Tag Archives: suburbia

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This Is Here

This gallery contains 12 photos.

  The sun unfurls magnetic storms. The sky is too blue. It is the end of winter. Petals decay on the front lawn. At night, two fingers form a V to cover Venus and Jupiter, while Mars sits alone, ruddy orange, on the other edge of the sky. But today there is warm. There is sunlight. There is medicine. There is worm. […]

Being Peace in the Belly of the Beast

By Posted in Confessional, Questions, Transformation Tagged , , , 1 Comment
 
I have an adversarial relationship with suburbia. I’ve been referring lately to the inner realm of our suburban subdivision as “the belly of the beast.” Sometimes I say it with a smirk, sometimes with a scowl, and sometimes with a bit of laughter at finding myself inhabiting this utterly strange and unfamiliar place. Often I don’t even have to say it. I just sense it deep within my core as I make my way out of the District, onto the Beltway, into the suburbs, and then deep into the center of my subdivision. My soul sinks. My heart catches. There is actual physical pain as I pull into the driveway. This can’t be healthy. My home should not be my enemy. How can I transform this relationship into one of peace?
I’ve been considering the idea that I don’t have to see living in suburbia as a long, agonizing sentence to the deepest dungeon in the “belly of the beast.” Perhaps it is possible to see, to visualize, living in suburbia as an extended, intensive spiritual retreat in an “our enemies are our greatest teachers” sort of way. If suburbia made me completely content every single day, I would not have the opportunities that I currently have to practice compassion and love. I have been given a gift of 13 more years in suburbia. What do I need to cultivate in myself to make this relationship one of peace?
In suburbia I become most distraught, hopeless, and hostile when confronted by the irrational conformity to mainstream everything, the adherence to uniformity, the love affair with the violence of consumption, the mindless cultural hibernation, the obsession with the tiniest details and minutiae of the accepted norms of childhood development, the environmental degradation, and the thoughtless overuse of fossil fuels that is taken as a matter of unquestioned entitlement. What can I learn from my reactions to these elements of suburbia?  How do I grow to create love, peace, joy, wisdom, bliss, and blessings even as I live in relationship with this enemy known as suburbia?
Can we change suburbia? It is possible, but not entirely, at once, in this very moment. But in this very moment, I can change my consciousness. I can change my energy. It is perhaps even more radical to strive to transform from within, to foster an inner revolution, right here and now. I can recognize in my reactions to my enemy that I have much work to do regarding my own arrogance, rigidity, complicity, fear, anger, and lack of faith in the choices of others. Now, thanks to suburbia, I see where my compassion must be focused. I see where the intention of my meditation must rest. Without my enemy how would I understand the ways in which to become peace? Instead of railing against the enemy, I must slow down, be still, be love, be mindful of each moment’s reactions, and make it my intention to transform those reactions with loving kindness and compassion.

English: An aerial view of housing development...

One day I may find myself fully in love with suburbia. For now I walk along these rolling concrete hills and past grassy chemical lawns and promise, at the very least, peace to my enemy. Breathing in…I am learning from suburbia. Breathing out…I am grateful for suburbia.

Housekeeping

By Posted in Poetry Tagged , 1 Comment
 
She thought there would be space–an hour here, an hour there–someplace to put the things, the words, the blankets that belonged to her. She tries to greet the mornings with pleasant indifference, but still all that comes is the burning anger of slammed kitchen cabinets, broken light bulbs, and more and more maple oatmeal down the garbage disposal, all diluted among the milk, the thrown away mashed peas and carrots from the burning night before, the soured orange juice, and the grit of wasted coffee grounds.  What a mess she makes.
When the cries come, something falls in her throat. It is her voice pushing its way closer to the center of her. Some words are rooted in love. Some words are stolen. Some words are trapped in her. At least this way she does not scream. She cannot. She is, as they all know, quiet. She does not lift herself from the floor. She cannot. The crumbs fester on the counter like all the specks of leftover ground beef that cover the stove like all the dead cockroaches under the dishwasher. The putty knife could not scrape them away. They are thick, and layer upon layer, immovable.

If Only

By Posted in Music Tagged , , Leave a comment

If only we could see and know and feel all the angst and fury going on inside all those little boxes. If only we could harness it.
Bring it out into the open. If only we would speak it. Voice it.
Scream it. If only we could take it apart, destroy it,
and drop it in tiny pieces in the public square
and proclaim our freedom from it forever.