Thursday, December 4, 2008
So I'm back here, realizing more critically than ever that we need to talk about love. Just today I was reminded of this, and what immediately came to mind was a poet I have had the good fortune of seeing in person. Her name is Shailja Patel, a Kenyan woman. You can check out her work at http://www.shailja.com/. What I was particularly reminded of was a sentiment she shares with her audiences - that for every poem she writes about greed, hatred, violence, and injustice, she promises to herself that she will a poem about love.
It's not about giving up the fight - but just making sure that we fight with love in our veins, in our blood, in our hearts, all around us. Otherwise, it is easy to be overwhelmed, to crumble beneath the weight of it all...and if we do that, haven't the forces that we rail against -- the forces that suppress peace and justice -- haven't those forces won out in the end anyway?
So here I share with you one of Shailja's poems about love. A tough love, a love that is earned. I hope you enjoy it.
They never said / they loved us
Those words were not / in any language / spoken by my parents
I love you honey was the dribbled caramel / of Hollywood movies / Dallas / Dynasty / where hot water gushed / at the touch of gleaming taps / electricity surged / 24 hours a day / through skyscrapers banquets obscene as the Pentagon / were mere backdrops / where emotions had no consequences words / cost nothing meant nothing would never / have to be redeemed
My parents / didn't speak / that / language
1975 / 15 Kenyan shillings to the British pound / my mother speaks battle
Storms the bastions of Nairobi's / most exclusive prep schools / shoots our cowering / six-year old bodies like cannonballs / into the all-white classrooms / scales the ramparts of class distinction / around Loreto Convent / where the president / sends his daughter / the foreign diplomats send / their daughters / because my mother's daughters / will / have world-class educations
She falls / regroups / falls and re-groups / in endless assaults on visa officials / who sneer behind their bulletproof windows / at US and British consulates / my mother the general / arms her daughters / to take on every citadel
1977 / 20 Kenyan shillings to the British pound / my father speaks / stoic endurance / he began at 16 the brutal apprenticeship / of a man who takes care of his own / relinquished dreams of / fighter pilot rally driver for the daily crucifixion / of wringing profit from business / my father the foot soldier, bound to an honour / deeper than any currency / you must / finish what you start you must / march until you drop you must / give your life for those / you bring into the world
I try to explain love / in shillings / to those who've never gauged / who gets to leave who has to stay / who breaks free and what they pay / those who've never measured love / by every rung of the ladder / from survival / to choice
A force as grim and determined / as a boot up the backside / a spur that draws blood / a mountaineer's rope / that yanks / relentlessly / up
My parents never say / they love us / they save and count / count and save / the shilling falls against the pound / college fees for overseas students / rise like flood tides / love is a luxury / priced in hard currency / ringed by tariffs / and we devour prospectuses / of ivied buildings smooth lawns vast / libraries the way Jehovah's witnesses / gobble visions of paradise / because we know we'll have to be / twice as good three times as fast four times as driven / with angels powers and principalities on our side just / to get / on the plane
Thirty shillings to the pound fourty shillings to the pound / my parents fight over money late in the night / my father pounds the walls and yells / I can't -- it's impossible -- what do you think I am? / My mother propels us through school tuition exams applications / locks us into rooms to study / keeps an iron grip on the bank books
1982 / gunshots / in the streets of Nairobi / military coup leaders / thunder over the radio / Asian businesses wrecked and looted Asian women raped / after / the government / regains control / we whisper what the coup leaders planned
Round up all the Asians at gunpoint / in the national stadium / strip them of what / they carry march them / 30 miles / elders in wheelchairs / babies in arms / march them 30 miles to the airport / pack them onto any planes / of any foreign airline / tell the pilots / down the rifle barrels / leave / we don't care where you take them / leave
I learn like a stone in my gut that / third-generation Asian Kenyan will never / be Kenyan enough / all my patriotic fervor / will never turn my skin black / as yet another western country / drops a portcullis / of immigration spikes / my mother straps my shoulders back with a belt / to teach me / to stand up straight
50 Kenyan shillings to the pound / we cry from meltdown pressure / of exam after exam where second place is never good enough / they snap / faces taut with fear / you can't be soft / you have to fight / or the world will eat you up
75 Kenyan shillings to the pound / they hug us / tearless stoic at airports / as we board planes for icy alien England / cram instructions into our pockets like talismans / Eat proper meals so you don't get sick / cover your ears against the cold / avoid those muffathias / the students without purpose or values / learn and study / succeed / learn and study / succeed / remember remember remember the cost of your life
they never say / they love us
I watch how I love / I admonish exhort / like a Himalayan guide I / rope my chosen ones / yank them remorselessly up / when they don't even want to be / on the frigging mountain like a vigilante squad I / scan dark streets for threats I / strategize for war and famine I / slide steel down spines
I watch heat / steam off my skin / when Westerners drop / I love yous into conversation / like blueberries hitting / soft / muffin dough / I convert it to shillings / and I wince
December 2000 / 120 shillings to the British pound / 90 Kenyan shillings to the US dollar / my sister Sneha and I / wait for our parents / at SFO's international terminal
Four hours after / their plane landed / they have not emerged
And we know with the hopeless rage / of third-world citizens / African passport holders / that the sum of their lives and labour / dreams and sacrifice / was measured sifted weighed found / wanting / by the INS
Somewhere deep in the airport's underbelly / in a room rank with fear and despair / my parents / who have travelled / 27 hours / across three continents / to see their children / are interrogated / by immigration officials
My father the footsoldier / numb with exhaustion / is throwing away / all the years / with reckless resolve / telling them / take the passports / take them / stamp them / no readmission EVER / just let me out to see my daughters
My mother the general / dizzy with desperation / cuts him off shouts him down / demands listen to me I'm the one / who filled in the visa forms / in her mind her lip curls she thinks / these Americans / call themselves so advanced so / modern but still / in the year 2000 / they think it must be the husband in charge / they won't let the wife speak
On her face a lifetime / of battle-honed skill and charm / turns like a heat lamp / onto the INS man until he / stretches / yawns / relents / he's tired / it's late / he wants his dinner / and my parents / trained from birth / to offer Indian / hospitality / open their bags and give their sandwiches / to this man / who would have sent them back / without a thought
Sneha and I / in the darkened lobby / watch the empty exit way / our whole American / dream-bought-with-their-lives / hisses mockery around our rigid bodies / we swallow sobs because / they raised us to be tough / they raised us to be fighters and into that / clenched haze / of not / crying
here they come
hunched / over their luggage carts our tiny / fierce / fragile / dogged / indomitable parents
Hugged tight they stink / of 31 hours in transit / hugged tighter we all stink / with the bravado of all the years / pain bitten down on gargantuan hopes / holding on through near-disasters / never ever / giving in / to softness
The stench rises off us / unbearable / of what / was never said
Something / is bursting the walls of my arteries something / is pounding its way up my throat like a volcano / rising / finally / I understand / why I'm a poet
Because I was born to a law / that states / before you claim a word you steep it / in terror and shit / in hope and joy and grief / in labour endurance vision costed out / in decades of your life / you have to sweat and curse it / pray and keen it / crawl and bleed it / with the very marrow / of your bones / you have to earn / its / meaning
Monday, October 27, 2008
May the promise of the New Year lead us out of darkness....and into light, out of war....and into peace, out of misunderstanding....and into love, and out of sorrow...and into happiness. Happy Diwali to All. Touch your heart with the light of the New Year.
With my love,
Saturday, October 25, 2008
"Love without justice is sentimental and anaemic. Justice without love is rigid and tyrannical. Justice, at its highest, creates the conditions that allow love to flourish. Love, at its highest, removes all obstacles to justice."
Martin Luther King
Sunday, October 19, 2008
When we come to an understanding, actually an over-standing, about something, it's often said we realized something, but what does that really mean? To "re-al-ize" is to have what my mentor calls "real-eyes," to see into the heart of whatever, or whomever, it is you are trying to (over)stand with realness, with vision. Real-eyes'ing something is about piercing the heart of reality with the gift of sight.
And this isn't about physical vision, because as my mentor said, "you probably don't real-eyes how quickly you can transmute what you visual-eyes into visual-lies, hate from what you love." This is about seeing with your eye of wisdom, your jnana chakshu, also known as your divine eye, or divya chakshu. That is the picture above. It is through this center, your third eye, that you receive revelation and in-sight (there's that sight again!) into the underlying nature of the world. It is here where direct communication occurs between us, and the doorway through which we enter into another dimension. Where we see each other clearly, and perhaps (over)stand each other for the first time. When we have this (over)standing, my friends, we can't help but love truly.
It's such a magical thing to touch your own chakshu, or sight, and through it, cultivate deep love for someone.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Did you hear about the rose that grew from a crack in the concrete?
Proving nature's law is wrong it learned to walk with out having feet.
Funny it seems, but by keeping it's dreams, it learned to breathe fresh air.
Long live the rose that grew from concrete when no one else ever cared.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
I realize that my motivation for blogging about love was all the negativity out and about in the world. I was and am just plain old tired of it. I see the negativity affecting people in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. I see it affecting me. But in calling for a collective "quest" for love, I realize I got it wrong. It is actually self-defeating to look for love completely free of any negativity. One of my spiritual mentors recently reminded me that we must hold the light and the darkness together. Because if we reach only for the light, we will be disappointed. Light alone is illusionary. Light that co-exists with darkness is not.
In fact, the more we talk about "looking for" love, we miss the very valuable joy that exists NOW, the joy that maybe we only see glimpses of at present, but that needs to be nurtured and grown like anything that is cared for. That picture above is of a lotus flower, a flower found throughout India. What is special to me about the lotus flower is that it is born from and grows amidst mud and muck, slowly growing up towards the waters' surface and continually moving towards the light. Although some may give up on the lotus flower, those who don't and who nurture it are treated to pure beauty when it blossoms. The kamala, born of the lotus, emerges.
Let us awaken to the love around us now, not just the 'ideal' love we crave at some illusory point in the future. Let's hold darkness and light together. Let's celebrate the shining of the light, as faint as it may be, into the darkness.
Do you remember what Gibran says? He says we can't separate one from the other. "The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain."
May I not give up on the love that exists NOW in my life and in the world.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
"May I become at all times, both now and forever
A protector for those without protection
A guide for those have lost their way
A ship for those with oceans to cross
A bridge for those with rivers to cross
A sanctuary for those in danger
A lamp for those without light
A place of refuge for those who lack shelter
And a servant to all in need."
I would add to the last sentence,
"And a servant to all in need, starting with myself."