If you know anything about me, you would know that I'm a developing feminist. You would know that I have a deep, passionate anger for sexual abuse of any time, but particularly the mistreatment/misogyny of women.
In the two years I've been at WKU, I've experienced a culmination of events that has led to my increasing interest in the treatment of Muslim women. The first semester of my junior year, I watched an author on campus who acted out a series of dialogues that pertained to Muslim women of all ages and backgrounds. Most of the dialogues dealt with abuse, victimization, and containment. I sat open-mouthed most of the night. Unbelievable.
But soon, of course, I didn't think much about it.
In the spring, I read a novel called "Minaret" by Leila Aboulela. This dealt with the social class system of a formerly-wealthy Muslim girl whose father was executed, mother eventually died, and brother turned to the streets of London for all the wrong reasons. She sank low into society, faced abuse, and became involved in a strange relationship. Religious confusion propels the honesty of the character and culture, and I somehow really bonded with this book.
Also in the spring, WKU hosted "The Vagina Monologues," which also featured a brief monologue of an older Muslim woman who had undergone genital mutiliation/"female circumcision". I was absolutely appalled and until now, I still didn't understand the full complexity of what horrors this women faced.
Now, I am reading "The Caged Virgin: An Emancipation Proclamation for Women and Islam," in which Ayaan Hirsi Ali proposes the Muslim women gain freedom on many different levels.
The scary part is that in some of the sentences and paragraphs, I felt completely intimate with the text--I felt that I could substitute "Islam" or "Muslims" for "Christian(s)" and the purpose was one in the same.
With my own (brief) history of sexual abuse, of course I have this sense of anger and passion, which I try to magnify and use to my own and others' advantages. I am thankful that I have never faced the magnitude that these women face every day--the claustrophobia of purpose, the misunderstanding of religion, the ostracism of expression, and the dead-weight of oppression. I have felt minutely victimized by these things on different occasions, but never so much as these women face.
I am currently working with Hope Harbor, a trauma center for victims of sexual abuse, to develop a creative writing program for creative and therapeutic expression. The process is still underway, and it may develop further when I'm gone for the summer, but how amazing would it be to organize something like this for Muslim women at rescue centers?
For my Lit Theory class, we're also reading "Reading Lolita in Tehran," which is a memoir as the Azar Nafisi reads Lolita, The Great Gatsby, Daisy Miller, and Pride and Prejudice. Nafisi organizes a reading group among Muslim women, who secretly gather at Nafisi's house out of fear of discovery.
Women are oppressed everywhere. This oppression obviously comes from many factors, but how sad is it that women are ostracized daily because of religion? It doesn't make sense! I've always know that there was this bitter bile inside of me that wanted to reject patriarchal nonsense, but I was taught to stifle most of it. I don't want to stifle it anymore.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
Thoughts from Jon Foreman
Here are some quotes from Jon Foreman's article, "Possessed by Truth" in the Huffington Post.
"To be possessed by truth rather than the other way round is a thought that goes against much of what I have been taught. In fact, most of my education has been presented as a growing accumulation of truth."
--This is our society, period. We are taught facts and practicality to control the duration of our lives. We are taught sustainability in our careers to promote the idea that one day, we can retire and have a break and enjoy life. We start with education to cultivate our growing knowledge, our practical states of living, our career options, our interests... its for self-ownership and the ownership of things we can attain. The idea of being possessed by truth--of being submerged and completely wrapped in something far bigger than us is both romantic and religious. However, even religion limits us from being completely absorbed in beautiful truth: religion still has a control mechanism that squashes individuality in its own defense. Like Foreman, I feel that being possessed by truth is very much against what I've been taught. My formal education, religious education, moral education is all based on knowing a set truth and defending it. But it's not possible. I am/we are absolutely incapable of knowing and possessing truth. It's too big, too abstract, too spiritual and other-worldly.
"If I view the truth as my possession to keep safe, I might feel the need to protect my faith. But if I am possessed by the truth, perhaps this protection is no longer needed. Maybe I am set free from the need to defend the truth, rather the truth defends me."
--Just like religion develops a defensive, protective tension, I love that Foreman characterizes truth as something that doesn't need defending by humans. Truth is in fact so large that our defending or explaining it only belittles truth. And think about it: sometimes, we have those little epiphanies--little moments of truth that explode in our head to make us see something in a different light. That truth might be a darker shade of gray or it could be a screaming, shining yellow. These moments occur internally and to orally explain them isn't pointless, but truth has to penetrate our moral fiber, our learned mental processing. And we need to embrace truth as liberation because truth embraces us as a limitless blanket. (I hope that makes sense.)
"If our faith is to be more than just a lit match in the powder-keg of differing beliefs, what role does religion play in our modern world? What would it mean to be possessed by truth rather than simply the proud owner of a particular denomination?"
--I'll let this speak for itself. Just imagine me with a big smile and nod of agreement. Or imagine me giving Jon Foreman a huge hug, I mean...that would be cool, too.
"To be possessed by truth rather than the other way round is a thought that goes against much of what I have been taught. In fact, most of my education has been presented as a growing accumulation of truth."
--This is our society, period. We are taught facts and practicality to control the duration of our lives. We are taught sustainability in our careers to promote the idea that one day, we can retire and have a break and enjoy life. We start with education to cultivate our growing knowledge, our practical states of living, our career options, our interests... its for self-ownership and the ownership of things we can attain. The idea of being possessed by truth--of being submerged and completely wrapped in something far bigger than us is both romantic and religious. However, even religion limits us from being completely absorbed in beautiful truth: religion still has a control mechanism that squashes individuality in its own defense. Like Foreman, I feel that being possessed by truth is very much against what I've been taught. My formal education, religious education, moral education is all based on knowing a set truth and defending it. But it's not possible. I am/we are absolutely incapable of knowing and possessing truth. It's too big, too abstract, too spiritual and other-worldly.
"If I view the truth as my possession to keep safe, I might feel the need to protect my faith. But if I am possessed by the truth, perhaps this protection is no longer needed. Maybe I am set free from the need to defend the truth, rather the truth defends me."
--Just like religion develops a defensive, protective tension, I love that Foreman characterizes truth as something that doesn't need defending by humans. Truth is in fact so large that our defending or explaining it only belittles truth. And think about it: sometimes, we have those little epiphanies--little moments of truth that explode in our head to make us see something in a different light. That truth might be a darker shade of gray or it could be a screaming, shining yellow. These moments occur internally and to orally explain them isn't pointless, but truth has to penetrate our moral fiber, our learned mental processing. And we need to embrace truth as liberation because truth embraces us as a limitless blanket. (I hope that makes sense.)
"If our faith is to be more than just a lit match in the powder-keg of differing beliefs, what role does religion play in our modern world? What would it mean to be possessed by truth rather than simply the proud owner of a particular denomination?"
--I'll let this speak for itself. Just imagine me with a big smile and nod of agreement. Or imagine me giving Jon Foreman a huge hug, I mean...that would be cool, too.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Unlearning
Part of the beauty of my age is learning and developing characteristics and interests and habits that I didn't have four, three, even two years ago. I have a wider variety of friends with an even wider variety of interests, and they encourage me to broaden my own. I've worked several jobs, ended several relationships, lost things, broken things. I've learned that the world is far more important than my enclosed problems in America, I'm terrible at trivia games, buying movies is one of my favorite pasttimes, and I will always, always, always be singing a melody (well, more like harmony), playing a song, reading a book, or writing.
I've learned the heartbreak and joy of faith, I've questioned the conditions of love in all types, and I've pursued God ways much different from my upbringing.
I keep writing about my family, my religious background, my church experiences. I write drafts over and over because I can't get them right, and I usually stop writing in very little time. It's very difficult for me to start writing about those things because I'm still so frustrated and confused about my background. And because I'm questioning so much of my past, I'm questioning myself. It's a phase, I know, and we all endure it. I know it's part of life. In five years, I'll be in a different phase.
Last year was the most emotionally trying year I've ever experienced--drastic was my middle name. I was simultaneously blessed and hurt. This year has been a growing year, but I don't feel that I'm growing. I have become more patient and meditative on myself, my characteristics, my beliefs, my likes, my annoyances, my flaws. I wonder if that's why my writing is undergoing a deep struggle. I'm not really learning much right now, so I'm not writing anything that worthwhile.
My writing is currently muddled and confused. I try to tie things together, but they won't tie because each subject is still in knots. I've yet to untangle the mess that I can't solve.
I think I need to unlearn some philosophies that were forced upon me. I don't necessarily want to develop my own philosophy, but I need to be at peace. I judge myself much more than I do anyone else anymore, and I think it's unhealthy. Everyone has confidence issues, and mine get worse around a certain environment, but I need a confidence boost without feeling over-praised or any of that attention junk. I think I need pushing.
See, God and I have a pretty cool relationship when it's functioning properly. If I struggle with something, he knows how to handle the situation. He cuddles me when I need it, but mostly, he understands that I need a nice pep talk and a smack on the butt, and I'm off on my way to discovery.
But now, maybe I'm backing my way into un-discovery. Or maybe I'm pushing forward to discover that my former discoveries were actually embedded into my inner fibers as an unquestionable lifestyle in which I still stumble. I still have voices in my head that rattle into my ear drums and between my brain cells. These voices throb through my eye sockets and down my brain stem. They scream at me, they scold me, they point their fat fingers and squint their eyes into slits, and they hate when I plug in my ear buds and drown them out with what I want to hear. And sometimes, I plug in those ear buds, and I listen to the staticky, quiet music of my unjudged life.
It's nice.
I've learned the heartbreak and joy of faith, I've questioned the conditions of love in all types, and I've pursued God ways much different from my upbringing.
I keep writing about my family, my religious background, my church experiences. I write drafts over and over because I can't get them right, and I usually stop writing in very little time. It's very difficult for me to start writing about those things because I'm still so frustrated and confused about my background. And because I'm questioning so much of my past, I'm questioning myself. It's a phase, I know, and we all endure it. I know it's part of life. In five years, I'll be in a different phase.
Last year was the most emotionally trying year I've ever experienced--drastic was my middle name. I was simultaneously blessed and hurt. This year has been a growing year, but I don't feel that I'm growing. I have become more patient and meditative on myself, my characteristics, my beliefs, my likes, my annoyances, my flaws. I wonder if that's why my writing is undergoing a deep struggle. I'm not really learning much right now, so I'm not writing anything that worthwhile.
My writing is currently muddled and confused. I try to tie things together, but they won't tie because each subject is still in knots. I've yet to untangle the mess that I can't solve.
I think I need to unlearn some philosophies that were forced upon me. I don't necessarily want to develop my own philosophy, but I need to be at peace. I judge myself much more than I do anyone else anymore, and I think it's unhealthy. Everyone has confidence issues, and mine get worse around a certain environment, but I need a confidence boost without feeling over-praised or any of that attention junk. I think I need pushing.
See, God and I have a pretty cool relationship when it's functioning properly. If I struggle with something, he knows how to handle the situation. He cuddles me when I need it, but mostly, he understands that I need a nice pep talk and a smack on the butt, and I'm off on my way to discovery.
But now, maybe I'm backing my way into un-discovery. Or maybe I'm pushing forward to discover that my former discoveries were actually embedded into my inner fibers as an unquestionable lifestyle in which I still stumble. I still have voices in my head that rattle into my ear drums and between my brain cells. These voices throb through my eye sockets and down my brain stem. They scream at me, they scold me, they point their fat fingers and squint their eyes into slits, and they hate when I plug in my ear buds and drown them out with what I want to hear. And sometimes, I plug in those ear buds, and I listen to the staticky, quiet music of my unjudged life.
It's nice.
Monday, March 22, 2010
My favorite monologue
From Sidney Poitier as Dr. John Prentice in Guess Who's Coming to Dinner (1967)
You listen to me. You say you don't want to tell me how to live my life. So what do you think you've been doing? You tell me what rights I've got or haven't got, and what I owe to you for what you've done for me. Let me tell you something. I owe you nothing! If you carried that bag a million miles, you did what you're supposed to do! Because you brought me into this world. And from that day you owed me everything you could ever do for me like I will owe my son if I ever have another. But you don't own me! You can't tell me when or where I'm out of line, or try to get me to live my life according to your rules. You don't even know what I am, Dad, you don't know who I am. You don't know how I feel, what I think. And if I tried to explain it the rest of your life you will never understand. You are 30 years older than I am. You and your whole lousy generation believes the way it was for you is the way it's got to be. And not until your whole generation has lain down and died will the dead weight of you be off our backs! You understand, you've got to get off my back! Dad... Dad, you're my father. I'm your son. I love you. I always have and I always will. But you think of yourself as a colored man. I think of myself as a man. Now, I've got a decision to make, hm? And I've got to make it alone, and I gotta make it in a hurry. So would you go out there and see after my mother?
You listen to me. You say you don't want to tell me how to live my life. So what do you think you've been doing? You tell me what rights I've got or haven't got, and what I owe to you for what you've done for me. Let me tell you something. I owe you nothing! If you carried that bag a million miles, you did what you're supposed to do! Because you brought me into this world. And from that day you owed me everything you could ever do for me like I will owe my son if I ever have another. But you don't own me! You can't tell me when or where I'm out of line, or try to get me to live my life according to your rules. You don't even know what I am, Dad, you don't know who I am. You don't know how I feel, what I think. And if I tried to explain it the rest of your life you will never understand. You are 30 years older than I am. You and your whole lousy generation believes the way it was for you is the way it's got to be. And not until your whole generation has lain down and died will the dead weight of you be off our backs! You understand, you've got to get off my back! Dad... Dad, you're my father. I'm your son. I love you. I always have and I always will. But you think of yourself as a colored man. I think of myself as a man. Now, I've got a decision to make, hm? And I've got to make it alone, and I gotta make it in a hurry. So would you go out there and see after my mother?
Notes from a Sermon
Here are the notes I scribbled down from Pastor Jamie Ward's amazing sermon today. By now, you should probably know that if I post something all Jesus-y, I usually try to make it as honest and insightful as possible without the extra cheesy, corny, conventional undertones. So here are my notes...in stead of writing them in an organized fashion, I'm just copying down exactly what I wrote.
Defending the Gospel:
Galations 2:17: justified by faith in Christ, but we're still sinners, but don't sin to get grace
Temptations: (2)
1. to feel like we do a lot, that we've earned what God gives us
2. we've messed up so bad that we're out of God's reach
(my thoughts: but what if I'm in between? What about confidence issues?)
To rebuild what we destroy=breaking the law and hypocritical
***We muddle the gospel with moral code, but the gospel is Jesus and Jesus alone
-We are so passionate about our own things, but not the cross
MORAL CODE=10 Commandments, but we can't live perfectly by them, either
***When we hear rules/doctrine that we cannot prove from the Bible, we question the enforcers AND we question the Bible.
--when we're crucified in Christ, we're without our own independent "edge", we don't strive to be marketable or good enough
--How can we be so unforgiving when we've been treated with grace?
--We need to live like we've been crucified...we live as a crucified people
Baptism is pride-deflating: the act is being crucified in Christ
Galations 2:21- If righeousness comes from the law, then Christ died for nothing.
grace=unmerited favor. no one really deserves it.
Defending the Gospel:
Galations 2:17: justified by faith in Christ, but we're still sinners, but don't sin to get grace
Temptations: (2)
1. to feel like we do a lot, that we've earned what God gives us
2. we've messed up so bad that we're out of God's reach
(my thoughts: but what if I'm in between? What about confidence issues?)
To rebuild what we destroy=breaking the law and hypocritical
***We muddle the gospel with moral code, but the gospel is Jesus and Jesus alone
-We are so passionate about our own things, but not the cross
MORAL CODE=10 Commandments, but we can't live perfectly by them, either
***When we hear rules/doctrine that we cannot prove from the Bible, we question the enforcers AND we question the Bible.
--when we're crucified in Christ, we're without our own independent "edge", we don't strive to be marketable or good enough
--How can we be so unforgiving when we've been treated with grace?
--We need to live like we've been crucified...we live as a crucified people
Baptism is pride-deflating: the act is being crucified in Christ
Galations 2:21- If righeousness comes from the law, then Christ died for nothing.
grace=unmerited favor. no one really deserves it.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Countdown: less than 2 months!
As of May 16, I will be an official college graduate.
I am absolutely, unconditionally, undoubtedly elated.
Screw all this sad "I don't know what I'm doing with my life" nonsense--I love it! I'm finally embracing the fact that I don't have a plan, I have options! Great options. Stressful options, yes, but they are there. It's okay that I will miss some opportunities because I will dominate others.
I really do have a great life. Many things are teetering right now--I've stretched myself a little thin in some areas, and I'm doing some major life reconstruction as far as faith goes, but things really are moving together to create amazing connections and options and learning experiences.
I love the idea of job-hopping, city-hopping, hell, even country-hopping.
I probably should work on the part of my personality that never wants to stick with anything very long, but I am 22 years old and I want to do some major searching and discovering.
I must be high on life today. I just wrote a really kick-butt paper that I'm excited about, and all I want to do is play my ukulele rather than post on Blackboard for class.
Yes, I'll take the ukulele.
High. On. Life.
Two days ago I was ready to throw down the gin and throw away any scratch of writing I've ever marked.
Ohhhh, life. You little trickster, you.
I am absolutely, unconditionally, undoubtedly elated.
Screw all this sad "I don't know what I'm doing with my life" nonsense--I love it! I'm finally embracing the fact that I don't have a plan, I have options! Great options. Stressful options, yes, but they are there. It's okay that I will miss some opportunities because I will dominate others.
I really do have a great life. Many things are teetering right now--I've stretched myself a little thin in some areas, and I'm doing some major life reconstruction as far as faith goes, but things really are moving together to create amazing connections and options and learning experiences.
I love the idea of job-hopping, city-hopping, hell, even country-hopping.
I probably should work on the part of my personality that never wants to stick with anything very long, but I am 22 years old and I want to do some major searching and discovering.
I must be high on life today. I just wrote a really kick-butt paper that I'm excited about, and all I want to do is play my ukulele rather than post on Blackboard for class.
Yes, I'll take the ukulele.
High. On. Life.
Two days ago I was ready to throw down the gin and throw away any scratch of writing I've ever marked.
Ohhhh, life. You little trickster, you.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
combination poem: music and lyrics and such
When your mind's made up,
I'll pull myself away--
my nipple is not a chew toy;
the light casts a shadow
--yesterday--
I was fond
but not in love;
everybody dance now,
just remember when a dream appears...
do you brush your teeth before you kiss?
I'm giving up on greener grasses,
chase you with a rolling pin;
Mr. Charming don't come home anymore--
no alarms and no surprises,
mine's better than yours;
there are stars in the southern sky,
peel to the quick,
give me a try,
a spoonful of sugar,
a glass full of gin,
if you have something to say,
you better say it now.
I'll pull myself away--
my nipple is not a chew toy;
the light casts a shadow
--yesterday--
I was fond
but not in love;
everybody dance now,
just remember when a dream appears...
do you brush your teeth before you kiss?
I'm giving up on greener grasses,
chase you with a rolling pin;
Mr. Charming don't come home anymore--
no alarms and no surprises,
mine's better than yours;
there are stars in the southern sky,
peel to the quick,
give me a try,
a spoonful of sugar,
a glass full of gin,
if you have something to say,
you better say it now.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
explosion
my body is exploding and it is terrible.
i think i'm dying.
my headache persists with its annoying throb,
which runs right down my neck,
which is sore from dry heaving,
which I hate because you're straining your body for no result,
which reminds me that my throat is sore,
and my ears feel like the passage for trade winds.
all i want to do is call my mom.
screw independence,
sickness is serious.
i think i'm dying.
my headache persists with its annoying throb,
which runs right down my neck,
which is sore from dry heaving,
which I hate because you're straining your body for no result,
which reminds me that my throat is sore,
and my ears feel like the passage for trade winds.
all i want to do is call my mom.
screw independence,
sickness is serious.
Monday, March 1, 2010
mondover
I have created a new word.
Mondover.
Since Monday mornings are absolutely terrible, I think a mondover is the perfect word for the excessive tiredness, even if the weekend was uneventful (as many of mine are.)
I think the creation of words is pretty fascinating. Who gets to invent words? Who gets to declare that cuss words are what they are? Why is our world so categorized and labeled?
What if I want "shade" to connote something else? I'm not trying to just piss in the wind here, I just don't understand some things. I think I'm having one of those epiphanies that I have 2-3 times a year where I don't want to be labeled by anything. Maybe it's my Literary Criticism class--we're pretty heavy into philosophy these days, so maybe I'm a meandering ponderer of things that seem to exist.
So... how about that mondover, eh?
Mondover.
Since Monday mornings are absolutely terrible, I think a mondover is the perfect word for the excessive tiredness, even if the weekend was uneventful (as many of mine are.)
I think the creation of words is pretty fascinating. Who gets to invent words? Who gets to declare that cuss words are what they are? Why is our world so categorized and labeled?
What if I want "shade" to connote something else? I'm not trying to just piss in the wind here, I just don't understand some things. I think I'm having one of those epiphanies that I have 2-3 times a year where I don't want to be labeled by anything. Maybe it's my Literary Criticism class--we're pretty heavy into philosophy these days, so maybe I'm a meandering ponderer of things that seem to exist.
So... how about that mondover, eh?
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