not native fruit

textured light

last night i watched a dvd called 'when the moors ruled europe.'  the info was good, nothing i haven't already read in 'ornament of the world' or other sources, but the IMAGERY was SPECTACULAR!  The film treats you to a visual stream that is simply indescribable, while at the same time you learn more about 'real' islam - for example it's phenomenal emphasis on education - and certain secrets about europe.  as i've been researching this area myself, i've become aware that many of the things i love best about christian culture - libraries, prayer gardens, contemplative poetry, the healing arts - were all done first and best by the andalusians (western/european muslims) and were, in fact, copied and emulated by christian european cultures during the late middle ages and beyond.

anyway, you all know i have written fairly extensively on my ancestors who were called 'moors' at least as late as the early twentieth century and who lived in delaware, south jersey and southeastern pennsylvania.  there is such a lot of controversy over what this term might really have meant, but i know that my line believed it had to do with a connection with morocco, and we had various 'atmospheric' elements around the house i grew up in which cultivated that awareness.  I wish I still had some of those things, which were left behind when we moved the household to california.  but here is synchronicity for you - there are elements about this house where we are living that are atmospherically reminiscent of my childhood home.  Not the same, but  similar enough. 

for example, this house has a wonderful play of light and darkness going on, similar to the effects of screens in islamic decor, and to the effects of blinds, curtains, textured glass and translucent glass which we used in my childhood home.  also, our little house here is loaded with texture, so the play of light and darkness and the various swirling textures combine to intensify this effect.  A friend of mine once said she found the light in our house a little dim - she prefers bright sunshine streaming in as many windows as possible, because of course that's always limited - but that sense of being shaded, as in a forest, as in a garden, is indeed a moorish ideal.  the house should offer a sense of protection and shelter from the brightness of the sun. 

the house is supposed to be 'spanish' in conception.  The style is usually called 'mediterranean bungalow' or 'berkeley bungalow.'  Ours has highly textured plaster walls.  This was a style popular in California in the 1920's and coincidentally enough my father was here at that time doing this kind of plastering, in which some, usually neutral, color was mixed with the plaster and then, while the plaster was being applied and textured, powdered paints of various colors were tossed in patches on the wall and then swirled over by the trowel, creating a wonderfully mottled effect.  I don't think my photos really do the textures of these walls justice, but I present what I have been able to muster.  Inadequate though these photos may be, i offer them to share some idea of the textured interior we live in, which feels so familiar and homey to me.

I've been thinking a lot lately about how easy it is to create 'wonders' when you have a lot of money.  at this time when money is less than it has been, i am reflecting that it is more interesting to me when someone can create something beautiful or interesting using minimal money but more creativity, innovation or originality.  or when something 'just happens' to come together, like our moving into this particular house - (which i initially did not really like!) - keeping the mottled walls, adding lace, getting used to the smaller size of the rooms - and then finding, over the years, that it has been perfect.  as the hindu prayer states, 'everything is perfect, and even when you take away a part of the perfect, perfection remains.' 

many stories

as i continue to read and do research in the area of my family history, i realize more and more just how many and varied the stories are, yet to each of us it seems as if our own story is 'the' story.  Whether it's the stories of former slaves, of the various native american tribes, of the 'mulattos,' and probably even of the oppressors, there are unique experiences in every region.  back east, there must be unique experiences about every twenty square miles.  i am finding it fascinating to read all these different accounts, often finding something i can relate to, or that applies to my family.  of course, i am mostly reading about the east coast where my mother's people are from.

i now realize that my mother's father's people, in particular, come closest to what used to be called 'free people of color,' or sometimes 'the intermediate class.'  dr. pauli murray, a harvard graduate, writes a great deal about free people of color and also about slave-mulattos (the progeny of white slave-owners and their slaves) in her book 'proud shoes.'  one of the most poignant, for me, stories in the book relates to how much the offspring of the family that endowed or founded the university of north carolina longed to partake of its education, but could not, because of their color-status.  even dr. murray was turned down by the institution when she applied, and she had to take her undergraduate degree elsewhere.  she chose a good school, but still the pain of applying to a school created by your own direct ancestor and being rejected despite her excellent qualifications - i'm sorry, but that is just totally dysfunctional to say the least.  later she graduated from harvard law school, no mean feat.  

i'd like to share with you a site dedicated to a people i feel are very familiar to me.  it's called 'the minqua people of the welsh mountains of southeastern pennsylvania' and here is the link.  these are some lovely, gracious people, people i know both of my parents respected to the nines because of their excellent values and manner of living, and my mother felt herself and her family to be a part of.  i hope you'll enjoy the site as it gets rolling.

proud shoes

an aquaintance of mine is reading a book called 'Proud Shoes' and i decided to take a look at it.  i like what i see and so i include some excerpts from the introductions to the book.  i relate to a great deal that the author says in her introduction, plus i am intrigued to read more about an African-American family that acknowledges and processes its 'white' heritage - one a slave-owning heritage, the other a product of an early phase of american life about which we hear very little today when people intermarried freely among the so-called 'races.' 

published in 1955, Proud Shoes' author, Dr. Pauli Murray, is an episcopalian minister and graduate of Harvard Law School.

On July 18, 1933, a young Pauli Murray scribbled a sketch in her diary that would eventually blossom into the family memoir Proud Shoes.  Over the twenty-odd years that it took to write this story, she thought a lot about what it meant to be an artist.  She was at times so pained by the process that she had to set the project aside.  But a healing clarity always followed the pain, enabling her to paint life as she saw it.  What she created is a compelling family saga that gives us two views of the American experience: one a close-up that follows her family – the Fitzgeralds – from the early 1800’s to the beginning of the twentieth century, the other a wider angle that situates her ancestors’ story on a larger cultural mosaic.

Although Proud Shoes was conceived as a children’s story to be shared with her nieces and nephews, it became a defense of a personal and collective heritage that challenged the ethnocentrism of the 1950s.  It spotlighted black achievements that had been ignored or denied.  It exposed the ‘secret’ of rape and voluntary interracial sex that so characterized the American South.  It raised the lid on racial passing and on class and color conflicts within black communities. 

We should read this book for what it is, an exquisite and groundbreaking work of creative nonfiction.  Because it was written at a time when genre distinctions were for some sacrosanct, Proud Shoes became an archetype for a generation of writers who would later merge novelistic techniques and nonfiction.  (the above paragraphs are taken from Patricia Bell-Scott’s  Introduction to Proud Shoes)

From the Author’s Introduction to Proud Shoes:  “My maternal grandfather’s family was one of the clusters of free people of color, the Fitzgeralds of Delaware and

Pennsylvania

.  By contrast, my grandmother’s people, the Smiths of Chapel Hill, North Caroline, were a white slave-owning family of local prominence.  My dual family heritage made a deep impression on me as a child.

As my (research) work progressed I gained a new conception of history.  I was amazed to find that apparently anonymous men and women, living in ways that seldom attract public notice, leave behind them a personal record of activities which may illuminate the social history of a nation or an era as much as the activities of the leaders, the movers and shakers.  These personal records live hidden away in old documents. 

Following (a) joyous romp through the early history of the Fitzgeralds, I had to face the difficult and painful decision of including my grandmother’s “Smith side” of the family story – a decision with which I had been wrestling during the months of my research.  The Smith story awakened long-dormant, unresolved questions of identity and intensely conflicting emotions.  It also resurrected the ominous shadow of slavery which still hung over the South of my childhood.  In the telling of my grandmother’s story I had to embrace all the tangled roots from which I had sprung, and to accept without evasion my own slave heritage, with all its ambivalences and paradoxes. 

Thus the writing of Proud Shoes became for me the resolution of a search for identity and the exorcism of ghosts of the past.  No longer constrained by suppressed memories, I began to see myself in a new light – the product of a slowly evolving process of biological and cultural integration, a process containing the character of many cultures and many peoples, a New World experiment, fragile yet tenacious, a possible hint of a stronger and freer America of the future, no longer stunted in its growth by an insidious ethnocentrism.

This view was not altered by my later exploration of my African cultural roots during an eighteen-month sojourn in

Ghana

in 1960 and 1961.  My experience in

Ghana

cleared my vision of whatever negative stereotypes had blurred my understanding of the African background; but it also strengthened my conviction that I was of the New World, irrevocably bound to the destiny of my native

America

.

The self-image which emerged from my exploration of my roots did not anticipate the intense Black Consciousness which developed in the decade after the publication of Proud Shoes, with its accompanying polarization of the races.  It may be that I telescoped history, projecting my vision into the future, leaping over the intervening stages of pluralism and ethnic consciousness.

Yet Proud Shoes and its portrayal of the entanglement of the races is not a unique story.  Over more than two centuries, enough criss-crossing of racial lines and recirculation of genes within designated races has occurred to make the notion of racial purity a highly questionable biological concept for many future Americans.  Multi-racial origins of both blacks and whites are realities; they may be ignored but not wholly discounted.  The acceptance of the possibility of relatedness would do much to defuse the highly charged discussions on race.  Ultimately, it might help to ease the transition to a more humane society.

Throughout (my) early struggles my grandmother’s tradition was always in the background: her acceptance of her relatedness to the dominant class and race; her view of her own life as a symbol of the possibility of reconciliation between races and classes, however fragmentary the symbol may have seemed.”

native american language idioms

i've been studying lenape, the indigenous language of my area of origin, the Delaware River Valley, as it has been preserved in various sources.  i've been studying on the lenape nation of pennsylvania's site www.lenapenation.org where there are lessons designed by Chief Shelley de Paul. 

anyway, two of the 'idioms' i've noticed and found interesting in lenape are that 1) one can say 'this squirrel' (na hanikw), or, in order to be more specific as to the exact squirrel one is referring to, 'this here squirrel' (wa she hanikw).  now doesn't this sound familiar?  isn't that the way the so-called 'mountain people' used to talk?  ("This here road, this here knife' etc -) it was considered substandard English.  i always thought people who talked like that were supposed to be 'white people,' but it turns out, according to my research into their history, that i was mistaken.  maybe that was why it was okay for them to be the object of humor by the dominant culture for so many years.  just something to consider.  

and 2) that the lenape had a way of saying 'you all' and also 'you' (but including me too).  For example, let's say a group had set out on a journey but decided the weather was so bad the group had to turn back and go home.  Someone might wish to say 'you all are going home now (but not me, i'm not going home, i'm going forward)' - this is the 'exclusive' form of 'you.'  On the other hand someone might want to say in a rhetorical way for the sake of argument, 'you are going home now, and in the subtext, i am going home now too, but for the sake of argument let's just say that 'you' are going home now.'   in other words, i'm not arguing with you here, but i want to make a point about this plan to go home.  of course, if you go, i will go with you, but first let me present my ideas about going forward instead of going back.  This is the inclusive 'you' which is more of a 'we.'  I really 'get' the difference here, and when I first discovered this grammatical form, I got really excited about it.  so here is how it looks in lenape: we are going home, nemachihena; you (excl) are going home, kemachihemo; you (incl) are going home, kemachihena.

there is nothing like studying another language to clue you in to completely other ways of thinking about things, about life. A whole other approach to life.  it is really sad that the early explorers, friars and so forth did not have a better grasp on the cultural dimensions of the new languages they were struggling to learn and to teach.  i wonder how that might have influenced the outcome of things.

mistaken identity

i'm just thinking today how one person's joke or funny scenario can be somebody else's very real and NOT FUNNY situation. 

for example, just lately i've been taking a class 'in improvisation and laughter' with a blind friend.  she's never done anything like it before, whereas i belonged to an improv class when i was a teenager at our local 'little theater.'  so we were doing a scene the other night in which i was supposed to be the father.  i played him as something of a hard-ass, because I thought that was funny.  i realized that it's a stereotype, and i've discovered that i tend to resort to cardboard-cutout figures sometimes because i lack inventiveness, and the role was kind of thrust on me unexpectedly - just suddenly, 'you be the father.'  anyway, after class my friend said to me, gently, that this class is not about drama, it's about comedy.  well, then i remembered that her father actually was like the man i portrayed, cold, hard-hearted, domineering.  i played 'the father' in class that way because i thought the character was over-the-top and hence funny.  guess not!  but that just goes to show - what i thought was merely laughable seemed real and dramatic to my friend.

i know this happens a lot in life.  one person thinks they're being humorous and someone else can be hurt or can even take offense.  

this was a good lesson for me, because after all it was not very serious, no one was really 'offended' and so there was not a lot of drama around it, but i got the point.  

anyway,  i think this small story illustrates the importance of realizing that when people go 'ballistic' over 'nothing' both sides should try to put the incident in perspective.  The 'ballistic' person is probably reacting to something inside his or her own universe, so 'the joker' can try not to make it worse.  maybe apologize and promise it won't happen again, and then get outta there. and the person who has taken offense can try to develop a sense of humor.  after all, even our most sacred cows are going get ridiculed by some joker some day, so let's save our blood-pressure. 

people have even lost jobs over an ill-timed or ill-phrased joke. 

maybe this is also on my mind because i've recently been called in to mediate in a dispute among some volunteers in a service project i'm part of.  the feelings are running very high on both sides, and it is impossible to say that either side is 'wrong.'  they're both right, in their own way; it's just a question of how much of a point does each side feel they must make?  the 'offenders' have promised to avoid repeating 'the offense' as much as they can, and it's looking good that it may NEVER come up again - in fact, that is looking highly probable.  But who can guarantee?  The offended side, in my opinion, needs to be more forgiving, and take it on good faith that the others are making a genuine effort.  people can't be asked to deny their own values to make others happy, especially when they've promised to do things the other guys' way - what more is there to expect beyond that?  that's very generous and i think it would be great if 'the offended' could be generous too.

well, working this out is obviously taking more than a little time, so stay tuned for the exciting conclusion of 'not native fruit's voluneer fracas.

also, let me take this opportunity to mention a great service i've discovered online, called 'Elder Wisdom Circle.'  It's a group of older people who will take your question about a problem you're encountering in life, and then they will give you some 'elder wisdom' on the subject.  They are based here in the Bay Area, and my understanding is that they evolved out of a group of women who had studied psychology, theology, and related subjects.  One of them got this great idea, and i'll tell you, it's a wonderful free service.  i've consulted them a number of times and gotten very good advice, support, and insight from them.  The web address is www.elderwisdomcircle.org

obama nobel peace prize

i just want to go on record as saying that i think obama has 'done' enough to merit the nobel peace prize.  even though some people may find that arguably not the case, i for one am pleased that someone has been awarded the Peace Prize just for being who they are.  Who Obama is, is an accomplishment for peace in itself.  not only that, but this accomplishment for peace has made it to the world stage and to a very powerful position upon the world stage.  he is inspiring people all around the globe, especially the youth.  I say, kudos for obama!

congratulations, mister president, upon your receiving the Nobel Peace Prize!

animals around the house

 
 

 
  
It's difficult to make out the sleeping deer in this picture.  She is an old gal who comes often to spend the day with us.  She is under our bedroom window snoozing at mid-day here.  In the photo above, it is the Beloved Bela, as usual, gracing our home.

berkeley love

i'm just feeling once again how much i LOVE berkeley.  to love berkeley means you have to love books, learning, and a university environment.  you have to love young people, but also fusty old scholars as well.  to love berkeley means you love pedestrians and people on bicycles, expressives - there is a 'tun' of art going on here - and introverts as well. and also you must love mucho much diversity.

i love the physical environment of berkeley.  it's full of wonderful old trees and berry bushes, bougainvillea, all sorts of sprawling unkempt-looking shrubs and plants, uneven sidewalks pushed up by large tree roots, old houses and fences slumping or spiffy, eaves, porches, cottages and bungalows, all painted different colors, most of the paint pretty good, some of it shabby. 

this year, the new crop of students seems energized in a way I haven't seen for a very long time.  Not only that, they are all smiling!  At each other, at me.  My friend Gary says it is due to the influence of Mr. Obama.  Thank you, Mr. Obama!  Enough with the super-serious, I'm mad at the world attitude.  That attitude has been appropriate and effective, but it has made its potential changes, and it is time to move on to a place where we come together more again.  Togetherness and positivity can also be a very potent place for change.

mayan culture, powwows and me

I took a wonderful class at Gathering Tribes on Thursday, September 17th with Jean Molesky-Poz on 'Contemporary Mayan Spirituality' - also the title of her book.  Jean teaches Mayan spirituality at Santa Clara University here in the Bay Area.

I ought to have known that by studying the Lenape language and culture, I would eventually have to familiarize myself with the Mayans, but I really thought it was going to take me a lot longer to work my way around to it.  I will share more later.

By the way, the Lenape Nation had their annual pow-wow last weekend, September 19-20, at Wind Gap, PA.  Sure wish I could have been there for that.  Amazingly, my right knee is still bothering me since my train trip.  It will probably take a while for that to recover completely.  It's a shame, because my joints have been so good for a few years now, after decades of being not so good.  It's hard to take this, so to speak, step backward.  But that's not the reason I didn't go to Penna.  Just felt too far to travel for me at this time, and now I'm kind of glad I didn't, given how my knee is.

I also wanted to mention that I attended the All-Nations Pow-Wow at the International Tribal House in Oakland the weekend before last.  There was great drumming, singing and dancing, good vendors and food, and I would say it looked to me like a good time was had by all.  The energy of the group felt very familiar to me, but it was only the good stuff, as the atmosphere was un-tinctured by drugs or alcohol - rather it was just it's own peaceful, grounded feeling, that I often knew as a child in my early part-native-american environment.  I enjoyed it very much, and in many ways it made up for not being able to attend the lenape powwow. 

One of the things I've been coming into greater awareness of, is that I live in another native environment here, ohlone and other western tribes are amply represented here, and I want to be here spiritually as well as materially.  I'm feeling a greater resonance to this area than ever.  I think finding healing for my repressed lenape identification has helped me tremendously.

the train

at the end of august i took the amtrak train overnight from Berkeley to Portland.  i was to visit a friend from circa age 25, whose family i watched being born, raising up, and now married and on their own.  younger son and wife have recently moved to portland, mom (my pal) was visiting, soon to be joined by dad who was delayed by "work" that onerous bane of personal time. 

well, long story short, i had a great time - we saw mount hood, the columbia river gorge, multnomah falls, astoria and the seacoast.  also powell's city of books and the portland rose garden.  spent personal time together, sang all 85 of the Beatles' Number One Hits in the car.  met the pets.  no, seriously, it was a party!

but one of the star attractions of my trip, which shall not go overlooked, was The Train.

I enjoyed the train immensely, despite not getting as much sleep as I might have hoped. But it was a marvelous beast, and i was in its belly for seventeen glorious hours.  It creaked, it shuffled, it sped up, it slowed down, it changed tracks wrackingly, it hummed in the night, it submerged itself into pitch-black caves and re-emerged into the light.  it passed mountains and lakes, lumber mills and towns, farms, woods, overlooks, and the ocean.  it was archetypal.  everyone should take the train once in a while, just to remember their own process of birth.

on the surface the cars were modern - air-conditioning, sleek, arrow-designed - but on another level they were ancient - clanking, worm-like, crawling and shifting like sections of a centipede.  We passengers passed each other in the narrow halls, shifting side to side, bumping into one another ingraciously - inglourisously, one might even say - and we sat down together, strangers meeting and engaging in long conversations in the dining car, the parlor car, the sun car.  Then returning to our seats, engaging with the view, with our books and laptops, or with ourselves.

i have a history with the train, perhaps that accounts for why i love it so much, and long to experience it again and again.  either that, or my love for the train represents my personal inchoate rejection of the present, of instant air-travel that eschews the sight of land and waters passing by, of state lines, the names of tiny towns, whistle-stops, Chemult. 

Ever since those slow, painfully slow, early trips up into the Pennsylvania mountains on the old coal line sidings, in tiny cars papered with fringed maroon velvet, wainscoting and upright upholstered wooden seats, in the company of my mother and grandmother, proper in modestly plumed hats, scarves, gloves and pocket-books, traveling away from the grime and smoke of the city out into the light and green of 'the countryside,' i've been an amateur of the train.

how long will the love-affair last?  perhaps as long as i can hear the musical song of the 'coast starlight' and the 'capitols corridor' blow longingly through the fog rolling in from the bay over our hillside home.