Welcome to “Waging Peace”
Remember, you’re the co-creator of this dive. Do as much or as little as you’d like, when you’d like, how you’d like, with the materials I provide. Just keep gentle faith with yourself.
Set your intention
Take a moment to name the primary intention you have for this month-long deep dive and/or this particular session. Take a quiet moment to center yourself in that intention.
Receive the music
Try to refrain from judging the music as “good” or “bad” or forming an “I like it” or “I don’t like it” opinion. For a few minutes, cultivate curiosity and openness. If resistance arises in you, be curious about that too.
Read the poem
I invite you to read this poem twice—aloud, at least once. You may also listen to my reading of the poem, perhaps with your eyes closed.
NORMAL Reginald Harris for Shara McCallum walk long enough with a pebble in your shoe and walking with a pebble becomes normal you no longer notice the discomfort the limp is just another thing to live with pain just another fact of life until someone you haven’t seen for a time asks Why are you limping and you remember Oh yes, that’s right— I have a pebble in my shoe and then what do you do take it out leave it in because you are used to its dull and constant ache do not want to learn how to walk properly again live long enough with war and it becomes normal men and women you don’t know— someone else’s children— fly off the edges of the map to places you were never taught existed photos of the dead close out nightly news programs a familiar tagline as the anchor signs off until tomorrow images of troops march across a strange topography the sound of guns going off in places so distant you hardly notice one barely hears a noise until someone says We’ve been at war my entire adult life and you remember Oh, yes, that’s right— there IS a war still going on And then what do you do? (from Poetry of Presence II)
Contemplate/Create
Use any of these questions however you wish—e.g., as openings for meditation or prayer, as prompts for journaling or poetry-writing, as sparks for drawing or painting, as catalysts for change-making . . . You may also ignore my questions altogether to go off in other directions!
Contemplate any pebble(s) in your shoe, particularly in the context of war/peace, violence/nonviolence, etc. What does that pebble feel like? What might it want to say to you? What might your foot want to say? Your shoe? Your limp?
Imagine a newscast in a world with no more war or violence. Write/create from that scenario.
An important role is played in this poem by the anonymous “someone” who raises our awareness about significant matters. Who is someone who does that for you, and how do they do it? “And then,” asks the poet, “what do you do?”
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Join me and a SPECIAL MYSTERY GUEST
for a closing Zoom on February 1!
6:00-7:00PM Central (7:00 ET, 5:00 MT, 4:00 PT)
Let’s close “Waging Peace” with a time of voluntary sharing. (It’s fine just to listen!) Come and reflect with other Rafters on this Deep Dive.
Registration is required for this celebration.
(Note: Minimum of five people must have registered for the Refuge by midnight, January 31, in order for this Zoom to take place. Thanks!)
A newscast absent of war and violence probably wouldn't have many viewers. Watching violence broadcast on mainstream media outlets is the pebble in America's shoe, the pebble that keeps viewers limping along, high on what watching others' misery and misfortune. Telling themselves that watching is better than not knowing, they look forward to the next six o'clock fix. To remove the pebble would be like taking away their shoes and forcing them to learn to walk barefoot! That I'm afraid would be a bit too much. The limp is easier, so they think, until violence removes their feet.
Great song…I love the illustration.
One of the comments posted on YouTube:
“Sorry Marvin…it’s still going on.”
😞
Then in a lovely moment of synchronicity this morning,
I read this comment elsewhere after reading today’s Dive.
It seems to answer the poet’s question beautifully…
“And then what do you do?”
Stories From Our Community
I ride the L train to get to work and school. Over the past 2 1/2 years, I’ve seen many sides of humanity—the generosity of strangers, the pain and isolation of mental illness, the goodness and the resilience of people who’ve been thrown away by our society. There are babies, the disabled, unhoused folks, and kids on their way home from class. I’ve seen a thousand different needs, hopes, desires, and storylines play out on the train. I ride and I bear witness. The train has become my chapel—a sacred space of encounter. Each ride offers an opportunity to be more aware of my fellow human, to respond to need with compassion, to do the next loving thing, then the next, then the next… —Yoli J.
[from Center for Action and Contemplation Daily Meditations]
❤️❤️