect the rest of the team. She does not however seem to have a very rich internal world. She is (unlike her son and his friends) not very politically savvy.

            Sofia Petrovna has lost her husband and she finds herself in perfect timing to join the up and coming force of working class women. She has a solid job and is a valued team leader. She is the mother of an intelligent son who is prominent in school and truly stands out from the rest. He is politically active yet she is not the reason he became that way. Suddenly, everything changes. People she knows are being arrested. Her son is arrested. His best friend is arrested. The young woman in love with her son commits suicide. Yet, Sofia still seems to believe the propaganda of her government.

            She wrestles furiously with the world she had come to believe she knew so well. She even suggests that her son must have done something to get arrested. People just do not get arrested for nothing in her country. Looking back upon history, it is obvious to see that the purge of Stalin collected intellectuals, scientists, specialists, reactionaries, aristocrats, and anyone who did not fit the type who would blindly follow their leader. During that time, however, it was not so easy to see what was going on around them.

            Anyone lacking in vigilance would end up arrested. This created a massive fear among the people of Russia. Many began turning people in just so they would exemplify due diligence and not see themselves arrested. This created space for personal vendettas, snitching and outright lies in order to make oneself look good in the government eye. It also left a lot of confusion in the minds of those who could not yet see what was going on. From outside the story, it is easy to judge Sofia Petrovna. It is easy to believe that she should have seen what was going on much sooner. It is easy to assume how she should have felt and how she should have behaved.

            Pravda, the main publication circulated to the people of Russia, means truth. Printed news at this time was a main vein for social knowledge. Within the confines of a social construct, knowledge is dispersed as those in power see fit. The information that reaches the general public is up to them. When Doctor Kiparisov is taken (Chukovskaya, 1967, p. 31) the temperature of the peaceful office Christmas party suddenly changes. Sofia Petrovna is shocked yet she quickly comes up with a rationalization. Kolya had made it clear to her that Leningrad would have to remove certain elements when they proved to be unreliable. Sometimes it is easier and more comfortable to believe the painted picture propaganda rather than the cold hard truth.

            After her son’s arrest, Sofia Petrovna begins the process of searching for the truth about his case. It is at this point in the story where the shadow self of Mother Russia and the shadow self of Sofia Petrovna begin to arise. She is told not to wait in front of the jail and finds herself forced into the dissonant underworld of wailing children and cold feet waiting to find any morsel of information about loved ones who had been arrested (Chukovskaya, 1967, p. 47). Unfortunately, Sofia Petrovna still does not see. She believes that her son is a rare innocent and the rest must have done something to have been arrested.

            When Kolya is said to have confessed to his crimes (Chukovskaya, 1967, p. 78) his friends know immediately this cannot be truth. However, Sofia Petrovna, staunchly clinging to her faith in the government, wrestles with the conflicting information. The undercurrent of her cognitive dissonance begins to surface although it will be a long time before she is able to see the light clearly. It is exactly this type of staunch belief that a government, interested in socially constructing the world to suit their needs, is looking for.

            As a child I did not have a television. I was not allowed to read secular books or listen to secular music. I was removed from things that my peers all seemed to know. As I morphed into a young adult, I chose to stay removed from popular media. I was too sensitive for the news or current events. I was also a child born into a long line of military men serving the great United States of America. I was a patriot. I believed in my country. I was proud of my forefathers fighting for the rights I had been born with. The day Agape Armageddon Towns was arrested served as a catalyst that utterly changed the way I saw the world around me.

            Capitalism is supposed to be the American dream. What we see around us is opportunity, apple pie and dreams coming true. However, when one faces the fact that minorities compose the majority of the prison population here in the United States, the American dream quickly transforms into a nightmare. The prison system becomes a money-making machine and incarcerated minorities become the slaves of today. Since the 1960’s prison construction has boomed and our government has had no trouble filling its cells with prisoners (Lynch, 2002, p.110). Are there two Americas: one for the privileged and one for the rich?

            Over the past few years, Agape has written me many letters of horrendous occasions within the walls of Attica. Sofia Petrovna received one letter from her son. Agape and I speak multiple times per week. Sofia Petrovna received no phone calls. I have visited Agape as often as possible. Sofia Petrovna never saw the face of her son again. I send Agape money any chance I get. Sofia Petrovna was not allowed to send her son money. I have stayed up to date with Agape’s case. Sofia Petrovna was not offered anything beyond the statement that her son had confessed to his crimes and would be serving ten years. I am grateful that I do not have to live in silence as Sofia Petrovna did. However, I see no more justice in the American prison system for all its pomp and circumstance.

            With every magazine, every television show, every clothing designer, every fast food restaurant, every classroom text, and every Sunday church service, we as Americans are told what to believe. Money is the language with which we speak. Capitalism became a dream for one percent of the population while the ninety nine live in a dark reflection of the great white beast. What we need are reality television shows that actually confront reality. What is it like to live in an inner city neighborhood in America? What is it like to be a poor minority? What is it like within the walls of any given American prison?

            In Capitalism: A Love Story (Moore, 2009), Michael Moore does a phenomenal job exposing the grimy underbelly of such a well-designed system. He delves into many uncomfortable truths about what happens when “the love of money” becomes “the root of all evil (The Bible, I Timothy 6:10).” Like Sofia Petrovna I wrestled with the facts as they presented themselves to me. I had run from the truth for so many years, uncomfortable with the six o’clock news.

            Sofia Petrovna could not handle the weight of the facts upon her chest. She began telling fantasy tales of her son’s eminent return (Chukovskaya, 1967, p. 102). She began telling everyone of the girl he would marry and where they would go for their honeymoon. The one letter she had truly received she spoke nothing of. In the true letter, she learned of his abuse. She hid it under her pillow and in that moment she realized why she must not keep it. Once one arises to political awareness, what is the next step?

            For Sofia Petrovna, she realized she must not keep the letter. She burned it and with that act perhaps lost a little of her sanity. She had fought so long to stay constant with the picture that had been painted for her. She justified and rationalized every act she could find a way to augment to suit her needs. She watched the world emblazoned burning around her and refused to see the truth. She knew there was nothing she could do to fight her government. If she revolted, she would merely be transported away or killed. Her only way out was to resort to her fantasy world. She removed herself from everyone and after many years of living external to herself, she moved to an internal realm where she had never before dwelt.

            How does one fight an entire government? How does one revolt against a system so corrupt? How does one claim social responsibility in a world where those in power paint the picture for the general population to believe? These (and many others) are questions I ask myself every day. Now that I have been outside The Matrix, the girl in the red dress in no longer attractive (Warner Home Video, 1999).  In any regime, the ruling class is a much smaller percentage than those being governed. How is it then that a thousand or so Bolsheviks could rule millions of Russian people? How does the one percent hold so much power over the ninety nine? What made the rise of Hitler’s fist so powerful that millions of innocent Jews were slaughtered under his command? Can anyone blame Sofia Petrovna for retracting to her fantasy world?

            For the crime Agape Towns was accused, a white man would have received a three to five year sentence. As a black man from a low income demographic, his sentence was seventeen years. Since his incarceration, my whole life has changed. No longer do I have the luxury of ignoring the presence of corruption all around me. No longer do I have the ability to ignore the current events of my country, of my globe. I have risen to social consciousness and unlike Sofia Petrovna, I have decided to dedicate my life’s work toward leaving this world a better place. I cannot allow myself to escape to a fantasy world although I can understand why she did.

            Do I believe it will be easy to stand up for what I believe? Do I believe that a system so well constructed will be easy to change? Do I believe that the one percent will stand down and share their funds with the rest of the starving world? Do I believe that those in power will sit down and pass their baton to me? No. However, I do believe that this world is ripe for change. I do believe that I am not alone. I do believe that oppressed peoples deserve freedom and justice and liberty. I do believe that those in power must be held accountable. I am not naïve and I do recognize that the entirety of the history of mankind is marked by the struggle between those in power and those subjugated by that power. I also believe in the power of a different kind of dream: the kind of dream dreamt by Martin Luther King.

           

References:

Chukovskaia, L. K. (1967). Sofia Petrovna. J. D. Murray (Ed.). Northwestern University Press.

Hawthorne, N. (1992). The scarlet letter. Wordsworth editions.

King, M. L. (2012). I have a dream. Random House LLC.

Lynch, M. (2002). The culture of control: Crime and social order in contemporary society. PoLAR:

Matrix. Warner Home Video, 1999.

Moore, M. (2009). Capitalism: A love story [Film]. Beverly Hills, CA: Overture Films.

When the way to the sky crumbles...

On May 9th, 1980, the twenty one thousand, eight hundred and seventy seven foot Sunshine Skyway Bridge was struck by a freighter, knocking out the center of the bridge. Thirty five years ago, thirty five people were killed when the bridge collapsed. My great-grandmother, who we lovingly called GiGi was on that bridge. I remember the excitement of my family as we heard the news and what seemed like an eternity later as we learned that GiGi was gratefully still alive and well. It is always interesting to me to learn the stories that form the psyche of a human being.

I love being up in the air, but for years I was quite frightened to be on bridges. My father is one of the best drivers I know and as a child the family and I used to be driven around to many different places (including locations that took us over the Sunshine Skyway Bridge). Still, the dreams found their way into my nights. I dreamed often as I became old enough to drive that I was driving on the Skyway and either lost control of the car, flew off the side, or had dreams where I was on a bridge that turned into a pier that turned into a dock that deadends in the ocean. Not the ideal Sunday drive.

The recurring theme lasted with me for many years. Once I had the dream and I was driving on a very high, voluptuously curvy bridge bordering on too fast to maintain control of my vehicle. The bridge turns into a pier and then turns into a boardwalk quite close to the surface of the water, and very quickly there is no more surface to drive on, only water and sky. On this occasion, I jumped out of my vehicle as it went over and into the ocean and I sat down at the edge of the dock where it met the sea. My friend Somer was there with some other friends of hers that I did not know and they were all mermaids. The mermaids and I laughed and joke and spoke of pleasant things. I feel that the dream was my way of facing a fear that began in my childhood.

Dreams are avenues of the soul to face our fears, conquer our demons, explore new territory, etc. Since that dream where I met with the mermaids, my dreams of bridges are more secure. I now find myself driving on curvy bridges, often times at high speeds, sometimes bordering losing control but that is as intense as it gets these days.

My doctorate program at Pacifica Graduate Institute will focus on Depth Psychology which relies heavily on the works of Carl Jung and Sigmund Freud. Like Jung, I love the power of dreams.

Based on ancient Native American lore (in which I am part) I make dream weavers. Unlike dream catchers, these are designed to invoke the dream realm and open pathways to our dreamworld to allow spiritual guidance and personal growth. My personal dream weaver hangs above my bed complete with a plethora of feathers which were given to me or landed in my lap (or at my feet) thanks to Mother Nature.

Today, my friends Shana and Jorges son was celebrating his first birthday. The party forced me to drive over the Skyway. I don't believe I have ever controlled the wheel driving over the bridge. I have been a passenger many times, but I do not recall every being the driver. It was liberating and the views from this very tall bridge were astounding. Would that I could have taken some photographs.

The collapse in 1980 saw over 1200 feet of the bridge collapsing as thirty five people plummeted over 150 feet to their watery grave. We develop so many constructs in the name of progress in this modern world. As a child all I knew was the bridges would not necessarily deliver you to the other side.

Today as I crossed Tampa Bay, I was swept away hovering gingerly between the waking world and the dream world. I have had the dream at least a thousand times, and every time I wake with something new, something reborn, something that alters my awareness.

We have the power to augment and grow, live and flow in this world within a world within a world within a dream.

You just have to believe. You have the power to be free.

~Live. Love. Laugh.

and most importantly,

~~dream~~

RAin.