Category Archives: Faith

Dear Governor Newsom, or Why Californians Need to Vote No on 50

Posted on by
Reply

Please vote no on 50. It only divides us. It’s just wrong.

Dear Governor Newsom,

I am 67 years old and have been on the left-leaning, progressive side of the political spectrum since before I could vote, and I suspect what I need to say is going to be wildly unpopular with the left. Yet here I am, asking you to reverse course and throw your weight against Proposition 50 instead, because it’s just wrong.

Can you please tell the voters of California that you made a mistake? That you changed your mind, came to your senses? That you understandably reacted passionately to the insidiousness of President Trump’s urging other states to gerrymander their districts to get him more votes, and in hindsight can see that you took the low road and want to regain the high road now instead?

California is one of the states that did the right thing some years ago, creating an independent commission to redraw our voting districts with each new census in order to make elections fair. Even though this proposition is “temporary,” these rigged districts, designed to help more Democrats win, would run through our 2030 election cycle. How can we possibly justify this? How would we feel if the tables were turned?

And this leads me to the heart of why I believe this is morally wrong. Doing this harms California Republicans. It’s not fair to them, and it’s not fair to the Republican candidates running for office (especially those who are running for reelection in districts that will have been redrawn to help the Democratic candidates). Democrats hold a solid majority in this state, so in my mind, “rigging” the system to harm our Republican voters and candidates is completely unjust. And if it isn’t illegal and unconstitutional, it should be. Clearly we’re in a time in the United States where doing the illegal and the unconstitutional in government is happening everywhere we turn, and it scares the hell out of me. But that doesn’t make retaliating in this way right. We need to be moving away from the “us versus them” mentality, not exacerbating it.

Believe me, I want to put the brakes on, too. In my gut, I want to fight fire with fire. But the truth is, that never works. We have to find ways to stop President Trump’s disturbing maneuvers in ways that don’t have us committing the same sins, sins that can bring our democracy crashing down. It’s a terrible precedent. How low will we go? And can we even be certain our own rigged districts will elect more Democrats? I would not be surprised if all these machinations backfire. Can we not instead keep trying to find lawful, nonviolent and more creative ways to stop what’s happening?

I would have loved to see the money we’re spending on this special election to have gone instead to reinstate some of the existing services we recently denied our California residents who need them most (Republicans and Democrats alike), though I realize it’s too late now. Still, I would have such great respect for you if you were to reconsider this extreme and mean-spirited move and urge us now instead to vote no on Proposition 50. And then pull together the greatest minds and hearts you can gather from all across the political spectrum—the best strategic thinkers and those with the most integrity and the biggest hearts—and help us find fair, ingenious, ethical and effective ways to stop our president’s agenda.

Thanks very much for your time.

Riba

All We Carry (62)

Posted on by
Reply

I listen to my white-crowned sparrows singing for a long time. And I let some of the tension seep out of me. I remember I learned how to stay in bed here in the mornings because of my much-loved boy cat when he was dying, and I made small beds for him beside me on this bed, complete with heating pads that cold December. I think about his gift to me (best view of all) and about all I have weighing on me now. I think of my closest friends and all they have undergone, all they are holding now. I think about the people in Ukraine and all they carry. I think about how we all hold all these hard things and all this love and even joy in the midst of it all. I cry with the bigness of it all, good, clean tears, the white-crowned sparrows singing for me on the cinderblock wall across my little road this morning, all this tenderness for what dear creatures we all are, with our fleeting lives in this always changing world.

Greetings (56)

Posted on by
Reply

I have returned to my yoga. I’d been afraid to try for a long time after my fall. My wrists were still healing. The first time I try my sun salutes, I am caught off guard by how much the bottom of my palms hurt, not just my wrists. Today is the third or maybe the fourth time I try, so I am not surprised by the pain, and now I know it will ease up if I keep going, slow and gentle. When I swoop up to standing at the end of each salutation, head thrown back, I see the fat, white crescent moon above me in the daylight sky. With each ending, there she is, her happy greeting a delight. And then when I stand again, there is my gal circling above me, my mama red-tailed hawk, as if she is waiting for me to know she is there, and the papa hawk, too. They circle twice more, an affectionate, lingering check-in, and off they go. I can’t stop grinning.

Someday (48)

Posted on by
Reply

My orchid plant
and tiny shoots of the cactus
I brought home from Ajijic in 2009
sit beside each other on top of
the toilet tank
in my bathroom here
in my mother’s house
(together with the little
green plastic dinosaur who came home with me
from the hostel in the Marin Headlands)
and every now and then
especially after I water them
I stop and really take them in
rescued from my trailer home
by my dear friends
and somehow dear friends
themselves now, too
and talismans or hope or
living proof my little home
still awaits us all.

Accompanied (38)

Posted on by
Reply

The moon muted by clouds
late dusk
me trudging up the steep street
(it’s a fucking 90-degree angle,
I say, angry to be prodded to walk)
I wonder if it’s so hard to climb this hill
because I am weighted down by my anger
or if it is only because I carry with me
the grief of a lifetime
but the waxing moon carries me in turn
earthworm moon
ghost moon
and I am glad for the company
as I climb.

Missing Out (33)

Posted on by
Reply

I am out in the far corner of my mother’s back yard under the lime green umbrella doing feedback on Zoom with my new writing group when I see her go by. The mama red-tailed hawk glides just below the ridge line, then lands on the dead yucca stem on the eastern arm of the ridge, the one her offspring was sitting on when I understood he was in despair, afraid she might die. I greet her with my leaping heart and see her land, but I don’t feel like I can disappear from my meeting. Without making a clear choice I am whooshed back into the interaction with these wonderful women. (Four of them met for the first time last month, and today there are six of us, the complete set.) I feel lucky to be a part of things. I was funny about joining late, though I may have been the catalyst for the group’s beginning, when (as usual) I didn’t want our writing class to end. I was so taken by that particular collection of people. Later, I remember my hawk, and I ache for my lost chance. It is an “if only” longing, and I know it’s silly. But having her come to sit is so rare. It would have been lovely to have that time to commune with her. I worry, too, that she doesn’t understand why I wasn’t there for her. That she might feel slighted or hurt or even just disappointed like I am breaks my heart. So I will have to believe she trusts in my love for her, knows how much she matters to me. And I will have to believe we’ll have another chance soon.

Bird and Bugs (28)

Posted on by
Reply

There is this little bird who comes to the corner of my mother’s back yard where I sit in the mornings when I can. Today she is poking around the pots of succulents looking for bugs, her white and gray and black and flashes of yellow vivid in the early sunlight. I watch her dart about, sip my yerba maté, warm cup cradled in both hands. I’ve only ever seen her by herself, and I wonder again today if she is all alone. I say metta for her. May you be safe and free from harm. May you have everything you need to thrive. May you be happy. May you have companionship if you want it. On the last wish, I can’t help thinking, oh, to me our companionship is dear. Later, I finally find her in my bird book, a yellow-rumped warbler. And, too, once I know what kind of bird she is, I see another of her species approach her. Scolding? Wanting sex? I haven’t seen her since, but I’m still hoping she’ll be back.