peace

Weekly newsletter 1.12.2021

Friends, 

I never imagined living in a time like this. When Arundhati Roy asked “What is this thing that has happened to us?” last spring, she was focused on the pandemic that was ravaging communities all over the world. Since the spread of the virus and the economic collapse that followed, we learned of the murders of George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, and Breonna Taylor and witnessed (and some of us participated in) a movement to confront systemic racism and injustice rise with their names and faces at the fore. The US election promised to be divisive, and in its wake we witnessed an insurrection at the Capitol. 

What is this thing that has happened to us? We’ll need some distance to be able to make meaning out of the last year - are we living through the fizzle or death-throes of the Modern era? are we witnessing a cyclical rise of unrest and economic swings? are we embodying climate change in our relationships, politics, and struggles? Philosophical speculation can and must wait, but Roy offers important guidance and poses a choice: 

Whatever it is, coronavirus has made the mighty kneel and brought the world to a halt like nothing else could. Our minds are still racing back and forth, longing for a return to “normality”, trying to stitch our future to our past and refusing to acknowledge the rupture. But the rupture exists. And in the midst of this terrible despair, it offers us a chance to rethink the doomsday machine we have built for ourselves. Nothing could be worse than a return to normality. 

Historically, pandemics have forced humans to break with the past and imagine their world anew. This one is no different. It is a portal, a gateway between one world and the next. 

We can choose to walk through it, dragging the carcasses of our prejudice and hatred, our avarice, our data banks and dead ideas, our dead rivers and smoky skies behind us. Or we can walk through lightly, with little luggage , ready to imagine another world. And ready to fight for it.

For me, Roy flips the script from nihilism to constructive optimism. Instead of mourning the ends of things we know, we can choose to imagine the world we will build next. What does the postmodern world hold? What do our technological infrastructures, including connectivity and social media, provide in terms of developing networks for communication, collaboration, and contemplation? What wounds can we heal? Who needs our care? I don’t want to return to “normal,” because our “normal” got us here (and because I’ve spent a lifetime cringing at people telling me and others to be more “normal”). I don’t know what’s next, but if I have any hand in building it, I hope it’s built on a foundation of strong and just relationships and buttressed by the courage we need to face and heal from history. I hope it’s built from a deep desire for connection. 

Updates

Registration for Symposia is open! Please consider joining a symposium or recommending them to a friend or colleague who would enjoy the experience. Full descriptions on my website. Symposia are limited to 10 participants and need 4 to run. The first symposia to run - Good Stuff I and And it’s a classic because…? are scheduled to start next week but are short on participants. If you’re eager for meaningful conversation away from the noise of current events, come join! For more details and to register, click here!.

Guided meditations via Zoom continue! Mondays at 4:00pm PST. The aim is to practice being present - to ourselves, to others, and to the world. If you or someone you know could use a 20-30 minute dose of peace and quiet on Mondays, visit the meditation page on my site to sign up. 

Good Stuff

Participate
A few days ago, a friend posted a message with an invitation on Facebook. “What if everyone who doesn’t think the election was stolen, who believe in democracy and in the importance of a free press, who know Covid is killing people and wearing a mask isn’t that hard...what if we all demonstrated togetherness in a simple way?” In short: if that message resonates with you, light a candle and stand outside your front door at 6pm Pacific time each night before the inauguration. We don’t get a lot of foot traffic on our block, so my participation has functioned as a quiet few minutes away from the noise, a chance to rekindle my hope and optimism. Steve and his family are documenting it on Instagram, too, follow along and, if you participate, tag @democracy.matters in your post. 

Listen
Matisyahu is a personal favorite for a few reasons, and his unique blend of Jewish spirituality with hip hop has distinguished him throughout his career. His 2014 album Akeda takes its name from a story in the biblical book of Genesis about the binding of Isaac, and the core lyric in the song “Akeda”, the last track on the album, is “ayeka,” or “teach me to love.” 

If you stream music on Spotify, I’ve started a playlist called “Bill’s Good Stuff,” including music I’ve loved for a long time as well as things I’ve come across more recently. Feel free to add the playlist to your favorites! Bill’s Good Stuff Spotify Playlist

Watch
Sean Buranahiran’s reflection “Be Proud of Your Scars | A few years ago, Thai vlogger Sean Buranahiran reflected on the Japanese tradition of sealing cracks in pottery with gold as a metaphor for our own capacity for resilience. “Everything that you’ve been through, everything that you’re going through,” he says, “doesn’t make your life uglier, although it may seem that way when we’re going through it. It’s up to us to choose to paint our struggles with gold and make it beautiful.” 

Read
In this week’s meditation, I used “Each of Us Has a Name,” a prayer that Marcia Falk adapted from a poem by Zelda, from The Book of Blessings, a collection of new Jewish prayers composed through Falk’s Reconstructionist Jewish and feminist lens. Falk uses this text in place of the traditional kaddish, the mourner’s prayer. I’ll let Falk explain:

The traditional mourners’ prayer, known as the kaddish, is an Aramaic hymn praising God’s name...Not a dirge but a chant of affirmation, the kaddish provides a celebration of continuity in the face of rupture and loss...

In Hebrew (as in English), the word sheym means not just “name” but “identity” or “reputation”; the Bible proclaims “a good name is better than fine oil” (Eccl.7:1). Names represent the variety of ways in which we are known to ourselves and to each other. Zelda’s poem pays tribute to the multifaceted nature of the individual life and to the ways in which a life accrued meaning over time through its connections to others.” (Marcia Falk, The Book of Blessings)

There are many reasons I love this text and have returned to it in many contexts, but I’m including it today with the hope that it can provide a moment of contemplation not only to discern our own names - the ways that we know ourselves and are known by others - but also to reflect on the names we give each other. Being able to encounter each other’s authentic self, knowing each other’s truest name, is a privilege, but it’s also essential for helping others become their best selves and building relationships that can establish a true and lasting peace. 

“Each of Us Has a Name” 
Marcia Falk, after a poem by Zelda

Each of us has a name
given by the source of life 
and given by our parents

Each of us has a name
given by our stature and our smile 
and given by what we wear

Each of us has a name
given by the mountains 
and given by our walls

Each of us has a name 
given by the stars 
and given by our neighbors

Each of us has a name
given by our sins 
and given by our longing

Each of us has a name
given by our enemies 
and given by our love

Each of us has a name
given by our celebrations 
and given by our work

Each of us has a name
given by the seasons 
and given by our blindness

Each of us has a name
given by the sea 
and given by 
our death