Science Fiction Gives a Moral Compass

When I was eight years old I read a folk tale that said anyone who could kiss her elbow would turn into a boy. A middle child, and the only girl, I found the concept intriguing and practiced for days. In the same story collection, I met King Midas, I imagined myself his daughter, and then her mother. I was Pandora. I was hope. Myth, legend, folk tale, and fantasy rolled into one in the genre Science Fiction I discovered in my twenties. The science behind the fiction made it possible to trust the questions I asked of myself (and everyone who’d read the books along with me). Robert Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land, Frank Hebert’s Dune, and Issac Asimov’s I, Robot inspired this flower child to seek community, work for justice and accept that while evil is a reality, humanity can choose to create a good that will survive it.
Now the children of the 60’s are approaching their seventies and their Science Fiction has morphed into apologia. In The Year of the Flood, Margaret Atwood allows her personal despair about the lack of international Climate Change policy and technology without regulation to color her characters with a shallow, dark pen. The “flood” is a pandemic brought on by a virus developed by corporations in order to sell the cure. But the virus is not the only gene alteration we discover in this future. Technology has changed the balance of the planet and the only ones who seem to care are religious cults that warn of the dangers, but live in isolation. By making her protagonists religious eccentrics, Ms. Atwood offers those of us in the mainstream world little hope for change or motivation for action. And there is much: for those reading this review who would like to take action, GOOGLE your faith community name and ecology. I found over 200 sites organized by Catholics.
Catholic stories of saints and martyrs also formed my conscience, which may be why I recognized the spiritual quest in Stephenie Meyer’s Host. How strong is your Self? How strong is your commitment to those you love? Would you be willing to let another being reside in your brain in order to bring peace to the world? What if that meant never loving your family again? For Melanie Stryder, our heroine, the answer is obvious. Love and Self will not give in, so the peaceful alien who invades her body works with her. This intriguing novel gives the reader the opportunity to debate questions of life, death, love, commitment and wisdom with as many moral twists and turns as the caves in which the protagonist finds her family. Theirs is not an easy journey – anyone ever faced with a moral dilemma knows how confusing conversations in one’s own head can be – but Ms. Meyers gives us balance and opportunity in her characters and a romantic adventure as well.

A Blessing for Jackson

A blessing for Jackson

Light upon you
Light before you
Wisdom holds you
Firmly, open

Breathes the life
Of those before you
Gentle men of whom
You’re one.

Truth. Courage.
Faith. Compassion.
Weave the fabric
Of your soul

Threads of sorrow
Will pass through it,
Yarns of Laughter,
Lift it up


Stories told
At Grandma’s table
Where we sit
This quiet night

While I hold you
Gently open
Welcome, Jackson
To the light.

Written in memory of Kevin and in celebration of Zak and Scarlet

Bel Canto – Just a Moment?

Bel Canto by Ann Patchett was Book Club’s choice this month. It’s the story of people gathered to celebrate the birthday of a foreign business man who the President of this unnamed country thinks he can buy by bringing in the man’s favorite opera star to sing “Happy Birthday” and arias of the man’s choosing. The president himself doesn’t come to the party, but terrorists do, and we end up spending four months with the hostages and their captors.
It’s the third time I’ve read Bel Canto as its popular with discussion groups, but the first when opera was playing in the background, and the music caused the conversation within me to take an unexpected turn. No longer did Bel Canto, the beautiful song of the title refer just to the main character whose voice and presence commands the attention of all. I thought for a while that Bel Canto meant the long moment of captivity wherein days drifts into months, boundaries become fluid and the house becomes a haven for the people it contains. Then, one woman said “Not one of them will be the same,” and I was brought back to the grief of my brother’s sudden death twenty years ago. In that months’ long moment, every sound I heard was felt in my core, colors were so vivid they breathed and all that I did was backdrop to my loss - until one day it reversed and my grief became the background song for my life. Bel Canto, the beautiful song reminds us that given nothing but time, we will hear the song deep within that is the core of our humanness, our souls, and we need not wait until we are hostage to a moment to listen. Do read it...with accompaniment.

Sunday, Satisfying Sunday

Four thirty AM, alarm, shower, walk the dog, drive to work. 7 AM sitting with 20 plus colleagues I like a lot, but see far too little of, being briefed on how we will cheer on the 6 thousand plus runners in Disney’s Princess Half-Marathon. The marathon, a fund raiser for the Make –A-Wish Foundation is a trinity of goodness; kids win, runners are happy and Disney is even more than the place Uncle Walt imagined it to be.
The participants in this race are mostly women and, as they past me in groups of 2, three and four, I am reminded of the women who have paced me throughout my 60 years, and cheered “Hand in hand, that’s the way” to mothers and daughters of several generations as they entered Epcot for the last mile. The first competitor to pass me was a 40+ woman in a wheel chair, pushing, pushing up the hill and my eyes filled with tears of envy for her commitment and passion. Three hours later, as the last woman, red faced with chin held high, walked slowly through the gate, I gave up the last of my voice, my hands became numb from clapping, and the envy was gone, replaced with a quiet sense of self that I didn’t realize I had until I returned home and finished my sleep.
When I shouted “Keep it up, you’re motivating me” over and over to several thousand people, I must have internalized what I was seeing, for I began and finished a project this afternoon that I didn’t know was possible even to do, and surprised myself with a new sense of focus, enthusiasm and stick-with-it-to-the-end for the sheer joy of accomplishment.
Thank you, Princesses for your dedication to yourselves. Please know that while I don’t expect you’ll ever actually see me running beside you, the energy I put into my life’s course is now a part of you, as yours is a part of me.
Shalom.

What's Up for Lent?

Dear friends,

I'm doing something new for Lent this year. Instead of giving up Some Thing for six weeks, I'm doing something intentional, a week at a time (give or take a few days and in moderation which is acceptable to the rules makers when one is over 60.) The first week I fasted from the internet and learned that I gorge on information. The second week I found that living without TV (except Remington Steele re-runs after work twice) gives me energy and a better night's sleep. Starting at sundown tonight I'm going to post on a blog - either here or in a writers group -each day and see where the Spirit leads me.

What are all you all doing?

Peace and good____________,

Beth

A Reflection on the Book of Job after hearing a reading on Sunday, February 8, 2009

Dear, dear Job,

Much has changed since you first proclaimed your sadness. I will not challenge your faith as your old friends did, but will hold your hand in the darkness while life goes on around us (children laugh, plants grow, and lovers find each other.)

Together we will learn that God does not give us reasons, God gives us presence. The alpha and omega of all presence, Jesus, the son of God, became flesh a thousand years after we walked the earth, and his death and resurrection completed the meaning of your suffering. Twice a thousand years later, God’s Spirit walks through me and with me (and you also) and in and through the community of all, living and dead.

Today, while we sit in your mourning, dear, dear Job, the community cares for us. The lovers love us, the harvest feeds us and the children learn compassion.

You may not believe me now, but what I say is true. I have lived your story.

Shalom,

Naomi