On the other side of right thinking and wrong thinking there is a field.
I'll meet you there. Rumi
We are just here to walk one another home. Ram Dass
+It made headlines in the Friday, Indy Star. Her name is Christine Von Der Haar, and she is a lecturer for the Indiana University School of Sociology. It seems she is involved with a lawsuit that stems from her being detained at the Indianapolis Airport, supposedly because of her emails to and from a friend of hers from Greece who visited her here. All timely, considering the concern of some over the secret monitoring of phone and other electronic communications and whether they are necessary in the fight against terrorism.
And it happened to me. Or close.
+It all started a few years ago at the Indiana Statehouse. I've spent a lot of time there facilitating Q&As, speaking to the general body, meeting with legislators, being interviewed in press conferences, speaking on the steps in the icy cold, and being a part of the general backdrop for the work of other like minded women and men. The day that started my own detention story, though, was the day that HR6/HR3 took its ill-willed flight. It was the day the Indiana General Assembly began the process to amend the Indiana Constitution for the purpose of writing into the State Constitution the denial of rights for a group of Hoosiers. It was for me--and many--a sad day--a day that wrote an ever growing script for many of us who wanted it stopped. That day, though, all 'my sad' could do was think ahead towards my husband Cal's and my coming trip to Iceland. You see, the Prime Minister of Iceland is a lesbian, legally married to her wife-which also makes Iceland's First Lady a lesbian. The dichotomy of the Iceland and Indiana story played itself out in my mind. I decided then and there to email Iceland's Prime Minister and ask her to send a message back to give us encouragement. I believed she would have words to add to all the ways folks like me--would continue to live out our passion and purpose. It was not unusual for me to 'take the show on the road.' Cal and I had been traveling to various parts of the world each year for some time. Along with experiencing the varied cultures and seeing the beauty of the world in all its flavors, I have had the good fun of talking to real people about two issues dear to my heart: national health care and GLBTQA (gay/lesbian/bisexual/transgender/questioning/ally) rights. This ally-- hit the road.
+So, I wrote Iceland's Prime Minister, requesting her word of encouragement and telling her I would share it with many. I also listed the dates we would be in Reykjavik and asked if I could come by to meet her, having read she made herself very available to people. Not knowing if she spoke English or not, I asked Brian, our good, tech savvy friend if he would translate my email letter into Icelandic, which he did. I emailed both versions that day to the Prime Minister's office in Reykjavik, the capitol. I heard nothing, so sent it again the next month. Still nothing.
+When we landed in Reykjavik, I emailed them both again, and we headed out to hundreds of waterfalls, Greenland's beautiful, Inuit fishing villages, eating the traditional rotten shark meant/washed down with 'who knows what', horse farms with their stocky, thick long coated beauties, and a day of soaking in the steamy Blue Lagoon. After getting acquainted with our wonderful guide, I told him of my emails. He said, "I think I can help you. My cousin works for the Prime Minister. I can get you her direct email. He did, and I sent my emails once more, doing so again as we returned back to Reykjavik towards the end of our trip. Several times in Reykjavik we would pass by the Prime Minister and First Lady's residence and the Minister's offices. I took pictures, knowing they were about as 'up close and personal' I'd get.
+I did meet many people in Iceland and Greenland and had opportunity to learn of their great society. "You missed our national Pride Parade by one weekend. 1/3 of the population of the country was in the Parade." I asked, "Who was left to view the parade?" and they laughed, saying, "There was a huge crowd from all other the country. Pride Parade is our biggest family festival." One day I was in a 66 Degree (their version of North Face) shop when it had a slow moment. I struck up a conversation with the salesperson about my interests. He said, "Our national healthcare works very well--giving several examples-- and as far as your other interest, homosexuality is not an issue here. We know it is in your country. We hear a lot about that. Here pretty much, one day some people who were gay and lesbian said it does not seem fair we can not marry the way couples of mixed gender can. That started a discussion, and people said, 'we hadn't thought about it, but you're right' and they fixed the problem legally. I'm really glad to meet you and to hear that your country is doing much work to make things right." Then I could see his thoughts drifting, and he said, "You're so interested in this, I was trying to think about something else you might find interesting. What about last spring? We held an election and elected a transgendered woman as our judge. How about that?" And said, "Yea, how about that!"
+Last day of the trip, we were dropped off at the airport, checked our baggage, and headed to Security. Meeting us there were two airport officers who said to me, "Are you Sheila Yvonne Brandenburg? Come with us. You will return to your husband and the couple you are with before your plane departs." With that I walked away with them--one in front of me and one behind. Cal, Clarice, and John then went to the terminal and waited with the huge crowd there, Cal seated for three hours on the floor. The three of them wondering where I was and why-- and how we would once again reunite.
+I was taken to another part of the airport. Along the way, I asked if this happened to some random 127th person or something. They said, no. They showed me a letter and said, "This detention is under the order of your US government, not the government of Iceland." I asked if I could have a copy of the letter, thinking, 'We have a really close friend high up in Homeland Security, and he's never going to believe this."
+They took me into a room, saying "We will come for you and escort you to your seat in the plane right before it takes off. We want you to be comfortable and will check on you often. They gave me a tray of Icelandic doughnuts, plenty of the best hot chocolate in the world, and a couple of warm throws, 'just in case', they said. I had a large, soft black leather couch and a big flat screen TV all to myself. And they said, 'the door behind the couch is a private restroom with items with which you might freshen up. Please pay no attention to any overhead announcements you might hear. They will not pertain to you. Flights are late today, so this could go on a long time. We will make certain, though, you are taken to your husband and do not miss your flight.' They did check on my comfort often, as they promised. Mostly, it was just good, knowing they had not forgotten me.
+When the time came, the two men returned and accompanied me to the main part of the airport, one on each side of me. We exited the airport, across the tarmac, and up the stairs into the plane. When I entered, the passengers started cheering. I was to learn later that Cal was quite anxious. He had announced to the attendants that if his wife was not on the plane when it readied for take off, he was going to leave the plane. There seemed to be some kind of law about that, so I think the passengers were more interested in their flight leaving than they were about me.
+When we got home I showed our Homeland Security friend the form I had requested copied and asked him what happened. He said, "It was likely all the attempted contacts you made with the Prime Minister, you stalker you." I told him, they were all very friendly and about a cause certainly dear to her heart, and he said, "Yvonne, hardly any terrorist says something like, 'I plan to assassinate your Head of State."
+So, I hope all who care for such things do whatever they need to do to shed light of peace and safety on-- me, another, all others, and this Universe about which we are genuinely fond. For we are just here to walk one another home.
I just wish that in the process, everybody got doughnuts!
+Blessing and Peace, Yvonne
Friday, February 21, 2014
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Mona and Francis
We are all just here to walk one another home. Ram Dass
I remember the first time I was asked. It seemed strange. Strange that something so integral, essential, and normal might come with a reason. Like asking a fish why it chose water or a bird the air. But they asked--then--and others often since. "Where did your passion come from?" No, that was not it. That would have been too general. They asked more specifically: "Where did you get your idea about gay people?" I remember saying, "I've never thought anything else or had reason. In fact, to me it seems you have to have reasons to think otherwise." The question, though, made me think. And all I had to do was think about thinking and I knew.
When I was a little girl of the 50s, living in Shelburn, Indiana, which seemed to me the center of the Universe, we had a couple of stores in town. There was the Turner brothers who owned Turner's Store where you could get meat, groceries, hardware, work clothes, and about everything else you needed--Walmartesque, I suppose. And there was Buster Littlejohn's Drugstore with its soda fountain a big magazine rack (don't handle unless you're going to buy), and a Gaskins Dry Goods Store. I don't know what all they sold, but must not have been anything wet. And there was the Ben Franklin. We called it ''the Dime Store'. Among other things, they sold candy and toys. Trinket kind of toys. After you saved your pennies, you clutched them tightly in your hand and your mom or grandpa took you to Mona and Francis's Dime Store, and you got to see what your savings would buy. It was a magical time in what was always to a four year old, a magical place. Everybody in town and from the farms around town knew them. Mona and Francis who lived above the store. Thing was, however, sometimes when people in town spoke of Francis and Mona they would smile a different kind of smile and one of their eyebrows would raise in a funny way. My mother would wait until our conversation with the 'raised eyebrow' person was done, and after we walked away, she would say, "Aren't Mona and Francis the most wonderful women in town. Don't we love them, and don't they love us all!" There was no way to answer her broad, honest smile, except with a big 'yes!'
Then when I was about eight, a woman by the name of Christiana Jorgensen made the headlines. For some reason, my mother told me her story. Born with a birth assignment of male and serving a tour in the US Army, shy, retiring, depressed George Jorgensen, went to Denmark where sexual reassignment surgery had been done for decades, and came back Christiana, choosing her new name after her surgeon, Dr. Christian. Her whole life could now be lived for the first time. Falling later in love, she and the man to whom she was engaged were denied a marriage license, and he was fired from his job. She went on to speak and educate all the US-- who cared to learn--about what my mother wanted her eight year old daughter to understand: "Sometimes when a baby is growing inside its mother, something that usually happens one way, does not in the same way, and the baby is born with a different body than they really are. Think what it would be like to be born with a boy's body and really be a woman inside all your life. It would be so hard, wouldn't it. (Showing me the picture in the newspaper, she said) It's really great this worked out so well for her, but there are lots of people who think it is wrong to be who you really are. That is sad. It will change."
Decades later when I told my mother how these stories impacted my life, she said she couldn't even remember them. I told her I was not surprised. It was just Sheila being Sheila. My mom being my mom.
The song is right. Rogers and Hammerstein knew. Though their South Pacific song was criticized by a whole host of the United States when it became popular in the 50s, it was correct. It said you have to be carefully taught to hate and fear people your relatives, neighbors, and society hates. It doesn't come easily. It takes so much reminding and finger pointing--to do anything but respect and see that differences in people make us only richer. Anything else has to be spoken and demonstrated often and loudly. It has to create such a fuss. Because truth, richness, love, beauty and such richness are normal. If it is Truth it is simple-- not always easy, but simple. Truth works for that change about which my mother spoke. Without all the fuss otherwise, it takes only a couple of comments--and living them out. For me, it just took a mom, Mona and Francis, and a chance to live!
Blessing and Peace,
Yvonne
I remember the first time I was asked. It seemed strange. Strange that something so integral, essential, and normal might come with a reason. Like asking a fish why it chose water or a bird the air. But they asked--then--and others often since. "Where did your passion come from?" No, that was not it. That would have been too general. They asked more specifically: "Where did you get your idea about gay people?" I remember saying, "I've never thought anything else or had reason. In fact, to me it seems you have to have reasons to think otherwise." The question, though, made me think. And all I had to do was think about thinking and I knew.
When I was a little girl of the 50s, living in Shelburn, Indiana, which seemed to me the center of the Universe, we had a couple of stores in town. There was the Turner brothers who owned Turner's Store where you could get meat, groceries, hardware, work clothes, and about everything else you needed--Walmartesque, I suppose. And there was Buster Littlejohn's Drugstore with its soda fountain a big magazine rack (don't handle unless you're going to buy), and a Gaskins Dry Goods Store. I don't know what all they sold, but must not have been anything wet. And there was the Ben Franklin. We called it ''the Dime Store'. Among other things, they sold candy and toys. Trinket kind of toys. After you saved your pennies, you clutched them tightly in your hand and your mom or grandpa took you to Mona and Francis's Dime Store, and you got to see what your savings would buy. It was a magical time in what was always to a four year old, a magical place. Everybody in town and from the farms around town knew them. Mona and Francis who lived above the store. Thing was, however, sometimes when people in town spoke of Francis and Mona they would smile a different kind of smile and one of their eyebrows would raise in a funny way. My mother would wait until our conversation with the 'raised eyebrow' person was done, and after we walked away, she would say, "Aren't Mona and Francis the most wonderful women in town. Don't we love them, and don't they love us all!" There was no way to answer her broad, honest smile, except with a big 'yes!'
Then when I was about eight, a woman by the name of Christiana Jorgensen made the headlines. For some reason, my mother told me her story. Born with a birth assignment of male and serving a tour in the US Army, shy, retiring, depressed George Jorgensen, went to Denmark where sexual reassignment surgery had been done for decades, and came back Christiana, choosing her new name after her surgeon, Dr. Christian. Her whole life could now be lived for the first time. Falling later in love, she and the man to whom she was engaged were denied a marriage license, and he was fired from his job. She went on to speak and educate all the US-- who cared to learn--about what my mother wanted her eight year old daughter to understand: "Sometimes when a baby is growing inside its mother, something that usually happens one way, does not in the same way, and the baby is born with a different body than they really are. Think what it would be like to be born with a boy's body and really be a woman inside all your life. It would be so hard, wouldn't it. (Showing me the picture in the newspaper, she said) It's really great this worked out so well for her, but there are lots of people who think it is wrong to be who you really are. That is sad. It will change."
Decades later when I told my mother how these stories impacted my life, she said she couldn't even remember them. I told her I was not surprised. It was just Sheila being Sheila. My mom being my mom.
The song is right. Rogers and Hammerstein knew. Though their South Pacific song was criticized by a whole host of the United States when it became popular in the 50s, it was correct. It said you have to be carefully taught to hate and fear people your relatives, neighbors, and society hates. It doesn't come easily. It takes so much reminding and finger pointing--to do anything but respect and see that differences in people make us only richer. Anything else has to be spoken and demonstrated often and loudly. It has to create such a fuss. Because truth, richness, love, beauty and such richness are normal. If it is Truth it is simple-- not always easy, but simple. Truth works for that change about which my mother spoke. Without all the fuss otherwise, it takes only a couple of comments--and living them out. For me, it just took a mom, Mona and Francis, and a chance to live!
Blessing and Peace,
Yvonne
Friday, February 7, 2014
HR3, Russia, and Me, Oh My. . . .
I'm blogging today because the Indiana General Assembly is still in the midst of its stand on Human Rights, the Olympics are about to begin in the former Soviet Union, and I feel as if I just got back from Russia. Some of you were there when Scott Lakin make me promise--right in front of the church--that even though I was The Church Within pastor and found myself each year somewhere in the world making conversation with local people-- wherever I happened to be-- about two of my life-long passions--health care and marriage/other human rights for all. That day Scott, on behalf of the congregation, asked me to stay out of trouble during our travels in the previous Soviet Union. You see, Madonna had just gotten in trouble for her stand there, Elton John had followed--and now Yvonne! I couldn't imagine anyone would care about any ripple I might make, but said I'd just be a normal tourist for my month there--I promise. Scott gave me a look that said something like, "You haven't ever practiced 'normal' in your whole life, and the church budget has no line item for bailing you out." With that the next day--we left for Russia.
My story seems worth telling at this time, because Russia and the other countries of the previous Soviet Union will get a slanted version of who they are, if we listen only to the occasional comments about the Russian stand on GLBTQA issues during the Olympic coverage. And in that 'alphabet' I've always been an 'A', an ally. Why? I'll answer that in another blog someday. How a little girl of the 50s from a tiny, southwest Indiana town, formulated her passion for the cause. Another blog day. This day is to make certain those of you who are interested know of the diversity that is within Russia and 'the rest of the story.'
Scott Lakin always says he loves to ask both Cal and me about our yearly trips. He says Cal tells all about history and geography and geology and economics and the vistas he has seen. Yvonne tells all about the people, children, dogs and cats-- and all about their healthcare and the real story of the people. Hearing them, Lakin says, you might think they have gone on two different trips--together.
As far as Russia is concerned, it is right there at the top of the heap in its thousand plus years with historic mass slaughter, starvation, and the usurping of rights. That is true. We have our own such collection of stories in our short years of United States history. But it is also true that in our quest what we find--all over the world-- is an actual assault of the senses--with differing smells, sights, sounds, taste, and understandings. In and through it all, though, is truth--and all the ways truth shows up --showing us we really are all different versions of alike. And like the US, as well, the former Soviet Union will always be finding someone to call the outsider and reasons they are right. And like the US and everywhere else, there will always be ways people come up with and invite the exit of men and women from this Earth--their Spirit, though, never exits Universe and Forever. And our call--is to be some part of shedding our light onto the stairs of others, that they might find the way out of their darkness. And the very good news is, that opportunity is all around us--and there is always someone casting their light on our own stairs, as well. Let's keep the shine going!
My story seems worth telling at this time, because Russia and the other countries of the previous Soviet Union will get a slanted version of who they are, if we listen only to the occasional comments about the Russian stand on GLBTQA issues during the Olympic coverage. And in that 'alphabet' I've always been an 'A', an ally. Why? I'll answer that in another blog someday. How a little girl of the 50s from a tiny, southwest Indiana town, formulated her passion for the cause. Another blog day. This day is to make certain those of you who are interested know of the diversity that is within Russia and 'the rest of the story.'
What I have done in every country to which we have traveled these past 19 years is observe. Observe and notice someone who seems likely to be in dialog with a pastor and her passion. While I planned to keep my 'Lakin Promise", there was a day that started with a lecture from a university professor who was to be our guide for the next couple of days-- following his lecture about the history, sociology, and future of his country. Sitting there and taking notes, I thought--He is the one. A University professor will have entertained a variety of ideas and challenged others to do the same. So, following the lecture I asked to speak with him a moment. "I have a special interest in the rights of men and women in the gay and lesbian community in the United States and like to talk with people from countries to which I travel about this subject in their country." His demeanor and tone immediately changed. Looking more like someone from a James Bond movie, he said: "There is no tolerance for this in our country. No acceptance at all." I said, "We have many in our country who feel the same way. What I was wondering, though, is what about those of this community who live here. Must be at least 12% in the gay and lesbian community. Is that something that stays more 'underground?' He said, "There are people in this country who would be very angry for you to ask that question. You see there is no tolerance by anyone in this country for that issue." I said, "That is amazing. In our country there are people promoting change. They invite people to sign petitions and make sure their legislators know their views. More and more states every year open up to gay marriage" He said, "There are people in this country who want change. But there is no tolerance at all in this country." Truthfully, I was confused. I wanted to make certain I had not missed something. I said, "Are you saying there are a lot of people who want to see change, and there is no tolerance in the country for them? He said, "YES! THAT IS WHAT I AM SAYING." And then we left with the others on our two small busses-- for the first of our days in and around the city and countryside.The next day we all got on the bus again. Our month-long guide (a kind of nanny to us all) said, "I have an unusual announcement to make. Usually we have the same guide for both our days here, but this time we are trading guides with the other bus. I looked at Cal. It couldn't be because I had talked to him after the lecture yesterday, right? Onto the bus came a delightful woman, full of life. She, we were to learn, had a masters in economics and one in business, working with banks during the week and giving these weekend tours on occasions, because it broadened her life so, she said. I promised all to whom such promises are made, I'd have no 'conversations' that second day. She seemed at times, though, to speak in my direction and certainly had an inviting personality. At the end of the day while most were perusing hand-crafted items in a gift shop, she ventured my way. Yes, I told her of my 'travel interest.' She was certainly ready to talk. It was as if she had been waiting for me. Somehow, someone--maybe God--didn't want me to leave Russia without a glimpse of truth. She said, "Last year we had our first Diversity week. Activities were planned each of the seven days. I was the city's organizer of Friday. It was to be Library Day. Only instead of coming to the library and checking out a book, people were invited to come, check out a person. There was all kinds of diversity available to borrow for the day. People of different faiths. We had Islamic, Buddhist, Hindu, as well as different versions of Jewish and Christian faiths. We had people with physical disabilities. We hardly make any allowances for physical limitations throughout the country. So, there were people in wheel chairs, those with limbs amputated, people who were deaf or blind. And we had men and women from the gay and lesbian community, as well. It was our first year. It was amazing the eager organization and advertising that was done. Can I say it was a huge success. Some might point out many came to watch. But many came to 'take out' a person, too. The guide said, 'One person left with someone in a wheel chair who had both legs amputated. She came back and said, 'I'll never be the same. I had always told my children, don't stare or make any comment, and my new friend told me, we want your children's questions. We are made to feel different when they peak and you whisper to them. When you introduce your children to us, we can talk and laugh with them and they see we are really whole--with just some challenges.' Then she went on to say, there was one woman who said, 'I'd like to take out a lesbian, to see what is wrong with her and how she got that way.' I told her this week was for people who wanted to expand their understanding and enlarge their experience--not for someone who wanted to find more reasons for how they already felt. I told her she could not take part in the program. I had another woman I'll never forget. She said, "I've come to see if there is a gay man who can spend the day with me. I have not knowingly ever known one.' I made the introduction, and they left together. They returned late in the afternoon and she said to me, 'I left with someone I did not know, and I come back to say we are good friends. We have the same hopes and fears for life. The same worries. We have the same dreams for ourselves and those about whom we care. And do we laugh the same. I 'took out a stranger--and brought back a friend. It is that we will stay.' Then, my 'second day guide' said, 'This was the first Week of Diversity. It was a great success in so many ways. Not just what happened with the people, but what such a plan says about who we are and where many of us are working to head. Sadly, as a straight woman, I have had several friends move to another county, for there are many countries now where thankfully they have the same rights as everybody else. I am sad they have had to leave. There are many of us intent on this work and all the ways it takes us to make a difference'
Scott Lakin always says he loves to ask both Cal and me about our yearly trips. He says Cal tells all about history and geography and geology and economics and the vistas he has seen. Yvonne tells all about the people, children, dogs and cats-- and all about their healthcare and the real story of the people. Hearing them, Lakin says, you might think they have gone on two different trips--together.
As far as Russia is concerned, it is right there at the top of the heap in its thousand plus years with historic mass slaughter, starvation, and the usurping of rights. That is true. We have our own such collection of stories in our short years of United States history. But it is also true that in our quest what we find--all over the world-- is an actual assault of the senses--with differing smells, sights, sounds, taste, and understandings. In and through it all, though, is truth--and all the ways truth shows up --showing us we really are all different versions of alike. And like the US, as well, the former Soviet Union will always be finding someone to call the outsider and reasons they are right. And like the US and everywhere else, there will always be ways people come up with and invite the exit of men and women from this Earth--their Spirit, though, never exits Universe and Forever. And our call--is to be some part of shedding our light onto the stairs of others, that they might find the way out of their darkness. And the very good news is, that opportunity is all around us--and there is always someone casting their light on our own stairs, as well. Let's keep the shine going!
Thursday, December 5, 2013
First, thanks to Darren (who Starbucked me into blogging) and to Cal who encouragingly joined him--both contending I had something to say--which I heard with the hash-tag, "And we won't have to listen to her all by ourselves." By the way, I have taken literary license and put into quotes ideas that seem accurately described by me below in order to help make a young man I respect come to life for you.
Breakfast with the Brandenburgs: Cat, Ernie, well breakfasted, and Cavailiers Sherlock and Watson atop the couch in breakfast-table view, in case some morsel makes its way to the kitchen floor. Cal coffee-deep in the Indy Star and Wall Street Journal, his interest.--every word of every article--but highlights and some pages always make their way to me. I'm not so much into EU fines and how the Volcker rule effects the banks. For me today, it was Ahmet Tuzer, from the coastal village of Pinarbasi, Turkey, who attracted my attention. You see 'quirky' is everywhere. And I'm always glad. Don't get the idea I'm shifting from Spradlin's high tenor crooning and Tom Jones tush--or Donnie Jourdan's 'sings anything' rock/blues/folk gravel, but I just can't keep from adding to my list the rocking Iman I met some time ago on Ytube and who actually made WSJ's front page today. Tuzer sings his Muslim cleric daily calls to prayer from the mosque where he preaches to his small congregation, and then donning long hair and skinny jeans he turns to Queen, Pink Floyd, and Zeppelin. While not Mick and Kieth, he and the three that make up his 'fab four' combine Islamic mysticism with rock, acid and otherwise. He says, "There's no contradiction between religion and heavy metal, and I hope to attract younger people to the faith by carving out a new gene: Muslim rock." Reminds me of that Methodist guy, Wesley, who faced a Church of England who at that time believed their high church was exclusive and was made for the wealthy, and said, "The world and all in it is my parish," taking pastoral care and faith to people in slums and coal mines. He and his brother, frequented English taverns and borrowed melody from bawdy tavern songs, creating from them words of wonder and faith. What emerged was a call for human rights and compassion. Those songs, seemingly 'old fashioned' to the young today, are still in hymnals in United Methodist church pews--and rocked the world when they were written.
How does religious authority feel about Tuzer? About like church hierarchy felt about Wesley and other similar happenings. In both cases--and many matching ones, the ire of conservatives has sparked debate. "This is not how holy people are supposed to behave!" Some of them, as you can imagine, think this music will ruin the young. The government is worried. Circa J. Edgar Hoover. Can you imagine music ever viewed as subversive in the US? We, too, have had our trouble being 'Footloose."
Tuzer says, "Our aim is to wrap Muslim songs into rock blues and psychedelic music, if necessary, to create a style that the young people like. We attempt to spread peace and enlarge the Muslim peaceful message of respect and love. There are enough doing otherwise," he says. He says the broader question is "what it means to be an iman, (third generation himself). The image of Islam is suffering right now, and we need to lead our community. If being an iman means solely acting within a framework of rules and taboos, it's not for me. Spirituality often means breaking boundaries." He, therefore, even dared to marry outside the church and joins the world's changing views regarding the valid place of men and women of the homosexual community.
So, what made me start following Tuzer, whose motto just as well might me, 'I rock, therefore imam'? WSJ
I was first attracted to the name of his rock group--FiRock, derived from math's 'golden ratio.' I love anything that is about the divine proportion of things--whether it be mathematics, life, art, architecture, faith, or according to the Wall Street Journal--the stock market. (I'm lost on that one, but imagine someone reading this might see how it fits.) Me, I remember the golden triangle from biology. How it's found, among other places, in arrangements of stems in plants to optimize their access to sunshine and make room for growth.
Einstein said, "Science without religion is lame. Religion without science is blind."
You see there is some greater design and purpose than what we at any time glimpse--no mater how open our heart can be. No matter the limits or expansion of our sight, hearing, tasting, feeling, and smelling--everything works for a greater purpose than we can imagine or being to fatham. Light and growth. For me--as a short cut--I call it God.
Or as the rock imam says: Everything is God. Everyone is God. We believe that, and if I hurt your heart, I hurt my heart, and I believe that I hurt God's heart. If we love each other, we will be very happy in this life and the next life, however that may happen. Music is one of the ways to get closer to God. We want to play all over the world. . .If the authorities try to stop me, I will fight them in court. The Prophet Muhammad would have approved of my mission."
Rock on. . . Yvonne
On the other side of right thinking and wrong thinking there is a field. I'll meet you there. Rumi, 12th Centiry Sufi poet, born in Turkey.
Breakfast with the Brandenburgs: Cat, Ernie, well breakfasted, and Cavailiers Sherlock and Watson atop the couch in breakfast-table view, in case some morsel makes its way to the kitchen floor. Cal coffee-deep in the Indy Star and Wall Street Journal, his interest.--every word of every article--but highlights and some pages always make their way to me. I'm not so much into EU fines and how the Volcker rule effects the banks. For me today, it was Ahmet Tuzer, from the coastal village of Pinarbasi, Turkey, who attracted my attention. You see 'quirky' is everywhere. And I'm always glad. Don't get the idea I'm shifting from Spradlin's high tenor crooning and Tom Jones tush--or Donnie Jourdan's 'sings anything' rock/blues/folk gravel, but I just can't keep from adding to my list the rocking Iman I met some time ago on Ytube and who actually made WSJ's front page today. Tuzer sings his Muslim cleric daily calls to prayer from the mosque where he preaches to his small congregation, and then donning long hair and skinny jeans he turns to Queen, Pink Floyd, and Zeppelin. While not Mick and Kieth, he and the three that make up his 'fab four' combine Islamic mysticism with rock, acid and otherwise. He says, "There's no contradiction between religion and heavy metal, and I hope to attract younger people to the faith by carving out a new gene: Muslim rock." Reminds me of that Methodist guy, Wesley, who faced a Church of England who at that time believed their high church was exclusive and was made for the wealthy, and said, "The world and all in it is my parish," taking pastoral care and faith to people in slums and coal mines. He and his brother, frequented English taverns and borrowed melody from bawdy tavern songs, creating from them words of wonder and faith. What emerged was a call for human rights and compassion. Those songs, seemingly 'old fashioned' to the young today, are still in hymnals in United Methodist church pews--and rocked the world when they were written.
How does religious authority feel about Tuzer? About like church hierarchy felt about Wesley and other similar happenings. In both cases--and many matching ones, the ire of conservatives has sparked debate. "This is not how holy people are supposed to behave!" Some of them, as you can imagine, think this music will ruin the young. The government is worried. Circa J. Edgar Hoover. Can you imagine music ever viewed as subversive in the US? We, too, have had our trouble being 'Footloose."
Tuzer says, "Our aim is to wrap Muslim songs into rock blues and psychedelic music, if necessary, to create a style that the young people like. We attempt to spread peace and enlarge the Muslim peaceful message of respect and love. There are enough doing otherwise," he says. He says the broader question is "what it means to be an iman, (third generation himself). The image of Islam is suffering right now, and we need to lead our community. If being an iman means solely acting within a framework of rules and taboos, it's not for me. Spirituality often means breaking boundaries." He, therefore, even dared to marry outside the church and joins the world's changing views regarding the valid place of men and women of the homosexual community.
So, what made me start following Tuzer, whose motto just as well might me, 'I rock, therefore imam'? WSJ
I was first attracted to the name of his rock group--FiRock, derived from math's 'golden ratio.' I love anything that is about the divine proportion of things--whether it be mathematics, life, art, architecture, faith, or according to the Wall Street Journal--the stock market. (I'm lost on that one, but imagine someone reading this might see how it fits.) Me, I remember the golden triangle from biology. How it's found, among other places, in arrangements of stems in plants to optimize their access to sunshine and make room for growth.
Einstein said, "Science without religion is lame. Religion without science is blind."
You see there is some greater design and purpose than what we at any time glimpse--no mater how open our heart can be. No matter the limits or expansion of our sight, hearing, tasting, feeling, and smelling--everything works for a greater purpose than we can imagine or being to fatham. Light and growth. For me--as a short cut--I call it God.
Or as the rock imam says: Everything is God. Everyone is God. We believe that, and if I hurt your heart, I hurt my heart, and I believe that I hurt God's heart. If we love each other, we will be very happy in this life and the next life, however that may happen. Music is one of the ways to get closer to God. We want to play all over the world. . .If the authorities try to stop me, I will fight them in court. The Prophet Muhammad would have approved of my mission."
Rock on. . . Yvonne
On the other side of right thinking and wrong thinking there is a field. I'll meet you there. Rumi, 12th Centiry Sufi poet, born in Turkey.
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