You Do Not Have to Be Good

Dear friends, 

Happy New Year! I hope these first days of 2023 have been kind to you.

I started the year by preaching at my church and then leaving for a weeklong artist residency co-sponsored by the Kentucky Foundation for Women and the Sisters of Loretto/Loretto Community. When I applied for the residency, I said I wanted to do a lot of writing. That's not what happened, but before I say more, let me back up. 

It is a great honor to share my reflections with my church community. It also always stresses me out. What if my theology is off? What if my message doesn't resonate with people? Since I've been given the privilege of doing this, I want to do it well. Between Christmas and the new year, I was still recovering from COVID and, to be honest, from the last several months of going, going, going. I was tired and didn't have a lot of energy to put toward my homily. As I was preparing, I kept telling my recovering-perfectionist self, "Good is good enough." I was sharing this with a friend, who looked at me and quoted from Mary Oliver's poem, "Wild Geese": You do not have to be good.  

I'll admit, "Good is good enough" was a stretch for me, so "You do not have to be good" was waaaaaaay out of my comfort zone. Still it was a helpful reminder that whether I offered a "good" homily or a "bad" one, it wouldn't likely change anyone's regard or love for me, and if it did, those probably weren't my people anyway. The homily seemed to be well-received, I had another conversation with a different friend about "Wild Geese," and I left for my residency.

On the first day, the poem still on my mind, I created a piece with the poem's opening line (pictured above and again below). I thought I was just getting it out of my system, so that I could then get to all the writing I had planned to do. 

I quickly learned that much of my residency work was actually to allow "Wild Geese" to work its way through me. What follows are the pieces I created from the first several lines: 

The poem continues: 
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.

And then:

(The word that goes off the piece is "imagination.")

The final lines are: 
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting–
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.


I am not worried about whether any of the above are "good." I am simply grateful to have had the time to play and create, to "let the soft animal of [my] body love what it loves." It loves to create. Doing so was liberating! 

I moved slowly through the week. I rested. I reflected. I wrote, mostly things that no eyes but my own will see. I painted, cut, and glued. I walked. I had a few conversations with people and a lot of conversations with the cows that surrounded my house. They were patient and curious listeners. 

Since I've returned, the world has continued to offer itself to my imagination. Even as I have worried and approached despair, the world has repeatedly reminded of my place in the family of things in surprising and delightful ways. I belong.  "Goodness" has no bearing on the truth of my belonging. 

You belong. Goodness has no bearing on the truth of your belonging. 

Do you believe it? 

~~~
Nonviolent/Compassionate Communication has been an integral part of my journey toward releasing judgments of "good" and "bad," a work in progress, for sure. Starting January 25, I'm offering a 4-week introductory class via Zoom, Meeting in the Field of Connection: Compassionate Communication. I am extending the Early Bird discount to January 18, one week from today. Whether for a refresher or as a first-time student of these skills and practices, I hope you'll join me! 

I am also so happy to be working with Drepung Gomang Center for Engaging Compassion to offer Seeking the Shalom of the City, an in-person program that explores places and times in Louisville's history through a social justice lens. We are starting next week- January 19! 

Join me or, if you know of others who would love these classes, please share with them!

With care, 
Cory

Rest

Dear friends, 

Recently I had been doing some bargaining with my body. It went something like this: 'We just have this event to do and then we'll rest. Oh, wait, I mean after this event and that other thing. No, after this event, that other thing, and also that other other thing, then we'll rest." Just before I got COVID, it was "Just stay well enough to get through the Holiday Bazaar and then we'll get some rest." I was worn down and I did actually have true down time scheduled, but it was a little too late. My body decided it was time to stop. 

This year has sometimes felt like riding a roller coaster in the midst of an earthquake- fast and whipping me around in both expected and unexpected ways. I signed up for the roller coaster; I didn't know the ground would be shifting beneath the ride. Using my Cards for Remembering, even after lots of shuffling, I regularly pull the card, "I listen to my body and SLOW DOWN when she asks me to." However, I didn't listen to my body and slow down nearly as often as the cards invited me to. And so finally my body said, "ENOUGH!" I have been moving slowly ever since. I have also been asking for support. These are steps toward restoration. 

Thankfully, I generally sleep well. But rest isn't just about sleep. Sleep is certainly one form of rest, a type of physical rest that my cats Ralphie (pictured above) and Patty Petunia have mastered. Dr. Saundra Dalton-Smith says that beyond physical rest (which can also take the form of active physical rest like yoga) there are 6 other types of rest we need: mental, sensory, creative, emotional, and spiritual. 

There are periods in my life when I practice rest and restoration well. This most often happens when I have structures and routines in place; it's already built into my life. During 2022 some of the structures I had built for myself shifted or dissolved. Feeling the difference and recognizing how important those structures are, I've been considering how and with whom I'd like to rebuild them. Preparing for tonight's Mapping Life workshop gave me time to reflect, dream, and plan, to prepare the internal structure. The building- external work-  will follow.

This is the work of winter: slowing down, going inward, resting, and preparing for whatever may wish to move through my more-rested and capable self.    

What about you?

Are you slowing down to the pace of winter?

What kinds of rest are you needing?

How are you tending to yourself? 

I'd love to know. 

We Who Believe in Freedom...

I delivered most of the following words to my beloved church community yesterday. I have added a few other thoughts that I didn’t speak yesterday because of time constraints.

Fourteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time (July 5, 2020)

Zechariah 9:9-10; Romans 8:9, 11-13; Matthew 11:25-30

“We who believe in freedom cannot rest. We who believe in freedom cannot rest until It comes.”

– “Ella’s Song”, by Bernice Johnson Reagon, originally sung by Sweet Honey in the Rock

I have sung these words many times. As much as I love the song, recently I have had a niggling discomfort with this refrain. Yes, if we believe in freedom, we must work toward collective liberation. None of us are free until all of us are free. I believe the movement toward collective liberation is long work, longer than any of our lives. For that very reason, I believe that sometimes we have to rest. I believe that sometimes the work toward collective liberation actually is to rest.

In today’s gospel reading, Jesus invites those “who labor and find life burdensome” to “[t]ake my yoke upon your shoulders and learn from me... You will find rest for your souls, for my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” The second reading tells us that we are called to live by the Spirit.

How do we live by the Spirit during global upheaval? How do we translate Jesus’ message to these times?

It feels safe to say all of us have been affected by events of the last several months. Some have experienced some slowing down, new spaciousness in their days. Others have experienced a speeding up, crowded days and crowded space, bearing the months-long weight of 24/7 parenting, full-time jobs, plus the new job of school teacher, all under one roof. Or taking care of COVID patients, or responding to mental health needs- anxiety, loneliness, grief- in a country and world that’s been turned upside down. Lost joys, lost jobs, lost loves. We know these realities. In one form or another, we are all living them.

In the midst of the pandemic, George Floyd was murdered by police, knee on his neck for 8 minutes and 46 seconds. And we learned about Ahmaud Arbery and Breonna Taylor and remember so many others before them and learn new names of people who’ve been killed afterwards. Eyes that had not previously seen the disease of systemic racism are being opened. In response, people in all 50 states and across the globe, in big cities and small rural communities, have taken to the streets, willing to risk COVID-19 to affirm that Black lives matter. Then there are those at higher risk or caring for high-risk folks who are staying home, apologizing for not being on the streets and discerning how to respond in other ways.

We who believe in freedom cannot rest.

Take my yoke upon your shoulders, you will find rest for your souls, for my yoke is easy and my burden is light. 

The culture we live in doesn’t value rest. Our culture values production, workaholism, working until we’re sick- physically, emotionally, spiritually- even working some of us, historically our Black and Brown siblings, to death. If we want collective liberation, the means are as important as the ends. We must build new systems even as we live in old ones crashing down around us. If we want to live in a world where people are valued simply because they are, then we need to free ourselves from the idea that people, including ourselves, are, first and foremost, what we do.

A few years ago I spent about a week at the Dakota Access Pipeline protest site of Standing Rock in North Dakota. By the time I got there, it was bitter-cold winter, there weren’t protests going on. Within minutes of arriving, I found work in a community kitchen, taking the place of someone who was leaving. A few nights into my stay, I was in a cozy tea yurt with a group of people and someone asked the group, “Why are you here?” My immediate answer: I am here to tell people to rest. The answer surprised me, but I knew it was true. I had encountered many dedicated folks who’d been at the camp for weeks to months- they were worn out, sick, edgy because of all they had experienced. From my place in the kitchen I found myself encouraging people to rest- to take more time sitting and eating by the fire, to get more sleep, to take a day or two away in a hotel where they could shower, take off a few layers of clothing, sleep in a bed. Some heeded the advice; others didn’t.

When I came home from Standing Rock, I went right back to work. Even though I’d only been gone for a week, I ended up with both the flu and a bad sinus infection.

I am only beginning to follow my own advice. My experience at and after Standing Rock is not the only times I have’t allowed myself to rest. I have too often gone from intense experience to intense experience without time to recover. It has too often resulted in physical illness. So I continue to try to integrate the lesson.

Slowly I am learning to practice it better. The very first card I made for my Cards for Remembering reads “I am allowed to rest.” During these weeks of protest, I’ve been aware of my capacity; I’ve stepped back more than I might have in the past or found ways to contribute that have been less taxing while I recover. I have accepted help when people have offered. As a result, when I do show up, I am doing so from a place of greater grounding and readiness.

adrienne maree brown cites Toni Cade Bambara when she says that “we must make just and liberated futures irresistible. We are all the protagonists of what might be called the great turning, the change, the new economy, the new world.” What a time to be alive!

To create a new world, we must not only do the serious and hard work of dismantling systems of oppression, but also cultivate joy, pleasure, and rest. We must interrupt the messages that say that resting is for the weak. We must take note of the weight we carry and consider whether it is ours to take on more or to allow others to take some of our load. This is not a once-and-for-all decision; it changes according to context. Knowing what is ours to carry comes from listening deeply to the Spirit that lives in us- individually and collectively. If you are weary, you are allowed to rest. If you’ve had time to rest and are ready to take on more weight, there are ways to do so, even from the safety of your home. A few days ago, community member Anice Chenault wrote this description of movements. It feels both specific to now and timeless. I wonder if you find yourself in this description or can imagine a place for yourself that’s not mentioned. 

Here’s how movements work. Dreamers and visionaries imagine up powerful actions, rooted in culture and the present moment. Actions are placed in the context of larger strategy and mission. Many actions, many different ways. We learn from our movement elders and listen to the leadership of the youth. We unlearn the white-washed lies we’ve been told. OGs train new folks in Direct Action tactics - most importantly, how to stay grounded and embodied and de-escalate ourselves and others. Folks show up to the front lines. Grandparents keep the kids when the risks are too high. Moms organize supply collections and deliveries. Businesses offer their physical locations as collection points. Our geeky friends provide tech support. Folks offer their presence - for hours, days or weeks. Street Medics work in shifts 24/7. Stay-at-home folks staff social media. Volunteers get folks to the polls on Election Day. Thousands of people join phone banks to raise awareness and funds. Night owls stay 12-hour shifts to make sure that loved ones are apprised of the status of folks in jail and are there at 4am when they are released to cheer, offer water and pizza and cigarettes and a ride home. We build locally and nationally and internationally. Sometimes, one partner handles a full-time job, a quote on a new water heater, getting the lawn mowed, and registering the kid for summer camp so another can be about movement work full-time. Single parents move mountains and show up with babies in slings and set about the work. People give money to keep it going. Mental Health folks and healers show up because there is TRAUMA in this work and it is imperative that we heal. We check in on each other. We build community and trust over time. Pot-lucks are strategic movement-building tools. We risk the conversations to break white silence. We believe people of color and women and trans folk and anyone who is telling us about their own oppression. We call each other in when we make mistakes. We learn to apologize to each other. We try again. Moms organize family-friendly actions so we can start to train the next generation. It takes us all.

When we each take a part, the work becomes a little lighter and a little more sustainable, particularly for those who have historically shouldered the most weight. And so I wonder, what is yours to do right now? Is your work to offer or to receive relief? Could both be true at once? Trust that both are beautiful acts. We who believe in freedom must sometimes rest.

The above video was recorded in Louisville, KY on July 4, 2020 at Jefferson Square Park, which many people now refer to as Injustice Square or Breonna Taylor Park. Located between the City Hall, Louisville Metro Police Headquarters, Metro Corrections, and the courts, it is the center of ongoing protests seeking justice for Breonna Taylor and the larger call to racial justice. Singing this song not quite perfectly, at this place, with street sounds and whoever chose to be around us, on Independence Day felt like a way to honor a fuller meaning of “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”