"...until there is a more meditative dimension in the peace movement, our perception of reality (and thus our ability to help occasion understanding and transformation) will be terribly crippled. whatever our religious or nonreligious background and vocabulary may be, we will be overlooking something as essential to our lives and work as breath itself."

James Forest

mlk was an activist and lover.

"When machines and computers, profit motives and property rights, are considered more important than people, the giant triplets of racism, extreme materialism, and militarism are incapable of being conquered.

A true revolution of values will soon cause us to question the fairness and justice of many of our past and present policies. On the one hand we are called to play the Good Samaritan on life's roadside, but that will be only an initial act. One day we must come to see that the whole Jericho Road must be transformed so that men and women will not be constantly beaten and robbed as they make their journey on life's highway. True compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar. It comes to see that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring."

-MLK Jr., "Beyond Vietnam: A Time to Break Silence" speech, April 4, 1967

things i find interesting.

during advent things rustled to the surface.

among them are:

story and vulnerability.

my beautiful friends who birth babies. and who are activists because of their "strong convictions."

polyphonic feminisms. a new online mag i respect.

how they see sex and love.

the children's repository of "banned" books. is there such a THING? (and half of them are already in my amazon order to my house.)

back.

i write this from my bathtub.

i am three quarters through a bottle of wine and one episode into modern family.

this evening i shared with a woman rabbi who is a -- i mean most deeply -- friend. She is wise and generous and creative. she shared her moleskin of watercolours with me and i am amazed at how she connects my story with those from her community.

i wonder what this partnership may hold.

my body feels relaxed and soft: folded in hot waters.

and i have much to write.

the blog is closed for the holidays.

yesterday i went to a service of emptying.

i was profoundly moved by watching this beautiful, random cohort of people taking off their scarves, hats, coats, gloves...

walking to the front of the room,

and laying them in on the makeshift "altar" to be donated.

in the spirit of emptying and refining and simplifying,

writing long-hand more and seeing screens less,

this blog,

and all others that i check,

is closed.

because many of you beautiful readers

have blogs that i check and feel connected to you through...

keep in touch over email or phone or carrier pigeon or face,

because from now until christmas,

i won't be checking your blog.

but we held out our eyes delirious with grace.

Shake Loose My Skin: New and Selected Poems

I’m gonna stay on the battlefield
I’m gonna stay on the battlefield
I’m gonna stay on the battlefield til I die.

i had come into the city carrying life in my eyes
amid rumors of death,
calling out to everyone who would listen
it is time to move us all into another century
time for freedom and racial and sexual justice
time for women and children and men time for hands unbound
i had come into the city wearing peaceful breasts
and the spaces between us smiled
i had come into the city carrying life in my eyes.
i had come into the city carrying life in my eyes.

And they followed us in their cars with their computers
and their tongues crawled with caterpillars
and they bumped us off the road turned over our cars,
and they bombed our buildings killed our babies,
and they shot our doctors maintaining our bodies,
and their courts changed into confessionals
but we kept on organizing we kept on teaching believing
loving doing what was holy moving to a higher ground
even though our hands were full of slaughtered teeth
but we held out our eyes delirious with grace.
but we held out our eyes delirious with grace.

I’m gonna treat everybody right
I’m gonna treat everybody right
I’m gonna treat everybody right til I die.

come. i say come, you sitting still in domestic bacteria
come. i say come, you standing still in double-breasted mornings
come. i say come, and return to the fight.
this fight for the earth
this fight for our children
this fight for our life
we need your hurricane voices
we need your sacred hands

i say, come, sister, brother to the battlefield
come into the rain forests
come into the hood
come into the barrio
come into the schools
come into the abortion clinics
come into the prisons
come and caress our spines

i say come, wrap your feet around justice
i say come, wrap your tongues around truth
i say come, wrap your hands with deeds and prayer
you brown ones
you yellow ones
you black ones
you gay ones
you white ones
you lesbian ones

Come come come come come to this battlefield
called life, called life, called life… .

I’m gonna stay on the battlefield
I’m gonna stay on the battlefield
I’m gonna stay on the battlefield til I die.

Sonia Sanchez -For Sweet Honey in the Rock
Beacon Press (c) 1999 by Sonia Sanchez

does your work become your calling?

or your calling become your work?



discuss.

believe it.

dear carol hyde and the iona community,

i know i wore rain boots and a kerchief all summer. and that i also wore the same clothes and didn't shower or shave and rolled my pants in a horrible fashion.

but when i told you that my favorite pair of shoes were my four inch red stiletto heels and you didn't believe that someone who looked like me could own shoes like those and you asked for photo proof upon my return...

believe it.

so, miss carol hyde, who made me make beds perfectly and wash dishes FASTER ...

these pics are for your dis-believing self.

(and i hope you are MOST wonderful.)

love,

ashley

the peace of wild things.

by wendell berry.


When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

i don't have much wild space here,

but for now, a hot mug of tea in a hipster cafe

or pupusa at a taqueria

will have to suffice.

(and prospect park's not bad, either.)

unacceptable.

one in five u.s. high school girls say they do not know three adults they can turn to if they have a problem.

(girls, inc. 2006.)

a very small state.

i visited THIS couple in rhode island. stayed in their guest room. slept with their dog, chips, who they rescued, and who has the most wonderful case of slight PTSD (meaning, that she just likes to be spooned.)

i walked to marshalls, bought too much champagne, celebrated job and good friends. wrote letters. cleaned a bathroom. watched a romantic comedy alone. emailed a lot of people my thoughts on my hatred of said romantic comedy. forgot to remember that i had emailed said people until i had a full email box the following morning. talked systemic oppression. listened to npr for an entire afternoon while washing dishes barefoot. fell in love with rural massachusetts and the life that my friends are building. now THAT is worth celebrating.

amy refuses to send pictures of herself.

i went to boston to see my friend amy.

and her husband.

and harvard.

and to make pilgrimage to one place of higher learning and feminism and movie location.

and to pick apples.

and to photo shoot.

and to almost miss my bus.

and to have car time.

and to enjoy the love and warmth of a friend who knows me.

boston is beautiful, especially the part

where you get really, really lost with

no forms of electronic communication.

that is the best.

a book.

finally reading it. (a few years late.)

thoughts emerging... we'll see, mr. rollins.

"for christians testify to having been caught up in and engulfed by that which utterly transcends them. in short, the experience that gives birth to faith, at its most luminous, is analogous to the experience of an infant feeling the tender kiss and embrace of its mother."

peter rollins, how (not) to speak of god, pg.1

poorly aligned and badly caption-ed.

mulled wine and drumming on the beach.

walk to the abbey.

stone labryinth at columba's bay.

(below: tea break in the refectory.)

these are the days.

My friend ian left me on the shores of iona when I left. He didn’t want to see me cry (which I didn’t.) because he doesn’t do well when girls cry (he has an emergency protocol when/if such a travesty occurs.). He is an English friend met in Australia who came up to holiday. We explored mull together. (see following posts.)

I was ready to leave iona. Not in the sense that I wanted to bid good riddance, but it was just simply, time.

However, as the significance of the past few days sank in, I put my big, red, plastic sunglasses on that covered half my face and stared intensely into the bottom of my plastic coffee cup from the corner shop as fat, heavy tears rolled down my face. I had an hour before ian’s ferry from iona to mull, and sat, looking at this tiny island, marveling at how such a small space: one mile by three miles, could have so much power and strength.

The night before I was asked to read names for the Tuesday healing service for the laying on of hands. You will just need to ask me about it. It was profound in ways I am currently still unable to express. The strength of intention, coupled with faith and hope are powerful to heal. There was kneeling and their were hands.

Have you ever felt privileged and humbled at the same time? Maybe that’s what this was like.

by the time ian arrived, my face was still sticky with salt, but ready ... for ...

to be sung at communion.

O woman,

Have you forgotten,

Take up your harp,

Play your song often.

O man,

You have forgotten,

Your love is strong,

So forget this wasteland.

I am coming for you.

I am coming for you.

You will see me in this town someday…

And the meal will fill you,

And the wine will calm you,

And the company will remind you

That I see you.

And the meal will fill you,

And the wine will calm your nerves

And the company will remind you

You’re alive and well.

(credit: Sarah Chopee, Canada.)

and yes, sarah, I agree.

a service.

I led a service. On a Friday night. It was quiet and it was intimate. It was uncomfortable, but beautiful. I think.

It might have been one of the first times I ever felt so sure in what I felt like I needed to do. And also, one of the first times I felt scared of a calling.

only one person walked out. So, that, I think, is a good thing.

personalities.

Melody came from ohio. She is thirty seven. She made a decision to go to iona to be open and take a chance. She taught me about body theology and I wish I would risk like her.

Grant is from hong kong. He rolls his own cigarettes and drinks beer from his backpack. He speaks like a posh pom.

Hannah cooks. Better than she lets on about. My roommate, who, from our beds across the room, provoked in me some of the most uncomfortable conversations.

Gabriele is a forty-something from germany who practices zen meditation and writes three pages in her journal from her bed everyday.

Katie takes retreats with Benedictine nuns. She sings prayers in taize and loves silence.

Sarah empowers people to sing. and by people, i mean me. she believes in assertiveness, her field (ethnomusicology), and online dating.

Tom teaches theology to teenagers. He likes to match rubber gloves with size, shade, and brand name.

David has an alter ego called “the green man” who has over 10,000 friends on myspace. He really, really liked dancing on the beach.

Chris is a wandering kiwi whose partner lives in uk while she lives in new Zealand. She is a retured social worker who I would love to be like.

John and joe have a travelling Frisbee routine. They are best friends.

Donna is a singer-actress-reverend. She is vibrant.

Shannon is a truly good woman. She is in undergrad and is developing her own rule of life. She asks great questions.

And there’s a lot more. (please refer to maggie and christina in other posts.)

silence.

In silence I think I hear god speak.

Sunday nights, I feel like I could sit for hours, on choir chairs, enveloped by darkness and candles and draft.

In silence, I feel alone, but not lonely.

I feel comfortable in myself.

And things bubble up from the good spaces within me.

a rule of life.

The “hallowed” members of the iona community were here this week.

I learned much from this small, dispersed, opinionated group of folks: from their activism, their theology, their determination to be together, to not choose each other. They account to each other the use of their time, carbon energy, money, physical energy. They pray a beautiful common prayer every day. They feel called to a life of activism, politics, journeying with god. To being together.

They get arrested. They make pilgrimage to the island once per year. They disagree. They harbor asylum seekers. They write poetry. They inspire me.

What would I want my rule of life to be?