I Heart Moe

I treated myself to David O. Sullivan's film "I Heart Huckabees" twice in the past two days, and each time my daughter Moe came forcefully into my mind. The movie is wonderful. It rolls in the mud of life, literally and figuratively, just as Moe has been rolling in the mud lately. Her long-term live-in boyfriend ended their relationship (he left her a note and moved out) and of course her self-esteem took a blow. She became critical of her face, her body, her hair, just like all good women, taught to please men, will do when their man leaves. She even had "leukemia" for a while, her mind self-annihilating. And she did what any normal woman would do. She looked for validation in another man. Of course this is flawed action, but it was even more flawed in Moe's case, because after her musician left, she chose a poet. She told me about visiting his apartment one night and experiencing the aftermath of his cyclone life, with debris everywhere. Wads of paper, open books, piles of clothing, stuff everywhere. AJ, who is living with Moe, imagined (and recited with emotion!) long romantic sonnets that Moe's poet must be writing. No poem was ever good enough, of course (hence the wadded piles of paper) because words could never reach the true depths of his feeling for Moe.

How could I not think of her, then, when the main character of "I Heart Huckabees" is a deep-thinking poet/environmentalist who tries to prevent corporate destruction of the environment in part through trying to change the way people see the world by sharing his poetry? Some women are drawn to dreamers. But that is another blog.

Moe, a dancer, left Michigan when she was 18 years old with $100 in her pocket. She rode the bus to New York City and pulled herself up by her bootstraps, alone, with almost no help from a mother who was going to grad school full time, working full time and trying her best to raise three other kids while living in poverty. In "I Heart Huckabees" the poet/environmentalist is shown by a French existentialist detective that "he was orphaned by indifference". I wonder, sometimes, if Moe felt orphaned by indifference. Sometimes overwork, or poverty or depression can seem like indifference. Maybe they are no different.

Moe's experience as an orphan has hardened her. But not entirely. There remains a sprout that is green and healthy. It is rooted in her heart and its strong offshoots bring health and rejuvination and love and softening to every cell of her body and mind and spirit. Searching out the darkest parts, it brings self-acceptance and tolerance and rest.

Self reliance is an illusion, Moe. You are interconnected with and dependant on all beings. All is not lost. Let the universe console you.

WWJD, Oppressor Motherfuckers?

I heard recently that the majority of divorces in older couples are carried out by women. That statistic cheered me somehow. Maybe marriage, which seems often to me like the biggest blind spot when it comes to the oppression of women, is finally dying at the hands of the oppressed. It would seem that way, with all the panicking of the Christian Right spoken through President Bush.

What is the big deal about homosexuals marrying? White hererosexuals have run competitively toward marriage as another possession, one that will surely bring happiness and security. They have the big build-up, with showers, bachelor parties, shopping binges, and they spend an average of $25,000 on a ceremony. This performance falls flat when 70% of them are divorced within 10 years. Why are homosexuals fighting for that? Why is the fantasy of "one relationship for life" so attractive to people? I believe it is fear, brought about in wide measure by American civil religion, that convention that has taken the place of real Christianity.

Christianity has been so twisted by our culture that to be a good Christian at the moment, you must blindly follow President Bush as he slaughters thousands of Iraqi citizens and forces indifferent and individualistic capitalism onto the world. And Christians believe God speaks to Bush and tells him to go to war. It is easier to submit to Bush's authority than go against the popular belief system and receive disapproval, just like in traditional marriage. Christian churches teach couples that the man is the stronger vessel and the woman is weaker, that the woman needs to submit to the husband's decisions that he receives from God (him)self or his (male) pastor in order to receive her husband's protection against forces of evil in the world.

Not to mention skin color. God is still white, as far as I can tell from mainstream culture, as are most people with power in our country, from the president down. What a wonderful snippet from the documentary "Supersize Me", when a kindergartner is shown photographs of well-known people to see if he will recognize them. Of course the kid recognizes Ronald McDonald, but when he identifies one photograph as "W Bush", the adult says "you are close". The photograph is turned toward the camera, revealing a painting of Jesus (one of those popular kitch prints, with (white) Jesus looking straight at you with long brown hair and a benevolent expression).

It is so difficult to move against the tide of acceptable behavior. After all, we are Puritans. We have the work ethic down. We have jobs that are unbelievably stressful or boring and give ourselves no time for rest, happily making "The (white) Man" rich. (Another rich scene from a movie: Factory workers cheer as the last car comes off the assembly line in Flint, Michigan in Michael Moore's "Roger and Me". One worker turns to the camera and asks, "Why are they cheering? They just lost their jobs.") We kill ourselves for a capitalist economy that makes the upper 2% if the population rich and we kill our sons and daughters in Iraq for the same reason. Our loyalies are fucked up.

We participate in our own oppression because there is some "daddy" out there looking out for our best interests (God, Bush, our husband, the police). We take some comfort in not living under their constant disapproval. After all, what if they were right? What if we did go to hell if we divorced our husbands? What if we all were destroyed by nuclear war? What if we were lonely and broke and ostracized (and ugly and fat and hysterical and blonde and stupid)?

The Bible warns, "Your greatest fear will come upon you." But I won't be motivated by fear. I believe, in this country (and soon to be world) of forced sameness, in this sea of mediocrity and convention, that there will appear outposts of people living new and creative lifestyles, deciding new priorities, who are birthing in a new era that is more loving, tolerant, compassionate. I am a pilgrim this morning, out walking toward that thought.

To Do

Get car fixed
Check bank balance
Get blood drawn
Rake lawn
Clean toilet
Call doctor
Buy hair gel
Send package
Correct papers
Take shower
Eat cereal
Read book
Buy clothes
Call friend
Sleep adequately
Pay a bill
Step in cat shit
Drink water
Feel compassion for the downtrodden who cultivate a connection with life
Drop purse in rainy parking lot
Wait for an e-mail
Dislike people
Suddenly sing a song from a time long ago
Buy Good 'n' Plenty's
Laugh with co-workers
Desire to swim
Think private thoughts
Pluck eyebrows
Wish the cat would die
Feel warm sun
Look for news of moral change in the world
Car shop
Buy something
Feel depressed about the state of the environment
Eat something
Read something
Talk about something
Miss my mother
Walk down flourescent light-flooded store aisles
Notice that I may become disinterested in the things around me
Smell ozone
Find an almond on the floor
Pet the cat
Wish I had more money
Think about my children
Depend on the kindness of strangers
Appreciate a gel pen
Recharge cell phone
Step outside my door

Selfless Demons from Hell

Are we taught to create a common cultural identity, as children, through a series of performances that please our parents? Do we then, throughout our lives strive for the applause that the performance of our false identity brings?

We get applause when we are potty trained, adoring faces surround us when we take our first step, each good grade brings either effusive praise or money. And when we are older the marriage celebration brings overpowering love and support, financially and otherwise. The birth of our first child brings congratulations and feelings that we have pleased our parents once again.

The status quo seduces us as performers because it brings the best praise and acceptance -and money. Most of us don't question these so-called rites of passage. Mark Epstein, in his book Going on Being, provides a cultural critique of the parenting that trains us to perform and sets the stage for "...the sense of disconnection that often plagues people in the modern world."

"The intense pressure in our culture for individual attainment affects parents and children alike. All too often, at least in situations where children are not simply being ignored, from very early in life everyone worries about what will become of a child, about who (or what) they are going to be. There is little trust in the natural unfolding of the individual. The pressure is there from the beginning and is transmitted at all the landmarks of development, with parents who are insecure about their own achievements conditioning their children's approach to life. Sitting up, standing, going to the bathroom, walking, and talking (events that happen, miraculously, virtually on their own) become benchmarks of progress, ways of showing off, or means of assuaging parental anxiety. The result is often a sense of personal insecurity, for if we are only performers it is difficult to feel real." (p 136)

The rush that we get from our performance, as children, is hard to perpetuate into adulthood. Without this reinforcement how do we know who we are? We chase the affirmation, just as heroin addicts chase that first high. Maybe if I get another degree, and prove how smart I am, maybe if I buy the right car, wear the right clothes, or mold the right face and body I will receive the affirmation from strangers that I so desperately need.

Walking around constantly judging is a burden that we carry. I walk down a street and I continually place myself on a rating scale. Do I match up? Am I perceived as attractive? Is my accoutrement being accepted and can I perceive the subtle glance that accepts or rejects?

It is not so easy to reject this model. Those of us who rebelled were without support from those for whom we were taught to perform. We girded ourselves up with bad reactions. Their hate for us meant we were somehow more authentic. We challenged and rocked the boat.

But we eventually gave in to the seduction of belonging. We decided to believe we were part of a good and just society. We decided we were good citizens.

We graduated from college. (Applause, please.)
We got the job and the work ethic. (Applause, please.)
We got married. (Applause, please.)
We went to church. (Applause, please.)
We quit drinking. (Applause, please.)
We were selfless demons from hell. (Applause, please.)

Now we will get our good selves back.