So still absorbing her analysis re how we look at the world:

World as Battleground.

World as Trap

World as Lover

World as Self

And wouldn’t you know it? Am discovering that, good Quaker that I strive to be, much of how I relate to the world IS about “the reassuring sense that you are fighting God’s battle—and that ultimately you will win.”

Whoa!

Macy talks about a variation of this paradigm: “A more innocuous version of the battlefield image of the world is the one I learned from my grandparents. it is the world as a classroom, or a kind of moral gymnasium, where you are put though tests to prove your mettle and shape you up, so you can graduate to other arenas and rewards.”

Macy’s “innocuous version”  describe an insidious trait of mine and shared by my Cambridge/Somerville/intellectual friends—and they ARE my friends—I’ve shorthanded to “The Harvard Syndrome.” Although I did not go to Harvard, must admit I see myself struggling in that “moral gymnasium,” sometimes.

Ouch.

Tomorrow afternoon, from 3 until 5, my husband and I are hosting a neighborhood coffee to talk about—well, the agenda is not the point.

The POINT is this: As any Patriots fan will tell you: Tomorrow afternoon is not a great time to host a meeting. (Seems there’s a game or something.)

So, yesterday, dropping another flyer for this coffee in neighbors’ mailboxes, stewed over the likelihood that very few people will show up. But since one agenda item, the controversy around affordable housing in Union Square*, is somewhat time-sensitive  (a community meeting on this issue is tentatively scheduled in a couple of weeks), decided to go ahead, anyway. Although I felt a little stupid about it. And reluctant to put much energy into something fated to be a total bust.

But, as so often happens as I trudge along somewhere, Something came to me: be faithful (or, in my case, practice being faithful). This coffee is a good idea. Be faithful to connecting people, sharing resources, creating community, etc. Just do it. Do it joyfully.

Okedoke.

* Many New England cities are organized around squares, i.e. commercial areas/transportation centers/where a bunch of streets come together.Our neighborhood’s part of Somerville’s Union Square.

So that’s the first thing I wish to lift up: Lots of perspectives, lots of different ways to explain “Here’s what I think this legislation is really about!”

Here’s mine: Yes, as many, many speakers said yesterday, this is a racist bill. Anything to do with the criminal justice system in the United States is going to be about race. No argument.

AND: Senate Bill # 2080 and House Bill # 3818 are also about Massachusetts recently having allowed casino gambling into our fair commonwealth. So consciously or unconsciously, our elected officials on Beacon Hill must have thought: “Okay, then. Time to get tough on crime—and, oh, by the way, that’s a post-casino, surefire way to get re-elected.”

Here’s the second thing I want to note: Many, many people yesterday, when given the opportunity to ask questions re the action plans laid out, wanted to instead tell their stories. Their own incarceration stories. Stories of their sons. Stories, as one woman said, of  ”The Struggle.”

And that’s exactly how I heard her words: in italics and with quotation marks. But I heard something else. I heard those two words’ gestalt: Slavery, Jim Crow, the civil rights movement, The War on Drugs, the criminal justice system, poverty, “The jail trail,”* and that woman at the community meeting, like thousands, millions before her, struggling every day to survive, to overcome, to fly!

SO much practice. So much more to do.

* The path of poverty, inadequate education, and systemic racism which leads to eventual incarceration.

“That’s why he’d stopped,” we decided. “He wanted to practice.”

Thus my new year began, with this tentative, warm expression, a reminder of our collective just-starting-out, our shared need to practice!

That’s the spirit of today’s posting:

I’m feeling that glow from the deep-winter fires of ancient Ye Olde England—from the time when Anglo-Saxon was spoken (did you know that “wassail” is A-S for “be whole”?) when people who probably looked a lot like me brought greens inside and, huddled together to keep warm, celebrated Light/Birth in the midst of death and darkness.

I’m feeling that wonder—and their faith that, yes, Spring would come.

Trouble is, these days, living in a dense city, only the brightest stars or strategically located planets are visible. I miss that sense of utter wonder; I miss stars!

So last week, on a moonless night, while on a family vacation in Palm Desert, CA, my husband and I drove up a windy mountain road and, almost to the summit, found a conveniently banked as to completely block off any light from the valley below dirt road and, lying on that dirt road, I saw stars. Millions of them. Bonus: A shooting star, too.

Home now, that sense of wonder stays with me—well, maybe slightly dimmed but, hey, I KNOW they’re up there. I’ve been reminded.

Just as I KNOW amazing, loving, compassionate things are happening.

Like this: As I learned last night at a wonderful talk in Cambridge, the ground-breaking Our Bodies, Ourselves is now translated into 27 languages. Each version has been carefully and collectively written by the women (and, sometimes, men) of countries around the world, each version addressing the women’s health issues most needing instruction and gentle guidance in their own communities.

Doncha love that!

And how grateful I am to the Transition movement for teaching me to look at the world around me systemically (I still have much to learn!)

Thinking more deeply and more interconnectedly about money has had one immediate effect, I’m noticing: My reaction to Christmas, a holiday I usually LOVE, is pretty muted this year. In fact, verging on “Bah, humbug.” I see Christmas lights, for example, and think, “What a waste of money and energy!”

I have faith that the essential Christmas Spirit will prevail—maybe, as it often does for my husband, in January, February! Meanwhile, I’ll try to take comfort from these words from Faith and Practice of New England Yearly Meeting of Friends‘s twelfth query: “. . . When discouraged, do you remember that Jesus said, ‘Peace is my parting gift to you, my own peace, such the world cannot give. Set your troubled hearts at rest, and banish your fears.”?

Today at our Meeting’s Forum—a 45-minute opportunity to listen to and ask questions about whatever various individuals or groups wish to impart—we learned about AFSC’s Clothing Room. Housed in the basement beneath our meetinghouse, the Clothing Room used to send donated clothing all over the world. Nowadays it services those in need  who, after they’d been recommended by a social worker or anti-poverty agency and had scheduled an appointment, arrive at the designated time to browse through the ton of donated stuff and take take whatever they need.

“But you need to park your ego at the door,” the presenter, who often volunteers in the Clothing Room, explained. “Like one time I saw a whole bunch of turtlenecks being recycled.” (Sometimes donated items are given to other agencies or, if absolutely unusable, thrown away.) “Perfectly good turtlenecks! So I protested. But was told, ‘ No one wants turtlenecks. So we don’t bother keeping them on our shelf.’ ”

Is it just me or is that one of most, ahem, telling stories you’ve  ever heard?’

*Matthew 26: 11.