Category: Writing

For the People

Howard Zinn is one of my heroes. History professor and political activist, he is the author of the groundbreaking A People’s History of the United States, published in 1980. For me, it was a welcome antidote to old textbooks that interpreted events through the eyes of those with power, money, and status. It is truly a “people’s history.” Zinn’s brilliant retelling includes the hidden histories and viewpoints of so many of those left out of traditional history books: Native Americans, African Americans, immigrants, women, civil rights and antiwar activists, striking workers. It has profoundly affected countless individuals over the decades (and was even mentioned in the film Good Will Hunting).

Now there is a new Zinn biography by Dave Zirin: The People’s Historian, The Outsized Life of Howard Zinn. Howard died in 2010 at the age of 87, still actively speaking and teaching, often touring with Zirin who assisted him as on-stage interviewer. I didn’t realize how much I missed Howard Zinn until I read this biography. His presence leaps from the page and engages you, just as he did as a teacher, speaker, and writer throughout his life. The magic of Howard Zinn was in the living legacy of his thinking and activism, which has inspired generation after generation of students in the classroom as well as those who read his books or heard him speak in person.

I heard Howard “live” several times in Boston and Western Massachusetts. His teaching background at Spelman College and Boston University, as well as his civil rights and antiwar activism, made him an outstanding anecdotal speaker. His comments were both incisive and informative, telling history from his own life as well as the lives of so many excluded from the accepted American narrative. He was not dogmatic. It was basic human sharing, which included positive, hopeful descriptions of those who stood up for their rights. I came away from his talks moved and encouraged about the possibilities for change and true freedom in this country. As did so many others. My partner Anne decided to use A People’s History to engage and inspire her students in a 1980s program for former high school dropouts (it worked!).

Howard Zinn is present within the hearts and minds of all those whose lives he touched in and out of the classroom. His dedication to person-to-person, non-hierarchical involvement in community and in all parts of life inspired the same in others. His words and understated sense of humor made the so-called impossible seem not only possible but the only “sensible” path. Read Dave Zirin’s biography to learn about (or be reminded of) the courageous, compassionate life of Howard Zinn. His voice, consistently “for the people,” is one we need to hear again and again, especially at this time in human history.
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• Another excellent book by Howard Zinn: You Can’t Be Neutral on a Moving Train. There is also a documentary about him by the same title (narrated by Matt Damon). Ask for his books in libraries and bookstores if you don’t see them so that they continue to be available.

Life as Drama…and Serenity

There are times when life feels like those famous drama masks that denote comedy and tragedy in theatrical productions. One mask is smiling, the other crying. On any given day, I can experience both laughter and tears, joy and sorrow. Sometimes both simultaneously. Each year brings new ways that life unfolds in all its dramatic diversity. Yet, underneath it all runs a balancing stream of serenity.

When I was growing up in the Midwest, I remember wondering, a bit fearfully, about the meaning of life as I looked up at the vast star-filled night sky. I wanted to be 9 years old forever, safely reading books in the branches of my favorite climbing tree. But I also wanted to travel the world. My life unfolded in ways that included both those ways of being, as well as extended spiritual exploration.

I continued to be an avid reader (and later a writer and editor) as well as a lover of Nature. I traveled extensively, swimming with wild dolphins in Costa Rica, whales in Hawaii; hiking Machu Picchu in Peru, the Alps in Switzerland. Vision quests in Montana and spiritual ceremonies with Maya elders at sacred sites in Guatemala. Over time, I came to realize that every bit of it was part of my soul’s journey for this lifetime, finding equilibrium among inner and outer experiences.

Growing older has brought unexpected challenges (e.g., breast cancer survivor), but ultimately these have taught me patience, acceptance, and resilience, day by day. Sadness about the passing of family members and friends, as well as apprehension about my own eventual death, are also part of aging. Still, simultaneously, my life is filled with so much joy and love: good friends, old and new, and my dear partner, Anne, with whom I’ve shared 43 years (!) of wonderful life adventures. Each morning we open the door to sunlight over the treetops and birds singing (robins, cardinals, song sparrows, goldfinches). Who could not feel grateful for blessings such as these?

I’ve learned that whether you are crying or laughing, 9 or 90, there is always some beauty to be found in the world (in spite of political conflict or personal pain)—in Nature and in the loving kindness of friends and strangers alike. At any time, I can set aside the tearful mask and pick up the smiling one; let go of worry and embrace trust. Each moment holds all of life. Sometimes we need to cry and release sorrow. But we also need to laugh and find the sweetness of life. And make our way to the inclusive space of neutrality and peace that lives within.

The soul is timeless, not attached to the human framework of hours/minutes; it is beyond circumstance and action/reaction. In our souls we are pure Presence, and we know we are infinite. The temporary form we inhabit while on Earth has experiences while the eternal soul observes everything. Eventually, it all blends together as One. Any separation is an illusion that we realize as we transition, or if we are fortunate, at moments of awakened awareness while we are still in physical form.

With each second that passes, with each precious breath we take, we can open our heart of hearts to a soul vision that will guide our lives to the serenity within the drama. We are here in our human lives to do just that. It is what is meant by Peace on Earth.

Suffs: Keep Marching!

Earlier this week, I watched the inspiring Broadway musical Suffs for the third time (once live in Boston; twice on PBS, New York show filmed). With both compassion and humor, Suffs focuses on the lives of the suffragists who fought for (and won) women’s right to vote in the years 1913–1920 (a 72-year struggle begun in 1848 at Seneca). This is classic women’s herstory, including the first women’s suffrage march on Washington in 1913 and later hunger strikes by imprisoned activists. All the characters are real people, movingly and powerfully portrayed: Alice Paul, Ida B. Wells, Lucy Burns, Carrie Chapman Catt, Mary Church Terrell, Inez Milholland, Doris Stevens, Ruza Wenclawska…. Several of the women’s names and life stories were unfamiliar to me, even though I had been deeply involved in the women’s movement in the 1970s (when the last scene of Suffs takes place).

I first encountered contemporary feminism when I took a class on the subject in 1971 at San Diego State University. In 1973, I enrolled in the Feminist Studies program at Goddard-Cambridge Graduate School, specifically Women’s Literature. We were a small group of eight women, reading many “lost” women authors, whose work we had to find in used bookstores or library archives. We were living on the cusp of the creation of women’s presses that reprinted these out-of-print, little-known works by women. It was an exciting time to be entering the feminist movement because new women’s groups, periodicals, and publishers were appearing all the time.

Several members of our graduate group, myself included, became editors/writers for the Boston feminist magazine Second Wave, as well as the Women & Literature Collective, who published an annotated bibliography of international women writers. Women’s distribution networks, bookstores, and print conferences became gateways for sharing feminist thought and creativity. Health centers and shelters for homeless or battered women were forming. In addition, most of us were active in local and national marches for women’s rights and human rights (ERA, LGBTQ, anti-racism, pro-unions).

Looking back, I see it as a time of great hope and optimism about the future. A few of us had been peace and civil rights activists in the 1960s, and we brought that positive view of the possibilities for change with us. Whatever our backgrounds, we knew there was still a long way to go to achieve full equal rights for all women. There were conflicts and disagreements about direction and focus, even as we tried hard to work together.

One of the most interesting parts of Suffs is that such conflicts also arose in the suffragist movement. And there were those, younger or older, who thought they knew best how to proceed. Cary Chapman Catt and Alice Paul were equally determined in their individual visions for the future. As was Ida B. Wells, who stood strongly for the necessity of addressing racism and working for the rights of all people.

Watching Suffs, I could see the long view of a century of change, continuing to this day. None of us are the same people we were earlier in our lives. The suffragists lived intensely focused lives as strong women dedicated to creating a better world for women, moving forward step by step, even in the face of obstacles, misunderstandings, and impatience. The feminists of the 70s and 80s were similar in our strength and dedication despite challenges. Today, whatever we call ourselves (or perhaps we have discarded labels entirely), we continue to hold the vision of a more equal, inclusive, and peaceful world in our hearts. And, as the final song in Suffs, expresses this, we “keep marching, keep marching….”
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Note: Suffs will be free to view on YouTube and PBS through the end of July:  https://www.pbs.org/video/suffs-efgkiq/. After that date, you need to join PBS Passport to view it. Definitely worth seeing—writing, music, and acting all outstanding!
**Photos above are from the 2017 Women’s March, Boston, Massachusetts.


Growing Up Walden

One of my father’s favorite books was Walden by Henry David Thoreau. He loved Thoreau’s immersion in the natural world and his emphasis on a simple life. Recently, when I was watching a PBS documentary on Thoreau and his time living alone in the woods at Walden Pond, I remembered my childhood in Illinois and how my dad had created his own version of Walden on the five acres where my parents built a house nine years before I was born. The land had a number of old oak trees and a couple of streams running through it but was otherwise mainly open fields. By the time I was a young child playing there, my dad and mom had planted shade trees, evergreens, bushes, vegetable and flower gardens, a fruit orchard, and berry patches. The vibrant beauty of Nature surrounded me every day. Without realizing it, I was growing up immersed in Walden consciousness.

“Simplify, simplify, simplify,” my dad would often quote Thoreau. No wonder I inherited an aversion to complications and clutter—and a love of Nature’s beautiful simplicity. When I read Walden in college, it all came together for me. Thoreau’s writing, as well as that of other Transcendentalists like Emerson, aligned with my heart and soul. Thoreau’s small wooden cabin in the forest by Walden Pond seemed to call to me. A number of years later, I moved to Massachusetts, and Walden became a special sanctuary for me where I often walked the trails and gazed at the trees, water, and sky. In any season, it radiated peace and tranquility. It was as if Thoreau’s solitary spirit watched over and protected it.

When my parents flew from Chicago to Boston to visit me, two dear friends drove us out to Walden so that my dad could see it in person. It was a special moment for all of us because we knew how greatly he admired Thoreau and his philosophy. My father continued to plant mini-Waldens in other Illinois locations where my parents lived in later years. And I too have created “Waldens” in the various backyards (or porches) of houses where I have had an apartment.

Currently, my partner Anne and I live in a condo which faces a woods thick with deciduous trees and evergreens. Bird song fills the air when I open our deck doors at sunrise, and we hear spring peepers or summer crickets trilling after dark. Walden once again synchronistically surrounds me, the perfect circle of a lifetime. Early in my life, I learned that the wonders of the Earth are ever-present; every day I see them wherever I live. I am deeply grateful to Thoreau, my dad, and all those magical years of “growing up Walden.”
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Artwork above: “Thoreau’s View,” by Anne Katzeff

On My Way Through…

“Maybe all we really are is spirit, the spark that draws people to us, the trail we leave behind.”
—Steve Thomas, Spirits Passing Through

In the past couple of years, several friends of mine have passed to the other side, the inevitable destination we call death. In grieving their loss and in contemplating my own future transition, I’ve felt myself coming into a different awareness of living and dying: less specific, more undefined and free-flowing, without parameters. We know so little of what life and death actually are. We think of them as a beginning and an end, but that’s a mental construct. What if there is only Presence, which never begins or ends; it just is? What if humanity itself is one Spirit, made up of sparks that together constitute life on Earth?

I remember my deceased friends as the spirit they embodied in their human forms: dancer/poet, musician/painter, sculptor, political activist. Yet now, they feel greater than those particular creative expressions, more inclusive of all consciousness, within and beyond their individual lifetimes. The longer I live, on my way through the human experience, the more I too feel greater than my physical form and its expressions. I am a writer, but what I write comes through me not from me. And the love I feel for my friends and for my life has no beginning or end. There is an infinite Presence that permeates everything and everyone and stretches to the farthest reaches of the cosmos, and beyond.

I guess what I’m trying to describe is soul, which is at the core of all human beingness and makes itself known through the heart. When I love my life partner, a close friend, a beautiful poem, or a bird singing at dawn, my soul’s presence moves through me into the world. It becomes one with all I see and hear. Soul defies description, yet it fills the world with light endlessly. Our souls came to Earth to be embodied light, to individuate oneness for a lifespan and then flow back into the One.

Perhaps the longer we live, the more we touch on moments of awareness that stretch beyond habitual parameters and open us completely to the universe. Actually, we are the universe, all of it. The universe lives as our souls throughout life, death, and eternity. We know this fully when we die, but that wisdom is within us now. And our life experiences bring it forth. As my life unfolds, the door to infinity opens wider and becomes more welcoming, less frightening. I can see myself and every one of us as infinite spirits of Presence, on our way through, together….
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Note: Thank you to my good friend Steve Thomas for the wonderful quote from his CD Spirits Passing Through.