Category Archives: Spiritual musings

Birthing a Book

Birthing a Book    —by Jinny Batterson

As I near the May 1, 2018 official launch date of my first-ever published book, Where the Great Wall Ends: A China Memoir, I’ve been pondering the similarities and differences between creating a child and creating a book.  Both are exciting; both can be scary at times; both involve some pain and expense; both require time and energy. 

The specifics, however, can vary. The gestation period for a baby falls within a somewhat predictable range, typically 7-9 months. For a book, the period from first inkling to publication can be as short as a few months or as long as most of a lifetime. The process of going from initial cells/initial words to baby or book nearly always involves a certain amount of risk and uncertainty. There are times in both processes when I’ve been uncomfortable, when I’ve questioned why I ever decided to embark on this adventure in the first place, when what I’ve wanted most of all is for the “pregnancy” to reach completion.

In both types of birthing, I’ve benefited immensely from the help and advice of those with broader, deeper experience than mine. It is only half jokingly that I’ve complimented one of my editors on her midwifing skills. Again, some differences: the labor pains for a book are less physical, but can still be intense—for a couple of weeks now, I’ve often awakened in the middle of the night with a stray thought about one more person I’d like to alert to the book’s impending arrival. I’ve had pangs of regret for not completing the publication process sooner, so some of those who’ve already left the planet might have had a chance to view the finished product.

So now, as my mom used to say once she’d completed the dress rehearsal for a musical or theater production, it’s all over but the shouting. What sort of world will greet my China memoir?  What changes in global politics and natural environment will Where the Great Wall Ends experience as it “grows up”?  These are factors beyond my control.

I can only hope that I’ve written as true an account as I can of my experiences, and that some of what I’ve lived through will help generate greater understanding in the lives of my readers. Happy birthday, book!   

Quilted Dreams

Quilted Dreams    —by Jinny Batterson

There’ve been times, since I outgrew visions of sugarplums,
When I’ve dreaded the coming of winter. Short days, short tempers, cold,
Damp, sniffles, indoor confinement. Winter’s had little to recommend it.

This year’s cold weather was late arriving. Days shortened, but it was
Nearly Thanksgiving before there was frost on the pumpkins. Our schedules
Got disrupted: when to test the furnace, bring houseplants indoors?

Finally, the evening arrived when a blanket was insufficient warmth.
The quilt could be brought out from the linen closet, shaken vigorously,
Then inserted between a fresh sheet and the all-season bedspread.

As my life has grown less hectic, I’ve come to relish the longer
Darkness of late autumn: a chance to sip cocoa before snuggling down
Early, perhaps to drift into episodes of remembered dreams.

I cannot guarantee that the quilt is the cause, but cold weather
Seems to bring more comforting visions: brilliant landscapes visited
Earlier in person or in imagination, peopled with friends and warm welcomes. 

Often I visit cities new to me, revel in explorations and travel that
Can be more pleasant in dreams than in reality–no crowded
Rail cars, no plugged toilets, no mewling youngsters in the seat behind.

The details no longer matter as much. It’s the comfort that counts.
Even when my mind and body are saddest, my waking
Anxieties will sometimes give way to quilted dreams.

Falling into Grace

Falling into Grace    —by Jinny Batterson

Grace Church, the church of my childhood,
Smelled of furniture polish, dust, and old masonry.
It sat squat, tucked into a hillside above a graveyard
Where my mother, at twelve, had sledded into a
Headstone, chipping both front teeth.

From behind the altar, stained-glass-filtered light
Shone on the choir stall where I sat, searching in the
Back of the Book of Common Prayer for my springtime
Birth date in the schedule for each year’s Easter.

My cousin, Grace, came for a week’s visit
As we both teetered at the edge of adolescence.
She had an athletic build, a mane of blond hair.
Not self-conscious about her body like I was,
She shed her day clothes before bed, revealing
The beginnings of breasts and pubes where
I was still flat and hairless.

During college jaunts to the small Shenandoah
Valley town where my boyfriend studied, I walked
Past a different church. Early in the 20th century, it
Was renamed to honor a fallen general with a mixed
Legacy that has become increasingly problematic
In our post-Charlottesville polarizations. 
.

My childhood church is still there, if little used.
My cousin Grace died after a horse riding accident.
Reverting to its original name, Grace Episcopal
In Lexington, Virginia struggles for reconciliation.
Nostalgia renders all more graceful.

It’s the season of falling—leaves blush, then let go.
We notice lengthening darkness, tremble at dark events.
When we pay attention, though, we still have access to
Qualities of bearing, blessing, benediction:
There’s still the possibility of falling into grace.

 

Twitter Fodder

Twitter Fodder    —by Jinny Batterson

I don’t have a Twitter account, nor am I ever likely to. I’m too wordy to accept that much that’s worth saying can fit into just 140 (or even 280) characters.  So I was somewhat surprised the other morning when I awoke after a good night’s sleep to find a Twitter-length snippet pushing its way into my journal: 

If you play only zero-sum games, you’re likely to wind up a big fat zero.

Fewer than 100 characters, even including a couple of adjectives that could, if need be, be left out. Few big words, except maybe “zero-sum,” a shorthand way of explaining the attitude that for me to win, you have to lose an equal amount from a fixed total, with no room for sharing or “win-win” solutions. “Big fat zero” may be slightly old-fashioned, but familiar as a taunt to anyone who’s ever spent time on an elementary school playground.

 What did it mean for me to have such a short saying barging into my thoughts, and maybe even my writing?  After a bit, a memory surfaced. I was back at our public high school, in my favorite teacher’s French class. Mrs. Nash didn’t so much teach French as she taught life. One of her favorite tools was a series of aphorisms, or short sayings, attributed to historical French writers. The discussion I remember best centered around a pithy quote by philosopher Charles-Louis de Montesquieu, who lived in France starting in the late 17th century. He wrote a lot about the conditions and rights of man. He is credited with having said:

Every man has his price.

As Mrs. Nash guided the conversation, we fairly quickly broadened our definition of “price” to include things other than a monetary sum or material item. Suppose the price involved our being embarrassed or made very uncomfortable? What about sacrificing our health? Suppose the price meant having a loved one put in danger? What if it demanded that we give up cherished ideas or principles? Suppose the price pitted short-term gain against long-term survival?

We never resolved the issue. Later discussions, in Mrs. Nash’s class and elsewhere, were based on a cross-section of similar sayings, not all of them by French authors:

What wisdom can you find that is greater than kindness?
People who know little are usually great talkers, while men who know much say little.
(Jean-Jacques Rousseau, 1712-1778) 

No society can be flourishing and happy, of which the far greater part of the members are poor and miserable.
Science is the great antidote to the poison of enthusiasm and superstition.
(Adam Smith, 1723-1790) 

No man chooses evil because it is evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks.
(Mary Wollstonecraft, 1759-1797)         

He who knows only his own side of the case, knows little of that.
(John Stuart Mill, 1806-1873) 

It gradually dawned on me that these “aphorisms” were the “tweets” of their times, considerably wiser than the 72 characters that had descended on me, or, I’m guessing, much else that gets posted on Twitter these days. 

As many of our online civic discussions continue to deteriorate into name-calling and evermore selective choice of facts, I’m sometimes tempted to despair. But I know that despair never changes anything for the better.  So I take frequent breaks to slow down and collect my thoughts, grateful to have this luxury at the current stage of my life. Not all do. However, all of us have time to take a deep breath. We can all briefly turn off or tune out the many distractions of our increasingly distracted society.  We all can imagine a place and time when we felt safe and cared for.  From deep within this setting of safety and love comes an important insight, one I heard verbalized long ago at a spirituality conference and have carried around inside ever since. It’s so short it could easily fit into a standard tweet:  

Pay attention to what has heart and meaning.

The Spirit of Draining the Swamp

U.S. Election Day is over a month behind us. Depending on our traditions and beliefs, we may be preparing to celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, or just the returning of longer days. Many Americans are beginning to feel our way toward a future–a future still very unsure. During the final days of the fall campaign, I began to see a new crop of political slogans, advocating a particular vote as a way to “drain the swamp of D.C. politics.” I’ve been tossing around various dream versions of what “draining the swamp” in a wider sense might look like.

Usually I’m more of a word person than an image person, but I have several cartoon images in my mental collection that may be relevant. All are accessible via Internet. The first is a 1971 Walt Kelly panel from his long-running cartoon about Pogo the possum and his beloved swamp, a mythical variation of the Okefenokee. Pogo is treading across a morass of human-generated trash near his swamp home, stepping carefully to avoid hurting his feet. Beside him, Albert the alligator is waxing eloquent about pristine wilderness. Pogo is having none of the hype.

“We have met the enemy,” he retorts, “and he is us.”

The second cartoon is a 1976 strip by New Yorker cartoonist Dana Fradon, giving a baseball style box score for a supposed game between realists and idealists. Though some innings are scoreless, in most, the Realists make between one and six runs, while the Idealists are held to no score. However, at the end of the game’s nine innings, the final score reads: “Idealists 1; Realists 0.” The third cartoon was sent to me by a friend last summer. I haven’t yet been able to trace its original source–I believe it first appeared in 2014 in a Quebec-based news outlet. It shows an audience for a sermon or speech of some kind.

“Who wants change?” the leader intones. All hands go up. The follow-up question: “Who wants to change?” gets no hands at all, only a series of downcast looks.

Pogo and Fradon’s baseball players and the 2014 speech audience help me stay hopeful that our badly divisive election may have the unintended consequence of helping bring us together. We sorely need to drain the noxious elements of our personal and collective swamps, while retaining the generativity of the diverse wetlands they also represent.

Perhaps this election can draw us to deeper service. Our nation’s founders were realistic enough to know that we are not likely ever to create a totally perfect union, yet idealistic enough to begin our Constitution with the phrase “to create a more perfect union.”  In the best tradition of our founders, and of more recent visionary Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., may we use the day of service we’ll celebrate as his holiday on Monday, January 16, 2017, to stop obsessing about who “won” the election. Instead, may we rededicate ourselves to the spirit of service that has meant so much for the progress and maturation of our beloved and varying country. If each of us will reach out to help and be helped by a person or group we would not normally associate with, we can begin the needed process of healing ourselves and each other, in the true spirit of draining the swamp.

Tribute to Leonard Cohen

Tribute to Leonard Cohen (1934-2016)    —by Jinny Batterson

(Leonard Cohen, peripatetic Canadian poet and singer-songwriter, died in Los Angeles on November 7, 2016, a bit too early to absorb the results of the latest U.S. election.  I’m convinced, though, that his spirit still prowls. This short tribute incorporates snippets of several of Cohen’s best-known lyrics: Anthem, You Want it Darker, Suzanne, The Story of Isaac, and Democracy)  For a picture of Cohen near the end of his long life, see:

http://www.billboard.com/files/styles/article_main_image/public/media/leonard-cohen-2013-billboard-650×430.jpg

The bells that still will ring
These post-election days are ringing darker.
Though some the victor’s fulsome praises sing,
For others, the rifts are getting starker.

I saw him only once, we both were young.
In an Expo coffeehouse near Suzanne’s river,
He curled his raspy voice, lips, teeth and tongue
Around the credo that we lean toward love forever.

Bombastic tweets of blunt and bloodied hammering
May make hate and fear here for a time hold sway.
Yet, through the crack in everything
Democracy’s still coming to the U.S.A.

Practicing Gestational Politics

Practicing Gestational Politics   –by Jinny Batterson

Now that we have apparently elected
a prime verbal ejaculator
to be our putative leader,
it will not do to turn our
hurt and anger inward,
nor will it suffice to cry
out in rage and disgust.

What we must do
instead is to take a short respite,
then to return with renewed dedication
to building bridges across the chasms of race,
class, gender, urban/rural, national origin, affection
that this retrograde campaign has opened up.
We must nurture ourselves, along with
the next generations of humans
and of other creatures
on this lovely planet.

International Day of Peace, September 21

International Day of Peace, September 21    —by Jinny Batterson

For nearly a decade, I’ve received annual reminders of a celebration of an “international day of peace” on September 21, around the time of the equinox (autumn in the northern hemisphere, spring in the southern).  I relish these reminders to refocus during what too often can be a harried and hurried time, with back-to-school events, work crises, health check-ups, omnipresent political campaigns.  So this year’s reminder was especially welcome—2016’s politics in my home country, the United States of America, appear even more ugly than usual. The timeframe for this year’s peace celebrations has expanded, I learned, now encompassing the eleven days between September 11 and September 21. This year’s celebrations focus on global development goals. 

As nearly as I can tell via online search, the United Nations began issuing annual proclamations for a day of peace in 1997 as part of a broader global effort to advance a transition to a culture of peace. Their initial resolution called for a “transformation from a culture of war and violence to a culture of peace and non-violence.” The resolution defines the culture of peace as based on “respect for human rights, democracy and tolerance, the promotion of development, education for peace, the free flow of information, and the wider participation of women,” in addition to disarmament efforts. This year’s events include several in the area of central North Carolina where I live. I hope to attend at least some of them: http://www.paceebene.org/event/cnv-actions-raleigh-areanc-peace-week/.

My understanding of peace continues to evolve from an initial aversion to my fiance’s draft status in 1969 near the height of U.S. involvement in Vietnam. Over time, I’ve come to believe that peace is much more comprehensive than the absence of armed conflict, whether among nations, among non-national groups who use violence to try to further their aims, or between individuals. It seems increasingly clear to me that peace needs to exist at all the same levels in which violence can incubate, from a single person to the entire global community. Peace grows best in an atmosphere of abundance, based partly on sharing, and partly on our inner conviction that we have, and, more importantly, ARE enough. 

One group that I support whose peacemaking involves a transition to abundance is Heifer International. First started in the wake of World War II as a way to restock farm animals to war-ravaged areas of Europe, the program now exists in 30 countries on five continents. Heifer conducts long-term efforts to alleviate poverty and promote peace through both donations of farm animals and education in sustainable farming practices. The autumn 2016 issue of their magazine, World Ark , includes an extensive interview with author/activist Frances Moore Lappe, first known for her seminal work on global food resources, Diet for a Small Planet (published in 1971). Lappe has gone on to publish fifteen more books, and to become a global activist for peace and development. Her take on what may be needed to transition toward peace and abundance resonates with me:  “While scarcity can be a lack of the physical resources that we need to thrive, such as food, water and energy, it can also be a presumption of the scarcity of goodness in human beings. Unfortunately, our media largely offers the most frightening and horrifying news, reinforcing this sense of lack of goodness in us. As you know, there are many fewer stories about our nobility, humanity, and our natural desires to help, to share and be compassionate, than there are about our brutal side.” 

Part of my individual effort this season to cultivate peace is to minimize my media exposure, while at the same time staying informed enough to function in our increasingly interconnected, interactive world. Another practice has been inspired by one of the more heartening reactions to September 11, 2001: a musical setting to a breathing meditation by a Georgia-bred songwriter who reacted to the airplane-mediated suicide bombings by creating a melody and chorus:  “When I breathe in, I’ll breathe in peace, when I breathe out, I’ll breathe out love.”  (The entire song, including verses, is online at http://www.sarahdanjones.com/music-1.html).

It turns out that the equinox here this year will not be until September 22. Peace activities in my town won’t culminate until Saturday, September 24. Still, I urge all of us who breathe to try today, as the simplest, smallest step toward peace, to take at least a couple of breaths using the “breathe in peace” refrain.   

Toward a New Consensus: Voting Thumbs Side

Toward a New Consensus: Voting Thumbs Side    —by Jinny Batterson

Most Americans these days are subjected to increasingly agitated media and political environments—uneasiness about the state of our personal finances and national budgets, evidence of ethnic and racial profiling, demonstrations and counter-demonstrations, terrorism fears, an American presidential contest replete with name-calling and innuendo. A cheery attitude seems somewhat out of place. Still, I keep looking for glimmers of an emerging new consensus, both locally and beyond my geographical area. 

During the late 1970’s, I was exposed to the human potential movement. In intensive workshops, I completed solo, two-person, and group exercises to better understand what motivated me, and what might motivate all of us attendees to interact more humanely and productively with each other. One impression that has stuck with me is that individuals and groups typically exhibit agitated behavior just before transitioning to a different level of organization.

A decade later, I attended an experiential simulation of a five phase change model based on the work of family therapist Virginia Satir: 1) original, decaying status quo; 2) introduction of a “foreign element” that generates resistance; 3) chaos, resulting in a transformative understanding; 4) practice and integration of new learnings, leading to—5) a different status quo. None of us participants wanted to go through the chaos phase. Yet, as the simulation progressed, we each came to recognize that passing through chaos was the only way to transform a system that no longer worked for us, to move toward a newer, generally more inclusive state.       

About the same time, I started attending an annual week-long “un-conference” with other small-scale consultants at “consultants’ camp.”  A decade into the camp experience, an initial phase of “top down” camp leadership ended, and our group went through chaos to evolve an alternate model. Part of the revised model consisted of a single annual morning session to tend to the nurture and future of the camp community through consensus decision making.

One of the most important features in the consensus model we adopted is an open system of thumbs up/thumbs side/thumbs down voting to validate any proposal. Approval requires a strong consensus from all community members—a single “thumbs down” vote defeats a motion. However, because it is highly unlikely that any proposition will be equally pleasing to the whole community, we include a “thumbs side” option. Voting thumbs side is much more participatory than abstaining. While a “thumbs up” indicates enthusiastic support of a proposal, a “thumbs side” shows that the proposal being voted on is not the voter’s first choice, maybe even not his/her fifth or sixth.  However, by voting “thumbs side,”  the voter shows a willingness to abide by the choice of others voting either thumbs up or also thumbs side. A thumbs side voter agrees to support the proposal, if enacted, and to avoid actions that might undermine its implementation. No gossiping, no backbiting, no second-guessing, no requests for reconsideration until the succeeding year’s camp session. This kind of consensus decision-making requires much time, effort, and goodwill among participants, but it seems to generate better long-term decisions and stronger group cohesion. 

The model for our smallish camp (typically 25-35 members) likely does not scale up to broader political discourse. However, other efforts are underway in lots of places to re-establish civil discourse and downplay strictly “either/or” choices. For example, an Institute for Emerging Issues headquartered near where I live in central North Carolina has focussed for the past year on the future of work, trying to come up with long-term strategies to enable North Carolinians to earn living wages in the face of continuing automation and globalization. Localities throughout the world can now organize TEDx conferences to bring together people and “ideas worth spreading,” using a template developed by the evolving non-profit, TED (Technology, Entertainment, Design).  So I remain hopeful, I keep the television mainly off, and I practice strengthening my “thumb side” muscles.         

The Firebrand and the First Lady

The Firebrand and the First Lady     —by Jinny Batterson

The Firebrand and the First Lady: Portrait of a Friendship, published early in 2016, was written long after the deaths of its protagonists, Anna Eleanor Roosevelt and Anna Pauline Murray. Eleanor Roosevelt was the niece of President Theodore Roosevelt and the activist wife of her distant cousin, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt. She continued in her own right after her husband’s death. Pauli Murray was an activist, organizer, lawyer, writer, and eventually a priest. She dealt with the double whammy of discrimination for being black and female in a time that undervalued both.

Just after the title page, author Patricia Bell-Scott introduces the two women through quotations taken from their extensive writings and correspondence. The first listed entry, from Pauli Murray, was published over 20 years after Mrs. Roosevelt’s death in the journal of Murray’s university, The Hunter Magazine:

“For me, becoming friends with Mrs. Roosevelt was a slow, painful process, marked by sharp exchanges of correspondence, often anger on my side and exasperation on her side, and a gradual development of mutual admiration and respect.” 

Mrs. Roosevelt’s initial quotation came from an article, “Some of My Best Friends are Negro,” published in the magazine Ebony in 1953:

“One of my finest young friends is a charming woman lawyer—Pauli Murray, who has been quite a firebrand at times but of whom I am very fond.”

Over three hundred well-researched pages chronicle their developing friendship during the years when the two women’s lives intersected, and then the years after Mrs. R.’s death when Murray continued to write, speak, work for social justice, and honor Mrs. R.’s legacy.   

The two were born a generation apart—Roosevelt in 1884, Murray in 1910–to economic and social circumstances that could hardly have been more different. However, the emotional traumas of their early lives were similar. Both lost parents at a tender age. Both were shunted among relatives and schools throughout their teens.

Mrs. Roosevelt first encountered Pauli Murray on a visit to an upstate New York camp for unemployed single women in 1934 or 1935.  Murray had gone there during the depths of the Great Depression to help regain her strength after a couple of years of intermittent employment in New York City. Mrs. Roosevelt had helped finance the camp. She had insisted that it be racially integrated. During the first lady’s visit, Murray hung back and said nothing, later getting scolded by the camp director for her lack of manners.

The two women next interacted when Murray copied “Mrs. R.” on an impassioned 1938 letter to FDR criticizing his spotty civil rights record, especially his recent speech praising “liberal” University of North Carolina, which repeatedly rejected Murray’s graduate student application on racial grounds.

By the early days of 1940, Murray was executive director of a non-profit highlighting the problems of sharecroppers. She and several colleagues had a chance to meet with Mrs. Roosevelt in Mrs. R.’s Manhattan apartment. From then on, the two women carried on an irregular but spirited correspondence for the rest of their mutual lives. Mrs. R. helped when she could with some of Murray’s causes, but cautioned restraint, occasionally even upbraiding Murray’s brashness.

When Murray graduated from Howard Law School in June, 1944, ER sent a congratulatory note and a bouquet. When FDR died in April, 1945, Murray sent Mrs. R. a lengthy condolence: “…There is not one I’ve seen who has not expressed a physical illness over the disaster which has befallen each individual American today. …I pray for your strength and fortitude, because we all need you more than ever now.”   

ER went on to chair a U.N. commission that developed and got General Assembly approval for a Universal Declaration of Human Rights in 1948. She worked at the U.N. for several more years, then continued writing, speaking, and humanitarian work until her death in 1962.

Murray offered this public tribute at a 1982 conference celebrating Mrs. Roosevelt’s life:

“I learned by watching her in action over a period of three decades that each of us is culture-bound by the era in which we live, and that the greatest challenge to the individual is to try to move to the very boundaries of our historical limitations and to project ourselves toward future centuries. Mrs. Roosevelt … did just that.”

Murray attended a 1984 conference celebrating the centennial of ER’s birth, but was hospitalized soon afterward with serious health problems.  She died in 1985.

If the delay in publishing The Firebrand and the First Lady partly resides in the meticulous scholarship to track down sources and verify quotations, it seems to me that the timing of the book’s release is providential. It comes as this year’s U.S. Presidential campaign intensifies. One of the chief actors is a former first lady with extensive qualifications of her own. It comes at a time when LGBT communities, of which Murray was a closeted member, are becoming more insistent on full citizenship. It comes as we approach this year’s celebration of Mother’s Day, when we acknowledge both our physical mothers and those who have nurtured and challenged us, in the best tradition of Anna Eleanor Roosevelt and Anna Pauline Murray.