Sunday, September 27

social justice

Contemplative Silence as Protest

Contemplative Silence as Protest

activism, contemplation, social justice, spiritual practice, spiritual practices, Spirituality
"I make monastic silence a protest against the lies of politicians, propagandists and agitators..." — Thomas Merton, In My Own Words I wish Thomas Merton were still alive. I'd love to hear his responses to life in the year 2016. If he could have imagined what we are living now, what would he have said? I saw this quote, amazingly enough, on Wikipedia. I think I'll let this stand on its own.

Making a Way Out of No Way

activism, disability, disabled, inclusive, social justice, Uncategorized
I'm going to get on my soapbox for a minute. This is my own story, not intended to offend someone else. There's a Scripture passage where four men take a paralyzed man to Jesus. They couldn't get through the door, so they lowered him from the roof to get him there. That's one of the more creative accommodations I've ever heard of to facilitate the inclusion of someone with a disability. It was the partnership between disabled and non-disabled people that made it possible for that accommodation to happen. Do any of you find that you need a creative solution to a problem you're facing that makes it hard for you to be part of your chosen community or chosen activities? Are you frustrated because you feel like no one can or will help you? Are you banging on a brick wall trying to find a wa...

The true history of indigenous peoples . . .

injustice, Joy, social justice, writing
The Wiyot lived in the Humboldt Bay area of Northern California and they live in my dreams. For about a year-and-half we made our home in Humboldt County, an area about 200 miles north of San Francisco on the far North Coast. It's a place dense with redwood forests, wild rivers, and creeks that run dry in the summer and overflow in the winter. If you live in a rural area or grew up in one, you might take such things for granted. Having lived in paved-over cities all my life, they seemed magical to me. Our four acres were rich with sequoia, madrone, oak, and twenty-eight fruit trees. Blue jays flew in to feed in the morning. Quail families visited at night. They marched down our drive in orderly formation. Hawks and hummingbirds put on air shows. Rosemary thrived unattended. There wa...