Friday, August 17, 2018

Lessons from Mavis Staples


The boundaries between my world and the world of another being get pushed back with sudden clarity, an experience both humbling and joyful. 
                                                                                    (Robin Wall Kimmerer, 2003, p. 9)

Many of our friends travel to Provincetown, on the very tip of Cape Cod, for vacation.  Just a two hour drive for us, it still seemed like a hassle with traffic choking the narrow roads lined with old-fashioned motels and shops selling tourist gear.   How much different could it be than Hyannis, our regular Cape hangout, or Newport, which is a mere 30 minutes away from our house? 

It is completely different.  Sure, in Hyannis or Newport I would have been able to buy the underwear I forgot to pack.  In Ptown, no such luck, as this town has no room for basics, especially for women.  It has art galleries, galleries of stuff that is not art, at least to my untrained eye, and lots of shops with provocatively-themed shirts and posters.  It is a place where anyone can display and celebrate his or her (mostly his) weirdness, or simply just be themselves knowing that they will not be judged, and if they are, who cares?    

It was here Nels and I had one the best days of our lives, even though we managed to miss the annual Carnival parade.

 We took a whale watch tour early in the day on the advice of friends.   Even though we were assured we would see whales, I was not prepared for what that actually meant.  The whales apparently spend the summer feeding at the Stellwagen Bank National Marine Sanctuary before heading to the Caribbean for winter. 

On the ride out to the Sanctuary, I was struck by how small I felt in the midst of all that water.  How  unimportant.  Something clicked into place: a reminder that nature is more vast and mysterious than I usually think about.  Although I spend significant time in Colt State Park and on the East Bay Bike Path, these places are curated for both human and animal activity.  In contrast, the open ocean is a place of true wildness.  

The whales were magnificent.  Graceful, playful.  Such joy in their movement.    Robin Wall Kimmerer wrote that all living things speak a particular language, even the mosses she studies.  She suggests that long ago we all spoke the same language, but that has been lost as beings have evolved into many kinds of species.  These whales seemed to be communicating with one another and with us, a large group of admirers.   One whale would flap her fin up in the air as if she was waving, then slap it down on the water, creating huge splashes of sound and spray.  Three of them would swim together and then descend below the water one by one.    Even as I describe what I see, words are not enough to convey the fullness of the experience—the emotional and spiritual and joyful.  Bounded by the space of a boat filled by tourists speaking multiple languages, we all were part of something bigger than ourselves. 


That night we went to church.  Not one of those stuffy New England cathedrals where I feel the need to tiptoe and whisper with a feeling of not-good-enough.     Instead, we went to the church of soul music held in the Payomet Tent with the Divine Ms. Mavis Staples presiding, 80 years old and perhaps five feet tall. 

Mavis did not preach.  Instead, she invited us to listen, to sing, to dance, to reach out.   Her message of racial and political unity went straight to my heart and body through music.  She sent out incredible love and drew us into the conversation about what is needed to make this country a more equitable place.  Have you ever listened to Respect Yourself?  

If you disrespect anybody that you run into
How in the world do you think anybody’s s’posed to respect you
Take the sheet off your face, boy
It’s a brand new day

Mavis told us we have work to do.  She was open and honest about what we face as individuals and communities, and she did it joyfully and with eyes wide open.   We had front row seats, and she reached out and grasped my hand at two different times.  I felt recognized—more than that, I felt called to her mission. 

Earlier in the day, I felt my unimportance looking at the vastness of the ocean.  The day ended with me realizing that, I may indeed be insignificant, but what I do matters.  This paradox encloses lots of other small contradictions I am recognizing lately:  the need to let people be who they are versus the wish that they were different.  The call to bear witness versus the urge to fight.  The search for identity and clarity versus staying still in the muck and mess.

Then I remember both/and can replace either/or.  I can feel insignificant and yet have impact.  I can accept people even if I don’t want to hang out with them.  Bearing witness is a form of resistance to oppression.  Clarity may arise from the muck.  Love and justice go together. 

    





1 comment:

  1. Mavis gave you an important blessing. Now she is the real Social Justice Queen! Well done!

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