Start Where You’re At: Mitt Romney?

Start Where You’re At: Mitt Romney?

Holy hell, it’s been hard to blog this year. I don’t know whether to blame the additional State Fair job, the suckiness of my regular job, the world as it is, or just the natural ebb & flow of being human, but the longer I’m away the harder it is to come back. Do I try to wow you with some heretofore hidden epiphany? Catch you up on my life? (yawn) List all of the spiritual accomplishments I’ve acquired in 2023? (ha!) Nah. Here’s what caught my attention today.

I pedaled over to the DMV this morning (they don’t call it the DMV in Minnesota, but fuck that: it’s the DMV) for a relatively painless Real ID appointment and plugged into Fresh Air’s interview with the author of Mitt Romney’s bio for the ride. Like many, I am intrigued with the recent revelations from the ageless Mormon, and have been mildly impressed with the integrity he’s maintained during his Senate terms. He has a family history of doing the right thing: as HUD Secretary, his father attempted to deny federal funding to communities that were de facto racially segregated, before Nixon shut him down (check out the This American Life segment if you want more on that). And voting for impeachment was impressive, especially considering the bodyguards he’s been personally paying for ever since.

Anyhoo, what my Buddhish perception found most intriguing about the interview was Romney’s bemusement over the self-imposed enslavement of most Senators to the US Senate. In his words, the chamber is “a club for old men” whose “psychic currency” as a human is built on the foundation of Being a US Senator. Not just that their job is important to them, but, for most of them, their identity is their job. The decisive question when making a vote is “will this help me get reelected?” He said he has tried to reason with them, to use himself as an example: that failing to win the Presidency as a major party nominee was about the biggest loss one could imagine, and he came out okay. But clearly, most of these guys are not like Romney. And many of these guys are not okay.

I’ve occasionally been confused by the contortions some Republicans have made to twist their lips onto Trump’s ass. I try not to assume that people are evil, so I look for motivation behind actions that are incomprehensible to me. Why even be an elected official if you don’t have issues or policies you care about? Why remain an elected official if you’ve caved on everything you purportedly did care about? Why play lackey to a narcissistic fool who would sell you out and put your life in jeopardy just to generate more likes on Twitter? You could probably make a lot more money in the private sector (especially once you’ve held office). And they don’t do it only because they fear actual retaliation – these spineless humanoids were selling out before Trump had the power to literally rally unhinged fans to attack them. In fact, it was the Republican party’s utter prostration to Trump that helped forge the mob of the unhinged that we’re all grappling with today. Is it just the lust for power? Maybe, but how much power do you actually have when a volatile, infantile, failed businessman controls your every move?

I think it’s something else. What Romney has that most of his old, White colleagues do not is an apparently real commitment to his form of morality, apparently from the Mormon church. It’s hard for me to believe that the guidance I receive from Buddhist practice & dharma is anything like the “spirituality” others glean from conservative religions, but I have to admit that my disbelief comes primarily from ignorance. There are countless fucked up things about the mainstream Mormon church (though far more about FLDS – hoo-boy!) but there does seem to be some idea of integrity built in, and clearly Romney’s religion and family stand outside of, preceded, and will supersede his role as a Senator. His sense of self is not chained to that, or any, title. Instead of getting an apartment in DC or living with other Congressmen, he bought a townhouse off the strip in the hopes his wife and kids would feel more comfortable visiting. What I’m trying to say in way too many words is that there is more to Mitt’s life than winning, and maybe if winning is all that matters to the once-and-oh-please-never-again-President, then caring less about winning, by converse illogic, is … good?

The bush I’m pummeling here is this: morality means something to Romney, something more than having power or winning an election. He believes that he has a higher obligation, and that has apparently kept him from caving like the others. This is a bit hard for me to say because it’s in pretty direct opposition to what I used to believe (as most things are these days – FU, Buddha!). When I used to hear that people were supporting candidates “of Faith” or because they were “right with the lord” or “Christians” I was always horrified. What does that have to do with policy? Don’t you want to know their positions? Isn’t that incredibly arrogant and presumptuous to think that someone will be a better leader just because they believe in your God? And while I still agree with most of that, I now understand the reasoning behind it. Well-meaning people may well believe that Christians – or Whatevers – will be better politicians because they will not be unduly swayed by what is convenient or popular or least risky – they will be guided predominantly by what their understanding of morality. When (some) people vote for candidates based on faith, they aren’t voting for the issues the church favors, but the spiritual guidance that leads to those positions. Political issues and proposals change all the time, but the basic moral foundations of the religion (wildly varying in interpretation, of course) presumably don’t.

I can accept that that’s actually not a terrible way to cast a vote. I mean, politicians lie and change their votes all the time, but if you really believe that they are guided by a strong moral compass – one that you also believe in – then you don’t need to worry about the vagaries of politics. They’ll always look into their God fearing hearts for the best decision. I doubt this holds up for most supposedly religious politicians, but I do get the theory behind it. If Roshi Joan Halifax or Lama Rod Owens or Thich Nhat Hanh were running for office, I wouldn’t need to know what they thought about any issues (though I can guess), because I know they believe in nonviolence and interdependence and universal compassion. So I can’t condemn others for following the same thinking.

On the flippity-flip, that’s the fucked up thing about Evangelicals and Trump. He has NO ground. There is literally nothing in this world Trump cares about except himself, specifically feeding his gluttonous ego. And yet, Evangelicals supported him because policy decisions that were expedient for him coincided with their own. It’s the opposite of what they’ve done in the past and still do with other candidates. They weren’t tricked into believing that Trump was a Christian; they’re not idiots. All his playacting just gave them a little cover for what they really wanted: someone who would shut down everything that went against their specific, contemporary political priorities. They took the path of nonbelievers and voted on policy alone. And it worked for them, at least on the surface. They got their ultra-conservative Supreme Court, at the very least. But if the tide had turned, if it does turn, and somehow Trump’s supporters shifted – if he were to become the hero of socially liberal, Israel-loving Jews, and believed they would propel him back into office – Protestant evangelicals & Jew-hating White Nationalists would be dumped naked on the side of the road. Supporting an amoral, petulant manbaby is a pretty huge risk for a contingent that believes the soul of our country is at stake.

Listen/look/feel me, I have always voted based on candidates’ political positions. If a few folks supported pretty much the same stuff, I might look at other factors. If someone comes off as a condescending asshole or has a plethora of rumors swirling about personal issues, I might reconsider; but I helped run a city council campaign for a guy who treated me worse than any boss ever has in my life. Despite the humiliation, I stayed because I thought he was the best candidate. (No, I’m not proud of that decision and do not encourage anyone to do the same.) But if I could truly look into the heartmindsoul of each candidate and vote on that, I might go the way of the spiritually-driven voter. I know people questioned the sincerity of Romney participating in a Black Lives Matter march back in 2020, but if that generated any votes, it was far less than he lost in standing up to the Republican party, so I have to trust his sincerity. And appreciate it.

Of course, of course it doesn’t have to be religion. It can be personal integrity, responsibility to one’s community; even true patriotism (a concept that scares the shit out of me) has occasionally been enough to withstand Trump’s infectious poison (e.g. General Mark Milley). But without any foundation in love or faith or ethics or responsibility (Have you no decency, Sir?), without any motivation other than holding office, holding office ceases to have meaning and those who do it simply bend with the prevailing winds. The Republican party is run by a hungry ghost protected by sentient doormats, and as long as they have power, the voices of the (yes, infinitely too conservative for me but still somewhat) decent members will be drowned out and ultimately disappear.

Can’t Find My Way Home

blind faithLucky happenstance brought me to Can’t Find My Way Home, a onetime alltime favorite song of mine.

Onetime? Only because I fell in love with it at first listen, but knocked it down an unmeasured number of positions once I decided that the lyrics didn’t contain the depth of analytical, tortured meaning that my reaction to the music required.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I mean, seriously. What did I want? Why I can’t find my way home? Who the you is? What the throne represents? Where I am now? I’ve said that I want to get into opera someday, to have that experience of connecting with the power of the music itself, without any understanding of the foreign and exaggerated words; to have a potentially lifechanging experience. Y’know, like Cher in Moonstruck. But I’ve been surrounded by music my whole life. I have been moved by music my whole life. There are countless songs that make me cry if I try to sing along with them – and I always sing along, and find new heartbreakers All the Time. Most of those have lyrical meaning for me, but certainly not all of them. There are definitely a handful of tear-wrenching songs that I do not understand at all. I have no control over or justification for my reaction.

And yet I have still clung to this idea that the words in a song have to have explicit, profound meaning if the song is to be considered a complete success. What more could I possibly ask of Blind Faith than what they gave to us? What more could I possibly ask than Stevie Winwood’s haunting vocals, Ginger Baker’s percussion, Eric Clapton’s guitar (and the other guy – I’m not going to pretend I know who he is). What more could I even ask from the lyrics? The impression and the transmission of loss and longing is inescapable, and the sound of the words is the perfect . Even the content of the lines is perfect. It’s just enough to support the soft whirl of the quartet without forcing a narrative. The song as a piece is the story, and it isn’t a story you read, but one you experience.

I chalk this stupidity of my ways to White Supremacy.

Some White people have a hard time identifying ways in which whiteness hurts their lives. They may have a great understanding of how it fucks over Black people, but other than segregating everyone and hurting our fellow humans, they struggle to pinpoint how whiteness hurts them.

It reduces the joy I get from art.

Among other things, whiteness is about (what it perceives as) logic and critique and rankings and the actual literal (literally). It encourages the rules of religion, but not the surprise of spirituality. Whiteness is materialist, and does not suffer experiences left to their own devices, untranslated into words. I’m good at logic, which is one reason I veer into that whiteness. Another reason is a continuously negative mediated experience of the spiritual growing up.

To be fair, I also connect to lyrics because I don’t play an instrument, so it’s my most intimate bond with the song. I’ll always be a lyrics junkie, but I really have no excuse here. Please, welcome home to one of the greatest rock songs ever.  And leave your body and mind alone. Haven’t we had enough of them, already?

 

Memorializing

holocaust walk
Holocaust Memorial in Germany

I don’t have a problem with the annual memorializing of 9/11. But last month marked the 400th anniversary of the beginning of slavery in the US, acknowledged only by some segments of the press and small memorials here and there. It would have been easy to miss it entirely. It makes me wonder what we commemorate and why.

I’ve been listening to the White Lies podcast, which is ostensibly an investigation into the murder of the Reverend James Reeb, beaten to death after joining the movement for voting rights in Alabama. But really it’s an examination of the South, and culpability, and how we lie to ourselves in order to absolve ourselves of responsibility. It’s not just the South that excels at this. Our country loves to forget the horrors we’ve committed. Unless we’re turning our crimes into victories, which is a specialty of the South. As is the “memorial as fuck you.” Not just Confederate statues deep into the 20th Century, but a statue of the Klan’s first Grand Wizard a week into the term of Selma’s first Black mayor. In 2000.

Perhaps this makes sense to you. A country doesn’t want to rest on its mistakes and crimes, it wants to celebrate its achievements. It wants to encourage pride and patriotism. So we remember “good” things we’ve done and times when we were victimized, but not anything for which we were responsible, in which we fucked up. But I keep thinking of Germany and the ubiquitous reminders of the Holocaust. There is another way to do things. It might help our understanding of history and mitigate our arrogance if we acknowledged African slavery and Indian genocide in the same way.

Of course, Germany made reparations to Jews. I don’t know if they could memorialize if they hadn’t. How would we feel in this US if we were constantly reminded of those crimes against humanity, while simultaneously recognizing that the structural racism and oppression continue. Someone might want to do something about it. Who knows where that could lead.

Then again, right wing racists are on the rise in Germany, too, so maybe nothing does any good.

Now I’m in a bad mood.

 

Sinema Sworn in on a Law Book!

sinemaWhy is this worthy of comment? Why isn’t this the standard? Did the book burn Mike Pence’s fingers as he briefly touched a symbol of our country’s founding fucking secularism? What does it mean that she is more unique in Congress for being “religiously unaffiliated” than she is for being bisexual?

More questions:

  • How fabulous was her outfit?
  • Why does it make me cry when I see a swarm of women of different colors sworn into Congress?
  • Why did the fight scenes in the Wonder Woman movie make me cry?
  • Why did 2 male and 2 female white, cis-gendered heteros in near-middle age all cry when we saw this ad four years ago?

Have our bodies known for years, decades, millenia, what we’ve refused to say out loud to ourselves? How we have been diminished, oppressed, terrorized?

A New Year is Here.

 

Ritual (Christmas)

openThe sky was fucking gorgeous this morning – ice blue with a smattering of fluffy white clouds, stained golden yellow where the light of the rising sun illuminated them from below. Sub-zero, though. The coldest Minnesota winter in decades, they say, and I had forgotten V’s coat, with the sudden 20 degree drop, so we weren’t out long.

This year is forcing me out of my Christmas rituals. For a decade now, I have made the longish trek to one of the handful of restaurants in the Twin Cities open during the day, luckily one of my favorites, and indulged in a long breakfast with lots of coffee and a good book. But the Jewish owner has betrayed the chosen people and the ritualistic weirdos (I’m somewhere in there), and is no longer honoring his sacred responsibility. Even if it were open, it would border on dangerous to walk there in this weather, especially since I recently moved several miles further away than I had been for the duration of this ritual.

Why, anyway? I have no religion, no contiguous family songs or habits or food passed down from generation to generation. I am almost a cartoon of the American Individualist, if not by choice. And Xmas has never meant much to me, for those reasons and others. I decided to stop coming home for the holidays my Sophomore year of college, in which I spent my first Xmas on the cold beach in Southern California. I liked it. It was crisp and quiet and empty, and what life there was was friendly and respectful. I tried to make that into a ritual, but it didn’t always work out. When I was married, we decided that we were not going to either family’s houses during the latter-year holidays, and we announced as much to both, so there wouldn’t be any expectations. We spent Xmas in a very Jewishy manner, except for the presents and, typically, a tree, with a slow morning, dinner out, and a movie. It was a ritual of sorts, a nice one, and one I wanted to wipe clean once we divorced.

Once alone, I spent a few years traveling to see friends during the holidays, then settled into what seemed an important pattern: spending the opening scene of the day alone, and part in the company of unknown others. I can explain the meaning, though I’m sure it’s fairly obvious. I wanted to reinforce to myself that I didn’t need a partner to make the day special, to be content, or to feel at home in the world. I don’t doubt this often, but nonetheless it seemed important to act it out on this day, every year.

I still could, of course. There are a few (I think my hundreds of facebook friends have come up with 3) restaurants in the Twitties© open on Xmas day. But they’re far, and I can make some good French Toast with a loaf of brioche I bought yesterday, and we’ve got some delicious fake bacon that I hoarded when it was on sale a few weeks ago. I ‘m mid-way through an excellent novel and have plenty of time to be alone – the bf wakes up 4-6 hours after I do – and the world is there for me if I want it.

And the sun is shining! You can’t bask in it for fear of frostbite, but you can see it and maybe feel it melt some of the icy winter depression, even through the storm windows. It is breathtakingly beautiful.

I’m Not Religious. But I’m …

I lied. At the end of my last post, after writing about my problems with the word ego, I promised to steer clear of any more wonky language rants and post my next update instead about the concept of separateness. But as I started researching that topic, I ran into a snag. I came across another word I realized causes just as much confusion and raises even more questions than the word ego, and I decided the meaning of this troublesome word ought to be clarified before I move on to other subjects, because it’s so central to what this whole blog is about.

The word I’m talking about is “spirituality.”

Continue reading “I’m Not Religious. But I’m …”