The Goddess in the Underworld 2010

I was tossing and turning in my rocky bed.
It wasn’t visions of sugarplums dancing in my head.
The longer I slept the more my mind was filled with dread
When in the middle of the night, midnight, a voice said,
“Poor man.”
I was floating up above and could see I was dead
The panic in my chest was being fed
By memories of darkness and light and that led
To philosophers and poets and something I read
About yin yang.
Poor man.
No yin. All yang.
I clawed my way to the top of the bottom of the heap
Where I learned the art of how to keep
A spark of light alive in the dark of the deep
Chasm that opened beneath my feet
I discovered that opening was more than a well
As I slipped at the edge and tumbled and fell
And my voice was silent ‘cause there was no one to tell
That just because it’s private doesn’t mean it’s not hell.

Then you came to me, gagged and bound. You
Wore nothing at all but the pain that hounds you—
The source of which still confounds you
‘cause there’s simply no reason for the empty around you.
Poor woman.
You carried a grudge for all that you’d lost
And wanted to blame me for all that it cost,
But I cut the cords that bound you and tossed
Them in the flames of hell where they burned with the dross.
Yin Yang
Poor woman
All yin. No yang.
There was a deafening crash when we came together.
Nature abhors a vacuum whether
It’s in outer space or in the nether
Reaches of an empty heart seeking something better.
We reached the heights as lover to lover
And danced in the brightness under the cover
Of the sun. We never thought to discover
Whether two empty vassels could fill each other.

You said it was nice but you had to be going.
There were seeds to be planted and crops to be growing
In fields of plenty where warm winds were blowing
Across the tulips and the love we were sowing.
My heart shriveled up; it was so complicated
I didn’t want you to go; I was so frustrated
Over losing the throne I’d abdicated.
But it seemed life alone was the one that was fated.
Then you took my crown
And turned it around
Put it over your hips instead of a gown.
When I said “don’t leave,” you said, “don’t frown,
Enter into me and you will have new life
As the prince of light and I’ll be your wife
Even though we’re surrounded by a world that’s rife
With terror and hardship and hatred and strife.”

Wherever you walked there was hope and good cheer
And I learned to be brave and to show no fear
Of the haunting ghosts of sadness and tears
That waited below in the winter each year.
By autumn’s first frost I was pushing up daisies
While you wandered free in the places
I’d come to love; it just drove me crazy
That I was again consigned to hades.
But now there’s the hope of life anew
If I just have the courage to wait a few
Months until the wheel turns true
And I can be reborn to be with you.
Because that’s the promise of the eternal wheel:
What comes around goes around, that’s the deal.
As partners and lovers and as friends we’ll
Determine for ourselves what’s dead and what’s real.

And if we fail...

You are probably aware by now that I’m a writer and a publisher. In fact, everyone in my family is a writer. Just Friday night, DW rushed DD and me to a mailbox service to get our entries for a literary competition delivered before the 6:00 deadline. We barely made it before they locked the doors. And neither of us would have had our novels ready to submit if it hadn’t been for countless hours DW spent editing our material and pushing us to revise and clarify what we had written. Whether we win or not, both DD and I know that we have submitted quality work, perhaps our best ever, to this competition.

It was in the midst of this frantic revision cycle that I was inspired with the topic for today’s talk. In my thriller, the heroes are driven in their quest to find a hidden treasure, pursued by unknown forces bent on preventing them from succeeding. There are explosions, injuries, mad dashes across country, biblio-terrorism (a term I coined for this story), and kidnappings. At some point—and I’m sorry I don’t remember the exact words—DW asked me why they were so anxious to find this treasure. What would happen if they failed?

You’ve probably read a book or have seen a movie at some time that sounds a lot like what I’ve described. The heroes have to overcome all kinds of obstacles to complete their quest, but someplace along the line you realize that if they just stopped running the villains would never find the treasure that only the heroes have the clue to. The secret would be safe from their enemy; or someone else would discover it.

As a by-product of this, we find that thrillers have to have a more cataclysmic risk. If I don’t pursue the killer in spite of being warned off by my superiors, the president will die. A nuclear weapon will be detonated in a major metropolitan area. World War will break out. An asteroid will hit the earth and all life will end.

We start thinking that if the obstacles are there, then the result of failure is world-ending.

In 1995, the movie “Apollo 13” came out. In the movie, Mission Director Gene Kranz issues the order to find a way to bring the astronauts down and says “Failure is not an option.” Although Kranz later used the words as the title of his autobiography, those involved in the actual Apollo 13 crisis have indicated that the words were never actually used at mission control. Still, they have entered our vocabulary and are used to drive people forward whether they are talking about the war on terror, a financial crisis at the bank, or a product ship date at Microsoft. We’ve actually come to believe that failure is not an option.

The truth is that whether we are talking about banks, terrorism, health care, unemployment, education, or a relationship, for many people failure is a very real and even likely option.

So what?

Once we realize that failure is an option, we have to genuinely assess what is at stake or we become subject to the abject panic and despair that rules over hopeless situations. But in most cases, there is much less at stake than the end of the world or even imminent death.

This may sound harsh for Unitarians, but if congress fails to pass a comprehensive healthcare bill, so what? We don’t have one now. There will be people who continue to suffer because they do not have adequate healthcare. We will continue to fight for social and medical justice.

If we fail to win the war in Afghanistan—which is likely—then so what? Will we have to find some other way to deal with the threat of terrorism? Some way to live with the Taliban?

We had a great men’s breakfast yesterday and many of the things we talked about were very near to this morning’s topic. A friend related an experience he had at Hewlett-Packard in which he was told by the founders that they expected people to fail. If you don’t fail, you don’t learn. But by and large our society has abandoned that philosophy. If we fail, we believe the world automatically comes to an end.

I got involved as a member of the Board of Directors of a local youth theatre. Since I’ve got a little extra time at the moment, I agreed to take the part of Lazar Wolf in the theatre’s upcoming production of “Fiddler on the Roof.” In that story, when the little community of Jews faces the unthinkable and are evicted from Anatevka, Lazar and Tevya talk about what they will do. “Where are you going?” Tevya asks. “Chicago. In America,” Lazar answers. “My wife, Fruma-Sarah, may she rest in peace, has a brother there.” “That’s nice,” says Tevya. Lazar responds, “I hate him, but a relative is a relative.”

Well, after putting it off for as long as I could, I joined AARP last year at age 60. I always looked at it as something for old people. I certainly never thought I’d be quoting from its electronic newsletter! Nonetheless, an article titled “Protect Yourself from Layoffs” by Stephen M. Pollan and Mark Levine, caught my attention a couple of weeks ago. Well, it’s a little late, but I wanted to see what I’d done wrong. The last point in the newsletter really stuck with me.

“Professional networking today is nothing more than a way to feel like you’re not the only one who’s scared or desperate,” say the authors, continuing that the people in your rolodex are too busy trying to protect their own jobs to worry about you.

But social capital is valuable in a time-honored and traditional way. The answer the authors offer up to the question “What if we fail?” is in the community that we have developed.

“…rebuild and cultivate your personal network,” say Pollan and Levine. “Reconnect with your extended family and distant friends. Become more active in your church or a service organization or charity. And get involved in your community, whether that means attending PTA meetings or tending a community garden. It’s the social capital you build up in your personal life that will yield the best job opportunities in the future.”

Or in the words of Lazar Wolf, “A relative is a relative.”

I submit to you that it is not only about job opportunities. When I titled this talk, I left an ellipsis at the end, waiting for it to be filled in.

And if we fail… to pass a comprehensive healthcare bill in congress, churches and communities will step in, the way they always have, to support people in need.

And if we fail… to win the war on terror, churches and communities and charitable organizations will reach across world boundaries to build loving relationships with people of other cultures and other faiths.

And if our businesses, our banks, or our government fail… our families, our churches, and our communities will be what we have to fall back on, because they are the people who know and care for us.

But it works the other way, too. As we build our networks and become more involved in our churches, service organizations, charities, and community, we become the backstop for others. If they face failure in their lives, we are the ones they will look to for help, support, and caring. The more involved we are, the stronger our network becomes. We are more secure and our friends and families are more secure. And their friends, and their families, and so on.

There is an old business adage that says, “Be kind to those you meet on your way up and they will be kind to you on your way down.”

Take a moment to look around you. The people you see sitting in the next row, across the aisle, or in the next seat are the ones who will care for you if you fail. Those same people are looking to you as their support and safety net.

And if we fail… to be there for others, who will be there for us?

Twisting the Rope

I used this ritual for a memorial service for a friend several years ago and am planning to use some variant for Solstice this Sunday. It was originally done at Mabon and then used once at Litha as well. I think with a few adjustments it will be wonderful for Yule.

A tray of ashes and dust is the centerpiece of an altar table. It is surrounded by 4 short candles and the symbols of the 4 elements.

The people gather. When the time has come I will call people together with these words:

This is the time of harvest, of thanksgiving and joy,
of leave taking and sorrow.
Now day and night are equal,
in perfect balance,
and we give thought to the balance and flow
within our own lives.
The Sun King has become the Lord of Shadows,
sailing West:
we follow Him into the dark.
Life declines;
the season of barrenness is on us,
yet we give thanks
for that which we have reaped and gathered.
We meet to turn the Wheel
and twist the cord of life
that will sustain us through the dark.

I'll light the four candles repeating the Kore chant

She changes everything she touches
and everything she touches changes.

Then we'll begin the service for Chris.

We gather here now to bid farewell to a friend who must travel far.
The blessings of the Goddess, Of the God, of the Old Ones, and of good friends are with you as you travel beyond.

Then those who would like to speak will have that opportunity. If there is music it may be played or sung at this time. When all have spoken, I'll return to the ritual with these words:

There is a reason for being here
In this world and this life.
There is a reason for leaving,
when the purposes of this life are done.
The soul must journey beyond to pause,
to rest, to wait for those who are loved.
For the world beyond is a land
of eternal summer, and of joy,
far from the cares of this world,
with happiness and with youth anew.

Then I'll take a pinch of the ashes and dust and sprinkle it in the east and talk of Chris's love of the air. I'll sprinkle some in the south and speak of his firey spirit. I'll sprinkle some in the west and speak of his love of the water. And I'll sprinkle some in the north and talk of his love of the earth.

Then we'll ask for volunteers (perhaps you'd like to choose the people) who will stand at each of the four corners of the table and hold a skein of yarn. Then people will come up four at a time and walk around them with the skein twisting it together into a rope surrounding the four volunteers. As they twist the rope, we'll tie feathers, ribbons, flowers, leaves, etc. into the skein. When the skeins are empty and the rope is complete, the four will slip outside it and hold it together. They will carry it to the door and hold it so that everyone can walk through the circle on the way out of the room. Then, as people are ready to walk out, I'll give this benediction:

Behold, the circle of rebirth,
The cord of life.
You will never fade away.
Autumn's grain is spring's seed.
Blessed be the Mother of all life.
Blessed be the life that comes from her and returns to her.

As people walk through the circle we'll repeat the blessing:

We have sown, We have tended,
We have grown, We have gathered.
We have reaped a good harvest.
Lady, we thank you for your gifts.
Lord, we thank you for your bounty.
We thank you for the life of Chris.

When everyone is out, I'll open the circle and put out the candles.

Keeping Memories Alive

You may have heard that “History is written by the victor.” And that is probably at least partially true. The story that we have of any historic event is what was recorded and preserved and few victors have an interest in preserving the stories of the conquered. We have in the Bible, for example, the Israelites’ story of the battle of Jericho, and the walls came tumbling down. We have no record of the Canaanites’ side of that event. No one was interested in the Canaanites’ view. And, in fact, the version of the story that we have justifies the obliteration of that race as the will of God.

You see, history does not necessarily record the whole truth. But reality is generally accepted to be what is recorded. Eventually, we accept as real anything that the history books – or religious treatises – tell us. And if you don’t, you must be a conspiracy theorist, a flat-worlder, or other anachronist. History is the record of events, and information about some key people involved in them.

Memory is not the same as history. According to Merriam Webster, memory is “the power or process of reproducing or recalling what has been learned and retained especially through associative mechanisms.” For example, you may have lived through or experienced some historic events, like World War I, the Great Depression, the fabulous fifties, or even the turbulent sixties and remember it from your own unique perspective.
That is where history books differ from memoirs. Where history is the record of events, memoirs are the record of the experiences of individuals, sometimes as they relate to historic events, but recalling what has been learned and retained.

Like history, however, what is remembered is what is real.

I have a little exercise is designed to help you take part in forming reality. I’d like you to ask yourself a simple question: How do you want to be remembered?

Exercise: Remember me

A couple of years ago, the online magazine Smith asked readers to send the stories of their lives in just six words. 15,000 arrived in just two months, some from famous people. Stephen Colbert wrote, “Well, I thought it was funny.” Some of the best of the thousands of submissions were compiled in a book by Rachel Fershleiser and Larry Smith titled Not Quite What I Was Planning: Six-Word Memoirs by Writers Famous & Obscure.

Here are some examples:

• She tried to make a difference


• I have fought a good fight


• I laughed until my sides hurt


• Nobody had more fun than me.


• Died young, at an old age.


• Born in California. Then nothing happened.


• Changing mind postponed demise by decades.


• He wore dresses. This caused messes.

We’ve prepared a worksheet for you and I’d like you to give a minute’s thought to this question, “In six words, how would you like to be remembered?” Then write down the answer on this page. Of course humor is always acceptable, and it doesn’t have to be your final decision. This is just an exercise to get you started.

Writing memoirs

One way to increase the chances that you will be remembered the way you want is to record your memoirs. Living in the memory of others is a path to immortality.

But what a daunting task! If you are over the age of 40, as Cellini suggests, it may seem like a lot to write down. If you are over the age of 60, you may think you can’t possibly remember everything. If you are over the age of 80, you may see it as an impossible task. So how do you start?

One way is by asking yourself the question “What do you wish you knew about your parents, grandparents, or ancestors?” That would be a good place to start your own story. But another is to ask your friends and children the question. I’ve asked my daughter to answer that question for us this morning.

Words from my daughter

When you think "parents," you just think, "Oh, the people who love me and rais me." But most people leave it at that. On the surface, we know them well, but thinking deeper, I've realized, I don't know half as much as I think I do.

In day-to-day conversation, that kind of life history doesn't come up regularly. Parents know so much more than kids, just from daily questions, like, "How was school?" "What movie are you going to see?" and things like that. But kids really don't ask their parents things like that... Maybe a distracted, "How was work?" at the most.

I know how easy it is to forget that my parents had lives before I came along - before I was born. They had lives filled with work... and come to think of it, I actually don't know what else. I mean, they were kids once, so they had school, then college, then work, and just... life to live. Honestly, I don't even think I know how my parents met. Now, thinking about it, it really feels like something I should find out about.

And what about school? Teenagers classically pull the "but you don't understand!!" card - myself included on occasion. So I asked myself "Why is it we say that?" Well, for one, it seems an ideal excuse to complain, but aside from that, wouldn't it make sense that kids assume that their parents don't understand what they are going through because kids don't actually know what their parents lives were like growing up.

I'm not saying that kids would understand how their parents felt growing up, or that parents fully understand how their kids feel, but I think that it would improve communication and be fascinating at the same time, not to mention the fact that you'd also get this awesome understanding of another era.

It's a similar ting with grandparents. It would be so cool to learn about history through someone who actually experienced it, not to mention learning about social and cultural differences and similarities to today.

I think the main thing that I would love to know more about my parents lives and grandparents is the different kinds of social experiences they had growing up, and how it effected their thoughts later in life.

Getting Started

Okay, now that I’ve found out where I should start, here’s another tip to get you started. Unlike a biography, a memoir does not start with “I was born…” and follow a chronological line to the grave. Memoirs are the experiences that gave life meaning for you. Think about the defining events of your life. What was it that you experienced, and what was it you learned? I’ll read a short example from my own memoirs.

Fighting the Union

In the fall of 1967, I was part of a Methodist Youth tour to Detroit, Michigan. There had been riots in Detroit that summer and in places you could, at least figuratively, still see smoke rising. Part of the tour included visiting the United Auto Workers (UAW) headquarters and hearing Walter Reuther talk about organized labor’s planned redevelopment of inner city slums.

My dad worked for Studebaker Corp. in South Bend, Indiana for nearly 20 years before the company closed its doors for good in 1963. My memories of the union were not positive. They involved my dad standing on picket lines and bringing home government surplus food because he was on strike. I remember sitting in the barbershop on Saturday morning as his fellow-employees openly declared that they hadn’t voted for any strike and didn’t know anyone who did. My opinion of the union was that they drove companies out of business and weren’t there to help the unemployed who were left behind.

There was a question and answer period after Reuther’s talk and I stood to try to pin the closure of Studebaker on the union. I didn’t get very far. Mr. Reuther gave what appeared to be a stock answer that wasn’t relevant. Even the other kids at my table were offering me sympathy on having been so easily dismissed. One also offered me a postcard and pen so I could write down my question in advance. I was far better prepared the next time I rose to ask my question.

“Mr. Reuther, I regret that I don’t have your years of fast-talking experience,” I began.

“I wish I had my experience and your years,” he quipped back.

I couldn’t blame him for that. I was wishing I had my years and his experience, too. I managed to get the rest of the question out, concluding with my accusation, “Isn’t it true that the union drove Studebaker out of business by making continued, unreasonable demands?”

The answer, once again, didn’t really satisfy me, or my friends. Though I didn’t think at the time to try to write down the answer, we were left with the impression that simple-minded laborers couldn’t really grasp all the issues in contract negotiations and needed to trust union management to make the right decisions for them.

When I told my dad about my short-lived confrontation, he didn’t have a lot to say. But years later I heard him retelling the story to others with a real note of pride in his voice. I also took the time to learn about the incredible contributions that Walter Reuther made to fair labor practices, civil rights, and the Democratic Party, and I gained some perspective on the complexities of labor negotiations. But what can I say? When you are 18, you already have all the answers.

Exercise: Identifying and recording your memoirs

Now I’d like you to think in terms of what you want to pass on to your children or grandchildren, or friends and family. Pick out an experience that you had that you learned something from. Now on your worksheet, write a key phrase that describes the experience. It could be something like “Stealing apples” or “The Love of My Life.” Just a title that brings to mind the story that you want to tell.

Next, jot down three to six key moments in that experience. What are the things that made it memorable? This could include names of people involved, your age, the setting… the things that you remember most about that experience. You can get a good start by answering the fundamental questions of who, what, why, where, when.

Now, what did you learn from this experience? Keep in mind that your memoirs are not your vehicle to preach one last sermon to your children. Don’t tell them, show them. What did you learn? Some of the concepts you might capture could be things like, “I never went near the water again,” “I can never think about Christmas without smelling cranberries and popcorn,” or “That one decision saved my life.” Go ahead and take a stab at writing it down.

Conclusion

Today we may be more aware of the issues of memory loss on an individual basis than ever before. We have more information about Alzheimer’s Disease, Parkinson’s Disease, Sundown Syndrome, and other memory-loss problems than any generation. And we are also aware that the past 50 years have seen more change than any period of history, starting with the first nuclear explosion through space exploration, personal computers, and DVDs. And we experienced it. It is a shame that those experiences are not recorded where future generations can learn from them.

A while back I video-taped my father-in-law telling an incredibly fascinating story about his activity in Italy during World War II. I’d heard the story in bits and pieces, but Bob told the whole thing in an hour-long uninterrupted session. It was fascinating. But after I was done recording, I started wondering “What am I going to do with this?” It’s a great story I want to pass on, but who is going to go through my piles of stuff and watch the tape?

So I decided to set off on my one-family mission of getting personal and family stories recorded in a way and published in a place that people could have access to them for a long time to come. As a result, we created Remembers When – a place for your memoirs. We wanted to make it possible for people to easily and inexpensively put their memoirs on-line. If you haven’t been to visit Mitch Levy Remembers When, take an opportunity as soon as you can. It is very entertaining!

Whether you choose to publish your bits on-line, make a book out of them, or just write them down in a pile of papers for your children to inherit, it is important to start the process. And you have started with the worksheet you have in front of you. Now it is time to follow through. Go to Remembers When and open your memoirs page, then start posting those precious personal and family memories.

Thanks for the memories.

Friend Me

On January 19th at about 9:00 a.m., I got a flurry of emails at the office from members of the worship committee saying that we had no speaker for February 22, followed by a call from SG asking if I could speak on that day. Oh, and by the way, they would need the topic and blurb yet that day because of the newsletter deadline.

The flurry of messages was part of over 400 email messages that I received at the office that day. I received another couple of dozen email messages on my personal email at home, over 20 at my on-line email, and one at the Long Tale Press email. Long Tale Press is the publishing company that I started nearly a year ago. It being a typical day, on Twitter, I received about 800 updates; on Facebook, my friends updated their status 60 times, plus several postings of links, causes, photos, and funny gifts. I got journal updates from my 63 Live Journal friends and several communities that I follow.

That was the incoming side. It was Monday, so I edited my weekly mobile communications newsletter, Going Mobile, which required quickly scanning over 300 industry news stories and summarizing the top ones. I sent the email version out to 250 people, posted it to my blog for another 150 followers to read, recorded it as a podcast for a loyal listening audience of 35 people. I then posted to my writing blog, updated my Facebook status four times, and sent half a dozen Tweets on Twitter.

It was just another Monday morning. And SG wanted to know what my topic would be for a sermon in a month. I thought, “If you want to know what’s on my mind, Friend Me.” And thus, this talk was born.

I have so many on-line friends, it is hard to keep one separated from another. My family jokes about “Dad and his on-line friends.” Sometimes it looks overwhelming. Keeping up with seven email accounts, three blogs, four social networks, and occasionally looking at those dozen or so others that I’ve joined but never done anything with is an overwhelming prospect. But in thinking about those networks, I realized that they were very distinct, and that they provided very different benefits. And it led me to think about how we compartmentalize our lives, and our friends.

The worship committee has come to realize that if they want me to actually see something in a timely manner then they should send it to me at work. The friends and hundreds of businesses who send messages to me at my personal home account will sometimes wait days before I open the inbox. I disconnected my email from instantly arriving on my phone because it is too distracting—and really, how many email messages do I get that have to have my attention instantly?

As I was thinking about how I engage with on-line friends, I realized that the reason I have so many different accounts is because I compartmentalize. I can’t have every message from friends come to my work email. I try, as much as possible, to separate my work life and my personal life. There are certainly times that I bring work home with me, and I talk to my work associates about what I did over the weekend and Quinne’s ice skating. But for practical purposes, I mostly keep work email for work and only for work.

Similarly, I compartmentalize my friends.

In 2004 I joined National Novel Writing Month or NaNoWriMo and blogged my first NaNoWriMo novel in November. Since then I’ve blogged 5 more. The local writers group all communicated on Live Journal. So I created my Live Journal account to talk to other writers about writing. Personal information creeps in over the course of four years, but even today my primary focus on the Live Journal account with my 63 friends is on writing—what we are writing, what we know about writing, what we can share about writing. I knew my first dozen or so friends on Live Journal in real life—or IRL—from local NaNoWriMo write-ins. The next dozen or so were people who were “writing buddies” on the NaNoWriMo forums. And from there it grew as I met people on-line through writing communities. I've met about a quarter of my friends on Live Journal IRL.

Facebook serves a completely different purpose for me. Three-quarters of my Facebook friends are people that I have met, worked with, and have been or have become friends IRL. Many of these people are co-workers, but this is where my friends also include my daughter and my wife. (DW joined due to peer pressure just last week. I found out through "people you might know.") In spite of the fact that any exposure on one of these sites is total exposure, Facebook is where I keep track of real life friends. When DD asked if she could have a Facebook site last summer, I agreed if she accepted me as a friend. What I saw was that this was not where she was crying out for friendship from anonymous people as parents often fear, but was where she kept up with her real life friends. Most of her friends on Facebook I’ve met IRL myself, and it is great that she feels so confident now about her ability to keep in touch with her friends that we no longer feel constrained to staying in this area if a great opportunity comes available in New York or New Delhi.

I was recently contacted on Facebook by a former co-worker back in Minneapolis who was an usher at our wedding. We hadn’t seen or spoken to each other in about 17 years. Suddenly she is back in my life, reliving bits of our training background in Minneapolis, people we know, and talking about our families. I got a message from my college roommate when he joined Facebook. I hadn’t seen him in ten years and it was quite the blast to reconnect and see pictures of his family, including his wife who was also a good friend in college. Finally, a high school friend that I hadn’t seen since graduation in 1968 picked up our relationship exactly where it left off then when he contacted me his first month on Facebook saying: “someone once told me that you played piano like you had wooden clubs for fingers. as i remember my singing was excellant!” I responded: “Bill Grogan’s goat thought I did fine.” Two apparently meaningless sentences that connected friends from 40 years ago.

It was also on Facebook that I posted that I was part of the Microsoft layoffs that were announced on January 22. On Facebook I had a sudden raft of messages wishing me well and asking where I was looking. A Facebook group was formed called “Help Microsoft Friends Get a Job.” I’ve received three referrals on Facebook and an invitation to a job fair for people affected by the layoffs. It amazed me that that was where support came from during the tough times.

Okay, then there is Twitter. For me, Twitter is a professional/social community. I opened my Going Mobile blog to the public and made the announcement on Twitter. I started adding a lot of people who did work in or were interested in mobile communications. Nearly half my blog hits came as referrals from my Twitter posts. Then I started gathering readers and writers to follow, and when we opened the virtual doors of Long Tale Press last July, we had a Twitter Party or a Twarty. We talked about what was happening at Long Tale, welcomed new users, talked about the books and the process.

Gradually, I’ve eliminated the people I followed who just talked about community, and am reducing the number of mobile communications contacts since I’m not publishing that blog now. I have fully entered the community of writers, editors, and publishers on Twitter. While we do talk about more mundane things on Twitter, my focus has been on the progress we are making with the publication of our next book, bits about the publishing process, and conversations with writers in 140 character bursts regarding our current works in progress. In real life, I have met only one or two percent of my Twitter followers.

At a conference on building on-line communities two years ago, I met Tony Hsieh, the CEO of Zappos, an on-line retailer that started off selling shoes. He talked about his corporate culture and even gave the attendees a book of the Zappos corporate culture that was written by the employees. It was amazing. I follow Tony on Twitter and recently he wrote a full blog entry about his Twitter experience and what it meant. He wrote right after the inauguration, which he attended with the president of Twitter.

Tony says that Twitter has helped him grow personally in four ways. Twitter reminds him of who he wants to be and what he wants Zappos to stand for. Twitter encourages him to view reality in a funnier and/or more positive way. Twitter makes him think about how to make a positive impact on other people’s lives. And Twitter helps him notice and appreciate the little things in life. http://blogs.zappos.com/blogs/ceo-and-coo-blog/2009/01/25/how-twitter-can-make-you-a-better-and-happier-person

While Tony’s experience on Twitter has, he believes, helped him become a better person, his experience is not universal. The instant nature of communication on Twitter has its traps and many people have fallen into them. A popular notion that has circulated amongst the party-set of Twitter-users is that friends don’t let friends Tweet drunk. But it doesn’t require inebriation to make a huge faux pas on Twitter. A story circulated recently about a consultant who arrived in a prominent Southeastern city to give a seminar on using social media to improve business. The first thing he did was post a Tweet from the airport declaring that this was the last place in the world he could imagine someone wanting to live. Many of his seminar attendees who had great civic pride had read the Tweet and were not impressed. A formal apology followed.

When I realized that I compartmentalize my online friends into distinct groups, I realized that we do the same thing IRL. I met KD from here at church at a grocery store just before Christmas and couldn’t think for the life of me who she was. The same thing has happened to me with several other people that I know in one environment, but simply don’t recognize in another—several from here at church. Possibly the most dramatic example of this occurred some years ago in Las Vegas. I was working a trade-show booth at a time when a small company could afford to send only a limited number of people so we worked the booth for the entire 8 or 10-hour day. It was exhausting. I went back to my hotel, got out of my uniform, and went out to eat. Afterward, on my way through the casino back to the hotel room, I decided to try my hand at blackjack for a while. I got to talking to the guy next to me at the table and finally said, “You look really familiar to me. Do I know you?” He answered, “We just spent the last 8 hours working next to each other on the show floor and our offices are across the hall from each other.”

We sometimes associate our friends and acquaintances with a specific social situation so much that we don’t recognize them outside that environment. Perhaps we do that not only as a way of compartmentalizing our relationships, but also of isolating ourselves. For some reason, we expect our political leaders and entertainers to have lives that are so transparent that we can measure everything they do against our personal standards; but we do not want ourselves exposed to that microscopic examination by everyone we know. We want to know that our work associates are separate from our church associates and that we won’t run into people from church or work in the local bar or casino. Or if we do, they will be discreet enough not to notice.

There is an old story of a minister in a small town church who rode a bicycle as his only means of transportation. He was devastated one morning to find his bicycle was missing. He couldn’t ride out into the country to visit parishioners. He couldn’t get to the hospital to visit the sick. He discussed the problem with his next door neighbor who had sage advice for the young minister. “Preacher,” he said, “everyone in a five mile radius comes here for church. Sunday morning preach a sermon on the ten commandments and when you get to ‘thou shalt not steal’ I’ll keep an eye out for the person who blushes and we’ll know who took your bicycle.” This seemed like a good idea, so on Sunday morning the young minister delivered a fire and brimstone sermon on the ten commandments. He was fired up. The neighbor positioned himself where he could watch the congregation for the eighth commandment, certain that they would catch the thief.

But then the minister changed his tone. He spoke of the love of God and his willingness to forgive; that no matter how grievous the sin God was a loving God and called on us to forgive each other as he forgives us. The sermon was so beautiful—so moving—that people left in tears, thanking the minister for such beautiful words of inspiration and comfort. The last person out of the church was the neighbor who agreed about how moving the sermon was. “But,” said the neighbor, “you didn’t get to ‘thou shalt not steal’ and now we will never know who took your bicycle.” The minister blushed and confessed, “I got to the seventh commandment and remembered where I left it.”

We seem to know that we can’t always live up to the standards that we profess; therefore we try to isolate ourselves from those who might judge us. In a blog-post by MSNBC reporter Bob Sullivan, Bob says:

I know a computer science professor who runs the same Facebook experiment every semester. He invites his students to stand up in front of the room and show everyone their Facebook page on the big screen. No one has ever taken him up on the offer.

Why? They’re embarrassed, of course.

Moments later, the irony sinks in. Every one of them seems happy to share all those funny photographs, witty Wall postings and status updates with everyone on the planet. They just don't want to do it in public, in person.

The truth is that the notion of privacy that we want to cling to not only doesn’t exist today, but in all likelihood never has. The day of party lines, nosy telephone operators, beauticians, mailmen, and milkmen who knew everything about everyone and weren’t afraid to tell, may be over, but our lives are exposed to our friends, neighbors, and employers just the same. The question is whether we measure up to our own standards. I have been caught in the trap of inconsistency myself and it is not fun. But it does make me strive to be ever more consistent in the way I live my life, so that what I say, do, or display is not an embarrassment to myself, my family, my friends, or my employer.

When George Orwell wrote the book Nineteen Eighty-Four, he envisioned a world in which Big Brother was always watching you. Today he would understand that we are Big Brother. We have evolved to a state of being our brother’s watcher rather than our brother’s keeper, and no amount of compartmentalizing and isolating will change that.

So friend me. I’ll try to recognize you the next time we meet!

The Pinpoint of Light

For Solstice this year I'll be telling this new story both at the celebration Saturday night and the service at Northlake UU on Sunday morning. Enjoy!

Once upon a time, long ago and more steps away than I can count, there was a little village near a river and very far from anything else. That village dwelt in darkness. This darkness was not metaphorical, as in ignorance. It was quite literal. The sun never shone. It was dark and cold like midnight under a cloudy sky in the middle of winter. The people huddled together for warmth. They wore sheepskin clothes to keep from freezing. Even their meager fires seemed to give no light or warmth, so complete was the darkness.

When it seemed the village would never see light again and despaired of all hope, the village elder called for Quaidulac the Shaman. Quaidulac had not been a shaman for long in this village. He had been caught sitting by the river’s edge some time before, thinking of how he could end his life because he was so cold and miserable. The people found him there, nearly frozen to death and called him Quaidulac, which means “Dreaming by the Water.”

“Quaidulac,” said the elder, “we are a people of darkness who dwell in darkness, but we cannot remain like this forever. We call on you to journey to the Kingdom of the Sun and beg of him to visit our little village so that we might have warmth and light. Therefore, take what herbs you need, your sheepskins, and your staff, and undertake this journey on our behalf.”

Now Quaidulac did not know what to do. He had never undertaken a spirit journey. He had simply been too cold to move when the people found him by the river. But he thought that it would be much better to travel to this Kingdom of the Sun that the elder spoke of than to stay here in the village and continue to suffer the cold and darkness. So Quaidulac packed a satchel of herbs, donned his warmest sheepskins, picked up his staff and left the village, vowing that he would return with the Sun and light.

Once away from the village, Quaidulac walked aimlessly in the darkness. He had no sense of direction, following the river when it let him and wandering in the forests when it did not. Wherever he went it was cold and dark. Then, when it seemed most hopeless and Quaidulac sat dreaming of the Kingdom of the Sun, he saw a pinpoint of light in the distance. It flickered and was gone and then came back again. Quaidulac rose at once to follow this pinpoint of light. It seemed so far away and often flickered out of his vision, but gradually it became steadier.

Quaidulac followed the light for many hundreds of steps, thinking always that it must get bigger or brighter, but it never seemed to change.

Then Quaidulac ran into a wall. He did not see the wall, so focused was he on the light. When he recovered his senses, Quaidulac realized that he had come to a cottage, and that the light he saw was a candle in the window. He found the door of the cottage and having scratched at the entrance he pushed it open and said, “Hello.”

“Hello, Quaidulac,” answered a voice in the darkness. “Come in and sit down. I have been waiting for you.”

Quaidulac entered the tiny cottage and sat beside the candle. He could faintly make out the figure of a person on the other side of the table.

“Do you know how to reach the Kingdom of the Sun?” Quaidulac asked his host.

“I do,” said the voice. “I am your guide.”

“What are you called?” Quaidulac asked.

“I am called Candlemaker. I offer a pinpoint of light to guide the seeker,” the voice said. “Now, about your quest. No one ever reaches the Kingdom of the Sun.” Quaidulac was crushed. He was so certain a moment ago that his quest was over.

“But you said…”

“Yes. I will show you how to bring the Kingdom of the Sun to your village,” answered Candlemaker. “Kingdom of the Sun goes where it will and where it is wanted. You must call to it if you wish it to come to you.”

“And how shall I call?” asked Quaidulac.

“You must gather your village and teach them this chant,” Candlemaker answered. And thus Quaidulac began his education with Candlemaker. Candlemaker taught Quaidulac the chant and the lore of the Sun King. He told Quaidulac of the Sun King’s journey to far lands and his desire to return home. The Sun King, it seemed to Quaidulac, yearned for his village as much as his village yearned for it.

“But surely this is too simple,” said Quaidulac. “How will I get my people to believe such a simple chant can bring the Sun back.”

“Take this candle back to your village,” answered Candlemaker. “Have your people look deeply into its flame when they chant. They will see the Sun King approach.”

So Quaidulac thanked Candlemaker and took the candle and returned to his village.

When Quaidulac gave his people the instructions Candlemaker had given him, they were doubtful, but they gathered round the candle and stared into its flame. Soon they began to chant.

“Kum dada. Kum dada tudé. Kum dada. Kum dada sundé.” Over and over they repeated the chant, and as they looked into the flame, the flame grew brighter and in its depths they saw the Sun King returning to the land and daybreak came to the tiny village.

The people were ecstatic. They rose and danced. They chanted and laughed. Day came and chased away the night. And then the days became longer and longer. And soon there was no night.

Now you might think this was a happy ending to the story, but you would be mistaken. Where the people had been cold, now they were hot. They stopped chanting the Sun chant and hid the candle, but the Sun King was comfortable in the village and stayed. The people found it difficult to sleep in the bright light. The water dried up and the people were thirsty and the animals were hungry as the grass withered in the fields. The people tore the arms off their sheepskin jackets and wore only the vests.

And finally the elder went to Quaidulac the Shaman, and said. “Quaidulac, go to the Moon Queen and beg mercy of her, for all the people will perish in this heat. Take your herbs, your sheepskin, and your staff and undertake this quest for us.” And so Quaidulac took his herbs, his sheepskin, and his staff and set off to find the Moon Queen and beg her to return.

The light was now so bright that Quaidulac could no longer see the shapes of things around him, so he wandered aimlessly searching for the Moon Queen. At long last, he saw a speck of darkness in the distance. It was there and then it was not there as if the darkness flickered in the light, then returned. Quaidulac walked on toward the darkness until he ran into a wall that he could not see and discovered that the pinpoint of darkness was a candle that burned a black flame. He found the door of the cottage and after he had scratched called out.

“Hello? Candlemaker are you there?”

“Hello Quaidulac. Come in and sit down. I have been expecting you,” said Candlemaker. So Quaidulac entered the cottage and sat down next to the black flame. Across from him he could barely make out the shadow of Candlemaker.

“Candlemaker,” said Quaidulac, “the Sun King has come to my village and will not leave. The water has dried up, the grass has withered, and the people cannot sleep. I must travel to the Moon Queen and beg her to return to our village, but I do not know how to reach her.”

“You cannot reach her,” said Candlemaker, and Quaidulac despaired.

“Then we are doomed,” said Quaidulac.

“No,” said Candlemaker. “You must call her to you as you called the Sun King.” And so, Quaidulac underwent his training in the chants of the Moon Queen. When he was ready to return to his village, Candlemaker gave him the candle that burned with a black flame and told him to have the people stare into the darkness and summon the Moon Queen.

When Quaidulac got back to his village, the people all gathered around. They anxiously peered into the dark flame and began to chant Candlemaker’s chant.

“Kum mama. Kum mama bak bak. Kum mama. Kum mama tunak.” Over and over they chanted the summons for the Moon Queen to return and soon darkness appeared on the horizon and night fell. The nights grew gradually longer as the Sun King was driven from the village and the Moon Queen smiled on them. But when the nights grew very long, and darkness and cold threatened to overwhelm the village, the people hid away the black flame and drew out the white flame. Then they repeated the summons for the Sun King and the days got longer.

And so it has been from that time since. When the winter nights are longest and darkness seems to overwhelm all, the people come together to chant over the white candle.

“Kum dada. Kum dada tudé. Kum dada. Kum dada sundé.”

And when the days grow long and hot and the grain is ripening in the fields, the people draw forth the black flame Candlemaker gave them, and again they chant.

Kum mama. Kum mama bak bak. Kum mama. Kum mama tunak.”

So the people learned that they could look into both the candle of light and the candle of dark without fear, for it was what was in their hearts that drew the day and the night, and both were good in their own way.

Fun@Church

In celebration of Summer Solstice, my message for church this morning.

Fun@Church
When was the last time you came to church on Sunday morning to have fun? I know we expect to be fed spiritually at church. We expect to be intellectually challenged. We might even expect to be made guilty or to have our guilt assuaged for our shortcomings.
And when you come to church for a pagan ritual, like for Litha today, you expect to have some grounding and ritual that will mark the season’s changing. Today, that ritual is laughter. Yes, there are traditional bonfires to be leaped and stories of the greenman to be told, but summer solstice is the time when we celebrate summer. Even though we call it midsummer night, our western calendar marks it as the beginning of summer, and summer means fun.
How could we better mark the end of school, the coming vacation, the rising of the sun, and the opening of boating season, than by having fun? It is summer!
Open all the windows in your house and let the air blow through.
Have breakfast on your deck.
Go to Wild Waves, or if you can’t, run through the sprinkler in your yard.
Light the barbecue grill and invite the neighbors to bring something over to grill with you.
Put on a T-shirt and go for a walk in the rain. If, when you are done, you can’t wring at least a cup of water out of the shirt, you didn’t walk long enough or it wasn’t raining hard enough!
Play ball! Baseball, soccer, basketball, or even golf.
Wake up with the sun and go to bed with the sun.
Join the chapel crew for lunch on Saturday. Or just join the chapel crew.
Clean out the attic and give everything to charity. To paraphrase Jesus, “The poor you have with you always. Summer only lasts two months.”
Make every weed you pull in the garden a celebration of life.
Sleep outside.
Swim, hike, bike, swing, run, play, laugh. It is time to have fun! Welcome to Litha. Welcome to summer!