Moxie and Miracles

“So tell me,” I asked, “why did you call?”

The phone call had come out of nowhere, “So and so [someone I’d never heard of] gave me your card.” So this stranger and I met in a local coffee shop and talked for almost two hours about his dreams and history and a little about Spirit Moxie. “What intrigued me was the word ‘moxie’,” he said.

Ah. Yes. There is that word. While there are official definitions of “moxie” such as, “vigor; verve; pep” or “courage and aggressiveness; nerve” or even, simply, “skill, know-how,” they all seem a little bland. The word includes a sense of puckishness and daring, at least in my mind. It’s a word to keep you going on average days and dancing on extraordinary ones.

picture of wound at the doctor'sThis particular conversation happened two days after a fall that had me headed to the doctor that afternoon. Words weren’t forming properly for me, and I thought someone who knew what they were doing should probably look at the wound over my eye where I’d slapped a bandage to stop the bleeding. But I’m sure my coffee companion talked about “moxie” and his own search to find calling and grace.

My diagnosis was “a mild concussion.” The instructions were to do “nothing.” “Soft music. Stay away from the computer.” Having learned in the past couple of years that sometimes an illness is our bodies trying to get our attention (just stay with me on this one) and because I had no explanation for falling ( I didn’t trip and didn’t pass out, but just suddenly saw that my head was headed towards the sidewalk), I explain the fall by saying my body wanted my attention.

So if this is true, what am I learning? First has been the lure of the word “moxie.” What does this mean about who I can be? Who you can be? Who we are as we live in the moment? In fact, it might mean to do even less than being present, a state I’ve been touting as what we really need to learn to change the world and our personal world, i.e., to just “be.” (For some reason, for me, there is a sense of expectation in the present, which is why I’ll be talking about miracles in a moment.) It’s amazing what happens with just being, doing nothing. For example, while doing nothing, I’ve connected deeply with people who affirm a future I’m barely naming (that’s too active).

“Sure you can stay with us in Seattle for a week or so while you figure out if this is where you should live.”

“Did you send that resume yet? I’ll be your goad.”

“That won’t work. Wrong context. You need to come at a discount to this conference. I have someone you need to meet who can help reframe that.”

It is moxie that creates the possibilities around us, And helps us see them. Oh, and say yes to them. So what is right there for you to see? And when you see it, is there a moxie kinda “yes” waiting?

Shrimp and gritsYeah, yeah. What about the miracles you say? Nothing about a concussion and lying low fits that. Well, the day I woke up with instructions to do nothing all day the sky was just, simply grey. It was a perfect fit that didn’t demand anything of me. Yes, you say. Another coincidence. Well, the nagging past/future conversation that has been bothering me is when people either discount miracles or assume they are so obvious that they don’t delight in them. (“Delight” is a moxie trait. Really.) My most recent complicated example of feeling discounted was being with people who, if you’d asked them, believed in miracles. I love shrimp, and finding new styles of shrimp-and-grits cooking has become kind of a quest. But on my most recent trip, it wasn’t happening. The last night of the conference I went off by myself and sat at a deserted bar for a salad (since there were no shrimp on the menu and I wasn’t super hungry) and a local bourbon. The manager asked if it was OK if he joined me and brought his plate of the staff kitchen dinner a couple of seats away. Shrimp and grits. “Oh,” he said as I shared my love. “I’ll go see if there’s some left–think there might be some grits.” And a perfect bowl of grits–and shrimp to go with it–appeared in front of me. All at no charge. Miracles. What are the chances? Telling my friends about this experience (“I created shrimp and grits!”), I got an “of course” response. Where was the delight? The joy? Such events are never matter of fact for me, but I felt the miracle was discounted by those I told about it. [Just for the record, that picture is of the best shrimp-and-grits I’ve had, not the miracle ones!]

Other miracles. My friend Linda is a librarian at my local library. I can actually find her at work only when either I really need to confirm a social arrangement or need her particular brand of expertise. She works full time, and I almost never see her unless her presence will make a difference.

Bartender who wasn't supposed to be thereOr stopping by a pub in a strange city and learning from my fabulous bartender that they had a great brunch on Sunday, but, no, he wasn’t going to be working that day. Except, of course, he was there when I showed up. I almost apologized to him for “making” [a colleague had called in sick] him work and hoped he wanted extra hours.

There have been times I longed for social connections and they just were there. Or got the check in the mail. Or the call. Or multiple things that involve time working in strange ways, which is another conversation. There are such things as buses that arrive just as I get to a stop or are delayed and the delay makes everything work perfectly for me.

I’m finishing writing this on an airplane. Those of you who know me know I love airports and airplanes and am happiest en route. But yesterday, I visited my doctor who assured me my head wound would take six months to a year or two to heal completely and that he could feel the swelling above my eye that had me concerned. He assured me I’m fine and it was just a question of time. But cabin pressure on the airplane has it hurting a lot. Where’s the miracle there? However the moxie in me is thrilled that I’m traveling again and writing was easy and one of the people who loves making me feel cared for, whom I haven’t seen in months, was working at the Sky Club this morning. And it seemed a miracle at the time that all I got was a head wound, nothing broken, no stitches. Coincidences? Miracles? I think for this trip I’ll let it evolve and have me a moxie-filled adventure studded with miracles.

Come along. How does your moxie show up? Where are your miracles? This really is how we change the world.

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All photos by Spirit Moxie:
Selfie at the doctor’s office after the fall
Shrimp and grits at the Claremont Hotel, Berkeley, CA
The bartender who wasn’t supposed to be working! Stone Mad Pub, Cleveland, OH

Playlist!

Beetles Invade Cincinnati cover

Who knew? Spirit Moxie has a playlist! Music that speaks to the many different sides of our changing the world – and in the process changing us. So look at the list below and tell me, what would you change? Even more importantly, what would you add?

Here’s the list. Some are a little obscure, but I found them:

What a Wonderful World – Louis Armstrong
Butterfly – Tiamo
Diversionary (Do the Right Thing) – Ages and Ages
Revolution – The Beatles
Be the Change – Tiamo
Swinging On a Star – Tommy Dorsey
The Hand You’re Dealt – NEDI
Man in the Mirror – Michael Jackson

If you play with iTunes or Apple Music, you can find the list – and most of the songs – here. Working on getting it right.

But the list is right. So add to it! Looking forward to hearing from you!

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Credits:
Book cover photo – Spirit Moxie (author Scott Belmer)
Tiamo (since I can’t make him show up on the play list – unless he does…)

Recycle pictures

Since our last conversation “Recycle,”  I’ve been sharing pictures related to recycling on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. Since you may have missed them, I’m placing them here — with some bonus ones just for you!

Recycling guidelines in Colorado:

Recycling instructions

Recycling in Beaver Creek, CO

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

More art using recycled materials:

First another piece Fifty-Three by Tim Jones. And, as a bonus, a picture of the artist at BLOC Coffee where we discovered his work. The piece in that picture is named Urbanish.

Fifty-Three by Tim Jones

Tim Jones

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We found this in an airport (Los Angeles?). It is made of safety cones, plastic bottles, and spray paint. Sakura by Lana Shuttleworth.

Sakura by Lana Shuttleworth

 

 

 

 

 

 

And finally reusing things. One example is the Upcycled Garden at the Krohn Conservatory in Eden Park, Cincinnati, OH:

Upcycled Garden

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another use is items that are made into other things to be resold. I found interesting examples at Elm and Iron on Vine Street in Cincinnati. About 30% of their merchandise is repurposed. In the pictures below there are “rewined” candles, goodies from bourbon barrels, and the alphabet cut from Reader’s Digest books.

Rewined Candles

 

 

 

 

 

 

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IMG_3552

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What creative, new uses for things have you seen?

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All photos — Spirit Moxie

Recycle

compost, landfill, recycle binsOf all the “little things that can change the world,” recycling seems the obvious no-brainer in first world countries. It demands just enough effort that we can feel virtuous about it, but, at least in urban areas with recycling centers, it really demands only that we pay attention and make a little extra effort. Most of the time. Recycling reduces waste in landfills and leads to the reuse of materialslike many metals (e.g., aluminum), silica (glass), and petroleum (plastics). In a world where we are learning to appreciate the importance of trees in our environment, recycling paper and cardboard has become a way to manage that resource too. And from what I’ve read, reforming or reusing recycled materials always uses less energy than was needed to produce the original product.

I’ve been following the recycling effort at least since the 1970s when I was collecting empty beer cans. The local collection place bought them by weight so you needed a lot to make it worthwhile! When I moved to my current apartment, I assumed that because it was within the city limits we’d have recycling. Nope. So I lugged my stuff down the hill to a friend’s recycling bin or dropped it off at a major recycling center near where I used to work. But a few months ago the building’s management figured out a way for us to recycle, so now I happily catch the elevator to the basement.

Sally at recycling facilityOne of the joys of working with Spirit Moxie is meeting people. One person with whom I connected was Belinda who works with our county’s environmental services and is the person who came up with the idea for our conversation “Let Others In.” Six months ago Belinda offered to set up a tour of the plant run by the primary company (Rumpke) that provides recycling in in our area and.last week everyone’s schedules finally matched. So, on Thursday, I wound my way to the address of the Rumpke MRF (material recovery facility) and donned hard hat and goggles to watch skilled workers, million dollar machines, and endless conveyor belts sort our offerings to the world of recycling. I learned what not to include and why; marveled at the very strange things people thought it was OK to include; and was pleasantly surprised at the passion of those working there for their commitment to, well, making the world work.

MRF workers sortingRecycling varies in different parts of the country so I’ll only list at the end of this conversation the specifics of what I learned. A pretty universal tip, however, seems to be to NEVER put recycling in plastic grocery bags. They are maybe the most harmful unwanted item recycle centers see since they gum up the rotating “blades” that help sort recyclable materials. The bags themselves aren’t recyclable except, perhaps, at your local supermarket.

Different cities recycle different materials and some don’t let you mix what you put in a recycling bin. For example when I was in the state of Washington, glass was separate and collected less frequently. And I remember that in other places, consumers used different containers for bottles, plastics, and paper.

Promoting RecycleBottom line, recycling is a business, which is why in some places you pay extra for the privilege of recycling. Recycling usually requires extra collection crews and a lot more people at the processing end which creates jobs. Markets for recyclable materials fluctuate like gas prices, interest rates, and the stock market. Facilities have to learn to “ride out” lean times. And how the market uses materials also affects what the facility can recycle. If they don’t have a market for it, it goes to the landfill.

But reading about markets and business and rules can get boring. Start paying attention to the possibilities of reusing and reclaiming resources — just as a game! Besides the basic curbside recycling that we are accustomed to, you can see other places recycling happens if you look. In future conversations, we’ll talk about things like composting. We’re encouraged to take clothes and other unneeded items to thrift stores and resale shops — and to shop at them. We put our leftovers in cottage cheese bag of cans on fencecontainers. Dog owners reuse plastic bags by carrying them to clean up after their pets. People collect metal cans (the most valuable recycle item) from trash cans in the street, making a major contribution to our reuse of materials. (In New York City, for example, cans and bottles have a cash deposit value, but getting that deposit refund is a major pain. So people will leave their bottles and cans clean and outside for other people to “find.”)

bottle wreatheAnd then there are people who really can do crafts. (So not part of my skill base.) When my friend Pat taught in the children’s program at Cincinnati’s Contemporary Art Museum, I gladly took all our beer caps, toilet paper rolls, and interesting miscellaneous treasures (e.g., a perfect piece of ribbon) to her house where they became art materials, party favors, and gifts. Local women from South America make interesting “flower” wreaths from soda bottles.

Art by Tim JonesPlus there are the serious artists that include “trash“ materials as part of their work. Cincinnati artist Tim Jones prefers to work only with recyclables. My favorite Jones piece is composed of those plastic grocery bags the MRF can’t use.

So share. What do you do? What do you notice? What have you learned? Recycling can and does become recreating. And helps us pay attention. Now.

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Recycle “rules” for Southern Ohio, Southeastern Indiana, Northern Kentucky

Paper and cardboard: Pretty much completely recyclable, and this includes paper bags, junk mail and magazines, but not paperbacks or food stained cardboard or paper products (like paper plates and napkins) [OFFICE NOTE: if you shred paper buy CLEAR (not white) plastic bags and put the paper in there (to keep it contained and not turn into litter). If the MRF workers can’t see what it is, it will probably be sent to the landfill. But if they can, you just helped reduce that “90% of office paper gets thrown away” statistic! Yes, you can do this at home too.]

Metal: Only cans. Really. Including aerosol with the tips removed. Put the cans in the bin loose NOT in a plastic bag. ALL other metal goes in the trash unless you have another source for recycling. (Some other sources for recycling metal can be found here. And your dry cleaner can probably use those hangers….)

Plastic: Only bottles and jugs. You can leave the plastic caps on! Milk bottles, water bottles, detergent jugs, shampoo…. But NOT those lovely, clearly marked #5 containers your yogurt, sour cream, and cottage cheese come in. NOT those “please recycle” containers you get when you bring food home from a restaurant. Yeah, I wasn’t happy either. [Rumor has it that Whole Foods recycles #5 plastic. You might want to check it out and let us know.] And never plastic bags (except for the clear ones containing shredded paper.)

Glass: Only bottles and jars. Other glass has other metals in it that don’t work for recycling. Color doesn’t matter. Take the metal caps off, but you can place these loose in the recycling bin. This includes beer caps!

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Photo credits from the top:

Trash bins in the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall, Portland, OR — Spirit Moxie
Sally visiting the MRF — Hamilton County Recycling and Solid Waste District (Web)
Sorting at the MRF — Hamilton County Recycling and Solid Waste District
Robert Gillespie promoting recycling — Spirit Moxie
New York City bottle recycling — Spirit Moxie
Bottle Wreath — Nancy Sullivan
“She’s an Autumn“ by Tim Jones — Spirit Moxie

Keep Your Word

WDS sign

I’m home from the World Domination Summit (WDS) and pretty much recovered from traveling to four different venues, through four airports, a couple of train stations, three time zones, and one bus transfer. Oh, and mastering (I think) public transportation in Portland.

This is my second year attending and my third year writing about WDS. For 2013 and 2014, I compared it with the Wild Goose Festival which I attended both years, but I’m not comparing them this year, because this year Wild Goose was so much like WDS it was scheduled for the same weekend.

So this year WDS gets a post all to itself. In 2014, at the end of WDS, I was sure I needed to return, but this year I was pretty sure I didn’t want to and I’m still trying to figure out why I felt that way. WDS is committed to supporting community, adventure, and service. Sounds perfect to me. “To live extraordinary lives in an ordinary world.”

Of course, I don’t find the world all that ordinary, but I think you’re beginning to know that.

Where we put the Spirit Moxie handouts!Part of my personal dream for WDS was for Spirit Moxie. I planned a “Let’s Change the World!” meetup, using what for me was a perfect time last year to meet people before things got started. I even found a bar/restaurant rumored to have a great, but poorly attended, happy hour. A call to Mummy’s in downtown Portland confirmed that they would be happy to have us. [If you’re in Portland, check them out — it’s Egyptian food. Really. I had a falafel, unlike any I’ve had before, and a fava bean dip/appetizer served with laid-back hospitality. And I’m told there’s real belly dancing Saturday nights.] WDS approved the event and it was “sold out.” Almost 40 people said they were coming and there was interest in my Facebook invitation as well.

Only eight people showed up, nine if you include me. As far as I could tell none of them had signed up for the event, but came anyway hoping there would be room. The timing was difficult. The announcement said we started at 3pm and registration for the whole event started at 2pm. The restaurant had a reputation for being hard to find although I said an orange door was a clue. And, in the best tradition of events, those who showed up may indeed have been the right eight people to be there. In any case the conversation was wonderful and rich, and the people there were looking to give and share ideas and inspiration (e.g., how might you recycle those little soaps from hotels on a huge scale?). 

Although I felt sorry for the bar’s owner, and, to be honest, for myself, I shrugged it off until I heard other stories of other meetups where the same thing had happened. As the week went on, the rule seemed to be “even if you didn’t sign up, stop by to see if you can get in.” I went to one meetup that I’d signed up for and stayed for about ten minutes (hey, I was there). I “really” attended another one that I had signed up for, and I, too, stopped by another meetup that I hadn’t signed up for that was full and was told to stay.

Sally's childhood bear waiting for breakfast in bedI found myself wondering throughout all this about the whole concept of giving your word and keeping it. The RSVP. The shake of the hand. The casual, “I’ll call you next week.” Any event/party host will tell you that planning has become difficult because people do not let you know if they will attend — or they don’t let you know that they won’t be there if their plans change. Lawyers have made whole careers around people no longer honoring the handshake and their word. Friendships have been stretched and lovers separated. Sally and bear - setting a world recordAnd I’m certainly not perfect, particularly in the “casual remarks to friends” category.

There was another element at WDS that also bothered me. While we were excited to be changing the world, we seemed oblivious to our interactions with the community. Oh, we set a world record for eating breakfast in bed (because we could) and donated the mattresses and beds to appropriate local agencies. But I’ve seen events so embrace the bear with Worldwide Waffles certificatecommunity that the city was minutely transformed. WDS could have been like that. Excellent volunteers made sure we laughed, gave high fives, and that there was no litter or other ecological scar. But I saw meetup leaders dismiss hassles for waiters, bus riders ignore their intrusion on the locals, the “it’s only a job” look on the theatre staffs’ faces, and the stoic disappointment on the face of Mummy’s owner. Shouldn’t engaging the world with basic politeness and awareness be a part of keeping our word to be transformative?

Lissa RankinSo WDS’s commitmentfor weren’t we all WDS?—to community, adventure, and service seemed mixed. Last year, I came home with a Brave Bot, an appreciation of superhero capes (and tiny houses), riding a hot air balloon crossed off my bucket list, and a visceral understanding that we’re all related. I don’t even need to go look at my notes to remember
this. This year, looking at someone else’s notes, I was reminded that I’m a poet (first poem published in second grade), reclaimed my own experience with grief, saw my mentor Lissa Rankin heal the whole room back into love and possibility, and “met” Kid President, who shares awesomeness and is clearly a kid. I’d say about half the speakers challenged me, but I don’t really remember what they said. Almost none are remembered as I write this. Pictures remind Kid President entering stageme that I ate a Voodoo Donut—another bucket list triumph.  And I talked to people who left greatly renewed and inspired so I do know there is another side to people’s experience of the weekend.

All I left the event with were these two questions: “What is there about keeping your word?” and “Does keeping your word really matter?”

This past Sunday I went to an early church service and reported on the first of the four “venues” mentioned above. “I wish you would come do that at 10:30, too,” I was asked, and I said, “I can do that.” I was juggling bus schedules, but easily found a bus (yeah, Google maps) to my favorite breakfast spot. Perfect. Had a great breakfast, wandered over to the grocery store (did I really need anything?), and thought about going home. No buses for more than 45 minutes. No bus back to church either (had I really promised to do that today or some other Sunday?). But it was only a little over a mile away and the timing would be perfect if I walked. I would arrive about when they needed me to do my spiel, even if it was 90 degrees out. Hmmm. As I approached the church, I saw a bus pull up that would take me directly home. All I’d have to do is run or wave or . . . But I walked, watched the bus turn the corner, and went inside the church grateful for air conditioning. When I made sure they knew I was there, the leader said, “Oh, I knew you would be here. You said you would be.”

So I did my spiel. Looked at the bus schedule. And found another bus leaving in five minutes for home.

What I have is my word to give, to share. It’s free. And your word is yours. How do you honor it? I’m pretty sure the universe will help you keep it.

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Photo credits from the top:
Marquee at the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall, Portland, OR — Armosa Studios
Mummy’s Restaurant and Lounge — Mummy’s Facebook page
Bear waiting for breakfast — Spirit Moxie
Sally and bear posing at Worldwide Waffles — Spirit Moxie
Worldwide Waffles certificate with our attending bear — Spirit Moxie
Lissa Rankin onstage —Armosa Studios
Kid President (Robby Novak) entering the stage — Armosa Studios

My Turn

“White people should talk to white people.”

I’ve been reading the reports of the slaughter in Charleston. I’ve joined in lifting those lives in prayer. I’m rather good at avoiding most news stories, so I searched the reports only long enough to make sure they apprehended the shooter. I also wondered, if it had been a less publicized event, would he have been caught as quickly?

I’ve read that some people claim this event is about race, some about religion, some about mental illness, others about gun control, and some about our denying white privilege. I’ve read that some politicians didn’t say enough, and they all pretty much said the wrong thing. And then there’s the issue of the Confederate flag flying on top of the courthouse, which apparently is an excuse for all of the above.

“It’s time for white folk to talk to their white brethren.”

OK. This challenge is mainly being made by people who are white. So I”m taking it on. If you aren’t white, you’re welcome to keep reading, and if you are, this is written for you. But I view this as an assignment.

I’m white. I’m also female, heterosexual, American, and over 21. None of these characteristics are by choice. These characteristics are part of my package along with naturally curly hair and a perverse tendency to see multiple sides of every issue. What I’ve learned is that there is great strength in claiming all of these things and that it is only from that place you can walk free.

However that freedom demands some things. First, you are free only if you admit you are a racist. Yup. Race affects all of us, black, white, big blue frogs (I have been haunted by Peter, Paul, and Mary all day). But to say, “I’m not a racist” simply isn’t true. Being color blind is not an asset. Thinking we’re all the same is a disservice to people who are a different race from you. You react to people based on skin color, speech patterns, and mannerisms. It’s part of living in this country at this time. You have been programmed and have a set of experiences based on news reports, the Internet, and that kid in school who wasn’t like you. It doesn’t necessarily make you bad or that this has to affect what you do. There is a difference between how you act and the “oh, shit” reflex in your mind or the unconscious (really) racist reactions we do (yes, we do) when we’d rather do better.

So, stop with the “I don’t want to go downtown because there are all those black people there.” Also stop with the finger pointing as if everyone else is getting it wrong, but you somehow have the whole, introspective truth. We’re fucking up, my white friends. We don’t really know how to treat each other across economic and racial divides. Or at least I don’t. And I bet I’m perceived as having a pretty good track record.

So we’re racist. OK? It’s no big deal if you actually see it. Because if you acknowledge it and can recognize it, you can help the world be honest and therefore more whole. Every time you say, “I’m not racist, I’m color blind” you lie to the universe and make the system worse. Really. It is also by claiming our own part of this that we can challenge and correct the institutionally racist systems that have been put in place while the truth is whitewashed on grounds of economic wisdom or public safety.

So that brings us to white privilege. You can also be free only if you admit you have it. All this means is that people see you as white and act accordingly. Does it mean you always get your own way? No. But it means that in the whole scheme of things, you’ll be less scrutinized. As a people (did you know we were a people?), society is rigged in our favor. It means that often the law will look at us more favorably; we will be given the benefit of the doubt more often; and  we’ll be given less hassle in the check-out line. We’ll need to show IDs less often. We’re more likely to be believed unquestionably.

However this doesn’t mean you’ll always get the job. It doesn’t mean things will always go your way. It means that while you go and do things without thinking about them, to our non-white neighbors, the same things are tasks and hurdles. Just watch.

My favorite story, which 1) I’ve been told not to tell and 2) is probably more about racism although I think it’s both about racism and white privilege, goes like this: There was a gang of kids who figured out that racism and white privilege was real. So the black kids went into the store and looked around and examined some stuff. The security people were on it and followed their every move. While this was going on, the white kids came in, took what they wanted, and walked out.

No, no. I’m not suggesting anyone do this. I just think it is a perfect example of how these systems work.

Ah, and then we get to the extremists, white purity, anarchists, Nazis, the KKK, etc. I think this again takes us to not claiming who we really are. As a white female whose maternal side came to Virginia before the Mayflower, I was eligible, according to my Aunt Dottie, to join both the Daughters of the American Revolution and the United Daughters of the Confederacy. My great-grandfather had slaves. And although I’m not happy about the slave part (family legend has it that he freed them—and so got cheap labor—before the emancipation), it is part of who I am. You know, I’ve been part of more discussions on race than I can count and I’ve NEVER heard anyone else admit that their family had slaves. But I digress.

The key here is, my white family, is that no one can hurt what you are except you. If your whole identity is threatened because some others are not like you, the problem, my friend, is you and not those others. So, if you want to keep the world “pure,” act pure. Marry people like you if you must, but violence is never, ever an appropriate response to identity.

The more important question is, are you happy? If anger and being vitriolic makes you feel important, self-righteous, and brave, where is the true joy? Take a minute. What is missing within you? If you know people like that, it is your call to somehow reach out and love them, even if they don’t seem lovable. Pray a bit. Help them find some other passions. I’m out of my league here, but I know that love and refocus is part of this. Of course, that’s easy for me to say…

However there is a piece of this that isn’t “out of my league.” And that piece is that I know it is important for us to band together to create a world where we know our self-worth, our God-given uniqueness, without it involving comparing ourselves to others. I’m not white because I’m better, different, or clueless. I’m white because that is what I am. The more we discover we can love ourselves and that love joyfully frees us to be ourselves, the more wholeness and love there will be for us all wherever you are within the conversation of race and our world.

Enough of midnight rambles. “White people need to talk to white people.” OK.

Your turn.

Sorry –

Just sent you a post with this picture:

Spirit Moxie mug and a question mark

And no content. It is a survey you can access either here (the actual Spirit Moxie site that didn’t show up in your email).

Or here, which is a separate link to the survey.

Please click on one – and thank you, thank you for being part of Spirit Moxie.

I need your help!

Spirit Moxie mug and a question mark

 

 
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Love Your Body

graffiti - doctor examining heartHug yourself! Put your left hand on your right shoulder. Put your right hand on your left shoulder. Push hands towards each other. And there you have it. Did it feel a tad strange? Or good? Or interesting

Are you breathing? (Yes, this is a silly question, although sometimes we hold our breath when we do something different.) But is breathing something you have to think about? Heart pumping? Can you see to read this or can you hear it because someone is reading to you? Can you move? At all? Your body supports you. It just does.

One of the most interesting aspects of my journey toward being more present is the challenge I keep being given to love my body. This is not something we learn. Society seems to present “them” (aka bodies) as something that will break down, get sick, age, be used as a rack for ornamentation, and otherwise betray us as our true self, i.e., that is our mind and/or soul, gets on with the business of life. St. Francis of Assisi referred to the body as “Brother Ass” reflecting the 13th century asceticism, which we still claim, that bodies are an uncomfortable accompaniment to being more spiritual.   

“Take care of your body” is a Spirit Moxie conversation for another day. And an important one. But today, the topic is about rejoicing (really) in being a body. As Frederick Buechner says regarding man in Wishful Thinking, “it’s not that he has a body, but that he is a body.”* And loving and appreciating our bodies (this isn’t always the same thing) is crucial for how we show up in the world and how the world interacts with us. Increasingly this is affirmed by writers and speakers who show us ways to be healthier, happier, and more productive. Do you want/seek any of these things? To be healthier, happier, and more productive? Of course you do. I thought so.

So try it again. Left hand on your right shoulder. Right hand on your left. And hug. It is almost that easy. Love your body as it is right now. Whatever the weight. In pain or not. However old you are. As we work toward the gift of being present and so conscious of and  participating in the world as it is, our relationship to our bodies becomes central. This is not something we are taught. It is something we need to learn.

Perhaps it is harder for women with their forced body images. Perhaps it is harder for us all as we are told (yes, told) that we will inevitably slow down and become less attractive as we get older. But seriously loving your body, exactly as it is, provides the base for everything else we have been talking about for changing the world. And the result of loving it is that you continue to grow into your ideal self — by your standards — not the mental picture that’s been imposed on you by a greedy and unhappy world.

Amy Ahlers in her book  Big Fat Lies Women Tell Themselves gives this exercise/challenge: “Stand naked in front of the mirror and name ten things you love about yourself every day for a week. . . .They can range from ‘great ass’ to ‘the miracle of my skin’ to ‘my heart is pumping.’”** I failed this one. I tried, but I literally found myself running from the mirror. What was that response about? But even trying began the process. So try that exercise with one thing. Work up to five. Skin color? Do your nails look good? Wow, can you actually see, feel your hip bones? I never noticed the curve of my neck; my ankles; that one mole that is perfectly placed to be interesting; that my eye color is more varied than I remembered; and I forgot about my dimples. Your turn. Go. And stick with it.

Somewhere along the way, not by magic, not immediately — unless of course it is immediate — you will start seeing some changes. Maybe not on the scale. Maybe the pain is still there. But you’ll walk a little taller. You’ll get more compliments. The weight and the pain will no longer be in charge and there’s a great chance both will become manageable. You’ll be ready for your part in changing the world. So allow me to introduce you to yourself: you in your body — your best self.

Report in. What do you need to do for you? Hug.

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This is a snapshot of how this has worked for me: I began this “loving your body challenge” feeling a little dumpy, too old, and with pain that moved from my right shoulder to my left leg. Now I feel pretty awesome, really. My body gets, no, I get compliments out of nowhere. Age is just a number that I forget most of the time. And, when I’m really present and doing what I’m called to do, the pain disappears. Of course, my stretches help too.
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Hugging exercise adapted from the work of SARK
*Frederick Buechner, “Immortality,” Wishful Thinking: A Seeker’s ABC (Harper & Row, 1993).
**Amy Ahlers, “Big Fat Lie #16: one of these days I’ll win the battle of the bulge,” Big Fat Lies Women Tell Themselves: Ditch Your Inner Critic and Wake Up Your Inner Superstar (New World Library, 2011), p. 69.

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Photo credit:
Peaceful Heart Doctor – 3, 720 Grant Ave., San Francisco —Eva Blue

Additional Resources:
Amy Ahlers latest work, with Christine Arylo, Reform Your Inner Mean Girl: 7 Steps to Stop Bullying Yourself and Start Loving Yourself. Also for Dudes!
Christiane Northrup, M.D.,Goddesses Never Age: The Secret Prescription for Radiance, Vitality, and Well-Being. Primarily for women, but there is useful information for men as well.

Alchemy

Sign for alchemy exhibitWhen filling out an online form, I was asked to list what business I’m in. Apparently “no clue” was not an appropriate answer. But in the middle of the night, I got it.

Alchemy!

At Spirit Moxie we combine ingredients to create awe-filled results. Right? So when I walked by the Chemical Heritage Foundation in Philadelphia and noticed that they were holding an exhibit called “Books of Secrets: writing & reading alchemy,” I had to stop. It was awesome, although I’ll spare you all the pictures and details. But their processes were called recipes and were stored “in plain sight” through writings and abbreviations. Perhaps this is the same as the actions we take together. 

And the picture I didn’t take explained taking “good rich red wine” and turning it into a strong clear liquid. Really.

Last week, I found this song by Nedi Safa. It begins with an alchemist, moves onto mentioning chaos, and then reminds us, “Everything you’ve got, right where you are, is all you need…” Perfect.

So here you are: Alchemy. Chaos. Here is, The Hand You’re Dealt

 

You’re welcome!

How do you do alchemy?

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Credits from the top:

Exhibit sign — Spirit Moxie
Music Video The Hand You’re Dealt — NEDI at NEDI sings Used with permission.