LEARNING #2

Pssshhhh. The sound of breaks from the bus mixed with the smell of exhaust and dust from the vehicles tires, causing Diane to squint as she boarded the public transportation system. After climbing the three steps and paying the driver she headed toward the rear of the bus and sat down next to a friendly women. Even though the women was slightly hesitant about talking to strangers it didn’t take long for Diane to strike up a conversation. And before long the two had established a gentle repor between each other. Despite the good nature of the conversation and the pleasant temperament of the lady next to her, Diane sensed unease all around her. Something seemed off, but what was it? While paying attention and maintaining the flow of the conversation, she also kept one ear cocked and alert to whatever else it was that was nagging at her. Then suddenly there it was a flash in the bus driver’s eyes. Was it a glare, a scowl, or was he just having a bad day? Surly he had been looking at her…or had he? Then there it was again the unmistakable glare directed at her through his driving mirror. But why, what had she done wrong? The blocks went by outside, as the nasty looks came in more of a succession. Befuddled as she was Diane just kept talking to her new friend, while in the back of her mind she tried to figure out why the bus driver hated her so. Had she forgotten to pay the full fair? No, she had paid the right amount, she was certain of it. Then suddenly the bus came screeching to a halt, jolting the passengers, and nearly causing the friendly women to drop her purse. There was a loud click up front as the bus driver unbuckled his seat belt, turned wheeled around, and headed straight for Diane. She gulped as she watched the angry man approach her, and braced herself for the verbal assault that was sure to follow. “What are you doing in the back of the bus?” Demanded the driver. “I…I…what do you mean?” Diane stammered. She hadn’t been quite sure of what to expect from the man, but she certainly did not expect to be questioned on where she sat. Was there a new law that said you had to stand even when there were empty seats? She was thoroughly confused. Despite his rage the driver must have sensed this. “Why are you sitting next to this women, and why are you talking to her?” He continued. When Diane responded with a genuinely shocked and puzzled look on her face. The driver completed the accusation, and cleared up any doubt about why he was angry. “You are not suppose to be sitting in the back of the bus, your area is up front. Your not allowed to talk with this Nigger.”

Welcome to Charleston, South Carolina, this was 1954.

Having grown up in California, before going to South Carolina to live with her aunt and Uncle Diane had never experienced racial prejudice in the deep south. Her bus ride in 1954 was her personal initiation, into the social hatred for African Americans.

From that point on Diane learned a lot about southern mind frames that were as ridged and unbending as a steele iron bar imbedded into a wall of cement. When she was in high school she would go meet her black friend at the local study hall only to be distracted with frustration and anger, at the indigenous gap of book material. It seemed that the white southern were determined to prove themselves right no matter the incriminating role that they might have played in the situation. By giving blacks third grade learning material while they were in high school, the educational system was able to insinuate that they were stupid and not capable of grasping knowledge.

When she confronted her aunt and uncle about her deep seeded concerns, young Diane was told to “stay out of it.” It was a tense daily living situation with civility hanging precariously in the balance, a blatant phrase one way or the other could have thrown the whole town into a tumultuous upheaval.

Fast forward from South Carolina 1954, to Provo Utah 2006, where Diane is now older, and on a vacation trip with her husband. By way of happenstance she meets a man with no shirt and long hair, who says he is looking for a story to write about. And so for a brief moment the wheels of time roll backward and a memory from some 50 odd years ago return with startling clarity and surprising imagery. And somewhere between the telling of the story and the moment in time, the two strangers realize that the impact of that experience has not aged at all. Diane might be older than she was in 1954; perhaps many of the characters from that era are no longer even alive. And yet somehow they are still alive, and will always be linked to that spot in history and the role that they played in it. The friendly women sitting quietly on the back on the bus. The biased and vengeful bus driver. The subdued aunt and uncle who refused to disturb the peace. Or the High school student who never got the chance to be educated. Whether they are somewhere else in America or whether they are resting in a cemetery somewhere. One thing seems to have connected all of them together, and that is the plot that they played in each other’s lives. It is a plot that still moistens in the eyes of Diane, as she tells her part in the story. She is older now that is true, but still she hasn’t changed. She never forgot what happened in South Carolina in 1954, nor should anyone else forget her, and the role that she played when things weren’t safe. The passing of decades has not changed her; she is still the same woman who would sit next to a friend on any bus, regardless of the social majority’s reaction to the color of black. And it is in this instant of a moment somewhere in space and time, that the curtain is lifted and the effect of racism is made known. It is in the out lined face of a women and the passing of half a century, that somehow seems to suggest that 50 half century’s could go by, and still her face wouldn’t change. Her face seems to become young again, as the scenes of 1954 come flooding back and return through her. These scenes seem to be making themselves known upon her face that recalls her story. A story that will remember her face, as well as the role that she played, and the beliefs that she refused to believe. After all as her face showed from 1954 to 2006, Diane Bagley remained the same, and left the rest of us with the reminder that some things should never change.

Learning #3

Pavlov’s Society

In the park little girls push strollers toting their dolls. They stop and unload the picnic basket full of imaginary food, and a fisher-price tea set their mother gave them. The gift was taken as a wedding present in their minds. If only they knew this would be their entire lives. Maybe they would be playing jump rope and chanting silly rhymes, instead of brushing synthetic hair. Maybe they would be playing in the rain, instead of wiping imaginary left overs from a plastic butt-crack. Maybe they would be swinging on a swing set screaming: “higher,” instead of stressing over whether the husband will come back home drunk again.

Imagine.

In the schoolyard little boys play war with cap guns. The good guys and the bad guys are assigned by the leader before the game is declared. They dart and roll and take cover. Friends they love will die soon, unless they get more ammo. If only they knew that this would be their entire lives. Maybe they would be playing for marbles, instead of playing for lives. Maybe they would be collecting baseball cards, instead of holding imaginary wounds. Maybe they would be jumping on a trampoline, instead of stressing over achieving an honorable death.

Imagine.

In a sandbox a boy builds a castle for a girl. She wants to help. She reaches. She is hit. If only they knew…

By Shawn Richard Diamond

08/06

LEARNING #4

My Will

My will is caring, gentle, and kind. My will is strong both mentally and physically. My will is calm and content. My will shows me that life is to be enjoyed and appreciated. My will is very sexy! My will is creative and smart. My will has the best taste in music. My will makes me smile and laugh. My will fills a special place in my heart and in my life. My will loves me and always will. I am glad I found my will.

-Written by Haddyr-

Spiritual Freedom

Imagine a world where no one tells you there is a god. A world where no one will tell you that you must worship or you will be judged by him and feel the wrath of God. Imagine a world where you are not prosecuted for your beliefs. Imagine a world with complete spiritual freedom and never having false beliefs forced upon you.

-Written by Dr. Jekel-

Have I Really Found the One?

Have I really found the one? The one who will love me for everything I am? The one who can accept and deal with my numerous faults? The one who can handle my irrationality and anger? Have I really found the one? The one who can help me see the way? The one who can fill the missing parts in my life? Or is this a delusion? Do I just think this is love? Will he love? Can I give my heart to him? Will he eventually break it? Or stop loving me for who I am? Does he really know who I am? Will he love what he’ll see if he sees the real me? I want to believe but I find that I’m too afraid.

-Written by Haddyr-

Learning #5

The problem with life after death is that it is an irrelevant question. For all those that want to see a bright light with warm ray’s and a smiling God welcoming them to heaven. There still remains a vast amount of unanswered questions in regard to the afterlife. Even if there are feelings of warmth, peace, and serenity the next thought would be…what then? Would you just lay there forever in the bright light, and soothing ray’s? After so long your eyes would get adjusted to the light, and it wouldn’t seem so bright anymore. In fact it is quite certain that boredom would eventually set in. I mean how long can a person enjoy serenity before it becomes redundant? I mean what good is heaven, if there isn’t anything noteworthy or interesting? I think a more serious inquiry should be into our daily lives.

For example why do we wake up in the morning? Answer: To go to work. Why do we go to work? Answer: To earn money. Why do we earn money?

Answer: So that we can have a place to live. Why do we need a place to live? Answer: So that we don’t have to sleep outside in the cold. Why don’t we want to sleep outside in the cold? Answer: Because we don’t want to die. Why don’t we want to die? Answer: ??????????????????????. Now that is the real question, why don’t we want to die? The problem is we never get that far, in our thought process because we are too busy waking up and going to work. We never stop and consider what is behind our reasons for going to work. If we did we would have to confront our own death face-to-face, skull-to-skull, and coffin-to-coffin.

Why are we so afraid of death? If we are convinced of bright welcoming lights, and soothing accepting rays, then why don’t we just take a permanent vacation and head there now? I think that below our beliefs in a nice after life, is an avoidance to the real question, that we don’t dare ask ourselves. Why are we on earth? If we landed on earth, lived a miserable life, and then died and went to heaven, who’s to say that we would be any more satisfied? I mean would you be content if you were sent away to prison, for no apparent reason. And then after 40 years some sweet old man with a white beard came and got you and took you away to a tropical island where you got to sip cool lemonade and work on your tan? Hell no you wouldn’t be content, you would be pissed off, and you would want to know why in God’s name you were sent to prison for 40 years!!! The reverse psychology also holds true. If you were living the ideal life, big house, fancy car, well paying job, sexy wife, and successful children. Then would you be ok, if some sweet old man with a white beard came and took you away to a golf resort where you could play par everyday of the year? No you wouldn’t be ok with that, you’d be ticked off, at that the stupid old man who interrupted your life, that you were pleasantly enjoying.

That is why I think the questions of an after life, are irrelevant. Because they avoid the real questions that death is asking. Death is not asking us if we like lemonade, tropical islands, 18 holes of golf, or sweet old men with white beards, and nice soothing ray’s of light. Death is asking us, how we are going to live with the knowledge, that one day our house is going to fall apart. Our job will end, our bank account will equal zero, our wife’s body will sag, and our children may not live long enough to know what it’s like to ride a bicycle. Death is asking us if we dare to look in a mirror and see hollow eye sockets looking back at us, with a toothy grin, and a skeletal figure that would make glamour magazine run away screaming. Death is asking us how we feel about the fact that one day worms will turn our face into their big house, and maggots will marry their spouses upon our gang green pealing and rotting flesh. While their neighbors the roach’s make a nest egg retirement plan in the tangled mass known as our hair. Essentially what death is asking us is this: JUST WHO IN THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

For every dollar we make, for every job we take, for every lover we want, and for every house we build, death laughs at us and proves us wrong. “No” death say’s “you cannot earn enough money, buy enough memory’s, or save enough hope, to escape my skeleton grasp.” “You can accomplish all that your heart desires, but your desire to live, will never be as strong as my desire to have you dead.” “You can love someone as much as you want, but you’ll never be able to hold them, as long as I will hold you, once you are in my coffin.” “Whatever you build and whatever you create, in the end I will destroy, because that is what I do best. So what are you going to do about that?” That is what death is telling us day after day, month after month, while we continue to boil our coffee, drive our commute, and turn up our TV’s. So that we don’t have to hear the screaming silence of death, whispering it’s sarcastic response in our ears, regarding our latest efforts to try and avoid it presence. We cannot outwit death, it will have us, and there is nothing we can do to get away.

That is why ideas of heaven are irrelevant, because they avoid death. Obviously anything is possible once we are dead. We might find ourselves in a permanent amusement park, or just as easily find ourselves in a black hole. Either way it doesn’t really matter, because whatever happens after we die isn’t the point of death anyway. The point of death is simply that whatever we do, we are still going to die. This forces the relevant questions back down to earth. Evidence of this can be found in everyone who believes in heaven but who tolerates an existence where they hate their job, they hate where they live, and they fight with those that they are married too. Clearly if it was a matter of life after death, they would just go ahead and get it over with. The fact that people put up with a miserable existence is proof of the real questions that death is asking. What are you doing, and why are you doing it?

Even if we all committed mass suicide so that we could see the sweet old man with the white beard, we would still be taking death’s questions with us in our black briefcase. Even if we die and find ourselves on a peaceful tropical island that peace will be interrupted by death’s persistence. What was it all for? Why did it happen? What did you do with your lot? You see death will go with us even after we die. Death will remain in the form of the questions that it proposes. It cares very little whether we are on earth or a paradise of golf greens. I mean how satisfying can heaven be, if we don’t even know what we are doing there? How satisfying can earth be if we don’t know what we are doing here? How could heaven be fulfilling if we don’t have a point while we’re there? Is the reason we don’t find earth fulfilling because we don’t have a point even though we are here?

Can you see the relevance that these questions provide? Death is not relevant towards where, when, or why we go, so much as it is relevant towards the WAY in which we go. After all is not the path the very way toward heaven?

Death is more of a metaphor than anything else. With all it’s grotesque imagery, and violent necessity, what death seems to be implying behind all of it, is the question of ways. What way do we go, knowing that ours could be the next head that’s decapitated? What way do we go, knowing that we could wake up in our beds, or just as easily wake up as fertilizer to a bed of flowers? If the way, is the way to go, then the going will show us the ways in which we are going away. Otherwise, without a way, death will be seen as a nuisance, and an obstacle that is constantly getting in our way. Because if we are not going a way, then death will make sure that we go away.

If we were to awaken each morning with the knowledge that death is right beside us, then perhaps our focus would not be so much of sweet old men with white beards, lemonade and tropical islands. Instead maybe our focus would be more upon what we’re made of, what makes us who we are, and what we are making ourselves into. (As we are dying) Maybe instead of focusing on heaven, we would start focusing on the way that we are, while we’re trying to get to heaven. For if we truly stopped avoiding death, and finally started listening to it’s whispers, we might find out that we are made in the very process in which we are proceeding. In other words maybe we would discover that what death is really saying, is that wherever we are going it is going to be created by the way in which we go.

If that is true then one day, we may indeed find ourselves on a nice tropical island, sipping lemonade, next to a sweet old man with a white beard. We might find ourselves there one day, and realize that we are completely bored out of our minds, and that we can’t wait until the day that we get to leave heaven.

Learning #1

Learning #3

LEARNING #4

Learning #5