tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61580832024-03-17T21:59:17.469-05:00DispossessedHave yet to find a philosophical somewhere I am content to call home. The closest I get to a creed these days is a quote by John Green. "Whether I believe in God isn’t really relevant. I do believe however tenuously in Mercy"
Due to a lot of personal reasons encountered along this journey, I have mostly stepped away from writing for now. Still, sometimes something stirs me and I need space to hash out my thoughts.
So welcome to my little space along the journey.Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13281423389902665598noreply@blogger.comBlogger1091125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-54387093202388996142022-09-29T21:17:00.005-05:002022-09-29T21:36:59.158-05:00HOW I GOT A FREE PORTILLO’S TEE SHIRT BY UNWITTINGLY COMMITTING FRAUD<p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When I woke up at 7 o’clock this morning, I had no plans to be in Springfield by noon. Yet, that is how my day went.</span></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yesterday, in my mailbox, I found a letter from the IL Secretary of State’s office informing me that my license was being suspended for a minimum of one year because I had obtained my license fraudulently. </span></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When the Secretary of State’s office starts throwing around words like “FRAUD” that gets your attention. I immediately drove to the local DMV to speak to a hearing officer. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The hearing officer pulled my record, then pulled the record of my fraudulent alias, Kevin Bolian. Looking at Mr. Bolian’s record the hearing officer asked me if I had gotten a ticket in Colorado in 2018. I replied that I had. She then asked if I had paid the 2018 ticket which I also answered I had. Well, as it turns out the state of Colorado had reported the ticket being issued to Mr Bolian, but had either never reported it being paid, or more likely reported it paid using my real name and driver’s license number; which meant Mr Bolian’s record never got cleared. In contrast, my mind had been completely cleared of any thought about that ticket.</span></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Fast forward to 2022 and I was due for a license renewal. I renewed my license answering, “No,” to the question, “has your license been suspended in another state or jurisdiction?”Although this was a true statement for Kevin Bowman, it was not true for Kevin Bolian, an alias I neither knew had never been properly cleared by Colorado or even knew existed. As of late last week the Secretary of State office decided (correctly) that Kevin Bowman and Kevin Bolian was the same person and therefore I had lied during the renewal process triggering the suspension for fraud.</span></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The local hearing officer told me to reach out to Summit County Courts in Colorado and come back to the licensing desk with the proof of clearance. She told me this would not prevent my suspension; but would at least set me up to win my appeal in court. I would still have $370 in total fines, but would at least have my license restored by January or February.</span></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I drove home and called Summit County Courts over in Colorado and got to speak with the lovely Miss Elaine. As a side note Miss Elaine told me she lived in Belleville, IL for two years during her first marriage and thought the town was lovely but the husband was not, so she gave up on him and Belleville both and moved to Colorado. Miss Elaine was also able to find the scan of the original ticket and was able to see where the confusion in spelling was from the officer’s penmanship on the original citation. She assured me she would CC me on the email the Colorado Secretary of State office with both my actual last name and the alternate last name asking them to forward the clearance document to the Illinois Secretary of State. True to her word I had the PDF in my inbox which cleared the ticket under both names.</span></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This morning I printed the document and headed back to the DMV to submit the paperwork and start the appeal process. I arrived paper in hand and was promptly turned away for not having an appointment, a detail which had never been mentioned as being needed in the conversation with the hearing officer the evening before. I made an appointment and returned an hour later. As expected the front desk in the Belleville DMV had no ability to do anything and officially sent me away again with just an address in Springfield to mail a print out of the PDF too. Unofficially she suggested I drive the print out up to Springfield and gave me a number at that to call myself to check whether they would accept the document in person.</span></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That number was a lifesaver. Ellen called the number while I was on a work call and the gentleman she talked to told her it would DEFINITELY be worth while to bring the document in person IF we could do that before October 2nd; because as of October 2nd the suspension proceedings would activate and once that started there was no way around the fines and formal court appeals.</span></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When I hung up the phone from the work call Ellen rustled us both into the car and we began the Hail Mary drive to the Illinois Motor Vehicle headquarters in Springfield. </span></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At noon, an hour and a half later we arrived and headed inside in hopes of “all green lights.” <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>All green lights was exactly what awaited us inside. I submitted the paperwork from Colorado to clear Mr Bolian’s record, and the woman from traffic division called her coworker in Fraud who came down and after looking over everything and a short conversation returned to her office. </span></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A few minutes later I was walking out of the Motor Vehicles Division and headed to Portillo’s to celebrate. The suspension was rescinded and all fraud charges were dropped, with no filing fees or fines. </span></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">As much of a headache as the entire process of being caught in a interstate clerical debacle was I was so thankful for every DMV and Court employee who worked together to walk me through to getting the order of suspension dropped. </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">Oh, and about that t-shirt. It was the cherry on top of how magically everything went once in Springfield. Apparently the Universe wanted to gift me a free Portillo’s T-shirt , and all I needed to do was complete a simple 3 minute survey about my dining experience… which never would have happened if I wasn’t Springfield on a random Thursday. That tee shirt, we’ll it almost made the entire fiasco a wash 😉. </span></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p>Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13952444541140153820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-29126844749094603822022-06-07T14:48:00.038-05:002022-06-07T15:31:43.637-05:00I Believe In Love<h4 style="text-align: left;">I wrote this as part of my and my partner's wedding this past weekend. It briefly tells the story of my deconstruction and finding a new creed that I still hold as the foundation of my spirituality.</h4><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3FEOh-g_WP3_CrPdNOQ1GdjPUbSvXR7U2sHQy6LJ5JNsWoN_wjFdle2k6gGwqTb4M0Pwp_AZXOlFnonVNQsfRDTU6eifMYifCAyT5W3kOMsfhbj_WVCUqkjCgJ2BdcOMJ4M-wAKvyn-ITc5A17RWSyFqa4PoM2om-c5vRaalp90aoEbMrhng/s3858/IMG_9431.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="933" data-original-width="3858" height="96" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3FEOh-g_WP3_CrPdNOQ1GdjPUbSvXR7U2sHQy6LJ5JNsWoN_wjFdle2k6gGwqTb4M0Pwp_AZXOlFnonVNQsfRDTU6eifMYifCAyT5W3kOMsfhbj_WVCUqkjCgJ2BdcOMJ4M-wAKvyn-ITc5A17RWSyFqa4PoM2om-c5vRaalp90aoEbMrhng/w400-h96/IMG_9431.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>I was born to be a preacher. At least, there was a long period of my life where I thought I was. My grandfather had been one, and I would follow in his footsteps. I studied to become one. I started the career path by working for four years as a youth and children’s minister. I was good at it, and I got to fly around the country preaching at youth events and performing as a mad scientist who used crazy antics to teach in Children’s church. I was on the path heading toward my destiny. <br /><br />I grew up to be a preacher. But I could not remain one. I was not made to fit the box that heritage asked me to contort myself into. More importantly, I could not fit the vastness of my understanding of God into such a diminutive box. So as one chasing God, I followed where that journey led, and one day realized I was dispossessed no longer having a homeland in the faith of my youth.<br /><br />I was once a preacher. Christianity, its scriptures, strictures, and creeds were the mother tongue of my relationship with God, but in the new wilderness my journey had led me to, I needed a new language. I needed a new creed. I no longer fit inside their story; so I needed words that would start to speak of the vastness of the God I had found in this vast spiritual wilderness I was a refugee in.<br /><br />I deconstructed everything I had preached. I started with the most basic truth of Christianity, the piece of their canon that shined so true in the radiance of its truth. I started with the words, “God is love.” That was the entirety of the New Testament story distilled. I knew despite not being able to state anything else with surety I could say, "I believe in Love."<br /><br />Over more wandering, and more wondering I added two more lines to this small creed that was at the same time the tiniest spark of spiritual light I could kindle, and also encapsulated the vastness of the God I was seeing in the universe. My creed became, "I believe in Love; Told in Story; Lived in Community."<br /><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span>The plaque with the creed was a wedding gift </span><span>commissioned by our sister-in-law Ashley Baugh Tanner and </span><span>made by my partner's amazing artistic friend Brittany Demetrulas.</span></span></div>Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13952444541140153820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-50488186958320381012021-04-11T19:30:00.001-05:002021-04-11T19:48:16.557-05:00Xero: Thoughts on a new pair of shoes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEcugR5g-DelQa2-KNww-986BUcBYNDIJT3poXppn1V06_dm9KeFMgNvdaPDvoW6PVzsEvpJWb1vLo6HEs8RClP7iM9prP5c5X5EZsBYLykunD9tI2S8nk9nV3s1kgScqV7xvWHw/s2048/IMG_2151.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEcugR5g-DelQa2-KNww-986BUcBYNDIJT3poXppn1V06_dm9KeFMgNvdaPDvoW6PVzsEvpJWb1vLo6HEs8RClP7iM9prP5c5X5EZsBYLykunD9tI2S8nk9nV3s1kgScqV7xvWHw/w300-h400/IMG_2151.HEIC" width="300" /></a></div>As I was growing up, when I was nine years old, my family got relocated to Germany. We lived in Germany for three years. During those three years on Saturday, my father and I would get up early before the rest of the family and head off to a Volksmarch. For those of you who are not familiar with the German volksmarch, it is a 10 or 20 kilometer hike Sponsored by a local town in which you would receive a medal and brat upon your completion. I absolutely loved these Saturday mornings. Looking back now they are among my most treasured childhood memories. I am able to look back now and I understand that my father was building between us way more than a love of hiking, way more than a love of nature, way more than a love of that brat at the end of the hike. He was building the love of love. A love that has matured into him as my best friend. Because of this, it is nearly impossible for me to separate love and hiking from each other.<div><br />I have spent the past two weekends in Denver Colorado. At work, we are moving one of our offices to a new larger location. Last weekend I was here so that on Monday and Friday I could prepare the new location for the big move this past Friday. This weekend, I was here once again to complete that move. Last weekend, since I would not have work on Saturday and Sunday my girlfriend Ellen came out with me so that we could spend time with her brother and his wife. On Sunday while her daughter was napping with her sister-in-law, we snuck out for a few hours together. Our choice for spending that time included a walk in confluence park along the riverfront trail and a visit to an REI that was so large our St Louis REI could fit inside one of their departments. Ellen needed a new pair of her minimalist hiking shoes, and I just wanted to see all the cool camping stuff.<br /><br />Anyone who knows me knows I am super obstinate when it comes to my feet. In my ideal world, I would never cover my feet at all, it would be all barefoot all the time. Since I do not live in that ideal world I settle for sandals as my usual compromise with the world. So as we perused for her new shoes this woman I have recently fallen in love with suggested that with my love of hiking and hatred of shoes I should try on a pair of minimalist hiking shoes myself. At first, I planted my minimally clad feet in the ground and refused to even give the shoes a try. After some persuasion and her reminder that being REI I could easily return the shoes if I went hiking in them and totally hated them I reluctantly tried on the Xero minimalist hiking shoes and had to agree they really did feel like almost no shoe at all. I purchased a pair in anticipation of trying them out this weekend if everything went well on the move and the time for a hike presented itself.</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSEPcEU6VpAAtU04IDaHqbqXP8lFEh20-Y67SupKCvR7N9GQB6vH3HxVhqAgnUo27EQoLLAVuJw_gj8x6uKNX8e8KvbSSbjhX85_rYGsJvB4Cn_gcdiiXO6xi8RfcXxwve_zzdKw/s3286/IMG_2076.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="957" data-original-width="3286" height="116" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSEPcEU6VpAAtU04IDaHqbqXP8lFEh20-Y67SupKCvR7N9GQB6vH3HxVhqAgnUo27EQoLLAVuJw_gj8x6uKNX8e8KvbSSbjhX85_rYGsJvB4Cn_gcdiiXO6xi8RfcXxwve_zzdKw/w400-h116/IMG_2076.HEIC" width="400" /></a><br /></div><div>The office move went amazing and between working late Friday and all day Saturday everything was completed and ready for employees to return to work Monday morning. This left today as an open hiking day. I intended to fully maximize my day. Ten Kilometers in nature, turning today into my own personal volksmarch.</div><div><br /></div><div>I started my day with a big breakfast while I searched All Trails looking for the perfect hike. I needed a hike that would challenge me, but also not completely overwhelm my mid-western lung capacity. I need a hike that would stimulate my mind with learning and my eyes with the grandeur only Colorado can offer. I found it in two trails about a half-mile apart from each other. First would be Morrison Slide / Red Rocks Trail, a 3.1-mile moderate hike in Red Rocks park with a 600ft elevation range. The second would be Dinosaur Ridge a 1.7-mile out and back walk in the Morrison Fossil Area, a National Natural Landmark filled with fossils and traces. This would be right around 10K and would meet both my desires perfectly.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTnCaAm7m4jpzsas-rsn6WSbgghweQiQ198gp-_EvHiqojfYijWuEcEwC7nc3_gccmAn3MPRursL32343DCNcT-IUIbPstraSreoC_XG73hLeNuK8y6pSGDb7PJDDJEZLjntOfAQ/s2048/IMG_2103.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTnCaAm7m4jpzsas-rsn6WSbgghweQiQ198gp-_EvHiqojfYijWuEcEwC7nc3_gccmAn3MPRursL32343DCNcT-IUIbPstraSreoC_XG73hLeNuK8y6pSGDb7PJDDJEZLjntOfAQ/w200-h150/IMG_2103.HEIC" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGh11uaPNM9AJvH3MAyCAghqgDKWw2bafgB3RYQuQzGibwzKwTwLCguHxRjshFNW3mX8tvDQijhzpsQhMrsLSifAHHtMM5ho5C4QtKWNGiAvN_NsJ3ABiERAu0KROy7RKnzHUOSw/s2048/IMG_2141.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGh11uaPNM9AJvH3MAyCAghqgDKWw2bafgB3RYQuQzGibwzKwTwLCguHxRjshFNW3mX8tvDQijhzpsQhMrsLSifAHHtMM5ho5C4QtKWNGiAvN_NsJ3ABiERAu0KROy7RKnzHUOSw/w200-h150/IMG_2141.HEIC" width="200" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjARiLoccQkuNLt_wI6HGAB9R-M_o_xUlahM1QU1jJsEgrYvmA7tnUJG855cZivDjZjZ2LAboUQ6CCe6tIltyWM64aeqPWxGTIiEYQw__v1pH39lcuY_wu9QL3YY8JqgPLBn6Ro8A/s2048/IMG_2150.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjARiLoccQkuNLt_wI6HGAB9R-M_o_xUlahM1QU1jJsEgrYvmA7tnUJG855cZivDjZjZ2LAboUQ6CCe6tIltyWM64aeqPWxGTIiEYQw__v1pH39lcuY_wu9QL3YY8JqgPLBn6Ro8A/w150-h200/IMG_2150.HEIC" width="150" /></a></div></div>Now it is evening. The hiking is completed. I am back in my hotel room feeling renewed after a shower and dinner. I am left thinking about the day. I am thinking about the shoes, which proved themself as definite keepers, they provided the freedom of almost feeling like I was wearing no shoes at all while also supporting and protecting my feet. I am thinking about the first trail with its intense first-mile climb which took me to the brink of giving up only a half-mile into those initial stairs. I am thinking about the glory of the second and third mile as I took in the vistas from the mountain tops and meandered back down the winding path's return. I am thinking about Dinosaur ridge where I touched footprints that were over 70 million years old. I am thinking about how my personal volksmarch embodied that ongoing climb toward a most beautiful future and also the vastness of our greater history. I am thinking about how hiking and love are nearly impossible to separate from each other. I am thinking about those Saturday morning hikes in the German hills with my dad. I am thinking about the challenges and rewards of building a new love and family with Ellen. I am thinking about hiking. I am thinking about the fossils of my own history. I am thinking about the climb to a beautiful new future. I am thinking about love. I am thinking about God, the universe, or whatever you call that reality which is greater than our understanding. I am thinking about how all of us always need exactly what these new shoes provide, the feeling of being almost free while also knowing we are completely protected. Maybe that is the best definition of history, love, and God I've got.<br /><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkCt4_5tcN8hGGPHGnxCGmPTgWshCfEZS-R9En1rtsEKN6NhUtS5DDbzCnsVc8j3syFsd-lPyTFJUVz-LBdEsPrnVW27hk9NNH-V3XqIG5B5aGnTDx_wxVUgn8aKDMSJKqwd0vw/s2048/IMG_2073.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkCt4_5tcN8hGGPHGnxCGmPTgWshCfEZS-R9En1rtsEKN6NhUtS5DDbzCnsVc8j3syFsd-lPyTFJUVz-LBdEsPrnVW27hk9NNH-V3XqIG5B5aGnTDx_wxVUgn8aKDMSJKqwd0vw/w200-h150/IMG_2073.HEIC" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhosEX7pSt9owXo_A1ysH5lCKZ0NsBfkFL6cZQqENzdcePCZi_Izr-jUXU6sjT1o7Eooxhyphenhyphen9lffy_FP_P2Chzn5xJhVPQ16wKi-QK6s8QijBSnBRVNnad_QN4Yf_ibXM-CEEZD8jw/s2048/IMG_2083.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhosEX7pSt9owXo_A1ysH5lCKZ0NsBfkFL6cZQqENzdcePCZi_Izr-jUXU6sjT1o7Eooxhyphenhyphen9lffy_FP_P2Chzn5xJhVPQ16wKi-QK6s8QijBSnBRVNnad_QN4Yf_ibXM-CEEZD8jw/w150-h200/IMG_2083.HEIC" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw7ehaRhnpmCvBNPeZxCt-9PZDIxE7xPjtPdGDCEjz7rgCMB5h6bSnvwUAs0d07LwCb-0ZTxQbzpHDXuCNBDqaPolEfygs0qTwc0eMfHtPSBY5e3QUSKpzzKz4iKR0csGWqVY3Hg/s2048/IMG_2131.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw7ehaRhnpmCvBNPeZxCt-9PZDIxE7xPjtPdGDCEjz7rgCMB5h6bSnvwUAs0d07LwCb-0ZTxQbzpHDXuCNBDqaPolEfygs0qTwc0eMfHtPSBY5e3QUSKpzzKz4iKR0csGWqVY3Hg/w200-h150/IMG_2131.HEIC" width="200" /></a></div>Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13952444541140153820noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-57126118346640326572021-02-01T17:22:00.005-06:002021-02-01T17:25:32.172-06:00Juniper & Cleansing Bowl<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-FuyvhhOuN4amrEqBBL9raE2RZyr6cjrssn1Ujo99ZsiHe97jU1bz7HibvR3twDHnsc2mhppzVGmlG_806VAGxQl6oFIxVjQ9XuDoTrb4miRKfGuybDwHNngawgnGGOshSKOVsA/s2048/20D94336-0B8A-436D-81E2-9FB04C2959B2.heic" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-FuyvhhOuN4amrEqBBL9raE2RZyr6cjrssn1Ujo99ZsiHe97jU1bz7HibvR3twDHnsc2mhppzVGmlG_806VAGxQl6oFIxVjQ9XuDoTrb4miRKfGuybDwHNngawgnGGOshSKOVsA/w300-h400/20D94336-0B8A-436D-81E2-9FB04C2959B2.heic" width="300" /></a></div>My middle daughter made this beautiful bowl in ceramics and I thought it looked like it needed to be a cleansing bowl. Our home has recently been a place of some sickness, myself having just recovered from Covid-19 and my oldest currently fighting it. Personally, I have experienced some minor trauma in my frightening car accident this past weekend. So this afternoon it seemed like the new bowl and situation called for a cleansing ritual.<br /><br /><div>I choose Juniper because of its history. It has been used as an incense in religious ceremonies going all the way back to Sumerian, Egyptian, Greek, and Druidic practices.<br /><br />I choose Juniper because in the era of the black death my Germanic ancestors would have hung juniper in the homes, burning it to ward off rats from entering their homes protecting their families from the plague.<br /><br />I choose Juniper because of its agricultural usage to my anglo-Saxon ancestors. Historically, juniper would be allowed to overtake fields that have been farmed fallow. Unlike here in the Americas where juniper is often viewed as a noxious plant, to this ancestral culture it was known for its ability to heal, renew, and revitalize the land so it could again be used for producing the food and resources farming allows.<br /><br />I choose Juniper because of its connection to one of my favorite stories from the Christian canon. In 1 Kings 19, the queen has ordered the assassination of the prophet Elijah. So Elijah finds himself wanted by the oppressive power of the state is on the run. Alone, hunted, and exhausted Elijah collapses under a Juniper tree and begs his God to let him die peacefully. To use Campbell's language in the hero's journey, this is Elijah's abyss. Rather than permitting Elijah to die physically, he is instead met with hospitality, rest, and an invitation for an audience with the Lord himself. In meeting with his God Elijah experiences his rebirth and the apotheosis in his God's command to, "Go back the way you came." The lesson of the story is that our healing work will always return us to be agents of healing in the very places of our past fear and pain.<br /><br />I choose Juniper for this cleansing ritual because it reminds me that I am a protector, a healer, and an agent of the work of love in the universe. </div>Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13952444541140153820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-19761669488259502462020-11-21T23:59:00.005-06:002020-11-22T00:42:52.750-06:00White Fragility and Facebook<p> Two posts in one week. I don't think my blog has seen this much writing since like 2016. I responded to a person's I did not know comment on a friend's Facebook post this morning. Then I followed up this evening with a second response to their reply to my initial comment. I am including redacted screen shots of both of the other individuals comments and the full text of mine.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAA6XbMG-ww_0SRLUkV7qHYg1icVospg_Tg13m6KObgHg6WXNHHPirXCalkawNlh9B7WRAZTU1IgZXwIy1YTt3zv9-gnVCwoTAE_A5WY96BZ08VFP3AMGFWMdsWY33MjMKwVFpxA/s1242/335AFF69-EE58-4B39-95F9-2C490E13005A.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="328" data-original-width="1242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAA6XbMG-ww_0SRLUkV7qHYg1icVospg_Tg13m6KObgHg6WXNHHPirXCalkawNlh9B7WRAZTU1IgZXwIy1YTt3zv9-gnVCwoTAE_A5WY96BZ08VFP3AMGFWMdsWY33MjMKwVFpxA/s320/335AFF69-EE58-4B39-95F9-2C490E13005A.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p>---</p><p>If by chance the Electoral college worked as designed in constitution where each state had one representative per 30,000 people then it would be more reasonable to argue both its value and our need for it. However once the unconstitutional permanent apportionment act of 1929 unfairly separated aportionment from a consistent population ratio it has completely become a way for rural mostly white states to assert their percieved supremacy over more urban racially diverse states. As with most everything in the United States, it was white supremacy all along. </p><p>But white intellectuals defending white supremacy while denying it is white supremacy and pretending it is just rational logic rather than personal bias and bigotry is as American as apple pie too.</p><p>So it is no surprise the "We NEED the electoral college" argument is going nowhere.</p><p>---</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv6TjDRTjmemmj2e55Mwp820mxQ2IDnKmXOTK93khPSxZ022HpumC6YC8NYKtWZxg6-SaB_t50sbsUrD0DwKeZXvGKCYEMR3FItSGPPR7V2m6MIy_FOdB73XO-gVC2SGt-W9OGLw/s1242/D3873AE1-113C-474C-95A3-2A46D5E0BE1A.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="562" data-original-width="1242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv6TjDRTjmemmj2e55Mwp820mxQ2IDnKmXOTK93khPSxZ022HpumC6YC8NYKtWZxg6-SaB_t50sbsUrD0DwKeZXvGKCYEMR3FItSGPPR7V2m6MIy_FOdB73XO-gVC2SGt-W9OGLw/s320/D3873AE1-113C-474C-95A3-2A46D5E0BE1A.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>---<div><div>I wonder if you are aware of the term White Fragility? It is a term that has been around for while now within the communities focused on thinking critically and intersectionally about race and its role in our society. Robin DiAngelo is credited with inventing the term. Her NY Times Best Seller on race is titled using the term. DiAngelo attempting to define White Supremacy writes, "In a nutshell, it’s the defensive reactions so many white people have when our racial worldviews, positions, or advantages are questioned or challenged... And that defensiveness serves to maintain both our comfort and our positions in a racially inequitable society from which we benefit."</div><div><br /></div><div>I bring the term up because your response to my earlier comment was not to consider the position I offered and respond with a rational rebuttal, but instead to insist you were proven right because I called you a white supremacist. Rather than be willing to consider how the Electoral College operates as cog in the systemic problem of white supremacy, you instead chose to become defensive in order to distract from the very real and very intentional system which protects the, "inequitable society from which we benefit." </div><div><br /></div><div>In her book, "White Fragility" DiAngelo writes, "The most effective adaptation of racism over time is the idea that racism is conscious bias held by mean people.” This adaptation allows white people the luxury to find it more offensive that they were implicated as benefiting from a racist system than the offensiveness of the racism itself. </div><div><br /></div><div>Racism and White Supremacy is not about you as an individual. Racism and White Supremacy is a systemic problem. It is singularly the greatest existential paradox of the American experiment. Our founding principle that, "all men are created equal," was written by a man that enslaved over 200 people on his estate. The absurdity is that "All men" has never meant ALL in the construction of our government and economic systems. For many people who have been privileged, by circumstances of their own whiteness, to not experience disenfranchisement and oppression the incongruity seems trivial. So they can comfortably assure themselves that they are not one of those evil racists; this is white fragility. </div><div><br /></div><div>The electoral college was designed to privilege slave states. James Madison admits this in his own justification for the substitution of electors over the direct vote. The 3/5 compromise enshrined this privilege by granting an over 40% boost in electoral power to just five slave states. Over time other strategic manuevers, like the addition of block voting by the states, would be made to protect the institution of slavery. As times changed and cotton replaced tobacco as the country's top export, even nothern economist were able to recognize the need for a disenfranchised labor force to pick, process, and ship this commodity which was the most important piece of the nation's economic engine. With that power threatened in a post reconstruction south further manuvering setup the stage for unequal apportionment. At every stage the EC's purpose has been a White Supremacist purpose.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oxford philosopher Terry Eaglton wrote a textbook in 1991 titled "Ideology." In it Eaglton writes, "[It] is not just a matter of what I think about a situation; it is somehow inscribed in that situation itself. It is no good my reminding myself that I am opposed to racism as I sit down on a park bench marked “Whites Only”; by the act of sitting on it, I have supported and perpetuated racist ideology. The ideology, so to speak, is in the bench; not in my head." </div><div><br /></div><div>Your reply subverts any discussion of the ideology of the electoral college by refocusing the discussion as a personal slight. I don't know you and have no personal slight against you. I have no intention of labeling you as a racist. You have been the beneficiary of systemic white supremacy; [Shared Friend] too, myself as well, and all our white peers. So in no way is my earlier comment intended to accuse you of that "conscious bias held by mean people." Instead, I am merely attempting to show how defending the Electoral College perpetuates racist ideology because, the ideology "is in the bench."</div><div>---</div><p><br /></p></div>Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13952444541140153820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-70962789925715778912020-11-16T11:45:00.003-06:002020-11-16T11:54:01.046-06:00Stardust and Stories<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtPJSjCZtcxa44sULp_FWB_O3iLUbQFUQCYzCjtz92Eg2VixvNH6dtRyC2wsUzHnIYYJSSnAsehaxP91ePnz2G63nSDDKIE3zTcDcIyp7yOdX6oEJ9ljci48Ac0phhyphenhyphen8vTQ0Ibjg/s2048/IMG_0423.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtPJSjCZtcxa44sULp_FWB_O3iLUbQFUQCYzCjtz92Eg2VixvNH6dtRyC2wsUzHnIYYJSSnAsehaxP91ePnz2G63nSDDKIE3zTcDcIyp7yOdX6oEJ9ljci48Ac0phhyphenhyphen8vTQ0Ibjg/w400-h300/IMG_0423.HEIC" width="400" /></a></div><br />This morning as I was doing laundry I decided it was time to move the Biden / Harris face mask from usage to my memory shelf in my bedroom. I walk past the shelf all the time, but as I added the mask today the memories and stories these objects represent to me just filled me with love and nostalgia. There are good memories and painful memories both, but that is the tapestry of life. <br /><br />The shelf holds pieces of old costumes, thank you cards from friends, small gifts I have been given, stolen props from old shows, inside jokes, mementos of failed romances, important moments with my kiddos, possesions of loved ones no longer with us, and a bevy of other trinkets and echoes. <br /><br />Erin Morgenstern in her newest book "The Starless Sea" has a line I really want to get as a tattoo, "We are all stardust and stories." This shelf holds the portals to so many of those stories for me. Some pieces I could explain with a short recital of a single moment. Others are entire tales with all the backstory and nuance of fiction. Still, others would be told with such a yarn that they have crossed the memoir line and actually become complete fiction. Collectively and individually they each remain stories.<br /><br />Looking at this shelf you may see something I held onto from an event we did together. There are pieces far too small to make out in a photo from this distance that might just contain a fragment of our relationship too. Some people are in one item and others are in many, as the fingerprints people leave in my life are as varied as the people I love and call friends.<br /><br />In some ways, this newest addition of the Biden/Harris mask may seem an anomaly. The shelf already has the first mask my daughter sewed when the pandemic started, so it was not that the shelf needed a mask to represent 2020. I added the Biden/Harris mask as a chronicle of when the metaphor for the shared community we are in as humans became a piece of fabric. I do not like masks, they fog up my glasses and disturb my sensory issues. I did not like voting for Biden/Harris, I wanted actual progressives. So like wearing my mask, voting for the Democrats was active participation in protecting the most vulnerable members of our community the best I can. The Biden/Harris mask like all these other tokens is a story, a history of how I and so many others chose the community's collective needs while another segment of our society chose their individual selfishness. <br /><br />With time my shelf will acquire new relics because my life will acquire new stories that need to be remembered. There will be new testimonials to the love of my friends, new remembrances to loss, new trophies of shows completed, and more keepsakes that I do not know yet why I will find them worth keeping. All the pieces there now, and all the pieces still to come, and all the people in all the stories past and future will share one thing, we are all stories of the universe made from the same stardust. <br /><br /><br /><br /> Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13952444541140153820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-63302657091231169912020-10-13T22:08:00.004-05:002020-11-09T21:09:49.838-06:00History: Free of Charge (Copied from a Facebook Post)Last night an evangelical Christian friend whose spirit for loving people I adore vented about her inability to understand the complicity of the white evangelical American church with the open support of white supremacy in their support of Trump. <div><br />I found her statement most interesting because white supremacy is the historical catalyst for the formation of nonsectarian evangelicalism in the United States. One needs to know and understand history to know and understand the present. So I present to you the shortest history possible of nonsectarian evangelicalism in the United States and its complicity with white supremacy.<br />---<br />In the years leading up to the civil war many of the country's denominations split between Northern and Southern councils over the issue of slavery. Most importantly noted is the Southern Baptist, which today is the largest segment of nonsectarian evangelicalism in the United States. The largest portion of this movement had the protection of the institution of human slavery as its conception point.<br />After the war however one needs to look at the man most associated with the Evangelical origins today, DL Moody. DL Moody's complicity with white supremacy in order to unify Christians under a single banner of revivalism is well documented. Racial Segregation for the sake of interdenominational unity is the womb for the movements gestation.<br />While studying the history one needs to look up names like Jerry Falwell Sr, Francis Schafer, and Bob Jones and the role White Supremacy plays in the formation in the late 1970s of the Religious Right. The catalyst for this final unification of nonsectarian evangelicalism in the United States is to protect the ability of Christian colleges to keep their tax-exempt status while still upholding their teaching on segregation and Miscegenation. <br />Religious freedom as defined by evangelicalism in the United States has been about the freedom to uphold white supremacy since its official birth in the late 1970s.<br />From conception, through gestation, and into its modern birthing Evangelicalism has always been intertwined with this "first sin" of American nationalism which is white supremacy. The racism changes its face, but never its history and intent.<br />---<br />That history is lesson is provided free of charge and effort, but if you are willing to put in the academic work of understanding the larger movement of all these pieces there are many wonderful scholarly works I would commend to you.<div><br />Lastly to my beloved friends and family who remain a part of that movement, and yet understand that the love of God and white supremacy can not coexist, I want to say, the future is yet to be written.</div></div>Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13952444541140153820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-26039239122481577292020-08-17T23:32:00.002-05:002020-11-09T21:40:43.293-06:00Holy Ground<div>I wrote this a couple years ago and submitted it to be part of the official St Lou Fringe blog. The editor was not a fan and so it was never published. Being that we are all trapped inside and can't go to the theater I thought I would publish it myself in honor of our 2020 Virtual Fringe Festival.</div><div><br /></div><div>------ </div><div><br /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">The Hebrew and Christian holy scriptures share a story of a man who after living as a refugee in the wilderness for forty years encounters a bush that while actively burning is not consumed. The miracle becomes even more fantastical when a voice speaks from this brush fire, "put off your shoes from off your feet, for the place where on you stand is holy ground." I have been fascinated by Holy Ground since I was a child in Sunday school. As I have lived life my understanding of God has changed drastically. I do not think of God like I thought about it in my youth, and yet my search for Holy Ground has not wained.<br /> <br />It was one afternoon three years ago inside the Kranzberg Black Box as I was alone in the space and waiting as the lighting board powered up. In just a few minutes Michael Hagmeier would be arriving to perform his 2015 Fringe show "Digeridoo In The Dark." For that moment though, I was alone in a dark room with 80 seats, 600 square feet of performance space, forty lighting fixtures, and a day scheduled full of theatrical productions.<br /> <br />The room I was in would be filled with the tones and reverberations of Michael's instrument. It would host the rhythms of Tapman and his team of dancers. It would be teleported to Moscow as Lucy and her troop presented a Chekov drinking game. It would host Patrick's high school students presenting a surreal production of Alice in Wonderland. Carl would tell a story of a lonely man and the rental of a dissatisfied sexbot. All these stories would fill this space that in this moment glowed with the just the dull blue of a computer boot screen.<br /> <br />This space I was standing in at that moment, this was Holy Ground. Moses stood before a flame in the desert and learned the meaning of his life. I stood in that dim blue glow and recognized the meaning of these spaces we call theaters.<br /> <br />It has been over three years since that first cherished moment. I have traveled between venues and producers. I have watched puppets skewer the US political process. I have seen other puppets address the struggle of infertility. I have now seen Elizabeth take her audience into the emotional core of two mothers; one who lost her freedom the other who lost her child. I have cried in these theaters, as Jackie told a story of two sisters very different worldviews. I have laughed in these theaters, as Taylor told a story of dinosaur erotica and human vengance.<br /> <br />Fringe is about the sanctity of the full human experience. Last night another staff member shared a song, "A Little Bit of Everything" by the band Dawes. The song's last lines are<br /> <br />It's not some message written in the dark.<br /> Or Some truth that no one's seen.<br /> It's a little bit of everything.</blockquote><p> </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">I produce theatre and work as the production manager for the St Lou Fringe Festival because I believe that theater is a sacred art. The art we create, the stories we tell, the voices we unleash into the world have the potential teach us all together what is the meaning we are searching for. For me this festival and these venues are my reminder that there is holy ground in this world if we listen to the voice from the voices speaking inside them reminding us there is something greater than our individual selves.<br />The reason this art of theatre embodies the divine is that it reaches inside the soul of the producers and exposes that "little bit of everything" we all need to see. Come take off your metaphorical shoes, and share this pure moment with us, because this space is holy ground.</blockquote><p>-----</p><p>Lets make some Zoom Rooms Holy Ground </p>Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13952444541140153820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-52049206179447521332020-07-16T20:55:00.002-05:002020-11-09T20:57:06.354-06:00I Am Becoming<br /><br />As today is my 45th birthday I have been thinking a lot about the brevity of our human existence. When my time on this earth concludes and I have crossed the barrier from this existence to whatever, if anything, lies on the other side of the grave I hope as those left behind who loved me will read this series of paragraphs, from Daniel Keyes, as they plant a juniper tree and bury my ashes<br /><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div>"But this was the counterweight, the act of binding and holding. As when men to keep from being swept overboard in the storm clutch at each other's hands to resist being torn apart, so our bodies fused a link in the human chain that kept us from being swept into nothing."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Finding out who I really am-the meaning of my total existence involves knowing the possibilities of my future as well as my pasts, where I’m going as well as where I've been. Although we know the end of the maze holds death (and it is something I have not always known-not long ago the adolescent in me thought death could happen only to other people), I see now that the path I choose through the maze makes me what I am. I am not only a thing, but also a way of being - one of many ways - and knowing the paths I have followed and the ones left to take will help me understand what I am becoming."</div><div><br /></div><div>"This was the way we loved, until the night became a silent day. And as I lay there with her I could see how important physical love was, how necessary it was for us to be in each other's arms, giving and taking. The universe was exploding, each particle away from the next, hurtling us into dark and lonely space, eternally tearing us away from each other - child out of the womb, friend away from friend, moving from each other, each through his own pathway toward the goal-box of solitary death."</div></blockquote>Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13281423389902665598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-68010638913144948642020-05-26T21:00:00.001-05:002020-11-21T21:51:17.951-06:00The Ideology Is In The Bench (A FB Post)<p> "[It] is not just a matter of what I think about a situation; it is somehow inscribed in that situation itself. It is no good my reminding myself that I am opposed to racism as I sit down on a park bench marked “Whites Only”; by the act of sitting on it, I have supported and perpetuated racist ideology. The ideology, so to speak, is in the bench; not in my head." - Terry Eagleton "Ideology" 1991</p><p>This quote from Terry Eagleton's "Ideology" has been rolling around in my mind all day, or at least since I read the Amy Cooper "apology" this morning. I am completely unable to believe her apology as anything near genuine. </p><p>On the video when Amy Cooper says, I'm going to tell them there's an African American man threatening my life." It is obvious her intention is to sit down on the bench marked whites only. </p><p>In the apology she writes, "I’ve come to realize especially today that I think of [the police] as a protection agency, and unfortunately, this has caused me to realize that there are so many people in this country that don’t have that luxury." But her actions show this is patently not true, she 100% used the risk of Christian's death as a tool against him. She chose to sit on the bench. </p><p>Whatever thoughts she has about "not being a racist" in her head, the ideology is in the actions. This becomes most important to point out to my fellow white liberals when we accept the fact that Amy Cooper is one of our own; a donor to the Obama and Buttigieg campaigns. Yet with the privilege and power of white supremacy at her beckon she used it to her perceived advantage.</p><p>This is not an attack on Ms Cooper, it is instead my own rolling thoughts about my participation and complicity in the system of white supremacy. It is a reminder to myself once again of Eagleton's quote, "The ideology is in the bench."</p>Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13952444541140153820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-10721109153554585022020-03-14T13:17:00.001-05:002020-11-09T21:19:56.206-06:00The Christian Ex-Pat<br /><br /> I am Kevin, an Ex-Pat of Christianity. My grandfather was an itinerant preacher and I grew up being told from my youngest ages that I was going to be a preacher like him. I pursued that destiny into early adulthood despite the fact that I was always a weird fit with Christianity. I could speak the language, and preach in a way that inspired many but infuriated those ensconced power. <br />Leaving Christianity was the hardest thing I have ever done, it is my homeland and its language is my mother tongue for speaking of the sacred. Christianity was also an abusive lover. I was thrown out of churches for questioning and others for claiming love too radically and others for taking Jesus too seriously. Over and over I felt Christianity’s loving embrace by communities that would later be weaponized against me.<br /><br />As I experienced repeated abuse at the hands of the church I became more and more aware of others who were too often at the receiving end of Christianity’s “loving” beat downs. It became more and more clear that women, people of color, the LGBT+ community, and other oppressed group were the church’s targets. America’s racism and bigotry was much more clearly on display than the Christ who said, “love one another,” and “the last shall be first.” In the end I could no longer see God at all within its boundaries and I became a spiritual refugee, dispossessed from my homeland. <br /><br />But I have always been a seeker, and I can no more stop chasing after God than I can stop breathing. So I have made it my discipline to see the sacred in everything and everyone. If God is Love, which I believe and affirm, then every act of love is a sacred interaction with God. If God is just, then living in a way that seeks restorative justice is a sacrament.<br /><br />So now, ten years after leaving Christianity where am I? I am still a refugee, but I have found a residency that feels a lot like home. My church is a stage. I produce theater, since I find that theater is the most honest place to both question and to inspire. I have love, acceptance, a voice, and a community. I practice live performance as worship of the divine.<br /><br />I am not landed, I am still seeking, and still discovering myself and God both. I know like that lesson there are many others waiting and so much more to experience and learn.<br /><br />I am Kevin, dispossessed and seeking the sacred.Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13952444541140153820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-74104801900373800912020-02-22T20:47:00.006-06:002020-11-09T21:26:51.713-06:00Literary Quotes Too Good Not To Share"Sometimes I write to keep from going crazy. There’s a world of things I don’t feel free to talk to anyone about" - Octavia Butler<br />--<br />"Sometimes the only choices you have are bad choices; but you still have to choose" -The Doctor<div>--</div><div>“To me, religions are like languages: no language is true or false; all languages are of human origin; each language reflects and shapes the civilization that speaks it; there are things you can say in one language that you cannot say as well in another; and the more languages you learn, the more nuanced your understanding of life. Judaism is my mother tongue yet in matters of the spirit I strive to be multilingual. In the end, however, the deepest language of the soul is silence.” - Rabbi Rami Shapiro<br />--<br />"God is change and in the end God prevails; but God exists to be shaped." - Octavia Butler <br />--<br />"Inevitable is not the same as immediacy and love does not mandate forgiveness."- N.K. Jemisin</div><div>--</div>Less Is More - Content Dictates Form - God is in the details - Stephen Sondheim<div>--</div><div>"Only a fool is not afraid. Now Go" - Madeline L Engle</div><div>--</div><div>"We are all Stardust and Stories" - Erin Morgenstern<br /><div><div><div><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: #202124; color: #e8eaed; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></div></div></div>Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13952444541140153820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-75750548256589521322020-02-03T14:28:00.014-06:002020-11-09T20:31:27.451-06:00Some Older Poems<p><span style="font-size: large;"> UNREPLIED</span><br />I have some time this Saturday<br />I think we are compatible <br />I'd like to discover if I'm right.<br />I've typed a message to you<br />Asking if you're free at that time<br />Sadly you have not responded<br />To the missive I composed you.<br /><br />Did you have some other plans that evening?<br />Is my presumed compatibility misjudged?<br />Are you just not interested in this discovery?<br />I have yet to receive a reply<br />Letting me know if you are free<br />Most likely because I never faced my rejection fear.<br />So the note I wrote is still here with me unsent.</p><p>(04/2018)</p><p>------</p><p><span style="font-size: large;">YOUR HEALING</span></p>I fought for your healing<br />Even when it cost<br />You walking out my door.<div>(02/2015)</div><div>------</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">PURPOSE </span></div><br />If life has purpose at all <br />then that purpose is to love. <br /><br />No, not the safe <br />sanitized love for <br />a transcendent being. <br /><br />Love, <br />the messy <br />vulnerable kind <br />for our concrete <br />carnal surroundings. <br /><br />Love is embodied,<br /> anything else <br />is just philosophy.<div>(9/2019)</div><div>-----</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">HARD STOP</span></div><div><br /></div>Dot Dot Dot<br />Dash Dash Dash<br />Dot Dot Dot<br />Hard Stop<br /><br />I need a hole so deep<br />Where light, sound, even thoughts<br />Can not pierce inside.<br />A hard stop.<br /><br />I need a blanket so heavy<br />Fear, worry, loss, regret<br />Are crushed out of me.<br />A hard stop.<br /><br />I need a clock so broken<br />The past, present, & future<br />Fail to tick.<br />A hard stop.<br /><br />I need a whole rest<br />Nothing, total and complete.<br />Just one beat will do.<br />A hard stop.<br /><br />Dot Dot Dot<br />Dash Dash Dash<br />Dot Dot Dot<br />Hard Stop<div>(05/2018)</div><div>-----</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">SELF HARM</span><br /><br />I understand the cutter.<br />Loving you is<br />My self-harm.</div><div>(11/2014)</div><div>----</div>Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13952444541140153820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-35444894793135522112019-11-14T14:32:00.057-06:002020-11-15T20:23:57.410-06:00Thoughts From The Night You Said Let's Be Friends<p> Two years ago I had a romantic relationship end that had popped up between myself and a good friend. The ending was absolutely the best thing, but something being best doesn't mean it is the easy thing. I wrote quite a bit over the following days and this script comes out of the general ideas from that writing. When I was asked to write a performance to submit for a 10-minute micro-festival I instantly knew I wanted to go back to those journals and work them together into a single script that read as if it was the stream of consciousness from an evening where one can't sleep. The script was initially accepted but the idea for how it was going to be used within the festival changed and I never got to perform it or see it performed. </p><p>So oddly enough with it being almost two years since that relationship ended it was weird to me when the script turned up while searching for something unrelated in Google Drive. Distracted from what I was intending to find I read the script again and personally, I still think it captures the emotions of something romantic ending that wasn't really defined. I decided it was time to go ahead and post the script here in case anyone else would like to read it.</p><p>-------</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCV4-nE4XKnQumK0zjLU4Wq8KWdOjB7vXCeu-ryMkm7SMBA636odGZ28QTDeYuGSDV_H5b8x6t_uJ7lHcMFv29wipqoczJXWNVq7c_sSauC0naufR45jKvCspoqSfhZPlu_YfP8g/s1652/Thoughts+From+The+Night+You+Said+Lets+Be+Friends+1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1652" data-original-width="1248" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCV4-nE4XKnQumK0zjLU4Wq8KWdOjB7vXCeu-ryMkm7SMBA636odGZ28QTDeYuGSDV_H5b8x6t_uJ7lHcMFv29wipqoczJXWNVq7c_sSauC0naufR45jKvCspoqSfhZPlu_YfP8g/w484-h640/Thoughts+From+The+Night+You+Said+Lets+Be+Friends+1.png" width="484" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizSL35NbCzwHWBg7A2LtgeZfWwgXz11VgZxzEltamgaLnjYYRQbWwOL8xkhJeKsW9uHrFTFofoLY1F3C5D5duTzEbt6l07LNqPlj3XtgJDYsd-v70GZ7nojxG7Z4meFGcJCtZQzw/s1620/Thoughts+From+The+Night+You+Said+Lets+Be+Friends+2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1620" data-original-width="800" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizSL35NbCzwHWBg7A2LtgeZfWwgXz11VgZxzEltamgaLnjYYRQbWwOL8xkhJeKsW9uHrFTFofoLY1F3C5D5duTzEbt6l07LNqPlj3XtgJDYsd-v70GZ7nojxG7Z4meFGcJCtZQzw/w316-h640/Thoughts+From+The+Night+You+Said+Lets+Be+Friends+2.png" width="316" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidYX6-6bAw54W7EXXdBayX2gZ3PJbr8vm9piC4BOas2S7b5d0gD4HLNHwDzwF6SxDs_-N7oC8rNjSW4-Tyba5j9Cb2wcIcEoa_hSWjGKdmfp5HQxrsduVLvH57TyC2kYmRU43GLw/s1658/Thoughts+From+The+Night+You+Said+Lets+Be+Friends+3.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1658" data-original-width="988" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidYX6-6bAw54W7EXXdBayX2gZ3PJbr8vm9piC4BOas2S7b5d0gD4HLNHwDzwF6SxDs_-N7oC8rNjSW4-Tyba5j9Cb2wcIcEoa_hSWjGKdmfp5HQxrsduVLvH57TyC2kYmRU43GLw/w382-h640/Thoughts+From+The+Night+You+Said+Lets+Be+Friends+3.png" width="382" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1620" data-original-width="874" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWgcL8ScrqYP592X7HjXGEcxAAPnvcS4CwkjB_3xkekP2NAgQMlWD2qtv_U4n3nhr4UmoHBZs2a5FZ0Tg9EXU3mOp1A9zZNhZ1gVkzDfrTIYiBudEQFvnJzhG2gAZwc92m9L4WAw/w346-h640/Thoughts+From+The+Night+You+Said+Lets+Be+Friends+8.png" width="346" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13952444541140153820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-47312389322409978892019-10-19T18:00:00.004-05:002020-11-09T20:13:05.050-06:00The Librarian and The Witch (a Facebook comment)<br />So here is my theory. In all ancient cultures the village witch, served as the protector of the community’s sacred knowledge. She was healer, teacher, therapist, and priestess. Her role was materialist, transcendent, and sexual. Our collective unconscious has not forgotten this despite Christendom’s best effort to drive this woman out because her role was co-equal in power with the chief. As the chief preserved the sacred masculine the witch preserved the sacred feminine.<br /><br /><div>Western modernity with its roots so deeply in Christendom patriarchy has attempted to excise the sacred feminine. However, despite all that work, our collective unconscious knows the need for the sacred feminine by both genders.<br /><br />Call me crazy, but this is where the librarian fetish comes from, it is a fetishization of an unmet unconscious need. The librarian in her role as guardian of information is an illusion for the witch. She is the arbiter of the sacred feminine for our modern culture.</div>Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13952444541140153820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-45386208213770904892019-10-06T01:30:00.000-05:002020-11-09T21:25:47.509-06:00Uncommon Women And OthersA friend recently asked me to read and review "Uncommon Women and Others" by Wendy Wasserstein. I liked what I wrote so I am putting it here.<div><br /></div><div>-----<br /><br /> This is a story of five women. Five women are suspended between two impulses. The mechanism of society and upbringing has predisposed them to fulfill their role of patriarchial feminity while the exposure to these early works of feminist literature is an incitement to reject this societal impetus. However, the college though exposing them to an education that can be a catalyst against the societal expectation placed on them is complicit in the discouragement to do just that. <br />Professor Chip Knowles an unseen male character teaches women's history. As if this does not illustrate the dilemma clearly enough Wasserstein goes further when Muffet recounts her conversation with the professor, "Chip’s wife, Libby, graduated first in her class from Vassar. When I told Chip I was a senior and didn’t know what I’d be doing next year, Chip told me that Libby doesn’t really spend the day mopping and catching tadpoles with Chip, Jr. She may be mopping with her hands, but with her mind she’s reliving the water imagery in the Faerie Queene” It seems important to note that the piece his wife is reflecting on is "The Faerie Queene." Since the dragon is only defeated by virtue Professor Knowles reinforces that she in her role as mother has chosen the virtuous choice. This enlightened male professor of women's history illustrates how their education is still secondary to their primary function as wife and mother. <br /><br />Man's Voice (The School President) is the most clearly patronizing voice of the male dominated society. "Am I saying that anatomy is destiny? No, it is not destiny. Providing a setting in which these subtle constraints can be overcome is particularly the mission of a college for women." Although the voice is an attempt to inspire the assumption of the speaker is that womanhood is a deficiency that must be overcome. The result of that condescending encouragement is a deep anxiety, a disquiet that forces restlessness by its demand that uncommon women be super heroes. Throughout the play Man's voice presents this both implicitly, "The college fosters the ability to accept and even welcomes the necessity of strenuous and sustained effort in any area of endeavor," and also explicitly "The real problem for many educated women is the difficulty they have in recognizing whether they have been a success... Women will be part-time mothers, part-time workers, part-time cooks, and part-time intellectuals [...] Just like the pot of honey that kept renewing itself and educated woman's capacity for giving is not exhausted but stimulated by demands."<br /><br />There are two other male characters that play into this complicity as well the Fathers and Robert. The fathers ostensibly are the ones paying for the Holyoke education, yet the pledge that the "girls" are saving themselves for Yale show that in the eyes of the family their virtue lies not in the education they are receiving but in the role they are to fulfill at home. Robert too is revealed to repeat this with his success and parties in which Samantha is expected to succeed vicariously.<br /><br />There are of course the men not addressed directly within the play, all men. The unconscious privilege that a system designed for you allows. All men are represented here, because all men are benefitting from the system. As Rita points out men are recognized as experts even as the speak to women on issues addressing women. "The only problem with menstruation for men is that some sensitive schmuck would write about it for the Village Voice and he would become the new expert on women's inner life." <br /><br />Over and over again the play circles back to two key lines. "I don't know what I am going to do," and "When I am [age]." These two recurrent ideas illustrate the condescension of society toward young women. This confusion between their role in the nuclear family unit and their role in the wider public sphere is presented as an attribute of their immaturity rather than as a consequence of the insatiable demands placed on them by a patriarchal society. <br /><br />This play is not written then for women to commiserate about the problem. Instead, it is a polemic against that burden. By illustrating how each of the five women have been damaged she convicts the entire system for its injustice. <br /><br />This is best understood by looking at the women through Galen's Four Humors. Muffet, Rita, Holly, and Kate each represent one of these archetypes. Muffet is the Sanguine, Rita the Phlegmatic, Holly the melancholic, and Kate the Choleric. <br /><br />Muffet's nature is to be amorous and carefree. She is presented as the optimistic encourager of the group. She plays the role of ditzy fun friend while recognizing it does not bring any fulfillment "I feel so so confused. I mean this chick is an obvious imbecile. But I didn't think she was entirely wrong either. I guess the truth is men are very important to me... Sometimes I know who I am when I feel attractive. Other times it makes me feel very shallow like I am not Rosie the Riveter. I suppose this isn't a very impressive sentiment, but I would really like to meet my prince. Even a few princes. And I wouldn't give up being a person." Though she meets the society demand of women to "Smile" she is left an anxiety that questions what submission to that ideal of feminity has achieved for her. <br /><br />Rita is the living embodiment of overthinking. The enormous nature of the world and the challenges it presents have left her in an avoidant anxiety. She is a lost soul because there are no solid footholds. "The New York Times, Walter Cronkite, all the buildings and roads, the cities, philosphy, government, history, religion, shopping malls, everything I can name is male. When I see things this way, it becomes very obvious that it is very easy to feel alienated and alone for the simple reason that I've never been included because I came into the world without a penis." In adulthood she is still a coward avoiding the future.<br /><br />Holly is the most introspective of the five lead characters. She has desires, and sees them for both their positive and negative both. "Yes, except if I fall in love it would be because I thought someone was better than me. And if I really thought someone was better than me, I'd give them everything and I'd hate them for my living through them." As an adult she remains unsettled and has still not left graduate school. Holly has an anxiety of being an incomplete entity which results in an apathy toward progress.<br /><br />Kate is ambitious and driven. Yet she is part of a society that praises those characters in men while shaming them in women. So she is trapped by her aspiration and her need to remain being seen as feminine. "Carter, I'm afraid that I'm so directed that I'll grow up to be a cold efficient lady in a grey business suit. Suddenly, there I'll be, an Uncommon Woman ready to meet the future with steadiness, gaiety, and a profession and what's more I'll organize it all with time to blow dry my hair every morning." In the end Kate has all the success of the uncommon woman and yet settles for Kent who still condescends to her.<br /><br />Samantha like the other four women serves an important character as well. Samantha has chosen the "other path" the traditional woman. Like Professor Knowles' wife she has rejected the promises of feminism. "Robert says I never grew up into a woman. That I am sort of a child woman. I've been reading a lot of books recently about women who are wives of artists and actors and how they believe their husbands are geniuses, and they are just a little talented. Well, that what I am. Just a little talented at a lot of things. That's why I want to be with Robert and all of you. I want to be with someone who makes a public statement." This rejection does not leave the audience with any sense that her life appears more fulfilled.<br /><br />Wassertine's goal then is for the play is to illustrate to the patriarchial society itself the burden that it places on the women. The inevitable end of this is an ingrained mistrust of the woman to herself. No woman is allowed to be confident in herself. As Rita says, "Do you know what Samantha? If I could be anyone of us, first I would be me. That's me without any embarassment or neurosis - and since that is practically impossible, my second choice is, I'd like to be you." This impairment afflicts every single character, including, in the eleventh hour reveal, Mrs Plumm, who is the model of feminine sensibility. <br /><br />At the begining of the last scene Man's Voice fades and is replaced by Woman's voice, "Women still encounter overwhelming obstacles to achievement and recognition despite gradual abolition of political and legal disabilities. Society has trained women from childhood to accept a limited set of options and restricted levels of inspiration." <br /><br />Wasserstein does not offer any solutions to these issues. Instead at the final climax of this play she uses this paragragh to ask the viewer if she has proven the statement to be true. If the statement is true then western society is found guilty of its injustice against women. As a woman enters adulthood the constructs passed from one generation to the next through family, education, civilization, and religion have already played their role in shaping her into the person they are and will become.<br /><br />Despite almost 40 years having passed since the play was written Wasserstein's question remains relevant to be asked today. Perhaps more achievements have been made, and more disabilities have been aboloished; but the work is far from complete. Women are still expected to desire their traditional role in the marriage relationship. In the heteronormative majority women are still expected to be caretakers of their home, children, and spouses; the mental and emotional labor of a relationship still falls primarily and often exclusively on the woman. Women are still being asked to choose between their own desire and the desire of men. "I don't know what I am going to do," to navigate that space between her own goals and her role demanded by these old definitions of femininity remains a central challenge and point of anxiety to women today. The expectation to put off their own desires to some unnamed later point in time repeated in the "When I am [age]" lines are no less relevant.<br /><br />Until women no longer encounter overwhelming obstacles to achievement and recognition in a male dominated society then the production of this play remains a culturally meaniful act. These five women are as representative of the challenges facing women in 2020 as they were in the challenges facing women in 1980. </div>Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13952444541140153820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-22812235554262621082019-04-05T20:14:00.001-05:002020-11-09T20:15:15.667-06:00The Historian (a Facebook comment)As a "historian" surely you are aware of the "Southern Strategy" which began in the late sixties and continued as the main growth fact of the Republican party through the mid-eighties.<br /><br /><div>As a "historian" surely you are aware with the Republican party's marriage to the evangelical right to promote the control of women by limiting their access to the basic liberty of bodily autonomy and access to make their own healthcare decisions.<br /><br />As a "historian" surely you recognize that the "Rockefeller Republican" which supported strong labor markets, the establishment and growth of the state university system, and the largest infrastructure projects in American history were all excised from the party by the Goldwater Republicans in the 60s and 70s.<br /><br />I would love to have an engaged debate about the merits of how the Republican platform is the platform of classical liberalism, but it needs to involve the actual present platform not the accomplishments of those who would be labeled RINOs today.<br /><br />However, let's debate the merits rather than use NewSpeak terms like "post modern neo marxist" which mean absolutely nothing but sound scary to those without a degree in philosophy.</div>Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13952444541140153820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-84165735816404401482018-10-09T23:00:00.001-05:002020-11-09T19:55:58.898-06:00WordsI wrote this over a year ago, and have decided to go ahead and post it now because I was going through old stuff I had written and I really thought this was about the best poetry I have written.<br /><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"> I don't know how to use my words<div>They don't seem to work like they used to.</div><div>Proud confident and sure of the message they had to share</div><div>I don't know how to use my words</div><div>Muddled, questioning, so in need of nuance now.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I feel sometimes like I have become too shattered to ever be put back together</div><div>I feel sometimes like all these pieces</div><div> is the only Me which has ever been the real me</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I saw you there, </div><div>Seated at a table of peers</div><div>You poised and beautiful</div><div> I wanted to know who you were.</div><div>I listened, me Sipping that beer </div><div>but drinking deeply of your prescence</div><div>Your words like music and lyrics flowing through</div><div>I wanted to get to know you.</div><div>I felt you there, every idea, joke, and word</div><div>your soul being shared, you filling ours. </div><div>And I wanted to kiss you.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Renée Descartes said I think therefore I am.</div><div>I was academically birthed into the world of postmodernity,</div><div>suckled from the mounds of trust no one and question everything,</div><div>And cut my teeth on deconstruction</div><div>Now I am left to say "I am thinking therefore I am not being."</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I wanted to slide my hand into the small of your back, </div><div>guide our bodies together no distance between us our lips warm softly touching</div><div>The space surrounding melted away into the peculiar particularity of that moment together.</div><div><br /></div><div>I wonder if the other me was entirely another me. </div><div>I wonder when in that 16 years did he pass and if anyone shed a tear for his loss?</div><div>I wonder if I could summon him from his mausoleum </div><div>invite possession by that other me. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I wanted to learn your story, </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div> to share your journey, </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div>to know the whole of how you think; </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div>to stay up all night talking </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div>so the sunrise makes us laugh </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div>at our enraptured attention to each other.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I wonder if enchanted by the other me </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div>this me could have charmed you. </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div>The one with poise whose melody </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div>was philosophy, dramaturgy, and story. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The universe she made us in her image.</div><div>from singularity we shatter scattered out into a billion billion pieces</div><div><br /></div><div>Mass - pressure - ignition -fusion</div><div>Stars born and burn hot and bright</div><div>Stars energize fostering life around them</div><div>Stars supernova, destroying everything in the exploding path</div><div>Stars expended die out to cold and emptiness</div><div>Our atoms forged in the heart of stars</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I want to take these two fingers </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div>unzipping the dress down the length of your back. </div><div>To take these hands </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div>slide them inside the slit of the dress. </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div>First pressing them firmly against your back </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div>savoring for a moment </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div>this first time their skin has touched this surface of you.</div><div>I want to rest a kiss at the base of your neck </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div>as I drop your dress to the ground.</div><div>Then piece by piece </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div>we together remove the fabric layers which separate our bodies </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div>from being fully touching enmeshed with each other.</div><div><br /></div><div>Shards formerly propelled apart by the force of their own trajectory </div><div>now coalesce into orbits round each other. </div><div>Orbits are added to orbits</div><div>Shards larger and more significant join, pass, yaw, and pivot in.</div><div>Planets and planetary Systems </div><div>bigger than the pieces</div><div>scraps spinning together </div><div>absorbing the energy of their shared fire.</div><div>Our lives dependent on the fire of a single star.</div><div><br /></div><div>I want to taste the fullness of your soul.</div><div>Use these two listening ears; unzipping the barriers of your mind.</div><div>I want to scuttle inside your deepest self </div><div>Hear your passions, your pain, your strengths, weaknesses, dreams, fears. Savoring for just a moment touching the casing of your soul for the very first time. </div><div>I place just a peck at the base of your mind, dropping our masks and defenses to the floor.</div><div>Then story by story we tell each other</div><div> together we remove the layers which separate our souls from being fully touching enmeshed with each other.</div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe you and me would have been a galaxy.</div><div>Maybe you and me would have been a supernova.</div><div>Maybe we could have found an orbit</div><div>Maybe we would have just passed by</div><div>The universe she made us in her image.</div><div>from singularity we shatter </div><div>scattered out into a billion billion might have beens.</div><div><br /></div><div>Time expired</div><div>Leaving I only asked your name, </div><div>I stood there looking in those eyes </div><div>Windows in to the soul as they say</div><div>I wanted every bit more of you.</div><div>A morsel of your being</div><div>A spoonful of you mind</div><div>A tincture of your soul</div><div>But I said not a charming word more.</div><div><br /></div><div>See, I don't know how to use my words anymore.</div><div>They just don't seem to work like they used to.</div></blockquote>Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13952444541140153820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-51838875495929861772018-09-26T17:17:00.001-05:002020-11-09T20:19:06.094-06:00The Past Matters (a Facebook comment)I have been thinking a lot lately about this relationship I had at 17. She was from a very religious, very wait until marriage type family. We never had PIV, but we certainly went further sexually than she was comfortable with. Our sexual activity was always consensual, but it was convinced consent not enthusiastic consent. She consented only because she believed our relationship was headed toward marrying each other.<div><br />About 8-10 years ago I reached out to her brother via Facebook looking for contact information to apologize to her. Her brother responded about a week later with a very formal, “She appreciates your apology but is not interested in communicating with you.”<br /><br />I live every day knowing that I am possibly someone’s #metoo story. If someday she came forward and accused me of manipulation and therefore assault I would not deny it because THAT is what it means to be good. I was not intending to be manipulative, but that does not change how my words and my pressure affected and damaged her. <br /><br />The past matters; especially when the past is not even admitted to. </div>Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13952444541140153820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-16379475380863829632018-09-25T13:10:00.001-05:002020-11-09T20:12:41.008-06:00Concealer (a Facebook comment)<div>Every woman close enough to share our confidences has revealed she wakes each morning having to apply a foundation of strength, her concealer over the scars of her sexual assault. Absolutely every woman I know intimately is living with the scars of sexual assault. Saying "Every single one" is not an exaggeration. It is an objective truth easily heard if you are listening. When you shame, dismiss, and invalidate the victim you become another piece of that trauma.</div>Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13952444541140153820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-79899632833430699012018-05-14T08:50:00.000-05:002018-05-14T08:50:19.788-05:00I Have This Friend<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I have this friend. In physical appearance she is gorgeous. In conversational engagement she is captivating. In lifestyle she pursues the things she loves with passion.. Any man who meets her is going to be smitten; because in attractiveness she is the total package. As I first started spending time with her I was taken by her. So, I did what any man enamored of a woman should do; I told her. I laid myself out there and told her all the reasons I was enchanted by her. My friend did not return my romantic intoxications.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I have this friend. I am honored to call a friend. All the reasons I find her amazing do not disappear because she is not attracted in a fairy-tale crush on me. Most of the qualities that attracted me romantically are the same qualities that attract me to friendships. I want friends who are easy to lose time in conversation with and embrace their life with fervor. She is both these things.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I have this friend who had a conversation this evening with another guy who found himself infatuated by her many charms. Yet, his response to her rebuffs of his romantic advances was very different than my own. See, like myself, she considered this person a friend as well. They had shared life challenges and she had been there for him when his life situation needed a friend to be there. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I have this friend who was verbally assaulted, unfriended and blocked by a person she called a friend simply because she said to him, “No, I am not romantically interested.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Men, this has to stop. We have to do better. How can a woman you considered a friend be discarded so easily simply because they do not return your attractions? Are we as a gender so focused on our erotic passion that a woman uninterested in romance is discardable. This is the pinnacle of objectification. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Men, since you are unable to hear it from the women in your life I am going to repeat it here for you. That woman, your friend, is an entire person. She like you is fully able to possess a range of differing emotions. She, like you, is entitled to the attractions that allure her. You are not owed her carnal sensuality simply because you express attraction. If all you can see her for is how she responds to your advances than you were never her friend to begin with. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Men, do you want to be used? Of course the answer to that question is no. So then, why do you feel the women in your life feel any differently? To have a friendship discarded this easily hurts. This kind of capricious response to her honest response proves you were using her for the entirety of the relationship.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Men, I have this friend who I want to trust me. In fact, I have several friends who are women and I want them all to trust me. I want them to trust that our time is safe, our vulnerability is genuine, and our friendship is rooted in the whole of their personhood. However, how can I ask this trust when the bulk of their investments in relationships with men end in this way? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Women, I am sorry. I am sorry our culture did not teach this lesson to men when they were boys. I am sorry that the repeating actions by a string of men have positioned you to feel unsafe as your default. I am sorry that teaching the emotional responsibility of friendship has been so grossly ignored in our culture.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Men, I need us to wise up, grow up, and do better. </span></div>
Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13952444541140153820noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-74366045100957550422017-10-26T18:35:00.000-05:002017-10-26T18:35:14.869-05:00Meeting Someone New aka I Am A NerdToday a Facebook friend linked to this article, "<a href="https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2016/03/23/fashion/weddings/marriage-questions.html" target="_blank">13 Questions To Ask Before Getting Married</a>" and I clicked through to read it. I honestly thought it was a really great list of important ideas to discuss before two people shared vows and joined in a committed partnership intended to be life long. Really, the article has nothing to do with this blog post at all, except it was the catalyst for reminding me that I had compiled a question list myself a few months back. Although, my list is more about getting to know a person you have newly met and have romantic interest in.<br />
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The list started when a woman I had been chatting online with asked me to send her any questions I had about her. The questions I sent to her were slightly different than these as they were inspired by our conversation up to that point, but those questions I sent her became the skeleton which I would refine into this list. She never did respond to the questions and that at first got me wondering if the questions we bad, or if the medium was bad. Obviously, I decided it was the medium and worked hard to refine the questions to where I have them today.<br />
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Truth be told, because I am a total nerd, I would use this list with anyone new I met whether there was romantic interest or not. In my ideal world, meeting someone new I would ask them to a coffee shop and we would go over this list together. The medium of answering these together in a dialog would work much better and not feel like an assignment as I think the original emailed list did when . Going through the entire list together the other party and myself would both have a good idea of whether or not we were going to be compatible.<br />
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So here is my nerdy list of "First Date Questions" which can be used for both new friendship or new romantic prospect.<br />
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<b>1.</b> What are your favorites of all time and why?<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">A. Novels</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">B. Authors</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">C. Television Show</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">D. Movies</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">E. Philosophers</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">F. Stage Plays</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">G. Musicals</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">H. Albums</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">I. Songs</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">J. Board Games</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">K. Card Games</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">L. Role Playing Games</span><br />
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<b>2.</b> Famous fictional duos, marry one murder the other.<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">A. Kirk and Spock</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">B. Batman and Robin</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">C. Hermoine and Harry</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">D. Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">E. Rachel and Monica</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">F. Buffy and Angel</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">G. Ted and Barney</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">H. Frodo and Sam</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">I. Arya and Sansa</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">J. (Bonus since they're real) Lennon and McCartney</span><br />
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<b>3.</b> What is your type on each of these personality scales?<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">A. Meyers-Brigg</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">B. Enneagram</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">C. Jungian Archetypes</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">D. World's Smallest Political Test</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">E. Dawkins Test</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">F. Chakra Center</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">G: Kinsey Scale</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">H. Locus of Control</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">I. Hogwarts House</span><br />
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<b>4.</b> If you were to receive a call tomorrow letting you know a distant relative had set up a $10,000 a month endowment in your honor how would your life change?
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<b>5.</b> If you were invited to be the keynote speaker at a TED event what would the title of your talk be, and what thesis would you want to communicate to the audience with your 18 minutes?
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<b>6.</b> Do you have one or more artistic outlets? How do you use these outlets to contribute to shaping the world around you? How have these outlets changed over the course of life events?
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<b>7.</b> Looking at your last major romantic relationship; When measured in the narrative arc of your life story would you consider the relationship beneficial or not?
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<b>8.</b> What is your relationship with intoxicants? Legal and illegal?
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<b>9.</b> What is your relationship with spirituality? How has your spirituality changed you? How has your spirituality changed because of changes to who you were?
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<b>10.</b> What is a story that exemplifies the transition that defines who you are now?
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I have never actually used this list explicitly and I am intrigued to know what other people would think if they had met someone new and there first time going out socially that person pulled out a list of questions for discussions. I personally would be intrigued to learn more about the person with the list and to see what the list questions were. But I am a self confessed socially awkward nerd and geek, so I also acknowledge I am not the best measuring stick. I can definitely see where another person would find this intimidating or invasive. If you like the list idea and have other questions that would improve it let me know what you are thinking.<br />
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<br />Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13952444541140153820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-80258317229539519222017-10-18T17:19:00.002-05:002017-10-18T18:17:06.359-05:00A Reflection On Mental Labor <span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">My friend Scot Moore on his blog <a href="https://21stcenturymen.tumblr.com/post/166532114765/you-didnt-ask-me-to-do-that" target="_blank">21st Century men started a conversation</a> about “Mental Labor” and the stress its disproportionate distribution on women adds into a marriage. As a divorced man man myself, who was very surprised when my “good marriage” ended this post has really had the wheels churching in my head today as I processed his post and my thoughts resulting from the post. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">At that time I honestly thought I was an extremely good husband. I worked a full time job and made a comfortable income. I made sure the kids got to their extra-curricular activities. I did my share of chores. I honestly always thought I was emotionally supportive and loving. I was a good man with a good marriage; if you asked me my wife was doing alright.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">This was not her perspective however. In the tense conversations that occour when a relationship is ending I was both called controlling and also accused of ignoring of our family’s needs. Understandably, by a person who feels controlled and ignored, she found the freedom and attention she was desiring in the affections of an old flame. We tried counseling, tried polyamory, tried everything we could to save our “good marriage.” In the end it was too late.</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have spent many hours in self reflection over these three years, looking for that golden arrow that would slice through and explain her, myself, and our breakdown in such a way where I would not repeat the same mistakes. I want to be a good male partner, and that means honest acknowledgement of my failures so that I can be intentional about my actions in future relationships. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">There is an oddity in our culture. When you separate from a relationship encouraging friends want to assure you that it is all your partner’s fault. You become surrounded by people, all of whom assure you that you are the victim. I was never one to entertain these platitudes. Yes, my ex played her part in our split, but I also played my part. The principle goal of my self reflection has been on understanding that role I played.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Social scientist talk about the four forms of labor present in a bonded pair relationship. These labors consist of economic, physical, mental, and emotional. Although we were never anything above comfortable middle class I always provide it sufficiently in the economic labor. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Emotional vulnerability was definitely a skill I desperately lacked early in our relationship, it was also something I was progressively working on in the years we were together. Though I struggled to be open about my own emotional needs, I was very responsive to listening and responding to her emotional needs. If I were attempting to be as self actualized as possible about my role in bearing be emotional labor of our relationship I would not paint myself as a shining knight, but I do believe it is fair to say I bore a near equal role in this load. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">The physical labor of our relationship was never equal. Do not get me wrong, I did my part when my part came up. I was never the kind of guy who sat on the couch and expected my dinner and beer after work. I helped prepare meals and assisted with other chores when those chores needed my assistance. Laundry, dishes, picking up, dirty diapers, and shopping were rarely ever performed by me while the children were small. Naturally, I could defensively explain that in those years I was working outside the family and my wife was working within the family; therefore the discrepancy in physical labor was to be expected.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">That arrangement worked very well for our family until the youngest child was starting school and my ex wife was returning to the workforce. At this same time, she was going back to work out side the family my work situation had changed and I was working from home the majority of the time. Working from home I picked up more of the chore load. and if you had asked me at the time, I would have swore I was performing an equal contribution to the chores.</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is three years later now. I have been the custodial parent since our split. It is only in these couple years as a single custodial parent that I realize what a minimal portion of the household labor I was performing.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Which brings me back to my friend Scot’s blog post this morning on “mental labor.” Perhaps more accurately to the comic by French feminist comic artist Emma. Please, stop reading this post now and return after you have read all the panels of <a href="https://english.emmaclit.com/2017/05/20/you-shouldve-asked/" target="_blank">Emma’s comic on mental labor.</a> This comic strip is my Golden arrow. I never in our 16 years together carried any more than the most negligible portion of the mental labor. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have learned about mental labor in the years since our break up just from the practical results of having to learn to effectively manage a household of children. We have implemented systems together to make sure people have the food and other shopping needs they require. I have learned to recognize what tasks need to be completed and assign them out to the best family member for completion. I laughed out loud at the portion of the comic strip where the female partner started to complete one chore, which led to stumbli</span></span><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">ng across and needing to complete the other fifteen chores: as this is now a regular occurrence in my life.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">My complete lack of an acknowledgment of an entire quadrant of household management was the ticking time bomb of our relationship. This ignored quadrant was acceptably balanced when my ex was a stay at home parent and neither of us felt the impending strain of roles which would eventually be our undoing. However after her return to the workforce the strain increased till the bough broke and the unravelling multiplied exponentially.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">This week has been an interesting primer for me to be open to hearing this lesson. I have recently finished two novels by <a href="http://megelison.com/" target="_blank">Meg Elison</a> which each took place in a dystopian future where a plague had killed well moire than 90% of the world's women. This week, I have been reading <a href="https://www.stephenking.com/library/novel/sleeping_beauties.html" target="_blank">Stephen and Owen King’s new book "Sleeping Beauties"</a> which is a fantasy moral story about a world where all the women have fallen asleep. On Monday, when the #metoo hash tag was trending I also read a <a href="https://granta.com/the-husband-stitch/" target="_blank">short story by author Carmen Maria Machado</a> about the unrelenting demands of being a woman in the world. That same day a female friend posted a meme asking men for one tangible step they would take to end rape culture. Tuesday, I read another article about the rising phenomenon of the female midlife crisis. All of this prepared me to see and understand the answer I have been looking for,. Women are feeling scared, broken, and trapped in our culture primarily because men are not bearing their load of the work in changing the world for the better.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="background-color: #fafafa;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; white-space: pre-wrap;">I leave this with two concluding thoughts for myself going forward. Thought one, in my possibly future existing pair bonded relationship I will be intentional to take regular inventory to ensure all four quadrants of household maintenance our shared equitably. More currently actionable, is I will work to bear my load of mental labor to seeing the practical work of crushing </span></span><span style="font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; white-space: pre-wrap;">misogyny</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"> and patriarchy.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I recognize that this has been a rambling self reflective post. However, my hope is that it will inspire the same kind of rambling reflective journey in your thoughts as well. My wish for my fellow males is that we will together commit to bearing the economic, emotional, physical, and mental loads of both our relationships and also our society within the spheres of influence that we live within.</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span>Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13952444541140153820noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-30711549866310792792017-10-08T19:38:00.004-05:002020-11-09T19:41:42.619-06:00She Will Be The Sun My Universe Orbits<br /><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVL_q1wFpycDnuFjPfEAqZ-0hvwJIDe6g_BQsrwFM0YvfKbUbqDn_qnGx8eYWR7O6F_okHRwNnL7jlhGRusj1HYUcq-a3hNRakkv23KRT0G_bikGEBR7iGua0ftusvg5LfjDfQkQ/s900/adhd+partner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="856" data-original-width="900" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVL_q1wFpycDnuFjPfEAqZ-0hvwJIDe6g_BQsrwFM0YvfKbUbqDn_qnGx8eYWR7O6F_okHRwNnL7jlhGRusj1HYUcq-a3hNRakkv23KRT0G_bikGEBR7iGua0ftusvg5LfjDfQkQ/s320/adhd+partner.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />I saw this image about three days ago now, and I have not been able to move on from it since I first stumbled across it. I would say anyone who knows me, knows that my ADHD is a pretty defining quality of my personality, so it is not surprising that my relationship history would be impacted by this condition which I live with every day.<br />It was about two years and eleven months ago now that my ex-wife and I split. We had been having a lot of issues for a good two years before that, but the official split was about three years ago now. I emotionally dealt with the fall out of the relationship in the way any ADHD person would react, I hyperfocused on something else. Between theatre, the kids, and work there was a lot to hyperfocus on, and being that at the time I really did not believe that her complaints were justifiable reasons to end the marriage I for the most part felt there was no urgency to self reflect on how I would be a better partner in a future relationship.<br />Fast forward these past three years and a lot of my thinking on the subject has changed. I have come to believe that her complaints were absolutely justifiable, and that I will in the future sabotage future relationships in the same manner. Hence, the picture that has been on my mind for days now. That image could be the exact illustration of my perspective on my marriage. In my view she was always the center point of my life, and the ten thousand other things, were just bodies in orbit around that center. The image of my perspective is a solar system with her as the sun; her perspective of living with me looks more like the birth of a universe where I am the singularity with everything around me exploding in chaotic energy and being propelled outward.<br />Now after three years I have met a person worth investing new energy into. I have met a woman who is passionate about the arts, desires to be a positive force in the world, is a reader, a thinker, and someone who challenges me in our conversations. I have a met woman whom I adore. When she and I are in a room, she makes my heart pound. I genuinely enjoy being with her, and our conversations make me proud to be a person who would even be on her romantic radar. She makes me happy, and I want to be the person who she says makes her happy too. I am not inclined to romantic vulnerability, yet she is a bright light and I am the moth drawn to her risks be damned. From the time we have spent together so far I hope we blossom together. She is a firework and I want her to become my best friend and my romantic partner.<br />Yet, here I am, the same ADHD person I was in my marriage, and the same ADHD person I will be till they spread my ashes. I want a centerpoint again, but there will ALWAYS be 10,000 other things in that orbit too. I can no more stop the barrage of ideas to be considered, plans to be made, and problems to be solved than a flood wall can stop a hurricane. Being all over the place with my hands in a thousand pies is me, and the only real me I can be. I can no more stop being infatuated by a world of sparkly ideas and plans than I can stop breathing. <br />I have no silver lining for myself, no magic spell that will fix the problem that vexed my marriage. I will always be excited about the possibility of 10,000 potentialities; I ask myself every day, "Am I the seed of my own relational destruction?" I am left to self reflect on the nuts and bolts of never again letting the sun at the center feel like she is less than every reason the entire system orbits.Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13952444541140153820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6158083.post-12354808411006750832017-09-08T19:43:00.007-05:002020-11-09T19:45:13.573-06:00Must Love Roller CoastersBack in July my 10 year old told me that I should look for a girlfriend. He explained to me that his mom and I had been broken-up for years and she had a boyfriend, so I should have a girlfriend.<br />As if that part of the conversation was not cute enough, he then explained that lots of people look for girlfriends on Craigslist. So I should put an ad on Craigslist. BUT the ad had to start with "Must Love Rollercoasters" because he did not want someone in my life that would ruin our trips to amusement parks.<br /><br />Obviously, I had no intention of posting a Craigslist Ad, but I did write the hypothetical ad I would post to a potential suitor.<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Palatino Linotype", "Book Antiqua", Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;">Must love rollercoasters. I mean not exactly roller coaster per se; although actual roller coasters would be a bonus. I am a marginal enthusiast. I mean you should have that kind of attitude and vigor for life and new adventures. Rollercoaster lovers are committed to experiences over things.</span></p><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222; font-family: "Palatino Linotype", "Book Antiqua", Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Palatino Linotype", "Book Antiqua", Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;">Must love books, movies, museums, the outdoors, and live theatre. I want to sit in a room and read with you, and too you. I want to glance up and catch your face the moment it just enlivens, inspired by the joy of brilliant writing. I want to nestle close alongside you and share the electric energy that passes between the stage players and their audience both as they present and as we process afterward. I want to watch a movie, and discuss ourselves to exhaustion and collapse into each other. I want to experience art and history together and watch the aliveness the great humanities use to enlighten our mindfulness to the magic of living experience. I want to cuddle up alongside you by a fire, my arms wrapped around you, our bodies sore from hiking the splendor of a forest trail.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222; font-family: "Palatino Linotype", "Book Antiqua", Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Palatino Linotype", "Book Antiqua", Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;">Must have beautiful eyes; but then beautiful souls always have beautiful eyes, because it is the eyes that reflect most honestly the inner essence of the soul. Must be passionate about politics, religion, pop-culture, justice and the planet. That passion always shimmers when you peer deeply into beautiful eyes. You are the kind of woman who knows we have only one life to live in our time on earth and you plan to maximize it with mirth and </span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222; font-family: "Palatino Linotype", "Book Antiqua", Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Palatino Linotype", "Book Antiqua", Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;">In return, I will spoil you with with words and pour affection on your body. I will look deeply inside those eyes every opportunity I have to gaze. I will cover you in kisses so every inch of you knows how you excite every inch of me. I will kindle that shared passion for the extravagance of human experience. I will cultivate the planting of our sapling romance till it blossoms into the love I want to give and share.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222; font-family: "Palatino Linotype", "Book Antiqua", Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Palatino Linotype", "Book Antiqua", Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;">If you are that kind of woman, reach out to me. I am the kind of guy who's looking to fall in love with someone like you.</span></blockquote>Kevin J Bowmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13952444541140153820noreply@blogger.com0