A fabulous poem!

I think the line breaks are a bit funky on this, but it's still fabulous:

God Says Yes To Me
by Kaylin Haught

I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that ...sometimes
she said you can do just exactly what you want to do
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don't
paragraph
my letters
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she
picked that up
what I'm telling you is
Yes Yes Yes

California Supreme Court Upholds Prop 8

Discrimination Against Gays and Mormon-Bashing Equally Distasteful

West Steps

It was a hot Sacramento day in the late spring of 2009, when the California state Supreme Court voted 6-1 to uphold a the discriminatory Proposition 8, voted into law in 2008, invalidating same-sex marriages. But the demonstrators gathered on the Capitol building’s west steps seemed less drained than energized by the heat – as if our skin were made of photovoltaic cells.

The large crowd marched from the Gay and Lesbian center on L Streets with signs reading “ImaginEquality,” “Second Class Citizen,” “Trash 8,” and “‘I Do’ Support the Freedom to Marry.’” We shouted, chanted, sang, cheered, and showed our solidarity. We were addressed by the flamboyant and hilarious State Assembly member Tom Ammiano, couples married after the 2008 Supreme Court decision gave them that right, reverends, and organizers.

Sweat dripped into our eyes, and a thin woman wrapped in a rainbow flag grinned. Couples held hands.

Across the street, a small group – noticeably reduced in size since the rallies following the election – held pro-Prop 8 signs and chanted, “Celebrate Prop 8!”

I didn’t see much to celebrate. We were there because we were incensed by the court ruling… Nonetheless, we also gathered in a spirit of solidarity, love, and levity.

A temporary setback is what yesterday was.

“The arc of history is long,” a speaker quoted Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., “but it bends toward justice.”


Quit Mormon-Bashing, Friends.

I realize there are many issues surrounding Proposition 8, ranging from our electoral system and constitution to the debate surrounding the institution of marriage itself… but the one in particular I want to address is this recent bout of Mormon bashing.

I don’t like it.

First and foremost, why make hypocrites of ourselves by stooping to the level of those whose points we disagree with by using their tools - i.e. thoughtless vitriol, broad-brush painting, and bigotry? These are the very acts we disparage.

Now, I’m not saying we shouldn’t boycott select businesses that supported Prop 8. I’m not saying we shouldn’t strongly voice our values and perspectives. But I am saying we don’t need to be jerks about it.

My second point is: it's not just the Mormons, folks. Plenty of other groups and individuals voted for Prop 8. And perhaps in that way, we supporters of same-sex marriage, religious and non-religious alike, should take a long, hard look at our approach. How can we better work with religious and other communities to show them our perspective?

Among the fallacies passed off as truth by pro-Prop 8 advertisements during the campaign season was the idea that schools would be forced to teach same-sex marriage to students. The fear played upon was that same-sex couples would be “forcing their lifestyle” upon the general population. Interestingly enough, most same-sex couples would argue that not allowing them to marry is, in effect, discriminating against them by forcing a mainstream idea – a straight lifestyle – upon them. This is a perfect instance in which simple grassroots efforts can be effective. Both debunking the forcible teaching of same-sex marriage myth and talking to your neighbors about basic rights is a simple way to plant seeds of new ideas.

Finally, I want to state that alienating ourselves from other people is never the way to build a revolution, win an election, gain friends, or influence people. Dr. King spoke of using “an all-embracing and unconditional love for all mankind” as a tool to find common ground among all people:

“This oft-misunderstood concept, so readily dismissed by the Nietzsches of the world as a weak and cowardly force, has now become an absolute necessity for the survival of man. When I speak of love, I am not speaking of some sentimental and weak response. I am not speaking of that force which is just emotional bosh. I am speaking of that force which all of the great religions [and read: peaceful revolutions] have seen as the supreme unifying principle of life. Love is somehow the key that unlocks the door which leads to ultimate reality.”

Pretty much every group of people has been discriminated against at one point or another – including Mormons themselves, who were historically persecuted for their religious beliefs and practices… including their marriages! Maybe at this point you’re thinking, “then they are being hypocrites!” Possibly. But instead of being pompous about it, let those of us who hold the banner of love, justice and equality, not also succumb to the base emotion of hatred or the shameful tendency to “other” those we disagree with. Instead, let us use the tools of love to find common humanity and open a dialog with anyone who might initially disagree with you with regard to Prop 8.

I know it’s cliché, but some of my best, dearest friends are Mormon, or disagree with me for some other reason about Prop 8. It is my sincere hope that they will someday see that love is love in any form, and that my hypothetical marriage to a woman would be just as valid as my hypothetical marriage to a man. But they are much more likely to see my point of view if I present it with love instead of with anger.

Passover Shabbat

Dinner

Tonight I visited J, a fellow CODEPINKer and friend in Concord, and ate my first Passover meal ever! I am not Jewish - and was, in fact, raised a devout atheist - so I don't know much about Passover. All I know is that for some reason The Ten Commandments is always on around Easter time - which always just confused me because I thought Easter was about Jesus, not Moses.

Before dinner, J's son D took me on a tour of their amazing piece o' paradise backyard garden. The light was becoming white-yellow and our shadows stretched away from us at long angles over the poppies and strawberries. I touched the plants, especially the herbs, and came away with my hands smelling like rosemary, and with springy light green mint leaves in my pocket.

As we sat down to eat, I felt as I usually do when I'm present for an unfamiliar religious or cultural ritual: both curious and nervous that I may do something wrong on accident. J and her family assured me it was not really a sadar - meaning it was not a super formal ceremony - and that I could eat things in whichever order I wanted to. First there was a blessing, during which we waved light from candles toward our bodies with our hands and then covered our eyes. They repeated a Hebrew blessing. We took sips of something sweet and grapey from a silver chalice and ate a corner of matzo bread - unleavened bread, like an unsalted cracker.

The meal was such an interesting experience because everything eaten at Passover is symbolic. Combined with a dinner conversation we had about soy, corn syrup, and other kinds of food, the experience really got me thinking about being aware of what I put in my body. After all, the food we eat is really what builds and sustains us in every regard.

One of the Passover foods is bitter herbs, which, as I understand it, can include a variety of, well, herbs that are bitter. The symbolism of eating bitter herbs is to experience the pain the Jews suffered during their time under slavery in Egypt. The bitter herbs we ate were parsley, lettuce, and horseradish. The parsley is also dipped in saltwater to represent the Jews' tears. The lettuce starts off sweet and finishes bitter, like the Jews' time in Egypt. D advised me to "make a charoses sandwich" with the horseradish and the matzo bread. Charoses is a mixture that seemed to be made of a hearty grain, walnuts, and raisins, and is representative of the mortar used by the Jewish slaves to build the Egyptian pharaohs' pyramids. I spread the horseradish and the charoses thickly onto the matzo bread, which symbolizes the haste with which the Jews had to leave Egypt - no time to let the bread rise. They said I was quite adventurous with the horseradish, and I ate it till there was fire in my nose and tears in my eyes, which I think means I did it right. They also usually drink four cups of wine, but I only had a small glass and then most of a medium-sized one. I asked what each of the four glasses symbolized, and J's husband joked that the purpose served by the second glass was to get the kids to pass out early.

Another interesting thing I learned is that because the guidelines of eating Kosher can be complicated, many Jews are vegetarian. For example, you're supposed to clean the kitchen in a very specific way, and only use certain dishes for meat, and certain other ones for dairy products. This can become cumbersome, and some Jews opt to eliminate meat altogether.


"A Private Civilian"

On the way down to visit J, traffic thickened in Vacaville like cream at the top of non-homogenized milk. I'm glad it did because it slowed me down enough to be able to stop when I saw a woman pulled over at the center median.

She was looking under the hood of her ancient white beast of a Dodge Ram Charger. I put on my flashers and eased off the side of the road. She was Dawn. She smelled like honeysuckle and wore a blue top with a faded pattern of maple leaves stenciled onto it, over it a purple corduroy button-down shirt. Her long brown hair was loose and she cursed in frustration. There was a walking boot on her left foot, which she said had been infected and had caused her to need surgery. Fortunately, her job as a cook at a restaurant in Nevada City was being held for her while she recovered. Dawn was on her way to see her daughter, who had just graduated from a culinary art school in San Francisco.

I gave her my milk crate to stand on so she could properly see inside the tall hood to reach her fuel filter. Then we called her a tow truck on my cell phone. I let her use the screwdriver in my Leatherman Supertool after the purple plastic knife she was using to fiddle around under the hood had snapped in half.

She called her daughter on my cell, dialing the keys with her grease-smudged fingers. I considered being concerned about the phone getting dirty, and then decided not to care.

I had to run off to see J, so could not wait the "up to fifty-five minutes" it would take for the tow truck to arrive. But the tow truck company needed a contact phone number so I gave them my cell phone number.

I wished her luck, and she said, "bless you, girlfriend. You're awesome!"

We hugged, and when she walked back to her car, she shouted from her car above the traffic to admonish me, "you be careful pulling out there!" We waved.

Twenty-five minutes later, driving over the Benicia-Martinez Bridge, I received a phone call from a dispatcher at the tow truck company. I could hear her talking to the truck driver, who claimed Dawn was not there.

"Well, is that her on the phone?" The driver asked.

"No, a private citizen called on her behalf. She should be on the left shoulder of westbound I-80 near the Nut Tree Parkway exit."

He answered again in the negative. "Got on the highway at Leisure Town Road, and I been all through Vacaville. I haven't seen her. Maybe another tow truck picked her up."

"Are you sure?" I asked repeatedly, advising them to drive by again. "Just look for the only car on the left-hand side of the road!"

"If she is there and a CHP stops to help her, they'll call us back," the dispatcher assured me.

I grumbled a bit and then hung up. I called Dawn's daughter to tell her what had happened. She promised to call me when she heard from her mother, but I haven't heard anything. That was eight hours ago.