I woke up this morning to Beauty. The beauty of a small pug dog snoring softly beside me, The pleasantly heavy warmth of the down comforter, its red sateen cover glowing in the morning light. The scent of roses on the nearby table. The taste of strong hot tea with milk. The music of Snow Patrol urging me to forget the world outside.
And yet I also woke up to the world outside, remembering a broadcast I’d heard just yesterday. The G7 had met and there was talk that in bailing out their financial institutions, the Europeans had just blown their environmental budget. Each country had its predictable sob story as to why it couldn’t meet its target for lowering greenhouse gas emissions. Poland cried that it was too poor to revamp its Soviet-era coal plants, while Germany wanted to protect its car manufacturers. The Brits proposed paying developing nations to not cut down their rain forests, in lieu of lowering its own carbon footprint. At least they all agree that global warming is a man-made crisis and are committed to some level of action, unlike the powers-that-be in this country who are just getting to the point of admitting that climate change is happening. And while humanity dithers, the polar ice caps and the Greenland Ice Sheet continue to melt, drop by drop into the oceans, causing them to slowly rise, and eventually flood the coastal cities where much of humanity now lives.
There are some who view this as good news. The New Agers hope that collapse will bring on a more sustainable civilization. And if not, they’ll tell you that since “we’re spiritual beings having a human experience,” what happens on this planet doesn’t really matter anyway. And then there are the Christian fundamentalists who are looking forward to the Apocalypse because they’re so convinced that in the “Rapture,” or the Second Coming, Christ will beam them up to the Pearly Gates. It never seems to occur to those who take pleasure in shooting wolves from the air that God might think twice about allowing into Heaven those who managed to turn the Garden of Eden into Hell on Earth, even, or especially, if they did it in Her name.
If we were not in such a hurry to transcend this world, perhaps we could slow down enough to see its beauty and be moved to protect it-- out of love. There is the immense beauty of the disappearing Amazon Rainforest, the melting Greenland Ice Sheet and the dying Great Barrier Reef, but there is also the everyday beauty that still exists in even the most impoverished or frenetic of lives: the sight of the crescent new moon, the quiet sound of snow falling, the bittersweetness of dark chocolate, the scent of wild fennel growing along the bay, the warmth of a friend’s embrace, the ecstasy of a lover's caress, the heart-opening beauty of a child’s smile. If we could see how each of our lives is shot through with beauty, perhaps we could learn to cherish each moment and each other as well. And that would be real rapture.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Friday, October 3, 2008
Whatever Happened to Compassion?
I listened throughout the debate between Vice-Presidential candidates Joe Biden and Sarah Palin for the topic of abortion to come up, but the interviewer focused on economic and international issues, denying Governor Palin the chance to state again her ardent belief that even incest and rape survivors should be forced to bear their rapist’s babies, that even if her own daughter were raped, she would want her to “choose life.”
When I was raped at 16, I chose life—my life. And thanks to the passage of Roe. v. Wade the previous year, I was able to choose to save my own life.
At that time, there was no word for acquaintance rape. Rape happened when a strange man, usually of a different race, jumped out of the bushes with a knife, not when a co-worker with coloring like your mother’s got you so drunk you blacked out and then “took advantage of you.” Like a good Catholic girl, I blamed myself, my naivete, my drunken state, my midriff-baring top, not to mention the fact that I had already lost my virginity. As though any or all of those factors negated my right to bodily integrity.
I couldn’t tell my parents. And I knew at a gut level that if I did, I would be blamed, and that if they called the police, I would be the only one on trial. Alone, I found my way to a health clinic where I got the morning-after pill. When that didn’t bring on my period, I arranged for a menstrual extraction at five weeks, one week short of the then-six week waiting period for a pregnancy test. I’ll never know if I was actually pregnant, but I wasn’t going to wait the extra week. The doctor who did the procedure was the coldest I have ever met, but I am nevertheless deeply grateful to him. Ten years passed before I could acknowledge that I had been raped. Thirty-five years this month have passed since the rape and never have I had one single moment of guilt about my decision to choose my life.
I have two healthy, amazing adult children. No woman should be forced to bear a child she does not want, no matter what the circumstances of conception. But if that woman conceived as a result of rape or incest, forcing her to bear that child is beyond unconscionable.
To say that a rape or incest survivor should “choose life,” may sound noble to some, but few wish to imagine the gritty reality behind Governor Palin’s statement. But ponder this, dear reader. A girl of 11 or 13 or 15 has been impregnated by her father/grandfather/brother/uncle/cousin. Do not try to envision the horrors that this girl has already lived through, the excruciating pain of having her young body violated, most likely again and again, the broken heart that comes from having one’s basic trust devastated, the perhaps subtle neurological damage caused by this trauma, which will impact virtually every aspect of her life for decades to come. Now imagine the usual nine months of pregnancy, with its myriad physical discomforts, and the agonizing pain of childbirth-- difficult but ultimately worthwhile challenges for adult women who want a child but pure torture for those who do not. And after childbirth, what will this abusive family choose for this girl? Whisk away the baby to be adopted or keep the baby, to be raised alongside its mother, perhaps used as a hostage to force her continued compliance?
Whatever happened to compassion?
And for those who look to the Bible for their answers, I find it hard to believe that the compassionate Jesus of the New Testament would agree with Governor Palin that the innocent should be punished in a cycle of violence without end.
When I was raped at 16, I chose life—my life. And thanks to the passage of Roe. v. Wade the previous year, I was able to choose to save my own life.
At that time, there was no word for acquaintance rape. Rape happened when a strange man, usually of a different race, jumped out of the bushes with a knife, not when a co-worker with coloring like your mother’s got you so drunk you blacked out and then “took advantage of you.” Like a good Catholic girl, I blamed myself, my naivete, my drunken state, my midriff-baring top, not to mention the fact that I had already lost my virginity. As though any or all of those factors negated my right to bodily integrity.
I couldn’t tell my parents. And I knew at a gut level that if I did, I would be blamed, and that if they called the police, I would be the only one on trial. Alone, I found my way to a health clinic where I got the morning-after pill. When that didn’t bring on my period, I arranged for a menstrual extraction at five weeks, one week short of the then-six week waiting period for a pregnancy test. I’ll never know if I was actually pregnant, but I wasn’t going to wait the extra week. The doctor who did the procedure was the coldest I have ever met, but I am nevertheless deeply grateful to him. Ten years passed before I could acknowledge that I had been raped. Thirty-five years this month have passed since the rape and never have I had one single moment of guilt about my decision to choose my life.
I have two healthy, amazing adult children. No woman should be forced to bear a child she does not want, no matter what the circumstances of conception. But if that woman conceived as a result of rape or incest, forcing her to bear that child is beyond unconscionable.
To say that a rape or incest survivor should “choose life,” may sound noble to some, but few wish to imagine the gritty reality behind Governor Palin’s statement. But ponder this, dear reader. A girl of 11 or 13 or 15 has been impregnated by her father/grandfather/brother/uncle/cousin. Do not try to envision the horrors that this girl has already lived through, the excruciating pain of having her young body violated, most likely again and again, the broken heart that comes from having one’s basic trust devastated, the perhaps subtle neurological damage caused by this trauma, which will impact virtually every aspect of her life for decades to come. Now imagine the usual nine months of pregnancy, with its myriad physical discomforts, and the agonizing pain of childbirth-- difficult but ultimately worthwhile challenges for adult women who want a child but pure torture for those who do not. And after childbirth, what will this abusive family choose for this girl? Whisk away the baby to be adopted or keep the baby, to be raised alongside its mother, perhaps used as a hostage to force her continued compliance?
Whatever happened to compassion?
And for those who look to the Bible for their answers, I find it hard to believe that the compassionate Jesus of the New Testament would agree with Governor Palin that the innocent should be punished in a cycle of violence without end.
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