Tuesday, July 14, 2009
I neglected to mention...
...what with all my blogging about fear and anger :^), that I participated in another round of SPARK in late May, and the results were published to the web in early June. Amy Souza paired me up with two different visual artists this time, and it was, as usual, a fantastic experience. You can find the results of my creative interaction with Peg Bruhn here and the results of my creative interaction with Norma Tennis here, if you're so inclined.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Panic and faith
I get panic attacks. If you know me, you know this. I tend to bring it up, not to get attention, but because I need folks to understand that if I start acting very weird in a situation that is otherwise totally normal, it's because my body is telling me that I'm getting ready to die.
That's basically what a panic attack is. Your body and your mind get into a loop where you are having panicked thoughts, and your body is reacting as though you are being dangled over the edge of a cliff by a shoestring. Some folks who write about panic attacks --which are evidently very, very common-- say it actually starts with the body and your mind starts to spin with thoughts in order to explain what's going on in your body. They say that if you can calm your body down, your mind will follow suit. Sometimes this kind of works --deep breathing takes the edge off-- but it's not quite that simple.
When I first started getting panic attacks, it was a profound challenge to my faith. In fact, it still is. Rationally, I know that no matter what my emotional state, God is in control, and He is a good God whose modus operandi is love. But I never had these panic attacks until 2001. I had had fears, and I certainly had depression in my teenage years, but I had been at a place for a long time where I could deal with these things through prayer and reading the Bible. These panic attacks responded to none of that. I prayed, I read my Bible, I had other people pray over me. Nothing worked. It was the first time in my life that my faith offered me no relief, and that only compounded the fear. Was I not saved? Had God turned His back on me? What was going on?
The church doesn't generally do a great job of dealing with mental illness --or illness in general-- and the teachings that are out there tend to be pretty unsatisfactory, particularly in churches that subscribe to some version of the prosperity gospel. The mystics offer some sense of comraderie (St. John of the Cross' Dark Night of the Soul and Mother Teresa's journals come most immediately to mind... I know there are many others) but few answers. Only the belief that He is strong, and He is faithful, even if everything in my mind and heart is screaming otherwise for reasons I can't explain.
So I've done a lot of reading on my own, and I continue to read constantly about the brain. I understand a little better now about how this is a biological process, part of being on the earth with a feeble, failing body, which includes the brain. I understand also that I am not alone in having these attacks, but that folks don't talk about them. So I do, and about 95% of the time, the people in my life are fabulous about it (and occasionally they either admit that they have them, too, or that they know someone who does). When they're not, I have fairly little trouble parting ways with them if they decide that's what they want. In my better moments, I consider the attacks to be my version of Paul's thorn in the flesh, which he begged God to remove, and God said no, that Paul would learn through this that "My power is made perfect in weakness". Kinda harsh sounding, but God is constantly having to train us to rely on Him so we don't barrel down the path of self-destruction through self-idolatry. I guess it makes sense.
So this is my paradoxical weakness: my faith is threatened, made seemingly less legitimate, by a fear I often cannot control. I cannot take pride in my faith, because it, like everything else in my mortal existence, is a feeble, patchwork thing, prone to failing and breaking down.
It's 2:30 am. I got up about an hour ago because I was having one of the attacks and could not get it under control. I opened my Bible --which I honestly don't do very much anymore-- and that ribbon bookmark thing was at Psalm 34, which I read over and over and over again, and am going to repost here, copied and pasted from Bible Gateway. The whole Psalm is comforting, but I was particularly comforted by verse 4: "I sought the LORD, and He answered me, and delivered me from all my fears." David doesn't say that God will deliver him from the source of the fear (although he had just managed to avoid being killed), but from the fear itself. I pray God will do the same for me, but even if He doesn't, He's still God, and I'm still His through Christ.
Psalm 34
The LORD, a Provider and Deliverer.
A Psalm of David when he feigned madness before Abimelech, who drove him away and he departed.
1 I will bless the LORD at all times;
His praise shall continually be in my mouth.
2 My soul will make its boast in the LORD;
The humble will hear it and rejoice.
3 O magnify the LORD with me,
And let us exalt His name together.
4 I sought the LORD, and He answered me,
And delivered me from all my fears.
5 They looked to Him and were radiant,
And their faces will never be ashamed.
6 This poor man cried, and the LORD heard him
And saved him out of all his troubles.
7 The angel of the LORD encamps around those who fear Him,
And rescues them.
8 O taste and see that the LORD is good;
How blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him!
9 O fear the LORD, you His saints;
For to those who fear Him there is no want.
10 The young lions do lack and suffer hunger;
But they who seek the LORD shall not be in want of any good thing.
11 Come, you children, listen to me;
I will teach you the fear of the LORD.
12 Who is the man who desires life
And loves length of days that he may see good?
13 Keep your tongue from evil
And your lips from speaking deceit.
14 Depart from evil and do good;
Seek peace and pursue it.
15 The eyes of the LORD are toward the righteous
And His ears are open to their cry.
16 The face of the LORD is against evildoers,
To cut off the memory of them from the earth.
17 The righteous cry, and the LORD hears
And delivers them out of all their troubles.
18 The LORD is near to the brokenhearted
And saves those who are crushed in spirit.
19 Many are the afflictions of the righteous,
But the LORD delivers him out of them all.
20 He keeps all his bones,
Not one of them is broken.
21 Evil shall slay the wicked,
And those who hate the righteous will be condemned.
22 The LORD redeems the soul of His servants,
And none of those who take refuge in Him will be condemned.
That's basically what a panic attack is. Your body and your mind get into a loop where you are having panicked thoughts, and your body is reacting as though you are being dangled over the edge of a cliff by a shoestring. Some folks who write about panic attacks --which are evidently very, very common-- say it actually starts with the body and your mind starts to spin with thoughts in order to explain what's going on in your body. They say that if you can calm your body down, your mind will follow suit. Sometimes this kind of works --deep breathing takes the edge off-- but it's not quite that simple.
When I first started getting panic attacks, it was a profound challenge to my faith. In fact, it still is. Rationally, I know that no matter what my emotional state, God is in control, and He is a good God whose modus operandi is love. But I never had these panic attacks until 2001. I had had fears, and I certainly had depression in my teenage years, but I had been at a place for a long time where I could deal with these things through prayer and reading the Bible. These panic attacks responded to none of that. I prayed, I read my Bible, I had other people pray over me. Nothing worked. It was the first time in my life that my faith offered me no relief, and that only compounded the fear. Was I not saved? Had God turned His back on me? What was going on?
The church doesn't generally do a great job of dealing with mental illness --or illness in general-- and the teachings that are out there tend to be pretty unsatisfactory, particularly in churches that subscribe to some version of the prosperity gospel. The mystics offer some sense of comraderie (St. John of the Cross' Dark Night of the Soul and Mother Teresa's journals come most immediately to mind... I know there are many others) but few answers. Only the belief that He is strong, and He is faithful, even if everything in my mind and heart is screaming otherwise for reasons I can't explain.
So I've done a lot of reading on my own, and I continue to read constantly about the brain. I understand a little better now about how this is a biological process, part of being on the earth with a feeble, failing body, which includes the brain. I understand also that I am not alone in having these attacks, but that folks don't talk about them. So I do, and about 95% of the time, the people in my life are fabulous about it (and occasionally they either admit that they have them, too, or that they know someone who does). When they're not, I have fairly little trouble parting ways with them if they decide that's what they want. In my better moments, I consider the attacks to be my version of Paul's thorn in the flesh, which he begged God to remove, and God said no, that Paul would learn through this that "My power is made perfect in weakness". Kinda harsh sounding, but God is constantly having to train us to rely on Him so we don't barrel down the path of self-destruction through self-idolatry. I guess it makes sense.
So this is my paradoxical weakness: my faith is threatened, made seemingly less legitimate, by a fear I often cannot control. I cannot take pride in my faith, because it, like everything else in my mortal existence, is a feeble, patchwork thing, prone to failing and breaking down.
It's 2:30 am. I got up about an hour ago because I was having one of the attacks and could not get it under control. I opened my Bible --which I honestly don't do very much anymore-- and that ribbon bookmark thing was at Psalm 34, which I read over and over and over again, and am going to repost here, copied and pasted from Bible Gateway. The whole Psalm is comforting, but I was particularly comforted by verse 4: "I sought the LORD, and He answered me, and delivered me from all my fears." David doesn't say that God will deliver him from the source of the fear (although he had just managed to avoid being killed), but from the fear itself. I pray God will do the same for me, but even if He doesn't, He's still God, and I'm still His through Christ.
Psalm 34
The LORD, a Provider and Deliverer.
A Psalm of David when he feigned madness before Abimelech, who drove him away and he departed.
1 I will bless the LORD at all times;
His praise shall continually be in my mouth.
2 My soul will make its boast in the LORD;
The humble will hear it and rejoice.
3 O magnify the LORD with me,
And let us exalt His name together.
4 I sought the LORD, and He answered me,
And delivered me from all my fears.
5 They looked to Him and were radiant,
And their faces will never be ashamed.
6 This poor man cried, and the LORD heard him
And saved him out of all his troubles.
7 The angel of the LORD encamps around those who fear Him,
And rescues them.
8 O taste and see that the LORD is good;
How blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him!
9 O fear the LORD, you His saints;
For to those who fear Him there is no want.
10 The young lions do lack and suffer hunger;
But they who seek the LORD shall not be in want of any good thing.
11 Come, you children, listen to me;
I will teach you the fear of the LORD.
12 Who is the man who desires life
And loves length of days that he may see good?
13 Keep your tongue from evil
And your lips from speaking deceit.
14 Depart from evil and do good;
Seek peace and pursue it.
15 The eyes of the LORD are toward the righteous
And His ears are open to their cry.
16 The face of the LORD is against evildoers,
To cut off the memory of them from the earth.
17 The righteous cry, and the LORD hears
And delivers them out of all their troubles.
18 The LORD is near to the brokenhearted
And saves those who are crushed in spirit.
19 Many are the afflictions of the righteous,
But the LORD delivers him out of them all.
20 He keeps all his bones,
Not one of them is broken.
21 Evil shall slay the wicked,
And those who hate the righteous will be condemned.
22 The LORD redeems the soul of His servants,
And none of those who take refuge in Him will be condemned.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Anger Management
Header image from http://i.ehow.com/images/GlobalPhoto/Articles/4614624/2000.boxing2_Full.jpg
So, I started taking boxing lessons.
Yeah, really.
I had several reasons for this... primary among them being the fact that if I flick one of my upper arms, it jiggles. For, like, 20 seconds. As though my upper arm were filled with Lime Jello. It's unattractive.
Another reason is that it's a great workout, and I could seriously use a great workout since a) I ain't no spring chicken and b) I've started to be mildly concerned about the longevity of my ticker, given my family's history of heart disease and obesity. I have a membership with LA Boxing, which is a gym that centers around boxing lessons, but the lessons themselves include a serious workout involving running, jumping, pushups, situps, wheezing and coughing up blood in addition to pummeling an 125 pound black bag.
Which, of course, is the real reason everyone is there. We all want to beat the ever-loving s**t out of that bag. I am convinced that everyone who consistently comes back does so because it's their way of achieving anger management.
I don't like admitting that this is my numero uno reason for attending these classes, but since I've been pretty sparse in my posts so there's probably only two people regularly checking this blog now, I feel that I can open up to you two and say "psst... hey, you. Don't tell anybody, but I'm an ANGRY person, and I really need to hit that bag, because I can't hit anyone else, the only place that anger is going is inside me, and I'm afraid I'm going to have a heart attack at age 50."
I can't exactly account for the source of the anger, because I don't think it has just one source. Generally speaking, though, I think I have very high expectations for myself, and I maintain these high expectations because they keep me pushing and trying to do well even when I'm bored and frustrated and hurt and tired and confused. But they also mean I'm disappointed a lot, particularly with myself. I know I'm not alone... there are lots of people who deal with anger, and I think it comes from the same place that most unhappiness comes from: frustrated expectations. Not to get all Buddhist on folks, but I don't know a lot of folks who have truly low -to-moderate expectations AND an anger problem. The angry folks I know are also either very ambitious or are very idealistic. I count myself among the latter.
Lately, my anger has been around the topic of my job (which does not satisfy my idealism), current events (i.e. the madness in Iran), and men. I can't do a great deal about any of these things, and I accept that in all of those cases there are circumstances that balance out the source of my anger/ helpless outrage... but believe me, the boxing HELPS.
I'm not good at it, but I'm also not bad. The bag moves when I hit it. Often, it moves so much that I have to grab it because I can't see to hit it through the sweat and tiredness unless it's fairly still. My teacher this week told me not to hit so hard, which I thought was rather cool. I think her point was that I need to focus on technique so I get good at it, not just beat the hell out of the bag until I'm ready to fall over.
There are people in the class --male and female-- who are very, very good at it. They have the boxing techniques down and they are very comfortable with exercises that leave me panting and groaning and saying Very Bad Words under my breath. I admire them, but only because I know this means they've done this for a while and gained some level of mastery over their unwieldy bodies, and possibly over their anger. I want to be able to do that. I want to be able to come into that class, go through the exercises well without feeling I'm going to die, and be able to hit well, powerfully and with good form.
Even now, though, I'm getting the payoff. When I leave, I'm not angry at all. Just tired, and grateful that I made it through, and so relieved. Relieved in my body, relieved from the anger. I haven't solved or changed anything, but I no longer feel the weight of what I can't do on my shoulders. I'm just happy to be alive, and I feel free of all my worries, even if just for a little while.
So, I started taking boxing lessons.
Yeah, really.
I had several reasons for this... primary among them being the fact that if I flick one of my upper arms, it jiggles. For, like, 20 seconds. As though my upper arm were filled with Lime Jello. It's unattractive.
Another reason is that it's a great workout, and I could seriously use a great workout since a) I ain't no spring chicken and b) I've started to be mildly concerned about the longevity of my ticker, given my family's history of heart disease and obesity. I have a membership with LA Boxing, which is a gym that centers around boxing lessons, but the lessons themselves include a serious workout involving running, jumping, pushups, situps, wheezing and coughing up blood in addition to pummeling an 125 pound black bag.
Which, of course, is the real reason everyone is there. We all want to beat the ever-loving s**t out of that bag. I am convinced that everyone who consistently comes back does so because it's their way of achieving anger management.
I don't like admitting that this is my numero uno reason for attending these classes, but since I've been pretty sparse in my posts so there's probably only two people regularly checking this blog now, I feel that I can open up to you two and say "psst... hey, you. Don't tell anybody, but I'm an ANGRY person, and I really need to hit that bag, because I can't hit anyone else, the only place that anger is going is inside me, and I'm afraid I'm going to have a heart attack at age 50."
I can't exactly account for the source of the anger, because I don't think it has just one source. Generally speaking, though, I think I have very high expectations for myself, and I maintain these high expectations because they keep me pushing and trying to do well even when I'm bored and frustrated and hurt and tired and confused. But they also mean I'm disappointed a lot, particularly with myself. I know I'm not alone... there are lots of people who deal with anger, and I think it comes from the same place that most unhappiness comes from: frustrated expectations. Not to get all Buddhist on folks, but I don't know a lot of folks who have truly low -to-moderate expectations AND an anger problem. The angry folks I know are also either very ambitious or are very idealistic. I count myself among the latter.
Lately, my anger has been around the topic of my job (which does not satisfy my idealism), current events (i.e. the madness in Iran), and men. I can't do a great deal about any of these things, and I accept that in all of those cases there are circumstances that balance out the source of my anger/ helpless outrage... but believe me, the boxing HELPS.
I'm not good at it, but I'm also not bad. The bag moves when I hit it. Often, it moves so much that I have to grab it because I can't see to hit it through the sweat and tiredness unless it's fairly still. My teacher this week told me not to hit so hard, which I thought was rather cool. I think her point was that I need to focus on technique so I get good at it, not just beat the hell out of the bag until I'm ready to fall over.
There are people in the class --male and female-- who are very, very good at it. They have the boxing techniques down and they are very comfortable with exercises that leave me panting and groaning and saying Very Bad Words under my breath. I admire them, but only because I know this means they've done this for a while and gained some level of mastery over their unwieldy bodies, and possibly over their anger. I want to be able to do that. I want to be able to come into that class, go through the exercises well without feeling I'm going to die, and be able to hit well, powerfully and with good form.
Even now, though, I'm getting the payoff. When I leave, I'm not angry at all. Just tired, and grateful that I made it through, and so relieved. Relieved in my body, relieved from the anger. I haven't solved or changed anything, but I no longer feel the weight of what I can't do on my shoulders. I'm just happy to be alive, and I feel free of all my worries, even if just for a little while.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Too much to write/not to write
It's hard to know where to start, so let's start with Thursday night, after a rough day at work, when I was trying to chill by cruising around Facebook, and came across the video of Neda, the young woman shot in the heart by an Iranian military sniper while watching the protests in Tehran.
The below video isn't that one... you can find that yourself very easily by Googling Neda's name, and I know most folks who read my blog really don't want to see something that troubling. The video below I took at a candlelight vigil I attended Thursday night in Dupont Circle. The vigil was in honor of Neda and other protestors who have died over the past couple of weeks at the hands of these government killers, who wait on rooftops and cherry-pick individuals to annihilate with one bullet to the head or the heart, killing them almost instantly.
The below video isn't that one... you can find that yourself very easily by Googling Neda's name, and I know most folks who read my blog really don't want to see something that troubling. The video below I took at a candlelight vigil I attended Thursday night in Dupont Circle. The vigil was in honor of Neda and other protestors who have died over the past couple of weeks at the hands of these government killers, who wait on rooftops and cherry-pick individuals to annihilate with one bullet to the head or the heart, killing them almost instantly.
I honestly found the vigil confusing. I was there to pray. I brought a candle and I walked around, feeling out the scene, listening to the conversations and watching the faces of the folks who were there. Almost everyone appeared to be an Iranian expatriate, and they were gathered in little clumps, speaking Farsi. Most appeared quite affluent, well-dressed. Some of the girls clearly saw this as a night out, and were dressed accordingly. I hardly knew what to do with this... I was expecting a better mix of white peaceniks and internationals. Surely, people aren't so cynical that they really dismiss the issue of the corrupt elections as being merely an Iranian problem, right?
There were images everywhere of Neda right after she died, blood covering half of her face. That image had already clearly become iconic. That afternoon, after watching the video, I joined a Facebook group called "Neda, Angel of Iran". It didn't take long at all for her to represent to these folks everything they detested about the regime. But no one appeared upset. I walked around and around, unable to wrap my head around the atmosphere, which was far more like the funeral reception for a distant relative than a real protest.
I found a place to sit on the rim of the fountain, acutely aware of how conspicuous I was with my European features and small silver cross dangling from my neck. A young man came up and started talking to me... he had been walking by after attending a reception for the alumni association of his Ivy League college, and was drawn to the scene, trying to figure out what was going on . He was an interesting kid... 24 years old, Jewish, grew up in DC and worked in local politics in Maryland... and he asked me almost immediately "what is the point of all this? Do you actually think this will change anything?"
It was a rude question, but I had to give it to him that the purpose of the event wasn't clear. So I told him my reasons: Neda's death was an objective wrong. I understand that conflict dynamics are complex and there are rarely any innocent parties, but she had no role in the protests. The sniper killed this beautiful young woman because he could. So, in the same way that I attended a protest in 2007 in support of the monks who were peacefully protesting (and being arrested and beaten) in Burma, I attended this... because what was happening was an objective moral wrong and I had to do SOMETHING. Plus, I told him, I believe when two or more are gathered in the same space, praying, that God hears... and I was there because it was likely that there were at least two other people there begging God to intervene. I offered my prayers with theirs.
He heard me, and didn't totally buy it... so the conversation continued for about another half hour. It was a good conversation, and I was appreciative of it because at least there was a person from the outside trying to understand. I walked away a little bit sick, though, realizing that I very well might have been the only person praying to God, and that I actually hadn't gotten much praying done. What WAS the purpose of the vigil? Had I wasted my time? I still felt that it was better to go than to sit in my apartment and stew, but how much better?
My questions have a particular weight to me at the moment because I have some guilt associated with my new employment. The money will be nice. It is interesting to put my mind to a new task and to learn new things... but my heart is really broken right now. Why am I in this organization? What good will it do to pursue this work? I can't just have a job... I don't care how much it pays. Who will I help? How will I serve? It's all a blank to me right now as I just try to figure out what's around me and how I plug in to the massive, insanely complicated organizational structure of this project.
I miss my GMU family. I miss my students. I miss their appreciation and respect, which I honestly feel I didn't quite deserve, but which fed and nourished me, and I feel myself sorely lacking this now. I miss feeling held up by the love of others. Again, my mind tells me that I did the right thing, but my heart feels the lack, and I wonder where I will find sources of this love. I know you get back what you give, so it is up to me to put my love into other parts of my life and have faith that God will supply me with the love that I need from other places... but right now it's really hard. I feel uprooted.
Being at this vigil made me wonder about why people were there. Were they there because of passion for this cause? Were they there because their hearts were truly moved by the death of Neda? Where were the tears? Where was the visible anger? Did I not understand because I don't speak Farsi, or was it really a gathering of people there to participate coldly in the ritual, because they have no real hope that things will ever truly change for Iran?
I want to believe that God cares. God DOES care. He's set it up so that He's given us some mysterious level of agency in the world, where He won't intervene unless we do in some way. I don't know why He's done it this way, although I am aware of a line of reasoning that says that God wishes to receive our love as well as give it, and He can't do that if we're automatons. He has to give us free will. He has to give us the ability to completely fuck up this world, even if it breaks His heart. I guess this is as close to an explanation as I can come, although it still hurts to know that it really might not get better in Iran, or Zimbabwe, or Sudan, or North Korea, or Afghanistan, Iraq, China, Venezuela, Mexico, Ethiopia, Somalia, etc., etc., etc.
LORD God, what am I to do with all the suffering but open up my hands to You and say, please help me? Please guide me? Please bring the corrupt and unjust leaders to a swift end? In the end I am like the Psalmist, imploring God to "smite" those who prey upon the weak and innocent... but God, I know You want more. Show me what to DO.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Clarendon represent!!
I've lived in this neighborhood for the past 6 1/2 years, and this guy has TOTALLY pegged it. This is roll-on-the-floor funny if you live here, but even if you don't, it's worth a watch.
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