Retrieving the Words

Source: via Kris Jurski on Inspired to Reality

Sounding Central Truth
by Joy Renee

What do you mean by denying a
Truth that is right before your eyes?
Just because a neighbor neighs a lie
And it seems easier to agree than to
Say the emperor has no clothes?
It is the naked truth that we must see
And we must say what we have seen.
We must retrieve the words from that
Place where they reside, where they
Are not yet hide-bound, where they
Abound in unsounded musings. And
Tell it from the crazy place where truth is.
Write it from the dark place where light burns
So hot it consumes itself. Where the weight
Of reality draws real things into the
Hole of no escape--the Event Horizon--
Where abide the convent of Graces
Hidden from those who know their places,
Who scorn play for duty, who know they are
Safe only where none can accuse them
Of abusing their faces by exposure
To pleasure and beauty. Beware of
Safety if you mean to defy the
Word of the herd and speak from the place
Where none worship the face. Decry the
Lie that others live by and live to
Conspire with Creation’s desire for
Passion and wonder. Embrace the All.
Consummate the meaning.
Sing the secret from your center.

(c) 1998-2018 Joy Renee

I posted this poem previously with an explanation of its history, inspiration and personal meanings so I won't repeat it here tho I encourage anyone interested to check it out as it might enhance the experience of reading the poem and it will add to the understanding of what this poem means to me in the context of today and going forward.

I am re-posting the poem as the intro to this post which I hope will be the first in a return to regular blogging after over two years of sparse posting.  I'm allowing the poem to stand in as both declaration of intent to 'retrieve the words' and hints as to why I have for so long been avoiding 'the place where they reside'.

To be slightly more explicit:

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Friday Forays in Fiction: Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson: A Review for Banned Books Week

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Speak
by Laurie Halse Anderson

“Poetry fettered, fetters the human race. Nations are destroyed or flourish in proportion as their poetry, painting, and music are destroyed or flourish.” -- William Blake 

What more ironic book to be censored than one whose central theme is the self-censoring of one's own voice and the delirious consequences engendered.

Melinda Sordino calls the cops from a student end-of-summer party just weeks before she enters high school and thus becomes a pariah, hated by all from those who had been her best friends to those she doesn't even know.  Only a lonely new student unaware of her outcast status is the only one to befriend her.

Melinda, meanwhile has repressed her memories of the incident that motivated her to phone the police that day.  It had something to do with an encounter with a senior boy though and every encounter with this same boy in the halls, in class, at pep rallies or in the lunch room sends her mind into a tizzy. She can't even speak his name in her mind:

I see IT in the hallway. IT goes to Merryweather.  IT is walking with Aubrey Cheerleader.  IT is my nightmare and I can't wake up.  IT sees me. IT smiles and winks.  Good thing my lips are stitched together or I'd throw up.

She finds it more and more difficult to speak aloud for any reason to anyone even to teachers and parents when asked a direct question.  Her grades drop.  She sleeps a lot.  She skips class sometimes holing up in an abandoned janitor's closet she had stumbled into.

One class only is the exception to her near failing marks and that is art and the art teacher is the only one able to even almost connect with her.  His assignment for the year involves taking a theme drawn at random from a bowl he passed out the first day and using it in as many different art pieces utilizing as many different art techniques as possible.  Melinda's theme was 'tree' and she spends hours upon hours drawing, painting, sculpting, etching trees. This exercise has given her a way to express herself that makes an end run around the difficulties she has speaking aloud and at times even thinking certain things.  This may have a certain amount to do with how easily nonverbal communication like drawing, sculpting etc can access more directly the unconscious than can verbal but the fact that the incident at the party that late summer night took place in the trees at the edge of the property plays no small role.

The novel  is narrated in first person by Melinda in short paragraph whose style mimics personal journal entries which makes it intense and immediate.

One of the incredible ironies surrounding the history of this book's challenges is that one of the school districts where it was challenged by one set of parents has a lawsuit filed against them by another parent for having mishandled a case of rape and sexual harassment against their special needs daughter that had gone on for more than a year.  You can find the links to this story in my Friday Forays post in August in which I discuss it in the context of Laurie Halse Anderson's suggestion that we fiction writers should befriend and thus harness our anger.

In that post I also discuss why censoring stories like Speak is so counterproductive and why censorship is so anathema to me:

There are many more subtle ways of taking the voice from those whose words disturb the societal norm than a hand over the mouth or the cutting out of the tongue or burning of books. One is the deliberate and systematic sabotage of an education that gives one the vocabulary, the concepts, the historical frame of reference to be able to think about and thus talk about injustice and other wrong perpetrated by the strong against the weak, the rich against the poor, the insider against the outsider, the majority against the minorities.
Which is exactly why books like Speak get banned. And sex education, evolution, ethnic studies among other subjects are removed from curriculum and students are tested only on memorizable facts not the ability to think about them and talk radio hosts talk about open season on liberals defined as anyone who disagrees with them out loud and governments act in secret to keep us uninformed and corporations spend billions on a politician's campaign prevent regular people from competing for their loyalty and votes are suppressed and unions are broken and activists are assassinated and 'free speech zones' are created for protesters in locations they are least likely to be noticed by their intended audience and terrorists bomb civilians and the people are told a war is about bringing civil rights to oppressed people when its really about profit and in the name of that war civil rights are taken from the very people sending their sons and daughters to fight and corporations sue those who dare to question the quality of their product and oil companies discourage pictures of distressed dolphins and duck in the midst of an oil spill and children are punished for crying or speaking uncomfortable truths to adults and mothers shame daughters for being unladylike when they raise their voice and preachers excoriate parishioners for asking uncomfortable questions and religions and other social constructs prize obedience over all other virtues including integrity.

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 All these people talk so eloquently about getting back to good old-fashioned values… and I say let’s get back to the good old-fashioned First Amendment of the good old-fashioned Constitution of the United States — and to hell with the censors! Give me knowledge or give me death!"  Kurt Vonnegut

“If there is a bedrock principle underlying the First Amendment, it is that the government may not prohibit the expression of an idea simply because society finds the idea itself offensive or disagreeable.”—Supreme Court Justice William J. Brennan, Jr., Texas v. Johnson, 491 U.S. 397 (1989)

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Here are a few bookish events going on for BBW:

Hosted by Bookjourney

Get on the BANNED WAGON!

Giveaways, a scavenger hunt and links to participating blog's BBW reviews are some of what's happening at Sheila's BookJourney this week.  Along with her own reviews of banned or challenged books and of course her daily Morning Meanerings post.

Banned Books Week Giveaway Hop

Banned Books Week Hop

Giveaways galore and lots of participating blog's to visit and comment on.

Banned Book Week Virtual Read Out

Banned Books Week Virtual Read-Out

The annual BBW readout traditionally conducted in public at bookstores and libraries where individuals read aloud form a banned book has now gone digital. Now you can video record yourself reading a banned book and upload to a YouTube channel

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Thursday Thirteen #21 Support Our Troops

This post is inspired by the visit this past weekend from our nephew, who is stationed at an Air Force base in the San Francisco Bay area. I have another nephew who recently finished his training as an EMT in the Army and is awaiting orders at a base in Texas. Neither has been deployed to a combat zone yet. I am so proud of them both.

It is no secret that I do not support this administration's foreign policy nor its manifestations in the War on Terror--especially the Iraq war. I posted some serious rants about it in the first few months after debuting Joystory. News of the first nephew's intention to join the Air Force was one of the factors that caused me to tone down my rhetoric and slow the postings on the topic to a trickle. I self-censored because I feared word would get back to certain family members and cause them pain. I about had it sorted out when the second nephew headed for boot camp last summer.

In fact, I am not a stranger to the military family life-style. My husband was a Marine when we married in 78. He was never in a combat zone during his years of service but he was well-trained and well-equipped for it. He is aghast at the way this administration is supporting the troops with little but rhetoric, while stabbing them in the back with every budget proffered. Discussions with him over recent events in the news and much of the reading in my frantic race to finish books I will loose access to when our libraries shut down April 6th has caused a head of steam to build up behind my original convictions. Keeping silent is a betrayal of not only myself but my country and its troops.

I mean, please! Mice and roach infested accommodations for wounded vets in outpatient care? Homeless vets? Deployed soldiers' families in food lines? Contaminated food and water served to combat troops? Year-plus long waiting lists for help with PTSD? Alcoholism, suicide, divorce and domestic violence on the rise among both deployed and returning vets? Stop loss enslavement? Four tours with little recuperation in between? Cutting the VA budget? Lowering the standards for recruitment to allow felons and undereducated? Depletion and deterioration of equipment? Shortened training? Selling America to the foreign buyers of the bonds that support the deficit that is paying for the first war ever fought without raising taxes? All of this while certain corporations and their stockholders and CEOs are making OBSCENE profits?

Somewhere in my bookmarks and notes there is a link to go with each one of those questions. I typed them off the cuff and don't have time to hunt links down right now. Each one of these questions deserves a post of its own.and I hope to give each one their due over the coming months.

Meanwhile, I offer this list of links to organizations who have found creative ways to put their hands, feet and money where their mouth is..supporting our troops and their families during and after deployment to combat zones. No matter what your political leanings are, no matter how you feel about the war, you will find something here that you can give whole-hearted assent to. You won't find bumper stickers, magnets or T-shirts. At least not on the front pages. Hover the links for extra info. (When I came to post my commentor's links onto the front page, I discovered the hover messages for the links aren't working so I put them back in the body of the post.)

Thirteen Ways to Support Our Troops 1. Homes for our Troops. Building homes to accommodate the needs of wounded vets. 2. Sew Much Comfort. From quilts to prosthetic accomodating clothing, wield your needles to fill a soldier's need. 3.Take a Vet Fishing 4. Operation Top Knot Virtual baby showers for babies born to deployed military personel. I love love love this one. The baby pics are to swoon for. 5. Hire a Hero Soldiers coming home to no jobs and no housing is a blot on our nation's honor. If you are an employer, you can do something about it. 6. Adopt a Soldier's Pet Gaurdian Angels for Soldier's Pets (GASP) 7. AnySoldier letters, care packages and more 8. Soldier's Angels There are a plethora of projects represented on this site. Go explore. 9. Freedom Calls Video conference calls for deployed soldiers to attend significant events in their loved ones lives: births, deathbeds, graduations, etc. 10 American Legion Again, many projects represented here. A well established foundation with experience in this field. 11. Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America They are not impressed by bumperstickers, t-shirts or magnets. 12. Veterans for America They demand we use the freedoms they fought for to ask tough questions. Cheerleading and rubberstamping is not their idea of patriotism or supporting the troops 13. VoteVets Vets of Iraq and Afghanistan willing to continue serving--in public office. Links to other Thursday Thirteens! 1. Jane 2. Tink 3. Raggedy 4. Chickadee 5. L^2 6. Jamie 7. Lady G~ 8. Susan Helene Gottfried 9. susan 10. Candy Minx 11. Sara 12. Gattina 13. Crystal 14. amy 15. jewlsntexas 16. JennyMcB (leave your link in comments, I'll add you here!)

Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It's easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
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Kicking the Bucket

The following is my contribution to the WriteStuff Creative Carnival. The prompt was: A New Beginning.

Kicking the Bucket

by Joy Renee

The sky was beginning to lighten when Reggie pulled around a long curve and caught her first glimpse of the sea. She spotted a bench facing the ocean at the side of the road and pulled onto the gravel cut-out that provided parking space. As soon as she opened her car door, she regretted that she had left in such a rush the previous evening. She had no jacket and still wore the same tank top she’d worn in the sweltering packing sheds yesterday. Memories of that heat made the chill morning breeze off the water more refreshing than unpleasant and the chance to see, unobstructed, the view that had beckoned her across the coastal range was enough to draw her out of the car to brave the shivery gusts that whipped her hair about her face.

Only the prospect of a sunrise over the water would make this more perfect. It had been the thought of a Pacific Coast sunset that made her turn her steering wheel towards the west last evening. But there had been no hope of reaching here in time. She was determined, instead to watch the changing color of the sky and water and the early morning flocking of the sea birds as the sun rose behind her back. Could there be a better place for contemplating than a bench on the edge of the world as dawn scribbled the sky with the colors of hope and peace?

She was determined to figure things out if she had to sit here until the sun set as well. She could not go back until she knew what to do.

Reggie hugged her arms and rubbed them to generate heat. She might have to retreat to the car after all. There was no color in sky or landscape yet so sunrise was a solid half-hour off. The shadows among the dunes and rocks were still fathomless. Her eye snagged on a light near by. Not a football field’s length away. A campfire. Probably some local teens had partied all night. But minutes later she smelled brewing coffee. How many teens knew how to brew coffee over a campfire or had the foresight to bring the equipment to a Friday night keg party? Not her two. For sure.

"Brrrrrrrr!" Reggie finally sang out and jumped to her feet to jog in place, hoping to force her muscles to heat themselves. This just might work she thought after three minutes or so. Yet it was not conducive to a peaceful reassessment of her options. She looked toward the horizon and was startled to see movement of shadow on shadow just yards away.

"Yoo-hoo." A voice emanating from a blob of dark gray sliding against charcoal.
Reggie blinked her eyes trying to make sense of what approached across the sand, wondering if she was still asleep in the car at the rest-stop and dreaming this apparition.

"Yoo-hoo." Now accompanied by sounds of heavy breathing. "I have hot coffee. And a sweater."

Reggie was as surprised at her own impulse to trust this as a gift called up from the earth in response to her need as she was by the sight of a very large woman pushing a baby buggy. She was moving toward it before she fully realized she had decided to. And then the woman abandoned the buggy and moved to meet her, holding open a voluminous sweater in which she enfolded Reggie before pulling her inside her heavy cloak. "Honey! Whatever possessed you?"

Reggie laughed as much to quell the urge to cry like a child against her mother’s breast as in amusement. "It was over 100 degrees when I left home."

"Come sit by my fire. I’ll make hot cereal." They were already moving in tandem toward the buggy before Reggie nodded. The woman pulled a thermos from the buggy and poured a steaming stream into a mug saying, "Call me Mama Cat."

Minutes later Reggie was settling on a driftwood log in front of the fire. Mama Cat removed her cloak and slung it over Reggie’s back before pulling a handful of squirming fur out of the buggy. There was enough light now to identify this as two barely weaned kittens. "These guys’ll keep you warm. Oats or wheat?"

Neither spoke again until their cereal bowls were on the ground for the kittens now numbering four. "If my own kids would eat out of the same bowl like that, I probably would have slept in my own bed last night."

Mama Cat’s silence invited her to continue. "After I kicked the bucket, I thought I better get away to think what to do."

"Yes. Mama Cat chuckled. "Kicking the bucket does tend to make room for new beginnings."

"I passed out twice from the heat yesterday. Once while waiting on the pizza as I held the KFC bucket. Jay prefers pizza and Rae fried chicken, see.. Then again in the driveway at home. The kids were standing over me calling, ‘Mom! Mom! Where’s dinner?’ Must have been pure rage gave me strength to stand up and reach into the car. First for the pizza which I launched like a Frisbee, then…" She closed her eyes against the sight of seagulls flying against a clear blue sky and saw again the arc of the KFC bucket she had drop-kicked into the neighbor’s yard.

"How old are they?"

"Jay’s nineteen. I got him a job in the sheds. He quit at noon on his first payday. I smelled pot on him that night. Rae’s sixteen and dating Jay’s friend behind my back."

"Have you ever seen a mother cat defend her kittens?" At Reggie’s nod Mama Cat continued. "Have you ever watched a mother cat wean her kittens?" Another nod. "Then you know what to do."

Reggie sighed. "I know."

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