123. Quiet Talk

I’m a believer in non-violence and often wonder if I got in a risky situation if I would panic or if I would use some of the tactics that have been shown to work.

My friend, Ben Logan, was leaving New York City a number of years ago. It was 10:30 at night and he went into the subway station and was immediately surrounded by three men who asked for his wallet. He gave it to them, and then started talking quietly and asking if they would give him a dollar so he could make a call. They opened the wallet and gave him a dollar. And meanwhile he suggested that they didn’t really want to keep the VISA card because it was just going to mean more trouble for them, and they handed him that card too.

Quiet talk doesn’t always work but sometimes it can be a start to getting somewhere more peaceful when there’s a problem. Occasionally it just diffuses the whole situation. I wonder if we need to learn some of the things that work so when we need them, they seem like old friends and are easily accessible.

122. The Mid-Town Pier

I was reading through my poetry the other day and found this poem. See what you think—

—

The Mid-Town Pier

—

I was sittin’ on the pier

the mid-town pier

where it’s quiet at dusk

prayin’ you know

watchin’ the wind

ripple the water

listenin’ for God’s voice

—

and she was there

movin’ like the breeze

in an easy dance

—

she beckoned

my hands rose up in a question

and I said, “Who are you?”

—

she threw back her head

laughin’ “the one

you pray to —

come on let’s dance”

—

well you better believe

these old bones stood up

I skittered out on that pier

“I never danced with God before”

I told her. “Sure you did”

she said

and we danced

—

I gotta tell you

deep inside me

near my heart

I always knew

that the God I pray to

was a dancin’ God

—

I always knew

that the God I tell others about

could boogie with the best

—

I always knew

that the God I love

would be wantin’ to move it

slow or fast

rock or line

driving beat

or just barely swayin’

—

but it felt good

hey—forget good—

it felt great to

dance with God

on the mid-town pier

—

© Copyright 2002 by Ann Freeman Price

—

It’s hard when you imagine God as a person—man or woman—and yet in a way that’s what we say Jesus is—a person. And when I do—when I do imagine God as a person, this poem comes pretty close. Because I also feel that dance and movement are such gifts. They are gifts of connection—of you to your own body, sometimes of you to other people, sometimes of you connected to God.

June Keener-Wink taught me about dance and using dance as connection. She also created an oil lamp with a dancing flame—to remind us all of the dancing God.

121. The Drummers Praise

I was reading Psalm 150 tonight and noticing the various instruments it mentions: trumpet, lute, harp, tambourine, strings, pipe, clanging cymbals, loud clashing cymbals. And I thought how strange that it never even mentions the drum.

Well, anyway, years ago I had a friend who arranged for the ceremonial drummers of Upper Volta to come to the New York City area. They had performances in the city, but eventually they came out to New City, New York. One Sunday they were the prelude and postlude at New City United Methodist Church.

There were about ten of them standing across the front of the church with tall, djembe drums in front of them. It was absolutely quiet and then on a signal they played. Chills ran up and down my arms. The sound filled the sanctuary and the pulse of the drums felt like it was pounding the floor and down to the center of creation. I have never heard a sound like those drums all together since then.

And it felt like the epitome of Psalm 150—Praise! Praise! Praise!

120. Boundary or No Boundary

In the late 70’s I read a book by Ken Wilber titled No Boundary. It had ideas in it which fit at the time into a number of my own intuitive feelings, gut feelings, sometimes very strange feelings. Wondering feelings about what is real, what is solid, where is beginning. Questions of what is body, can I leave it?

Wilber wrote about a boundary being just a line and that there’s a haziness sometimes right there between those spaces on each side of it. (Read the book because obviously Wilber writes it better.)

On October 7th I wrote about chaos and void and now I would add that I am drawing lines between void and filled space, and when I add the concept of no boundaries to the concept of void, I can recognize that it is only a line between the two and that they merge and become one entity and that I use the resources in the all.

Over and over again it seems to me the no boundary filters through. Even in these postings there is no boundary because the concepts connect and interweave over and over again.

119. Stacks, Fog, Breath, New Start

Each morning I “walk” a lap labyrinth, then color a mandala (just a plain circle into which I put whatever I want), then write a page of reflection. Let me describe it for you. At the bottom of the mandala are six stacks of varying colors—black, violet, orange, green, red, light green. They are different heights and they look a little like different height buildings in the bottom half going over from left to right two-thirds of the way. Then there is a brown strip that goes from bottom to top, and to the right of that the bottom two thirds are strips of blue and the top third are strips of yellow. Back on the left two-thirds of the circle above the stacks is just gray, gray fog. Can you see it?

You can see the stacks and the fog—the stacks of stuff (papers, folders), plus the stacks in my head of things to be done, checks to be written and the fog gathers, emails unanswered and accumulating, papers lost, things slipping by me and then suddenly the strengthening rod of breath. I see it all accumulating—this time sooner than last time (that’s encouraging) and I come to a morning halt: the brown strip of breath and I take the time on this morning to breathe.

On the other side of breath are the forward moving stripes of blue (blue for reaching) and stripes of yellow (for light and insight) and they move horizontally in a forward motion. Once again I can start over and interrupt the stacks.

118. Take Tarts

I had a woman in one of my writing classes a number of years ago, who had a favorite saying. She said it was a West Virginia-ism. It was: Take tarts when tarts is passin’.

Lately I’ve been thinking about that saying and even following through on it a few times. I’m a great procrastinator so it’s easy for me to say, “I’ll catch that art show at a different time—after all it’s running until January 1st of next year.

But the reality is that I need to take tarts when tarts is passin’. So I’ve done the art show and now have time to do it a second time. My youngest daughter and I have established a tradition of seeing the Carol Decker show in Lafayette Village every year around the holidays. Her young ones look forward to the cookies and treats but they also carefully survey the pictures of animals to pick their favorite to show their Grandmother.

It’s not always a doing thing in my book—sometimes it’s a not-doing and hanging out with a good book and cheese and crackers—that’s pretty tart-ish I’d say.

So I’m looking at each day and I’m planning for the week, and writing things down for the month, to see where the tarts are in my life and making sure that I don’t let them pass by.

117. Same / Different Person

I was thinking the other day about how through my life I have changed and shifted, how I started and how I am today, and wondering how many other shifts I will make before I die.

I think that some of the shifts are subtle and then they pile up and I realize that I’ve changed quite a lot. And it’s interesting that some of the old stays right along with the new.

I feel that when the women’s movement came along, I was so ready for that and made some major changes. And then later, I softened some of my strident talk and became gentler.

Here’s the shadorma I wrote about it all:

A Shadorma of Change

start out: girl

shy goody-two-shoes

shift begins

girl ends up:

strong, think-for-self, creative

justice-loving broad

© Copyright 2012 by Ann Freeman Price

116. Mother May I

Did you ever ask permission. I did—over and over again—first from my mother, then my teachers, then…it just went on and on. But there came a day when I dawned on me that I needed to stop. I need to figure it out for myself. I needed to claim my own power and decision making.

It works pretty well. I make mistakes. Sometimes I make good choices. Sometimes not so good. But hey—that’s also how I learn. In the 80’s I wrote this song, and wouldn’t you know, it’s called “Mother May I.”

—

Mother may I cross the street?

Mother may I have a date?

Mother may I? Mother may I?

Mother may I stay out late?

Yes darling daughter yes is the answer today,

Just remember to always ask if you may.

—

Teacher may I be excused?

Teacher may I make up the quiz?

Teacher may I? Teacher may I?

Teacher may I be the whiz?

Yes lovely student, yes is the answer today,

Just remember to always ask if you may.

—

Preacher, may I be forgiven?

Preacher may I serve mankind?

Preacher may I? Preacher may I?

Preacher my I happiness find?

Yes, well-taught Christian, Yes is the answer today.

Just remember to always ask if you may.

—

Husband may I fix your meal?

Husband may I please go out?

Husband may I? Husband may I?

Husband, may I ever shout?

Yes, darling wife. Yes is the answer today,

Just remember to always ask if you may.

—

Now I’ve found the truth at last,

Don’t have to ask anyone but me,

Woman may I? Woman may I?

Woman may I now be free?

Yes, yes woman. Yes is the answer today.

Just remember you don’t have to ask if you may!

—

© Copyright 1983 by Ann Freeman Price

115. Kum Ba Yah

Another children’s choir story centered around “Kum Ba Yah.” It didn’t take us long to learn it, because many of them already knew it. And so after they had it well in hand, we added the American Sign Language signs to it. After a couple of weeks they were secure with the signing. One child said, “I don’t know why we’re learning it with signs because nobody in this church is deaf.” I said, “Well, let’s just keep going and maybe at the very end you will understand.”

Then I told them that we were going to sing it with the signs and do all the verses that we had learned. And I said, “At the very end, we’re going to still keep the rhythm of the song and almost sing it inside our heads as we do the signs in absolute silence.” We did that. We sang the chorus of “Kum Ba Yah” with signs in total silence. And at the very end I said, “That’s what it’s like to be deaf.”

It was still quiet in the choir and the little girl who had questioned why we were doing the signs at all, did a little intake of breath as she said “Oh.” In that silence we learned.

114. Lonesome Valley

I love some moments of worship. When I was directing the children’s choir at New City United Methodist Church, the children learned “Lonesome Valley.” After they were pretty secure with it, I said that for the last verse I wanted them to walk around and space themselves around the sides of the sanctuary, so they were standing really alone. In that alone space they would sing together, “I must walk my lonesome valley, I have to walk it by myself, Oh, nobody else can walk it for me, I have to walk it by myself.”

Then I asked after everyone had sung that, if there was some child who would sing it alone. Three children raised their hands and so we established an order and each child sang it alone, with me playing softly at the front on the guitar.

At the next choir rehearsal, two more children asked if they could sing a solo too, and we created an order for five of them. And at the very last rehearsal, the one child who hadn’t volunteered said that she wanted to sing a solo too.

At the worship service they sang the beginning verses up at the front with me, and then they moved to the sides of the sanctuary as they sang another verse together. Then we came to the last verse and each child sang it alone. It was so quiet in the sanctuary. A few people had tears. It was such a moment of worship.

I believed that most of the adults in that service had had times when they felt totally alone. And the children had a glimpse of that as they sang totally alone.

Later in the coffee hour a woman approached me and said, “How did you make them sing those solos?” It was hard for her to believe that each young person volunteered.

And me? What did I learn? I learned that it’s important to give children choices where they know that whichever way they decide, it’s absolutely all right. I learned that somehow in learning the song, we all had caught the deep meaning of it by risking the aloneness. And I learned that children are brave.