A welcoming space for resistance to the forces of oppression and hegemony.
Carol A. Hand
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Carol A. Hand
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I woke up this morning. Late, of course, when defined by daylight savings time. Sunlight was streaming through the eastern window. But when I awoke, a gentle but stunning realization dawned as a simple question ran through my mind.
“What happens if you put good people in an evil place?”
It’s a paraphrase of the question Dr. Phillip Zimbardo said he wanted to explore in his famous experiment, The Stanford Prison Experiment.
Another thought quickly followed.
“I have been in evil places. Many of them. And I survived despite a tender heart that was ripped open by intense suffering. Both my suffering and that of others who were vulnerable.”
A sense of gratitude followed from knowing that I did my best to hold true to integrity and protect myself and others from the most destructive harm anyway. I got up every morning and walked in to face the fire, knowing that it was an experiment to see if it was possible to transform evil systems.
Although I made many mistakes in my journey, strength came from the ancestors who sometimes appeared to me and the wise beings who visited me in dreams. They taught me that compassion comes from forgiving one’s self as a necessary foundation for forgoing the need to demonize others for the choices they make.
“Mistakes are, after all,
the foundations of truth,
and if a man does not know
what a thing is, it is at
least an increase in knowledge
if he knows what it is not.”
(Carl Jung)
Thanks to Eddie Two Hawks for sharing this quote in a recent post.
I look at the state of the world today and know that I am just one unimportant person among billions. There is little I can do to affect change in the systems that harm others. That’s a choice only each individual must make for themselves. It’s a choice that one makes each moment.
I am inspired by the choices Diane Lefer recently shared on her blog, Nobody Wakes Up Pretty, about those who are working to address the egregious harm being done along the border with Mexico in the name of “Making America Great Again.” Diane’s work reminds me of something written more than a century ago by Jane Addams when she and the women of Hull-House in Chicago lived among newly arrived immigrants in the poorest of city neighborhoods.
“. . . the good we secure for ourselves is precarious and uncertain, is floating in mid-air, until it is secured for all of us and incorporated into our common life” (Jane Addams, 1961, p. 76).
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May we all continue to make wise, compassionate choices to use whatever gifts we have to build a kinder world.
Work Cited:
Jane Addams (1961). Twenty Years at Hull-House. New York, NY: Signet Classics.
Carol A. Hand
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Yesterday, March 5th, was my granddaughter’s twelfth birthday. We had a lovely family celebration. But it’s a date that always makes me feel both deeply grateful, and deeply guilty.
I was traveling when I learned that my daughter was in the hospital giving birth to her daughter prematurely. In the midst of a powerful late winter snowstorm, the airports were closed in both of the cities where my daughter and I were. Renting a car to drive hundreds of miles through the storm wasn’t an option. There was no way I could be there. I could only fly home to a distant state the next day while the storm continued to batter the city where my daughter was.
When the airport reopened on the third day, I was faced with a conundrum. I was carrying heavy responsibilities for gifted, at-risk graduate students in a university that was unsupportive of those who were different in some way. If I left again to be with my daughter, it was likely their graduation would, at best, be delayed. I decided to send my partner, my daughter’s stepfather for most of her life, to be there instead. It was several months before I held my granddaughter for the first time.
All of the students I was advising graduated, many passing their final requirements with distinction, and they went on to careers helping vulnerable people. Yet, I know my daughter was deeply hurt. I will always wonder if I made the “right” choice, just as I will always remember that her birth was the greatest gift in my life.
Carol A. Hand
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Carol A. Hand
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Note:
Recently, I have received unkind comments on a number of posts. From my perspective, there is more than enough mean-spiritedness in the world today. I made a difficult decision not to post those comments because I don’t want this blog to be used to give voice to disrespect toward others even though I have been the primary target. Witnessing the abuse of others hurts me, and I suspect many others have the same response.
Carol A. Hand
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Carol A. Hand
Four crows sitting atop the willow tree
chattering loudly while surveilling their domain
reminding an old eagle grandmother of four dark souls
determined to keep fledgling eagles from taking flight
to travel to heights where crows cannot breathe
There was a time when crows were new to her
when she listened and watched them in thoughtful silence
as they crowed loudly about how clever they were
strutting about confident in their superiority
showing off shiny things they gathered in their travels
Nevertheless she naively believed that they could be friends
not realizing then how different she was
until she discerned a disturbing pattern
watching them band together to keep fledglings grounded
reveling in the suffering they caused
She understood then that lone eagles have a different path
to attract the focus of crows’ attention elsewhere
to create a safer space for fledglings to practice flying
so they could develop the strength of their wings
and study the nature of wind and weather and gravity
Trying hard, though they did, the crows didn’t darken her vision
as she learned how to keep them at bay
without harming them even though they struck her
repeatedly with increasing ferocity
crowing in joy at their collective power to wound
Scores of fledglings launched before she needed rest
before she could take flight herself and rise
though she heard that the dark souls continue
taunting and grounding those they fear who can fly higher
and explore vistas beyond the limited realm of crows
She watched as the crows in the willow tree grew silent
and departed one by one to the four directions
their lone cries echoing in the distance
She gave silent thanks for her freedom
and for the inner strength the crows helped her find
realizing that it might not have happened otherwise
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Carol A. Hand
Make the most of each moment while you are here
Observe life intently with an artist’s eye, listen deeply with a poet’s ear
Contemplate life with an empath’s heart, engage life with a compassionate mind
Live your life humbly, simply, remembering to be kind
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Speak your truth when you must
urged by an inner power you’ve learned to trust
sometimes gently with the voice of a singer in a choir
and other times, boldly, with a spirit on fire
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Forgive yourself for the moments you squander
when emotions or daydreams cause your focus to wander
It’s what often reminds you how human you are
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Carol A. Hand
So much easier dreamt than spoken
So much simpler said than done
The process of transformation
never-ending once it has begun
Though you listen deeply for the next steps
the journey will test your mind and spirit
You’ll reach the breaking point again and again
The epiphany may be there but you cannot hear it
The path you’ve chosen will tempt you to abandon hope
confront you with your deepest nightmare fears
unleash powerful emotions you thought controlled
drive you to distraction and call forth your bitter tears
Forgive yourself for faltering and desiring the long journey’s final end
Find the strength within to continue, let compassionate thoughts ascend
Perhaps someday you’ll glance back and, only then, be able to comprehend
why it’s so much easier to dream than overcome suffering in order to transcend
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(Photo Source: commons.wikimedia.com)
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Carol A. Hand
This is a story from times of old
about a catfish and a golden toad
and a partnership ill-fated
Sometimes love is not meant to be
though the realization may be belated
They met long ago in a magical place
as if by happenstance
in the wooded hills of faraway
where many came to sing and dance
Both seeking to pursue their dreams
to fill an inner longing
to find a place to free their sprits
in a community of belonging
He tall and proud
a prince among the toads
Following the edge of Sewer Brook
rather than hopping down the winding roads
She swimming against the current
up the mighty Housatonic River
A little daughter swimming by her side
forging on with a gasp, a sigh, a shiver
He arrived years before her
filling an empty soul with passion after passion
with little concern for consequences
Caring about others and the earth had fallen out of fashion
She on the other hand
in her wound-weary watery soul
tried to bring comfort to those who suffered
and make the broken-hearted whole
Ah, what a disaster can sometimes happen
when such opposites join together
Both may lose their sense of worth
surrounded by forever stormy weather
Final goodbyes in this case
a blessing in disguise
Freeing both to pursue their dreams again
Perhaps alone, but each under sunnier skies
Note: Inspired by life and “The Wind in the Willows” by Kenneth Grahame (1908).
Mr. Toad, the main character in The Wind in the Willows, is aptly described in Wikipedia as follows.
“Toad is intelligent, creative and resourceful; however, he is also narcissistic, self-centred [sic] almost to the point of sociopathy, and completely lacking in even the most basic common sense…. Ultimately, Toad has his heart in the right place. His characteristics have made him arguably the epitome of the stock character of the lovable rogue. During the course of his adventures Toad alternates between deep remorse for his arrogance and having relapses into it.”
Perhaps Mr. Toad is a “lovable rogue,” but he’s not my idea of an ideal life companion.
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Copyright Notice: © Carol A. Hand and carolahand, 2013-2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Carol A. Hand and carolahand with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
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Voices from the Margins 
