On Being Tumblr

On Being Tumblr

On Being with Krista Tippett is a public radio project delving into the human side of news stories + issues. Curated + edited by senior editor Trent Gilliss.

We publish guest contributions. We edit long; we scrapbook. We do big ideas + deep meaning. We answer questions.

We've even won a couple of Webbys + a Peabody Award.

"False Spring" - A Poem

by Becca J.R. Lachman, guest contributor

Mennonite / Amish Laundry: aka Big Clothesline for Black ShirtsPhoto by Daniel Peckham/Flickr, cc by-nc-sa 2.0

Figure 1.1 
February 1. 65 degrees in SE Ohio. Our minds shift to “April” “earth,” “skirts.” We check lawns for daffodils-in-the-making, our laundry remembering how to flap. No one checks the 10-day forecast. We don’t want to know.

Figure 1.2
On my way to play piano for a ballet class, I spot a sunflower the size of my palm on the sidewalk ahead. Escaped from a bouquet? I think, excited, Or a sign that spring’s settled in? I reach down to be its rescue—find out it’s plastic. The rest of my day feels the same.

Figure 1.3
A college town openly displays its secrets, especially when snow finally melts. Crushed green glass and leopard bikini briefs, abandoned; an open pizza box with a necklace inside; cigarette butts, the tail-ends of conversations never finished. This time of year, the ground can reflect us. 

Figure 1.4
For seven weeks, I gently build up to two questions, give my poetry students hard homework: What does it mean to be a writer in a time of war?, What would you ask a soldier if you could ask anything? Only half the class shows up to answer. I come home and pull covers up over my head, just another bulb.

Figure 1.5
The full moon pulls out dreams like silk pajamas from open drawers. For weeks, my sleep’s been filled with characters in plain dress, actors in bonnets or suspenders pretending to be something they’re not. I am the one who calls them out, reveals their false identity. Exact accusations from these dreams: “Who’s your bishop?,” “What have you given up?,” “What’s your favorite cheese?” The question I get most often about my upbringing: “What makes you different from me?” Sometimes, it also feels like accusation.

Figure 1.5a
Last night, I was going to build a house on the edge of my grandpa’s farm—but in the dream, I didn’t recognize the land. I wake up frightened.

Figure 1.6
The wind stirs up more questions, allergies, afternoons under the quilts. How long can a Mennonite last without community?, Have the squirrels eaten all the daffodil bulbs?Could my students spend a whole day in silence? Could I?, Who will shake our lives gently, tell us, ‘Shhhh—You’ve just been dreaming’? 

Figure 1.7 
Even Thoreau kept secrets hidden by the louder things he said, had his mother do his laundry. The wind blows our socks from the clothesline and into the woods. The president gives a speech. We forget what we’re funding. It’s too warm to care. I may never know what my students have learned from me. 

Figure 1.8
Accepting the shape of one life takes practice. Remember asking for someone to help you trace the outline of your body on a sheet of torn-off paper? Did you recognize yourself as only border? I swear, just now, I smelled what the garden could be.


Becca J.R. LachmanBecca J.R. Lachman is a poet, college writing instructor, and singer-songwriter living in Athens, Ohio. Her first book of poems, The Apple Speaks, investigates her Swiss Mennonite roots along with being an “AMK” (adult missionary kid), and is slated for release in April 2012.

We welcome your original reflections, essays, videos, or news items for possible publication on the On Being Blog. Submit your entry through our First Person Outreach page.

Comments

Running with the Dalai Lama

by Chris Miller, guest contributor

action"Action" (photo: Alessandro Pautasso/Flickr, cc by-nc-nd 2.0)

Most people listen to songs like “Eye of the Tiger” or the theme from Chariots of Fire when running. I am not most people. I prefer a good old-fashion podcast.

A few days ago I was listening to the interfaith forum "Pursuing Happiness" while out on a five-miler. Around mile three, something amazing happened. Maybe it was the noise of the traffic or the use of a translator, but I lost track of who was speaking. Instead of rewinding, I went along with it and, before long, I was amen-ing each answer without knowing who gave it.

There was a time in my past when this type of thing would have been unheard of. I grew up Southern Baptist. My amens were reserved for fellow brethren. If one was not a hymn-singing, Bible-thumping, submerging-baptizer, then one was not worthy of my praise. I was taught truth had to come from the “correct” source. Otherwise, it was heresy. Yet there I was, hearing truth from a Muslim scholar, an Orthodox rabbi, an Episcopalian bishop, and the Dalai Lama himself.

How was that possible? Maybe it was the lack of oxygen or the sweat in my eyes, but I had a realization. Truth is truth. Some thinkers take this even a bit further, saying, “All truth is God’s truth.” I’m beginning to agree. 

God is big enough to reveal himself as he chooses. I have heard and seen God in print, in music, and in film — from both Christian and non-Christian sources. I have heard preachers and atheists teach powerful spiritual truths. I have seen God dwelling amongst the dirtiest of slums and the most decorated of sanctuaries. He is heard and seen however and wherever He chooses to make Himself known.

When Moses first encountered God, he demanded a name. But instead of giving him a name, God replied, “I am who I am” or “I will be who I will be.” He refuses to be labeled. When one labels God, when one claims him as their own, they reduce him to an image of their liking. They limit him. They only let him speak through the voices they have approved.

Of course, God cannot be limited. “Pursuing Happiness” was proof of that. He spoke through each individual on the stage, whether they labeled him Yahweh, Allah, or something else. He made himself known.

As I finished my run, I realized it was not only my legs that got a workout. My mind, my heart, and my soul were also pushed. In the course of those five miles, I was exposed to truth — God’s truth — by individuals very different from me. Who would have thought the Dalai Lama could make such a great running partner?


ProfileChris Miller is a seminary student living in Merriam, Kansas. You can read more of his writing at Caffeinated Ramblings.

We welcome your original reflections, essays, videos, or news items for possible publication on this blog. Submit your entry through our First Person Outreach page.

Comments

The Echoing Silence of Your Mind

by Hudson Gardner, guest contributor

Separating oneself from the natural, real world is like uprooting a plant,
putting it in sandy soil,
watering it only to keep it alive:

you may find yourself growing,

and living,

and acting,

but there will always be something beyond,
another sort of subtleness,

Read More

Comments

Happiness Is the Last Recourse

by Trent Gilliss, senior editor

Krista Tippett Receives a Ceremonial Scarf from the Dalai LamaThe Dalai Lama presents Krista Tippett with a khata after their conversation at Emory University in Atlanta, Georgia. (photo: Cindy Brown)

We receive quite a few responses from people who are spurred to create or make something, to act or make a decision after listening to one of our shows. Renee Yates, a woman with multiple degrees in advertising, marketing, and theology living in Evanston, Illinois, wrote this poem “after listening to Ms. Tippett’s interview with the Dalai Lama”:

When pleasure no longer buries the pain
And worry does not pay the bills,
When depression ceases to shield the rage
And anger does not repair the rift,
When hope no longer blunts the fear
And sadness does not bring the dead back to life,
When all feelings have finally quenched
And frustration has yielded to peace,
Happiness is the last recourse.

Comments
Convent in Cuzco
by Molly Fessler, guest contributor
Rumi wrote, “When you do things from your soul, you feel a river moving in you, a joy.”
Several years ago I had the opportunity to travel to Latin America, and I took this picture in Cuzco, Peru, where in the courtyard of an old convent, a flower blooms. Walking through the gardens, watching the sun fall through the abbey — joy.
Molly Fessler is a sophomore at Bryn Mawr College, studying sociology and peace studies.

Convent in Cuzco

by Molly Fessler, guest contributor

Rumi wrote, “When you do things from your soul, you feel a river moving in you, a joy.”

Several years ago I had the opportunity to travel to Latin America, and I took this picture in Cuzco, Peru, where in the courtyard of an old convent, a flower blooms. Walking through the gardens, watching the sun fall through the abbey — joy.


Molly Fessler is a sophomore at Bryn Mawr College, studying sociology and peace studies.

Comments