Showing posts from July, 2007

Okay, I'm taking a really deep breath...

This blog is a response to Mr. Charles Follymacher's comments on my previous blog. I did respond to some of his questions, but I felt that other questions required a bit more elaboration. Here's what he wrote:

Quite a ways off topic, but I'm seizing the opportunity to ask a real Bahai woman about an issue that prevented me from joining the faith myself (when I was looking into it some years ago). And that is the deal with the highest council being proscribed for male membership only. How do you deal with that? Is it an issue for you? Were you born into this faith?

First of all, I have to make it clear that I'm responding to Mr. Follymacher's question from my viewpoint. What I have to say relates to how Angela Shortt sees the Baha'i Faith, and should not be construed as an official statement. I have links on the left hand side of this blog to the official Baha'i web sites where anyone can get more information. I say this because we, meaning Bahai's, really…

Men (and Women)

Last week, I was talking to my daughter Chenelle and she was telling me about life in "The Dollhouse". I guess I should explain. "The Dollhouse" is a large, yellow two story rental home that Chenelle shares with three (or is it four?) other girls. The young ladies are all twenty-something, and as crone-mother to one of the residents, I'm often amused by the stories of their various adventures. That's my reward for becoming a crone, FYI. I get to listen and smile as these young women struggle through their angst-ridden life lessons, grateful that I'm no longer going through all that. One must enjoy the scarce alms of seniority.

"Mom, you know what I've noticed about living with other women?" That was Chenelle's lead-in to the conversation. My response: "Mmhmm?" That's all a crone-mother has to do, by the way. Occasionally acknowledge that you hear the young person talking, and let her wear herself out.

Anyway, C…

Love Your Local New Ager

"When the light of Bahá’u’lláh dawned from the East, He proclaimed the promise of the oneness of humanity. He addressed all mankind, saying, “Ye are all the fruits of one tree. There are not two trees: one a tree of divine mercy, the other the tree of Satan.” Again He said, “Ye are all the fruits of one tree, the leaves of one branch.” This was His announcement; this was His promise of the oneness of the world of humanity. Anathema and execration were utterly abrogated. He said, “It is not becoming in man to curse another; it is not befitting that man should attribute darkness to another; it is not meet that one human being should consider another human being as bad; nay, rather, all mankind are the servants of one God; God is the Father of all; there is not a single exception to that law. There are no people of Satan; all belong to the Merciful. There is no darkness; all is light. All are the servants of God, and man must love humanity from his heart. He…

This is what happens when you can't sleep

Shout out to Los Angelista for the inspiration! Thanks, Liz!

I was thinking about that Gil Scott Heron song, and I decided to look it up and post the lyrics:

Home Is Where The Hatred Is

A junkie walking through the twilight
I'm on my way home
I left three days ago, but no one seems to know I'm gone
Home is where the hatred is
Home is filled with pain and it,
might not be such a bad idea if I never, never went home again

Stand as far away from me as you can and ask me why
Hang on to your rosary beads
close your eyes to watch me die
you keep saying, kick it, quit it, kick it, quit it
God, but did you ever try
to turn your sick soul inside out
so that the world, so that the world
can watch you die

home is where i live inside my white powder dreams
home was once an empty vacuum that's filled now with my silent screams
home is where the needle marks
try to heal my broken heart
and it might not be such a bad idea if i never, if i never went home again
home again
home again
home again
kick it, …

Growing Up Electric: An Essay

I wrote this essay for a journalism class that I took this past spring at Sacramento City College. I really don't need the class, except to prove to Graduate Admissions at California State University at Sacramento that I would be good scholar if they would only re-admit me to the program. But I did enjoy the class immensely. mostly because it gave me the chance to reminisce about my days as a novice reporter, and to enjoy writing essays outside of the Modern Language Association's dictates for post-graduate work. Folks, you have no idea. But I'm going to do it. If I want to do the type of work that I love doing, I have to do the post-graduate grind once again. But that's all right. At least I won't be walking campus wondering why I felt my Bachelor's degree in English did not prepare for the surreal world of graduate study. It won't be a breeze because it's a lot of time-consuming work. But at least I understand the game now. That hel…

An addict's story

I am an addict. Most people would look at me and disagree with that statement. To them, an addict is one of those nasty, dirty criminals who would sell their children to the dealer for another line of coke, some more rocks to put in the crack pipe, or another syringe filled with whatever Willie-the-Dope-Man has on him. People look at me and see a overweight, middle-aged Black woman who needs mobility devices to walk, and they could possibly think, church lady. I look like thousands of overweight, middle-aged Black women with canes or walkers who stream out of the doors of the nearest Baptist/Penecostal/A.M.E. church every Sunday afternoon. I admit it; I do look like one of those women. But I'm still an addict of the most common, and frequently misunderstood kind. I'm a food addict. And I'm willing to bet that all those other overweight women waddling out of church every Sunday are food addicts, too. And they'd probably rather cut off their voluminous arms and legs and …