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| Notes, Quotes, and Wonderings | |||
| A PERFORMER'S PRAYER By Holly Near Why am I up here In front of all these people? It is a wild notion To perform in front of people Ah yes, I remember I am not here for me I am not here to promote my ego I am here to serve the Great Spirit To be a voice for those afraid to speak To be movement for those who are stuck I am here to reveal a mystery To learn something new about myself I give my talent to the wind I give my weakness to the rocks I give my fear to the stars I give my confidence to the moon I give it all away So if I am great, it is not my greatness It is the wind that will celebrate And if I am not great, it is not my failure It is up to the rock to carry the pain and disappointment I am a channel here to do the work To make the discoveries To shout the joy To call my mistakes "teacher" I am here to give it away To the people who come to watch and listen and feel So that we will remember more than the time of day Why am I up here In front of all these people? So that the Great Spirit may paint a picture on my face © 1997 By Hereford Music |
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| WAITING FOR INSTRUCTIONS In 1999 I was asked to submit a piece for a compilation of thoughts called PRAYERS FOR A THOUSAND YEARS, edited by Elizabeth Robersa and Elias Amidon. Elizabeth and Elias are advocates for social justice and spiritual awakening. They are on the faculty of the Naropa Institute. This compilation includes writings by Alice Walker, Marian Wright Edelman, Ram Dass, The Dalai Lama, Noam Chomsky, Judy Chicago, Margaret Randall, Joy Harjo, Nelson Mandela, Mzwakhe Mbuli, and oh so many more (well over 200 contributors in all). By Holly Near 1998 I am waiting for instructions. From the sky comes the scope of my unlimited possibility From the trees come the calendar of time, ring by ring From the wind comes the passion that fills me just before I learn From the water comes my gratitude for in it, I recognize myself From paintings on the stone and drums on the mountain I am reminded that I am not the first. From the inquisitive and demanding nature of my niece I am reminded I am not the last. From the girl child in the sweat shop whose little fingers bring in ten cents an hour, to the poet who shakes the world round when she speaks "Good morning", to the woman beaten beyond recognition by the man who says he loves her, to the activist who wraps herself around a tree as the blades drown out the sound of her beating heart, to the teenager holding the doll she never had after it comes through her body and will be with her for the rest of her life, to all these I cry out my womanness. From the lovers hiding to the lovers who kiss in the moonlight as bombs fall just yards from their dreams, reminding me to feel joy when athlete and disabled dare to kiss, when Jew and Arab dare to kiss, when Irish and English dare to kiss, when man and man dare to kiss, when woman and woman dare to kiss, when black and white dare to kiss, reminding us all that for as long as loving evokes fear in our hearts then we have yet another mile to walk to heaven From the motion of people, movements, in search of higher places, at first the object of disapproval and fear, we grow like dancers hurling through space, our blood splattering in the air and floating down in slow motion, the star dust of perfect intention, like skaters holding each other up for the world to see, crashing on brutal ice at essential moments. I am inspired by my peers as we reach to understand our purpose here I have torn open my soul, worked to a sweat, wept with humiliation, struggled with confusion, battled with apathy and disillusion, confronted my beliefs again and again until I thought I would drown in sorrow and yet, here I am, on the dawn of a new millennium, profoundly informed by all life and love. I am ready to take the next step. Yet this time, I am filled with calm and grace, I feel less fear than ever before, I have learned compassion in spite of myself, I do talk to the trees and listen to the wind, and I am waiting for instructions. |
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| Morning Person by Holly Near Winter morning. 1955. Should I sleep a little longer in my cozy dreams or put my feet on the cold floor? I hear mom crumpling yesterday's newspaper, lighting the wood stove. She slips out into the morning moonlight to milk the cow. I want to be with her, with the moon. I am up and for ever after, a morning person. Our house is filled with music. Paul Robeson, The Weavers, Lena Horne, Judy Garland, Edith Piaf, Pablo Cassals, Mahalia Jackson. Hope and disappointment perfectly entangled in each breath. They seem eager to be alive even in the face of great risks like racism, poverty, drugs, child abuse, and fame. I stand in front of the mirror imagining their sounds coming out of my little body. This is how I learn the honest notes from the false notes. With these icons as my guides, sleeping in is not an option. Winter morning. 2000. The bear in me enters the cave to sleep, to learn from my dreams. I have lost my sense of direction. Trust. Lost, I am teachable. We are much older than 2000 years. We under-estimate ourselves, distilling our diversity into a dominant culture calendar. Halloween narrowed down to witches and pumpkins. Spring equinox dressed in chocolate and bunnies. If I sing this in front of the mirror I find false notes. I feel uncomfortable walking alone into the birthday party. I don't really know Him. I forgot to bring a gift. People are drinking too much and talking too loud. I have worn the wrong clothes. I vow once again never to go out on a New Year's Eve with so many lost people on the highway. Were we supposed to celebrate all time? Were we trying to measure transformation but got stuck in 2000 years? Stop. Go back to the morning. Before the sun. It is still dark in the northern part of the world. The down under feels her heat creeping over the horizon. Watch her, listen. Mother Nature promises us transformation by example. Still we lose sight of faith. "Where have all the movements gone?" I wonder. Bad habit. Brilliant change is everywhere. True, circumstances may shake us until our teeth rattle, but once we surrender to the huge arms of participation, it is a natural home. So many of us have come to this place. Why do we doubt our journey here? Notice the speed at which the civil rights movement transformed the world. It did not fix the world, it transformed it. By noticing, by giving weight to participation, the next social change movement makes its way through chaos and prepares a surprise attack on its sleeping leadership. My faith renewed. In less than a century we experienced great movement. The youth movement! The labor movement! The civil rights movement! The peace movement! The solidarity movement! The women's movement! The disability movement! The disarmament movement! The gay rights movement! The environmental movement! Movement! Transformation! Is there any reason to believe we are done? Do I insult God, the universe, the inexplicable power when I fail to appreciate our brilliance? When I sulk and allow fear and confusion to influence my personal foreign policy? On my knees, from my bear cave, I thank you/us/it/miracle/life/always. Thanks to elders who bring a century of experience to the debate. Thanks to young people who come with fresh perspectives, unburdened by the weight of history. Thanks to those who no longer accept dominance in leadership. Thanks to people of multiple- world ancestry for dancing identity. Thanks to you who have learned a divine blend of detachment and engagement which has brought revolutionaries through impossible predicaments. Thanks to you of northern European decent who confront your racism. Thanks to you men who are redefining masculinity in response to feminism. Thanks to the women who no longer alter natural instincts in the presence of arrogance. Thanks to lesbians for loving women amidst misogyny. Thanks to lovers who discover that sex in the arms of love is different from sex in the arms of despair. Thanks to those sick with twentieth-century viruses and immune system deficiencies whose activism has forced review of patriarchal health care. Thanks to you who risk your lives for whales, gorillas and redwoods. Thanks to you who rise above cynicism about religion to a self-defined spirituality. I feel the cold air hit my sleepy eyes as I follow my mom out into the dark morning. The world is full of transformation. I listen for the song birds, the singers who dare to shout and whisper the honest notes. The moon and the sun tell me my true age. Mother Nature promises transformation. Faith comes with the noticing. I am a morning person. Copyright © 2000 by Holly Near. Appeared in Tikkun Magazine, January 2000 www.tikkun.org |
