Hello! My
hiatus hasn't been completely idle - I did manage to put together all these
dotee dolls for a swap. Aren't they fun? Of course, I waited until the last minute, and was even late but I still had great fun and this was one of the first times, when I did not want to send them off. I wanted to gobble them up and hang onto all that cheerfulness! A rainbow,
roygbiv in a delightful play.
I've been spending my time, when I'm not melting in this Seattle heat wave, getting into the rhythm of walking in the morning and the evening. Bear is my coach - he is relentless! We walk the same mile, from my house to a nearby park and around the park path, twice each day. On weekends, I try to go somewhere new and unusual, maybe around the
Duwamish river, or meandering avenues near my home. But, we haven't done those for two weeks now with this incredible heat.
My walks have led me into some interesting encounters. There is one I'd like to share with you because even though a week or two has passed, I am troubled by the encounter. Of course, I have to introduce some. And, I'll warn you up front, this won't be short.
Those who have read way back into my blog know that I have spoken about my spiritual beliefs just a bit. I've always considered myself to be a very open person, my beliefs are drawn from everywhere - I have never found a system of religion from which I cannot respect and learn. Like all good hippie girls, I have been thrust into passion by the poetry of
Rumi and
Gibran and those words have inspired and strengthened me throughout my life. I know very little of the Eastern life. I know less,formally, about Muslim beliefs and practices. Yet, the few words that I have read are beautiful and passionate, inspiring. And, somehow I was lead to believe (I sure wish how and where I came to this lazy belief), that the Muslims are not far from Christianity and in some childish sense, I've pretty much considered that belief system to be akin to the one of my childhood.
And yet, when I encounter Muslim women in their dark and mystical garb, I want to scream! "Don't you know that it is okay to be beautiful? Do you not understand that this is just hatred of women and feminine beauty?" I do not, of course. I remind myself to be respectful and that all people can find beauty and discipline in behaviors and practices which I do not understand. I
want to understand, but I do not. And so, I simply avoid, ignore and somehow assume that it's okay, acceptable, safe, human and cultural evolution and that I do not need to trouble myself.
That said, let me share with you my story in the park. And I hope you will accept my confession of smallness, prejudice and fear. I hope you will understand that I believe that if we would all confess, perhaps somehow there can be healing. Trust me, I do not want to feel what I felt in the park that day. REALLY.
As we entered the park, as is quite often the case, there was a group of Muslim women playing on the playground with their children. They have never been friendly to me, but I have never been friendly with them either. I continued my walk around the park and noticed a girl dallying near the rented garden beds. I despise myself for what I thought next...I wondered if she were stealing the produce. I can barely believe I had such thoughts. I'd like to pretend to both you, and myself, that it was because she is young, and I know occasionally youngsters are curious and don't always know about "yours and not yours." That wasn't it.
I made Bear sit and we watched for awhile. Presently one of the young boys, playing on the playground with the group of Muslim women, started to run toward the girl. They called out something to one another and I realized that the girl really did belong here. I was astonished at the joy with which they greeted one another. The happiness between them was beautiful and hand in hand they started to walk toward me. I could feel their happiness and the pleasure they felt in one
another's company.
The girl began a conversation with me as soon as she was within earshot. I was a bit surprised; never before had someone from this group of people spoken to me despite our mutual encounters, almost nightly, for over a month now. She was very sweet. She introduced herself and her brother. She told me about the gardens she'd just been exploring. It didn't take too long before they asked about my dog. "Is he mean? What's his name? Can I pet him?" I explained that I'd not had Bear a long time and that they probably could pet him but that we needed to go slow and easy and let me guide them. They could not gasp that it was not a great idea for the two of them to approach Bear from two different angles. Eventually, I got the girl, who seemed quite a lot older, to stay put as her brother came up to pet Bear.
The young man got within reaching distance and then stopped suddenly; he withdrew a step or two. I asked him if he was afraid and he said, "no." He went on to explain that he was not allowed to touch dogs. "Why?", I asked? He said that Muslims may not touch dogs. I was stunned. "Is it because they think that the dog might be mean? Is your mother afraid that you might get hurt? Or maybe worried that the dog is dirty?" The boy cowered and fumbled with his words. (Of course, I am thinking, if you knew that rule, why did we come down this path, but that is perhaps something I should innately understand, approaching forbidden fruit and turning back at the last minute - or maybe not.) I asked his sister, "What about people with dogs as pets?" And she responded that she had never known a Muslim to own a dog but explained, yes, that it is a rule in her religion. I told the children then, that if this is a rule of their parents and their religion, that they must never break that rule. I thanked them for chatting with me, expressed that I hoped we would meet again and they ran back to the group of women and children on the playground.
I continued the circular path which led to the playground and ultimately, my exit. By the time I got close to the playground, one of the older women, in her dark and heavy covering (it was nearly 90 degrees for God's sake and you know she's wearing lots of other clothes beneath what I can see!), was screaming at the girl and boy in a shrill and distressful voice. She was screaming words that I, of course, did not understand, and she was throwing bark from the playground at the children. The bark is harmless naturally, but even so. Had I observed an older, white woman doing so, I'd have dialed 911 and reported a case of abuse. This went on for several minutes until the girl cowered on a swing. I'd like to say that I was ashamed for not intervening - and yet, what could I have done? They language isn't even something I can play with like French or German. What should I have done? I did nothing. I came home.
I came home and looked it up. Muslims do believe that dogs are evil. EVIL and to be at the very least, avoided, and in some cases, destroyed. There was lots of theological discussion which I found, some insisting that it wasn't really dogs, but hyenas, others just as certain that the word for dog is quite distinct from the word for hyena's. There was a story about how the Prophet had waited for Gabriel (we even know the same angels!) who failed to appear as he had always done before. When asked about his absence, Gabriel explained that there had been a puppy beneath the bed and that he would not enter an unclean home. Okay. Maybe it's not the same Gabriel who spoke to the Holy Mother Mary. My mind was whirring, putting checks on an elusive checklist.
Okay, heck, Christians, even Jews and Indians and who knows who else, have loads of superstitious beliefs. Still. (can you feel my mind racing? This really worked on me, I was nearly manic) Dogs are to be slaughtered - particularly black ones. I looked at Bear and imagined to myself that he's got enough brown on him to escape this edict. Then, I found myself straining to remember Monty and whether or not he had a white patch on his chest. Isn't that silly that this disturbed me so?
Then, out of the blue, I remembered a long distant conversation with a proud and brave Indian Warrior friend of mine. He'd had a bit to drink I believe when he explained to me that, if all the full- bloods would only have children with those who were half or full-blood themselves that in not too long a time there would, once again, be a proud nation of full-blooded Indians. Okay, so far, not so bad.....but he continued. Then, those strong and proud full-blooded Indians could rise up and take back from the white man what belonged to them. Now we're getting into scary territory. They would, he said, go door to door and slaughter the whites. I think he did not know what he said (or, I hope not) and I had to ask, "And what happens when you come to my door? Do I have enough "blood?" "Well, of course!", he answered. "Okay, what about my daughters?" The conversation came to an abrupt halt. There was no apology. No smooth transition into another topic. We just stopped.
Now, I know, if you're still reading this long missive, that you are thinking, "
Whoah! We were talking about dogs!" I know. I guess it's a pretty long way from dog to human on the ladder, huh? Or is it?
What do we do with these sort of encounters? How do we make peace of it? How do we accept and embrace our brothers? How do I not go tense when I pass one of those garbed women while walking my (loving, courageous, gentle and heroic!) dog? I mean, if she can pummel a child with bark while screaming in such a nasty voice, maybe she can kill my dog? Maybe the Red Warrior won't know that I have a little pedigree too that should save me? My kids however might be in trouble. You think I could vouch for all my friends who are "good" whites? What about black people? Brown? What do we do with all those superstitious, surely the Prophets were speaking to another time, beliefs that fuel our hatred for each other. What?
Who's going to lay down the knife first? Or let sleeping dogs lie? And, I wish now that I'd not told those children to always obey their parents. But of course they should! Shouldn't they?
So, I told you I was troubled, And I am.
~Lee
Bear has lived with me for just a bit over three months now. It's been a real adventure. During that time I've attempted to "teach" Bear a great many things. Once in awhile I am successful and that's a real high. Other times I'm absolutely not successful and that's a real puzzle. And then, there are those times when I think Bear has learned, but he also has some ideas of his own, and that's humbling.
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