Tag: courage

Heroes Among Us

When people think of heroes, they often picture those who risk their lives to save lives, such as first-responders. Indeed, these individuals are definitely courageous heroes. Yet, there are others in our communities who are also heroic and touch our lives in many different ways. For instance: teachers, who with dedication and purpose hold the door open to our education and growth as human beings. From teachers, we learn to think, to explore ideas, and to expand our minds to include all kinds of views of the world. One of the greatest gifts that teachers can give is support for being ourselves.

My grandmother, uncle, and aunt were teachers. My wife has been a teacher all her adult life, first teaching history to potential high school dropouts (using Howard Zinn’s People’s History of the United States), then graphic design to college students and adults, and eventually web design to people of all ages. One of her fondest memories is of a student who told her how kind she was and how much she had helped him learn. Often kindness and compassion are what we remember most about our teachers.

My fourth-grade teacher was one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. She treated her nine-year-old students with gentleness, humor, and respect for each of us as individuals. My favorite part of the day was a reading hour in which we could read the many varied books she had collected at the back of the room (or any we had brought ourselves). She honored our independent directions and choices in learning and in life. Not all teachers are encouraged to do this, however, especially now.

Today, many local and state laws are dictating what can and can’t be taught, as well as what books are available in libraries. The history of slavery, systemic racism, gender identity, and climate change are prohibited from mention in increasing numbers of educational institutions. The lists of “banned” books grow nationwide (classics such as The Diary of Anne Frank and The Color Purple). Belief systems constrict how we are “taught” and what we read. Teachers are currently facing a particularly heroic path in this country. And they persevere, in spite of the challenges.

I feel such gratitude for the teachers in my life, past and present, wherever I may encounter them. For not all teachers are in classrooms or education venues. In daily life, I learn from friends, as well as strangers, who speak and live their truth in the world. Wisdom can be passed on in so many ways: a shared poem or song; a calming insight; an expansive, inclusive idea. I learn from activists who speak out for freedom and justice (Bernice Johnson Reagon, Howard Zinn), as well as from spiritual teachers whose lives are centered in loving-kindness and peace (Thich Nhat Hanh, Sharon Salzberg). To live love by being love is deeply heroic and inspiring.

Sometimes people become heroes in the simple act of being themselves and in doing so teach others how essential freedom of expression is. The transgender community especially embodies this kind of heroism. When we listen openly to those who have been silenced or outcast, we learn to become more compassionate human beings. The courageous voices of everyday heroes who speak and act from their hearts and souls inspire us to do the same. Together we all step into living heroic lives committed to kindness, freedom, peace, and unconditional love.

Shining Light in Shadowland

Photograph © 2016 Peggy Kornegger
Photograph © 2016 Peggy Kornegger
Ever since the election, in spite of attempts to stay centered in a positive outlook, I often wake up in the morning with sadness and apprehension. As much as I try to avoid it, I find that I have to come to terms with a new presidential administration that is displaying the underside of human thought and behavior: racism, sexism, anti-Semitism, homophobia, elitism. Exclusion that sees “them” instead of “we.” This is the shadow of humanity that has existed for thousands of years as hatred of “otherness.” Yet, now it is in our faces, even more so than in past administrations, which were not exactly stellar either. Electing Barack Obama seemed a step toward inclusiveness and diversity, yet even then, the country was almost evenly split, as it has been for many years now. True, the electoral college is not a fair instrument for representing the will of the people, but changing that will not erase the shadow. We have to face the huge division that exists in this country.

The United States is not united. Nor has it ever been, really. This is a country that has always been made up of people from different countries, cultures, races, religions, and belief systems. The first explorers and colonists—the first “immigrants”—imposed their lives upon the people who already lived here, the Native Americans. The formation of a new country was rooted in exclusion and appropriation.* That shadow has always been there, even as waves of immigrants from countless countries came here seeking freedom and liberation from oppression. Slavery was the most extreme manifestation of the shadow, and racism continues in its wake. The United States has always embodied dual, contradictory aspects: open arms and closed doors; freedom and injustice.

This election has brought to the surface all the fear-based shadows in this country, shadows that exist worldwide as well: intolerance, separation, inability to accept difference. And here is the hard part: As the shadow of humanity is on full display all around us, we have to look at its presence within us as well. Where do we see “other” instead of brother or sister? Where do we judge, condemn, or exclude people from our lives? In what ways do we tell ourselves that the world would be so much better if certain people just didn’t exist? Do we live with an open heart or a closed mind? Do we live in love or in fear?

On the morning after the election, I was traveling to Florida to attend Panache Desai’s annual global gathering. My state of mind was heavy, to say the least. As I found my seat on the plane to Charlotte, where I would change planes, the woman next to me whispered, “Governor Romney is over there.” “Who?” I asked, still in my own thoughts. “Mitt Romney,” she answered, pointing a few rows up, to first class. Finally, it registered, and in exasperation, I replied, “Oh, great, that’s just what I need today.” The woman looked a bit puzzled, and suddenly, it all struck me as very funny, and I began to laugh. (She chuckled a little, but I’m sure she had no idea why I was laughing.) Encountering yet another conservative former presidential candidate seemed to me like a comical cosmic wink or wake-up call. The message: “There will always be someone you disagree with on the plane of life.” In this out-of-the-ordinary occurrence, I was being reminded that from the perspective of global oneness, there is no “other.” No one is excluded.

And that is precisely why we are here on the planet at this time: To break the toxic habit of “otherness.” To find common humanity even when there appears to be none. To love in the face of hate, hope in the face of despair, have courage in the face of fear. You and I are being called to shine our own peaceful light ever more dynamically in the world, no matter what else is going on. To speak out for human rights and universal sister/brotherhood as we hold unconditional love for all in our hearts. (This is the basis of many nonviolent movements for social change.) In seeing every single “other” as another “one” in oneness, we come into greater balance and harmony, both individually and collectively.

Even when it seems unrealistic or emotionally impossible, take a deep breath and express the truth of your soul, which is love, which is kindness. Find the inner strength and compassion to keep expanding your heart until the shadow of separation falls away and you see yourself reflected in every face you encounter. That is the loving connection that holds our very diverse humanity together, in spite of the conflicts that pull us apart. In the wise words of Mahatma Gandhi: “Love is the strongest force the world possesses.”

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*This continues today at Standing Rock Reservation in North Dakota, where Native Americans are protesting a proposed oil pipeline as an environmental hazard and a threat to their sacred lands.