Naming a Shooter...Living in Peace...

A number of officials and journalists make a big to do about not using the name of a perpatrator of a crime, such as a mass shooting when commenting or reporting on it.  The reason given is that they do not want to glorify or sensationalize the crime and its effects.

I beg to differ.

Although my analogy may seem an insult to the pain inflicted on the mass shooting in Roseburg, Oregon today, I do not mean it to be.  As a child, when teased about my cerebral palsy--"Palsy Patty", etc., I was advised to "focus on the positive and ignore the negative."  My response?  "But it hurts!  I can't do that."  It took many years to arrive at my manner of dealing with the teasing.  Knowing I could not ignore it--the teasing was not going to go away magically, I needed a strategy to cope with the teasing.  Over time, I adopted a mantra that I live by yet today.  Without a second thought, I "focus on the positive, and learn from the negative.  Instinctively, I knew that I needed to give my attention to learning as much about the people who teased me--what were their motivations, what questions did they need to have answered in order to stop teasing me.  Call me an idealist, but, I am firmly convinced that people can understand, that teasing may be stopped.  I believed--I still believe--that it is my responsible to answer their questions.

Returning to the mass shooting at Umpqua Community College in Roseburg, Oregon, our attention is drawn back to past mass shootings and what the responses that various people and groups believe should be.  Passionate on both sides, some say that gun control laws are essential.  Others say that guns are not the problem, but, that the mass shootings point to the need for mental health programs and services.

Although a pacifist, and an ardent supporter of further gun control legislation, I feel called to respond to the need for more mental health programs and services.  I agree.  However, it is not an either or question.

Addressing the need for more effective mental health programs and services demands learning about the individuals involved in perpetrating mass shootings  What were their motivations?  What was their background?  Those are just two questions that come to mind.  I am sure there are many others.  The process of asking questions must begin with the very information that investigators--police and journalists, sometimes feel compelled to not speak...the name of the crime's perpetrator.

The contribution I commit myself to regarding mass killings is threefold.  I live every minute of every day as an ardent pacifist.  Secondly, when so inspired by world events, I will share my reflections on how to live peacefully.  Third, rather than putting myself in the middle of the battle to secure further gun control legislation, or mental health programs and services, I commit myself to volunteer in my community with organizations that provide positive, peaceful, creative ways to live harmoniously.

Once a week I gather with a community of individuals committed to live in peace and harmony.  We say, "May the peace of Christ be with you."  We commit ourselves to one another to leave the physical church and return to the outside world to live in peace with individuals of all beliefs.

I pray we may ask the questions necessary to understand the motivations of individuals who commit crimes.  I pray we may take the requisite action to make peace our way of life.  It is possible.

Neat Handwriting

     "Based on the handwriting, I know it is yours.  But, I have no idea what the paper says," my high school teacher said offhandedly.
     I laugh.  What else can I do?  What can I say?  I love school. I want to do well.  How hard did she try to read my handwriting? Is it just an excuse?
     I don't mean to be--I don't want to be--defensive.  But, tell me, "What constitutes neat handwriting?"
     ...
     I have had a wonderful weekend at Lake Superior.  How can I express my thanks for our time at Bluefin Bay?  A poem!  Yes, a poem.  Ode to Bluefin.
     The words flow from my mind.  While on the bus home, I craft the poem in my handwritten words.  Carefully shaped letters.  Carefully drawn between my ode's stanzas?  Hand-sketched bluefins.
     The words are written.  The bluefins sketched.  The ode complete.  My gift is ready to present to Mom.
     "Thank you for the poem.  I want you to know, I typed the poem, 'Ode to Bluefin,' and I framed it."
      I don't mean to be--I don't want to be--defensive.  But, can you tell me, "What constitutes neat handwriting?"
     ...
     Diagnosed.  Intentional tremors.  Cerebral palsy.  Diagnosed.  Long-term disability.  Certification questionnaire.
     "Itemize what you do from the time you wake up, until you go to bed at night."  "Address the envelope, and return it to our office."
     "I will type the form, so that my handwriting does not interfere in the message of my need."
     "No, complete the form in your handwriting, so that they may see your need."  Such was the essence of my family's advice.
     I don't mean to be--I don't want to be--defensive.  But, can you tell me, "What constitutes neat handwriting?"

Where is the Middle???

     I find myself in the middle of a different search for information.  The search is new to me.  I am accustomed to the search for information regarding my epilepsy, and seizures most prominently.  Brain damage and cerebral palsy to  a lesser degree.  Although all four are intertwined.  My search is for how to be of compassionately informed support to someone, who is academically familiar with the medical condition he faces now as he looks in the mirror.
     With some, the temptation is to throw facts, and information--research--at them to help them contain their condition into a manageable form.  With others,, the temptation is to offer pity.  Sometimes, that is manifest in Poster Children to attract justifiable support for individuals with the condition, and for research.  On a personal level, pity well may be uncertainty, and discomfort, as to how to address the situation.  Most tempting, and most frightening to me is the offer to cure or to heal someone by mystical powers.
     Most helpful to me with regard to my seizures, epilepsy, cerebral palsy and brain damage is a balanced approach.
     I don't seek to be cured, or to have never had brain damage, cerebral palsy, epilepsy, and seizures.  I cannot roll back history.  Such is a waste of precious energy.  I prefer to seek insights--to how to live an insightful life--on the basis of my brain damage, cerebral palsy, epilepsy, and seizures.  To some degree, I have known that since eighth grade.
     I don't know how to be of help.  Facts, and information are readily available.  Pity is against my religion--pity that is closed to the possibility that more constructive responses are available.  Healing by means of mystical powers frightens me.
     I do make a distinction between healing by means of magical waving-of-a-wand means--full healing--and prayer.  The distinction is difficult to articulate.  Sometimes, the words may be the same, yet the tone is different--completely different.  I know it when I hear it--when I feel it.  I try to respond, so as to increase the likelihood of more compassion in the future.
    So, where does that leave the man facing a medical condition new to him personally?   We have known one another for a lifetime.  We respond similarly to much of what I have described--research, pity, cures, and healing by mystical powers.  I find it difficult to articulate the nuances in prayer that exist.
    I am leery of the support that consumer organizations can, and do provide.  I am not saying that they serve no useful purpose.  My concern is that the support--their expressed mission--is aimed more at publicizing research, and raising funds for the continuation for that research.  Both, essential.
    Where is the spiritual element of support?  Where is the spirituality of the human body in this discussion?  Often, the triangle, body, mind, and spirit," is discussed.  Of the three, most often, body and mind are linked.  Similarly, mind and spirit are linked.
    Yet, body and spirit seem miles apart.  I don't know precisely how to articulate it.  Maybe if I did--if we were willing to--articulate the relationship between the two, we might get beyond some ghost-in-a-white-sheet mentality of the body and the spirit.

Avenging Death

     Can you help me?  Math never has been my strong suit.  Can you help me?
     What is the sum of the following equation:
      Number of People Killed in the September 11th Attacks x Terrorists Involved= ???
     How many terrorists must be killed in order to avenge--inflict harm in return for (an injury or wrong done to oneself or another)--the deaths of any act of terrorism, or war?
     Are we so caught up in justified grief that we are willing to engage in ill-defined actions of retribution?
     CBS News is one organization of the Fourth Estate, who has used the phrase, "US hit list" to describe the strategy used to fight terrorism.  What does that strategy say regarding the model democracy patriotic Americans strive to present to the rest of the world?  Does that strategy speak with integrity?
     I am not someone who can quote chapter and verse of the Bible.  Innumerable problems have resulted from that practice.  With that said, I offer for your consideration the passage from Exodus 21:23-26:
     But if injury ensues, you shall give life for life,
     Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot,
     Burn for burn, stripe for stripe,
                                                  Exodus: 21: 23-26                                                
    I am not a biblical scholar, I have tremendous difficulty with how the term "patriot" is used in common parlance.  I am at peace with how the term "pacifist" is defined.  So much so that I describe myself as a pacifist.
    Do those facts disqualify me?  Do those facts strip me of any credibility, and integrity my conclusions might have?
     I hope not.
     Is it plausible that families of terrorists pursue peaceful endeavors?  What would the effect of avenging death have on the families of terrorists?  Are all family members committed to engaging in acts of terrorism?
     I have so many questions.
     Can you help me to understand?

Zoomer Chronicles: Safety's Anger

     This morning, Zoomer met fraternal twins--Safety's Anger, and Anger's Safety.  Mirror images of one another, they are born of the same root.  Danger.  Fear.
     A return to swimming was my dear ankle's hope.  Pool maintenance.  Facility remodeling.
     A return to swimming was not to be.  Not this day.  Ankle's hope was dashed--dashed far short of 50 yards.
     An elevator.  Button pushed.  A short wait.  Doors opened. Zoomer wheeled in--turned around.  Facing forward.  Third floor's button pushed.  Ankle's Hope salivating.  Slow and crotchety though she was known to be, today, this elevator went nowhere fast.
     Door Open's button pushed.  As an accordion opens, so too the doors.  Yet, just as with a fast, bad polka, an accordion closes, so too did the doors.  Though Zoomer is learning to dance, the polka is not her step.
     Though armed with her cell phone--a Jitterbug, I kid you not--my ankle's hope kicked back at me.  Angry. With the weight of a bowling ball on her, my ankle's hope was to kick off her burden.  One more time, she implored me.  Third floor button, one more time.  Once again, Zoomer, my ankle's hope, and I went nowhere fast.
    Though Jitterbug tried to call to Ankle's Hope, she would hear none of it.  Take me home, Zoomer.  Take me home.
    Safety's anger. She prevailed.  Safety's Anger drove Zoomer and I out of Harm's Way.
    Though Ankle's Hope kicked high, she fell flat into Zoomer's lap.  No harm.  Just anger.  Frustration.  Door Open's button hit.  Zoomer and I sped forward.  To Safety, we arrived.
    No sign.  Out of Order.  No sign.
    Anger's safety.  Though Safety's Anger had spoken--rescued--now it was for Anger's Safety to speak.
To quiet solitude, find your way.  Let Anger rest, let Safety's Advocate cry forth in due time.
    Impatience overruled quiet solitude.   A simple report. "Your elevator is out of order."  
    "The elevator repairman has been called.  They should be out sometime today."
    Safety's Anger yet satisfied, though Logic told her she should be.
      "You are new to this world, there were many signs not posted before you.  Many signs will not be posted in years yet to come."
     Yet,"Where is the Out of Order sign--Safety's Warning?" was all this impatient soul could ask.

Zoomer Chronicles: A Fine Line

     This morning, I ventured out to review problematic intersections and issues in Downtown St. Paul.  The adventure heightens my attention to several facts.
    After having three drivers cut in front of me in controlled intersections--in a period of two weeks--it seemed I needed to draw attention to the overlooked safety issues. I want to be prepared for the yet-to-be scheduled time with a television producer to highlight--to focus, literally--attention on public safety issues.
     Several personal facts have come to light in recent days.  While I do what I can to highlight public safety issues for others, I need to combat internal issues.
     First, I have retreated from a healthy pace of travelling within the downtown area.
     Second, timidity and fear replaced determination and confidence--not riskiness, but confidence.
     Cooler weather intensifies my concern that I will be isolated by poorly-shoveled sidewalks, and ice.  I need to back up.  This will be my first winter with Zoomer.  Questions abound.
    What are Zoomer's intended capacities in the outside during wintertime?  Am I realistic to expect that I might have some outside travel capacities during the winter?  What will my limitations be?  What accommodations are open to me?  Are there additional safety precautions that might improve, or extend my capacity to travel outside during the Minnesota winter months?
    I know that I should not expose Zoomer to rainy weather.  I know that I should not expect to navigate ice.  
    I know that Zoomer can--will be able to--navigate the skyway system during winter months.  [The skyway system is a Godsend.  The system of enclosed walkways between downtown buildings--walkways located on the second floors of buildings--do wonders in curbing a paralyzing isolation that would occur otherwise.]
     As wonderful as skyways are, it is extremely important to get outside--to be exposed to the sun--to all elements of the out of doors.  Oddly, prior to Zoomer, having to be outside was not an issue, or priority for me.  I took for granted my capacity to get outside and be outside.
  Interesting what it takes to challenge one's values, and priorities.  Coming days and months will clarify what, if any realignment of values, and priorities occurs.

Epilepsy Chronicles: A Firm Grip

     You have a hold on my right arm and leg no longer.  Yet, your grip on me is firm--firmer than I realize.  I try to erase you from my memory--put you in the well within me.  Yet, I look back to my own words--my sentences.  You have a firm grip on my mind.  You take words from my sentences.  You steal the precious part of me that, so desperately, I want to--I must give.
     You give me no clue as to where you are--no hint as to where to look.  You give me no key to find you.
     Where are you?  You are hiding from me.  Where are you?
     I try to understand.

The Epilepsy Chronicles: A Firm Grip on Me

   You have a hold on my right leg and arm no longer.  Yet, your grip on me is firm--firmer than I realize.  I try to erase you from my memory--put you in the well within me.  Yet, I look back to my words--to my writings.  You have a firm grip on my mind.  You take words from my my sentences.  You steal the precious part of me that I want to give.  You give me no clue as to where you are.  You give me no key to find you.  Where are you?  You are hiding from me.
     I try to understand.

Epilepsy Chronicles: The Other Side

      I turned the corner.  Sixth and Cedar Streets.  The 14B bus stop.  I have arrived.  1:30 P.M.   I am ready.  A 2 P.M. appointment with my college adviser.  My purpose?  To enroll in a pastoral ministry program.  I am prepared.
     As I round the corner, a man in his mid-60s is struggling to stand up an unresponsive woman from the ground.
     "Is she having a seizure?" I ask.  I know the answer.  I need my question's time to marshal strength.
     Is she having a seizure?  I think she is having a seizure.  This is strange.  Not unfamiliar, but strange nonetheless.  Never have I been on this side of a seizure.
     I grabbed the older man's arm firmly.
     "She seems so helpless.  Are they ever going to get here?" the man cried plaintively.
     "Let the woman sit here on the bench.  The police are on their way.  I know it seems like a long time...
      You have no idea how much I understand...the time warp...I understand...seconds seem like minutes...minutes seem like hours...I understand...believe me, I understand.
     Several minutes later, help arrived.  Finally, help has arrived.  She will be safe now.  The paramedics arrived.  She will get medication in her bloodstream immediately--anticonvulsants.  They will minimize recurrence of such seizures.
...
     Moments later, the 14B bus arrived.  I was off to meet my college adviser.  I was off to explore enrolling in a pastoral ministry program.
     I boarded the bus.  I sat down.  Suddenly, tears came streaming down my face.  I lost my composure completely.
     My witness at the bus stop was no accident.

Don't Walk Too Fast...

Don't walk too fast.
I don't run.
I can't run.
The light is green.
The light says, "Walk."
Don't walk too fast.

Don't walk too fast.
The light is with me.
You are not.
Don't walk too fast.

Don't walk too fast.
I amble from strain--from pain.
I tiptoe toward not hurting.
Don't walk too fast.

Don't walk too fast.
Don't zoom past me on your motorcycle.
Don't rush to judgment.

Don't walk too fast.
Toughen my skin???
Understand that they do not???
I do.  Yet...
Don't walk too fast.

Don't walk too fast.
Yet...Understand???
Know???  They can.
Don't walk too fast.

Don't walk too fast.
Yet, understand???  At another time--in another world.
They will--they must.
Don't walk too fast.

Don't walk too fast.
Toughen my skin???
No.
Don't walk too fast.

Don't walk too fast.
Numb my heart???
No.
Don't walk too fast.

Don't walk too fast.
Toughen my skin?  Numb my heart?
No.  That is the price of my words--the price of my quest.
Don't walk too fast.