My husband is an ethical vegetarian, has been for ten years. ONe conversation we had the other day was, what happens when we start raising animals. I was saying how, if we have milk goats, that means babies every year. SOme of them, babies that we’ll be selling for meat. How does he feel about that? The point I was making was that maybe it would be ethically sound if we slaughtered our own meat and used it ourselves. He feels that there is a “law of the harvest” prinicpal that applies… the more lives you live off of, the shorter your own lifespan might be.

Sort of a tangent, but a little bit related ;)

I feel extremely fortunate to live in one of the few remaining places in the US having a great, dark-sky view at night. When the moon turns full, like it’s doing now, the night is so dazzling. We can see for miles, especially if the ground sports a reflective coating of snow.

And the stars–I love looking at them through the branches of juniper trees.

So I relate.

I hope folks don’t think too often that these circumstances are tragic. Whether we judge them as tragic or as epic adventure might depend on their outcome. But I think it’s too early to call.

As for me: That which does not bore me makes me strong. :)

I’m so grateful that you read this series through, Sarah. I know it’s a big investment of time. Thank you so much.

You mention the fear driven between man and animals. I’ve witnessed many animals not exhibit fear at my sudden appearance on the scene. Others have decided I wasn’t a threat and moved around me freely. Before we acquired cats, the hummingbirds we provide for would actually sit on my kids’ fingers and weren’t shy about seeking us out to fill the feeders when they were empty, flying right up to our faces. I’ve witnessed Colorado collared lizards sit without budging from their rocks as my foot swung close by. When I worked at a archaeological dig, the lizards became so comfortable with our presence that they’d come and hang out on the edges of excavations, watching us intently. Lizards come running up to watch me open gates in Crossfire, sitting on perches quite close to where I wrestle with the gate. When I was a child, I used to ride my bike with snakes wrapped around my wrists and neck. They stayed there of their own accord. I could go on. What might such instances tell us about what’s possible now and/or in the near future?

But since his stroke, my husband has been the target of statements telling him how, if he’d just do this faithful thing or that faithful thing, he’d be cured of his stroke sequelae and CCMs–language that faults him for his condition, intentionally as well as unintentionally. Also, he’s been subjected to rhetoric about how disaster afflicts those who haven’t performed the duties and ceremonies that would have protected them from the punishment their own negligence has brought upon them.

Sometimes a person’s actions can give rise to unfortunate consequences, but my husband’s is not such a case. Actually, this kind of “hardship and woe befall those who have earned it” language is so close to the abuser’s “you got what you had coming to you” or “you asked for it” that it poses the same awful risks to the society that wields it that the abuser’s language does. One is the isolation and further punishment and restriction of the injured party, including the binding of his/her personality. Another is that it ascribes to the injured party responsibility for his/her injuries. It sets him/her up for submission to further injury, isolation, and violation. Another danger is that it tries to weight its threats with religious authority, thereby poisoning the well of sacred language. Accusers, too, suffer from engaging in such speech, bricking themselves in with it. So on and so forth.

It’s common that sufferers of childhood abuse (my husband being one) have been stripped silent and had their voices taken from them. My husband has been in a desperate place and been given hard words instead of the nourishing language of genuine relation. Other than expressing to me his feelings about what folks have said to him, he has not known how to respond to such language. I wrote that passage for him–to give him counter-language for the poor expression turned against him since his childhood and that has resurged in various forms since his stroke and subsequent struggles. Usually, I avoid engaging in blatant social criticism. But in this case, my husband wanted words to help him deal with his challenges. I tried to provide them.

I have also come to dread that pat-answer to tragedy that LDS people seem to cherish, that God wouldn’t give us what we can’t handle, and so we must be strong if He’s “blessed” us with challenges. It feels to me like a dismissal… being put on a pedestal is just as much a shoving-away as the other, perhaps slightly more unpleasant approach some people take (that you mention also)– that bad things only happen to bad people.

“Dismissal,” “shoving away”–yes. I call these kinds of words the language of abandonment.

Yeah… it kind of gets my dander up, too. I mean, why do so many people feel a need to lay “claim” to a place? Destruction of government property… or construction of bridges… and in the end, we’re talking about treasures created by *people* to some degree (the habitations and artifacts you discuss).

I agree with Steve P.

And that whole discussion about tasting peace and becoming bored with it… maybe what we really need are brief rests, here and there, to just feel life and experience it without the anxieties and difficulties that come about. And we can create those ourselves, even in the midst of whatever chaos we are going through.

I admit, reading that account of the couple walking, freely, by themselves made me a bit jealous, too. I love my kids but they are tethers–physical tethers, and also emotional ones. I am *never* carefree… and i have a feeling that’s not going to go away, in the sense that i’ll ever be that single, footloose and fancy-free person I was at 18, going off on a whim to be alone somewhere to read scriptures or poetry in a place I like without feeling that tug of responsibilities.

Anyway. Lovely series. I really enjoy your writing. I’ve told you before, but you bring a wonderful serenity, and such a rich and flavorful connection with your environment, in your writing. It has a calming effect which I appreciate a great deal.

I think that those fleeting connections (like you said, maybe not sympathetic ones, but still, a mutual aknowlegement) are a precious thing… perhaps a potent of what will hopefully happen in the Millenium (when animals and humans will be reconciled again.)

I agree with you (you alluded to “fearfulness” in such sayings) that it’s because people feel a need to separate themselves from those who experience difficulty and tragedy. They need to find a reason that explains why bad things happen to good people, so that they themselves don’t have to worry so much about what might happen to them.

I could really use a dose of your courage, though. Honestly. You’ve come to some conclusions that I have never reached. I still feel terrified about what tragedies might lie ahead in my life, and the only way I’ve found to cope with it is to push them out of my mind and say a quick prayer to Heavenly Father to keep such things from me.

I really love what your husband said, about finding new things to hope for.