I'm really seeing how in a sudden crisis, we act---we can only act--out of who we already are, with the things and the people we already know or somehow have access to.
And that can be healing, or not. The heat of crisis can burn away differences, or weld them in place.
I've unfriended a couple people, for instance, who have posted NOTHING about the murder-by-police in our city.
Or--THE WORST--have only posted things like this post of a friend of a friend:
"Luckily the riots are not near me. We're safe."
Oh? Shame on you, then.
To switch up my metaphors... I am super grateful that the pond scum that was growing on the stagnant water of me during the Stay at Home (not like Covid is gone, but Stay at Home is, big time!)--that gunk quickly washed clear as the waters began to rush.
Specifically, a bunch of stuck and gunky connections came clear.
For instance, with my sister.
We hadn't talked for almost two months before the police murdered George F. After that, we connected on FB a little.
Today she emailed me this photo of her putting face masks on the clothesline she'd seen on my FB. She's part of a sewing group that for a couple few years has made reuable cloth bags to give away free. Now they're making face masks and scrub caps and the like, and distributing them all over. (Another example of acting out of who you are and who you already know.)
She wrote:
I actually hadn't seen this---when I've been there, it's been too crowded to see this on the ground.
I keep noticing language.
I am NOT criticizing my sister here--I know what she meant, and it was only good. But I would not say this is "the spot where George Floyd died."
I would say, "the spot where the police murdered/killed/asphyxiated George Floyd".
(I see my workplace has not changed the language on the website. (Yet?) Oh well.)
The neighbors who have been watching out for the black-owned gas station in bink's neighborhood have now painted a mural on the barrier.
bink said the gas station owner is just a friendly guy who's always there at his store and gets to know everyone.
So--again--who you are comes into play. It's not just racial justice, it's that people LIKE this guy based on who he is and how he treats them.
She posted this photo of the painted murl today:
I love it so much--I want this as a T-shirt to wear! I guess I could make such a thing... It's like the Covid virus has turned to flowers. It hasn't! All this contact is very worrisome, in fact. But there has been a flowering of love in action, on the part of everyday folks.
Not the super-activists, you know, just the family on the corner... Around the country.
Hey, that's us!!!
Yeah, but hate is thriving too. It's beyond creepy scary, the multiple sightings of white boys in trucks without license plates tearing around with gas cans. They are acting out who they are, too.
And a very tragic side of having to live with who we are is that some of us have previous traumas, and the evil afoot is playing to them, big time.
It crushes me with sadness to see how this is hurting some friends. And I better understand what it's like for others to live with high anxiety every day--for whatever cause, including that they are black.
It's not only sadness I feel. All my thoughts of pacifism evaporate in the rage I feel, and I want to catch those white boys in trucks and pop their heads off like mushroom caps.
[I have to say, what I really want if for them to have a change of heart...]
As I write this at 4 p.m., a storm is brewing–-supposed to be a big one. I welcome it! It will wash the toxic dust from chemical fires and clear the air.
And maybe keep some creeps at home?
If not---here's an infomercial that is one of my favorite things yet:
And that can be healing, or not. The heat of crisis can burn away differences, or weld them in place.
I've unfriended a couple people, for instance, who have posted NOTHING about the murder-by-police in our city.
Or--THE WORST--have only posted things like this post of a friend of a friend:
"Luckily the riots are not near me. We're safe."
Oh? Shame on you, then.
To switch up my metaphors... I am super grateful that the pond scum that was growing on the stagnant water of me during the Stay at Home (not like Covid is gone, but Stay at Home is, big time!)--that gunk quickly washed clear as the waters began to rush.
Specifically, a bunch of stuck and gunky connections came clear.
For instance, with my sister.
We hadn't talked for almost two months before the police murdered George F. After that, we connected on FB a little.
Today she emailed me this photo of her putting face masks on the clothesline she'd seen on my FB. She's part of a sewing group that for a couple few years has made reuable cloth bags to give away free. Now they're making face masks and scrub caps and the like, and distributing them all over. (Another example of acting out of who you are and who you already know.)
"Hanging masks (30). Thank you for the tip about the clothesline.
I was overwhelmed by what a reverential, sacred memorial site it is. So quiet, and with such shared sorrow.
Nothing speaks more loudly than the angel figure of his body at the spot where George Floyd died."
I keep noticing language.
I am NOT criticizing my sister here--I know what she meant, and it was only good. But I would not say this is "the spot where George Floyd died."
I would say, "the spot where the police murdered/killed/asphyxiated George Floyd".
(I see my workplace has not changed the language on the website. (Yet?) Oh well.)
The neighbors who have been watching out for the black-owned gas station in bink's neighborhood have now painted a mural on the barrier.
bink said the gas station owner is just a friendly guy who's always there at his store and gets to know everyone.
So--again--who you are comes into play. It's not just racial justice, it's that people LIKE this guy based on who he is and how he treats them.
She posted this photo of the painted murl today:
I love it so much--I want this as a T-shirt to wear! I guess I could make such a thing... It's like the Covid virus has turned to flowers. It hasn't! All this contact is very worrisome, in fact. But there has been a flowering of love in action, on the part of everyday folks.
Not the super-activists, you know, just the family on the corner... Around the country.
Hey, that's us!!!
Yeah, but hate is thriving too. It's beyond creepy scary, the multiple sightings of white boys in trucks without license plates tearing around with gas cans. They are acting out who they are, too.
And a very tragic side of having to live with who we are is that some of us have previous traumas, and the evil afoot is playing to them, big time.
It crushes me with sadness to see how this is hurting some friends. And I better understand what it's like for others to live with high anxiety every day--for whatever cause, including that they are black.
It's not only sadness I feel. All my thoughts of pacifism evaporate in the rage I feel, and I want to catch those white boys in trucks and pop their heads off like mushroom caps.
[I have to say, what I really want if for them to have a change of heart...]
As I write this at 4 p.m., a storm is brewing–-supposed to be a big one. I welcome it! It will wash the toxic dust from chemical fires and clear the air.
And maybe keep some creeps at home?
If not---here's an infomercial that is one of my favorite things yet:
