If only you knew

how much power you hold

in your small, soft sweetness

maybe you would, in your state of fullness,

sit a hundred times a day

on that cushion made for uncountable things

but especially and most perfectly for you.

(To be continued)

I gave into the temptation today to respond to a comment I disagreed with on Facebook. Some guy said that the Black Lives Matter movement had no credibility as far as he was concerned. I answered that if you are a white person in America then you are racist because our society is inherently racist.

I said that, and I believe it, but then I also said that the important thing is to work to change our society. But now I’m questioning the use (both by me and by others) of the word “change.” An image popped into my head tonight of America as a garment woven together with all different colors of thread. The thread colors are the various essential elements of American society, and one of those elements is racism.

If we want racism to no longer be a problem in America, we can’t just change the garment. Changing the garment would be altering it—maybe cutting the sleeves off or having a design embroidered on it. But those racism threads would still be there. The alterations might make them appear differently or make them harder to see, but those alterations wouldn’t make them disappear. To get rid of the racism in the garment, we’d have to unravel the entire thing and then stitch it back together, leaving out the racism threads.

So, maybe it’s time we stopped talking about changing America to solve the problem of racism and started talking about unraveling it instead. We can make a stronger, more beautiful garment this time. We can change later if we so desire, but it’ll be fundamentally free of racism no matter what we do to it.

Was it just a duck? I peered hard at the dark bird maybe fifty feet away from my kayak, hoping for something else. The black-and-white stripes, black head… yes, it was a loon! As close as I’d ever seen one. Then, a dive underwater. My son and I each paddled along, carefully scanning the lake for where it might emerge. Our search was complicated by a large, intervening motorboat with a roof. I can’t see, you big obnoxious boat! I thought. And you’ll scare it off! After some time, though, there it was, beside and slightly in front of the motorboat. But now the loon seemed to be going the opposite direction from us. So we turned around, as did the motorboat. (Really?) Next time we looked, three more loons had joined the first. Another adult and two kiddos. A whole loon family! What a sight! The motorboat didn’t seem to scare them after all; the driver seemed to be taking care to go as slowly and quietly as possible. Okay, you just want to see them too. I’m sorry I judged you. We let the loons lead the way, watching as much as possible, paddling just enough to keep on course. The birds dived for food and talked to each other in their beautiful, haunting language. What were they saying? I felt a little like we were peering into the private lives of these mysterious creatures, but I couldn’t look away, and they didn’t seem to mind.

Eventually the lake opened up, and we all went our separate ways. My son and I kept looking over at the loons until we couldn’t anymore, until we had to keep our eyes fixed on our destination. As we paddled our way back to the dock, our time with the loons transitioned from an experience into a memory, a story. We grounded the kayaks as quickly as possible and rushed inside to tell it to the others.

Can we please stop celebrating Independence Day? Or at least change the name to Independence So That We May Decide How Best to Be Interdependent Day?

I get why we celebrate the Fourth of July. I understand why the New World was tired of answering to the Old. But although we gained independence in one sense, what we really gained was the freedom to choose how to go about establishing our interdependences. Because whether we like it or not, we need one another. And unfortunately, the United States has never been great at admitting that. But the sooner we tune our national mind-set to the interdependence channel, the healthy and happier we can collectively be.

Human beings are wired to depend on one another, whether they’re configured individually or as a group. If we could stop denying that fact and start deciding what we want our dependences to look like, we would have much more to celebrate each July 4th.

No! That’s not your spot.

I saw you come from the back

and slither smoothly

into line, like a snake.

Did you think I wouldn’t see your

smug, entitled face turn

And seek my anger?

I have waited in this line

for longer than time.

I went to get soft serve ice cream tonight with two of my kids, and we had to stand in a long line. People were generally standing about six feet apart and almost everyone wore a mask. But then a guy and two teens got in line behind us, without masks and without the sense or awareness to distance themselves from us as we stood waiting.

I got more and more nervous the closer they crept. Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore. I steeled myself and then asked him to please stay six feet back from us. He said he’d put on his mask, which was around his neck but just hanging there. Okay, I said, but they [the teens] don’t have masks on either. But we’re outside, he protested. I know, but I’d still feel more comfortable if you moved back.

They did, and I felt awkward because we had to keep standing there with them right behind us and proud of myself for speaking up (it’s really hard for me) and guilty because I sounded angrier than I’d have liked.

But I guess I can work on speaking in a more compassionate way next time, because I’m sure there will be one. Hopefully not with that guy again, though.

First, a prayer sustained—

wide eyes, turned heads, and whispers,

aggregating fear.

A disembarking,

then centuries of aching

bodies and crushed souls.

Awaken from your

Four-hundred-year-long nightmare

Now the monster sleeps

One small scared haiku

Alone in a great big post

Can it be enough?

I feel conflicted about the violent part of the protests that continue to erupt in response to the murder of George Floyd by police (and to so very many murders of black people by police before Mr. Floyd). Violence is always wrong, yes? Violence begets violence. War only brings more war. An eye for an eye leaves . . . you know what.

I believe all that. And yet.

How long have people been protesting peacefully, writing letters, making calls, sending texts, and all the while hurting over this endless nightmare? How much difference has all that made?

Anger and grief come and go throughout our lives. We cope with these powerful emotions as well as we can while they’re with us, devastating us and breaking us and changing us, and we try to put ourselves back together when they’re gone. But if the anger and grief just keep coming and coming and coming, how can we continue to cope? They become too heavy to keep carrying around.

And so it is now. So many people have tried peaceful ways to make this anger and grief stop coming. None of them have worked. And the weight must be set down or it will crush them. So they burn, they smash, they steal, and they scream. Maybe the people in power will finally listen. Maybe those who are suffering will finally have a little extra room to carry some happier feelings around. If that happens, I can’t say the rioting won’t have been worth it.