Source of light

I was in New York City this weekend, dealing with some logistical things and visiting people and taking a break. One of the directors I'm working with asked if I was going to go to Central Park to see the fireworks. Nope, I said. I did not leave Brooklyn at all on July 4th. I went to a BBQ in the late afternoon, had a couple of glasses of sangria, saw people I hadn't seen in months, ate good food, relaxed. Then a group of us walked through Bushwick to another friend's place... where, after eating MORE good food, we rushed to the roof after the sun set to see what we could see.

The roof was full--many people from that building had decided to party on the roof that night, but it was not at all overcrowded. But rather, there was a buzz from people and excitement and celebration. Two of the residents of the building formed a band, and were playing live music there on that random roof in Brooklyn. And there were guerilla fireworks going off everywhere. Every direction we looked. Despite the "Fireworks are Illegal" signs that had been posted everywhere, people were gathering in the streets to shoot rockets into the sky out of celebration. Not really a patriotic celebration, but rather a celebration of LIFE. Of existing, of being alive and able to celebrate in that moment.

And that is how I spent the 4th of July. Sitting on a rooftop in Bushwick, with good music, good food, and good company, talking about art and how we graduates are moving forward and how grateful we are for what we learned and how useful and important it is, with a panoramic view of fireworks that were not designed to be impressive, but instead recklessly set off in pure joy of living.

I don't see how anyone with eyes could possibly limit God to a church building, when He's staring us in the face so obviously.

Let me be used.

"It’s what great artists do. They suffer and feel more within the human condition than others. They’re not better for that, just more sensitive, and there’s a burden to that. They feel the more painful aspects of life and set about to help it, heal it, turn dark into light. I believe that’s what Stephen Sondheim’s mission is. It’s what Shakespeare’s mission was — to illuminate our thoughts and struggles and bring about the possibility of getting the most we can out of a day as opposed to least in this brief moment we’re here."

- Mandy Patinkin

One of my dear friends shared this quote with me in light of the New York Philharmonic concert version of Sondheim's musical Company being shown in movie theatres nationwide. I have been an obsessive Sondheim fan since my sophomore year of high school--collecting every cast recording possible, reading as many of the books on Sondheim as I could get my hands on, spending all my time (literally) analyzing his work--due to my obsession with Sweeney Todd that started when I was 12. (Which means, hey, our 10 year anniversary is coming up this Halloween.)

Without going on a long rant about how much I love Sondheim and his work and his characters, I'll say that reading this quote was funny for me. Of course it's Mandy Patinkin, who has been a major Sondheim actor and supporter, who said this, because often Sondheim is critiqued for being distant and unemotional. (These critiques are stupid for so many reasons, but, again, I'll spare you my critique of the critique.) When I have told people that my favorite musical is Sweeney Todd, people will often talk about how dark and morbid that is, whereas I see it, and pretty much have always seen it, as a musical about love, and even hope. That there is a light in the midst of all that. It is not negativity and destruction for their own ends--but ultimately, confronting them because they are realities, and giving us a beginning to heal. Perhaps this resonates with me in particular because I've gone from being extremely cynical to extremely optimistic--and those two don't actually feel dissonant to me at all. In no way was any of that time I spent hating most of the world "wasted time", because I would not be as insistent on finding the positive as I am today.

Because, here's the thing... there's a lot of horrible things that happen in this world and it would be dumb to deny them. Or the hurt that they cause. But I think the way to actually combat them is to turn their negativity into a kind of healing. Into something beautiful that would not have taken place if they had not happened. (which is never to say that they "should" happen, but "should" rarely helps out any of us, now does it?) How can we transform them? That's actually how you fight the powers of evil in this world. And then, how do we look at the people who have caused tremendous amounts of hurt and truly say, "I love you." Even if that hurt is still there?

I think we'll all look like fools if we do that. But looking like a fool usually seems to be the point. The fool who insists on beauty and insists on love no matter how much they get hurt. That's the Christian.

Bring to a boil, reduce heat, cover, and simmer!

All the recipes on the internet are full of too much random stuff, so I improvised.

JOLLOF RICE, GHANA STYLE

3 tbsp tomato paste

3 tbsp vegetable oil (preferably palm oil)

2 cups broth (chicken or vegetable, your preference)

1/2 tsp cayenne pepper

1 cup long grain rice

1. In a saucepan, heat/mix oil, broth, tomato paste, and pepper. Bring to boil, reduce to simmer. Let simmer about five minutes.

2. Add rice, stir.

3. Cook until rice absorbs liquid.

You can also add vegetables to this. The next time I do it I want to dice an onion into that sauce but I didn't have one on hand. Served best with stir-fried chicken and fried RIPE plantains. You can also do 1 cup broth and 1 cup water for a bit lighter flavor, but pfft.

This is a big deal because I usually do not improvise in the kitchen (cooking-wise I'm generally not that confident... baking-wise is a whole different ballgame), and I've never cooked rice before. I just saw all these recipes and thought, "I've seen people make this. It's not that complicated."

We will now return to your regularly scheduled programming.

My poor Jerusalem

Ithaca is lovely.

Truly. Quite beautiful, though we haven't seen much of that yet as they front-loaded us with design work. The people here are great, phenomenal to work with. I've been in design meetings constantly and that's been absolutely thrilling. I have space, resources, and time to design, in a place that is beautiful, a community that supports the arts, and with people who are inspiring, challenging, and joys to work with. Yup, this situation is quite ideal.

I'm spending my time designing sounds and websites, writing long-winded letters to send across the country, reading, and resting. Trying to rest off the physical and emotional exhaustion of last semester. I am terribly glad not to be in the city for the summer. I might visit later in the summer when the work calms down, catching a ride with one of my fellow designers who's planning on going down to the city every so often, to have a meeting with someone who's in the city for the summer who I could desperately use a conversation with. And maybe to swap out some books. Distance from the city is good right now... it's allowing rest and healing, both of which I need. I read a book, Just Kids by Patti Smith, which was phenomenal. About her earlier days in New York and (primarily) her relationship with Robert Mapplethorpe. I highly recommend it (though most of the arts-based theater people reading this have already read it). I'm now onto Me and Rumi: the autobiography of Shams of Tabriz, which is a newly organized translation of the Discourses of Shams-i-Tabriz. Rumi was a wise teacher but no one to particularly pay attention to until Shams came along and inspired him to the great spiritual poet and teacher that he was. Lots can be said about that relationship and what exactly it was. You'll read a lot of Rumi's poetry and it's simultaneously addressed to God and to Shams. (which actually makes perfect sense when you think about the main goal is mysticism). So it seems that, without even meaning to, I brought books that are all about encountering God in relationship with others. Looks like we're there now.

Ithaca College is on a hill, so I was walking home from rehearsal one day and looked out and could see the town, spread beneath me, the lake, trees, just beautiful nature. And I thought about God and I thought about God's incredible love for this world. And I thought about how we do things to hurt each other and how much that must break God's heart, how God must look at us and say, "No, don't you get it? You don't need to do that to each other!" And Matthew 23 went through my head, where, after going on a rampage condemning the hypocritical Pharisees, Jesus said, "Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing." This is it, this is God's terrible sorrow--God has offered nothing but love for us, that we twist and distort and deny and reject. And we hurt each other in ways that cannot be repaired and want to inspire more hurt.

No wonder all those theologians are so obsessed with original sin. No wonder they want to get back to before that.

And yet... as obvious and painful as this is... I cannot believe that God does not still love every one of us, and I cannot believe that God doesn't have ways that He works wonders through this mess we've gotten ourselves into. And I cannot believe that adding more hate will help matters.

Call me stubborn.

Every goodbye is hello...

Well, I graduated.

Graduations are strange ceremonies to mark the end of things, and the thing about them that's particularly strange is the fact that they have nothing to do with what you just did, as far as their form goes. Particularly for art school students, because while everyone else celebrates the end of papers and exams, we've spent the last four years rolling on the floor, trying to figure out how to make a room feel like it's outside, making strange vocal noises, and being constantly evaluated not on how much we know but on how we function as people. This graduation was particularly weird because the teachers and staff who truly shaped my education weren't part of the ceremonies. So it became a bunch of people I don't know telling me congrats on an achievement when they don't even know what went into it.

Furthermore, I feel weird being congratulated for simply finishing college. That's like being congratulated for getting an A. And A and a degree are useful to have because they're quick marks for employers, etc, but they're not the real reason. It's not about what marker you get but about what you learned. What you experienced. Grades are practically useless in art school, so while we do get grades (because NYU makes us), we get evaluations about out work, out progress, and these are what matter. I've often forgotten what grade I got.

So, instead of patting myself on the back for getting a piece of paper, the only thing that makes sense is to use this moment to look back over the last four years - remembering who I was when I arrived and looking at who I am now and asking how I did. And happily, I can say that I think I did this college thing well. I have no regrets. I don't think I could have done any more than I did. (I mean, really, I worked on 43 shows in 7 semesters.) I stayed openminded and absorbed a lot across the board at the beginning, and then I narrowed my focus to be very specific towards the end in order to create a track for my specific interests. I worked with and learned from incredible creators, both teachers and students alike. I got well acquainted with the New York theater scene and have worked on a good number of shoes off- and off-off-Broadway. I spent a semester living in a place so completely different than anything I'd known, and traveled the world for the first time seeing art and experiencing people. My life took turns I never would have expected and I went with it even when afraid and am thrilled I did. I didn't waste it. PHTS apparently agrees and gave me an award for outstanding achievement in studio, and NYU graduated me with honors and apparently sent me a pretty certificate, which I haven't seen yet as my parents are doing things to preserve it. (My mother said, "Well, if we had given it to you, it's just stay rolled in that tube. "Until you needed the tube for something," my father added accurately.)

There are the questions that come up about what I'm doing after college. These are questions that are hard for my parents to answer as it can be hard to explain what I do and how the theatrical world works. It's rare that you'll have a "steady job" unless you're positioned at a theater company. You're hopping from project to project and trying to line up the next one and all of that, constantly. It's not a steady or stable or easy way of life, but I'm not worried, and here is why:

I am of the belief that theater school is one of the best preparations you can possibly have for life, particularly in our current social and economic state of affairs. Here are some reasons why:

1. Resourcefulness. Theater has always been poor. Theater makers have always been out of work. Most of the theater spaces in New York are falling apart. What this means is, we LEARN resourcefulness. We learn how to use what we have to get a better effect than the one that costs too much. We learn how to look for jobs, how to carve out places for ourselves. We learn how to survive and do what we do in less-than-ideal circumstances. We have to stay infinitely adaptable. I worked a show on Saturday where we had to set up a mixing station for the DJ, which we ended up making out of a piano stand an some scrap wood. We didn't have a pin to hold the piano stand up, though, and when I noticed this, the DJ (also a graduate of my program) said, "This is what your education prepared you for," and I found a screw and wedged it in. The ability to think beyond the obvious and literal and search for creative solutions is key to theater, and is also growing increasingly more and more necessary as our economic systems crumble.

2. Creativity. In theater, we have an idea, we wrestle with it and try to figure it out, and then work to manifest that idea into some physical form. The ability to do this, to move from idea to manifestation, is key to any kind of business endeavor. That's what we do--idea, create. And knowing steps to take in that whole process is particularly valuable. Frankly, that's what business look for when hiring upper-level positions. Taking a project and seeing it manifested.

3. Communication. Similarly to creativity, theater artists are focused on creating a form that best communicates what they want to say. It's not about fitting the idea into a form that does not suit it, but finding a form that does, that will actually get the idea across. And that's the kind of communication we need, desperately, in this world.

4. Collaboration. Theater artists have to work with lots of people to get their piece up. Collaboration is a VITAL part of making theater, and like it or not, you learn how to do it if you truly apply yourself. You learn how to listen to other people, how to take in their ideas, how to ask helpful questions. You learn how to manage people, how to value their ideas and your own, how to work to weave ideas together into something none of you could have created on your own. And you learn that just because something is "easy" does not necessarily mean its better. Sometimes the easiest collaborations produce the most boring product, and you need different voices on the team, one of which is the "mean" one who will say what he/she feels honestly and generously in order to stir up conversation.

That has been huge for me. I came into college not at all comfortable with how to work with other people, avoiding confrontation at all costs. And throughout my time in college I've felt myself getting stronger and stronger, more and more confident, most likely to actually ask a question or talk to someone I don't know, because theater has taught me collaboration. These are lessons I'll be learning my entire life, but I got a very strong start, largely thanks to the incredible people who taught me so much about other people. Particularly, how to care for them. Most of what I do as a director and designer is care. Simply care. And I have learned a particularly valuable lesson in that--true care, true love, is not easy. It's not letting anyone off the hook, because if you did you wouldn't be truly caring for them and their development. Caring sometimes means being willing to be the one who they hate, if that is what they need. I learned more about caring for people from one teacher, who was also the hardest, most brutally honest, you could say "harsh" if you were so inclined, teacher I have ever had, because all of that was to a very loving point, which was my own development as an artist and a person. And because someone was willing to do that, I grew tremendously these past four years. And for that I am terribly grateful.

So, for the question of what this next stage of life holds, I have the literal answer and the Next Major Spiritual Question to Tackle (Because That's What Colleen Does In Her Life, After All).

The literal answer is that I'm writing this blog from Ithaca, New York, where I will be living and working all summer. I am at the Hangar Theater as their Lab Company Sound Designer/Sound Design Intern. The Hangar Theater is a fabulous regional theater that has a jam-packed summer season. One of its main focuses is education, and surrounding that is the Lab Company. The Lab Company is a company of college-aged actors, designers who are recent graduates, and directors chosen by the Drama League (the Drama League Directing Fellowships are incredible opportunities for up and coming directors, and it's likely that I'll apply for one several years from now). The Lab Company gives everyone opportunities to practice their craft, learn from each other and working professionals. Through this, I will be designing eight shows (five children's theater shows, three "Wedge" shows which are more experimental shows directed by the Drama League fellows), and assisting professional designers on 3 of the mainstage shows (a new play, Gem of the Ocean, and the Rocky Horror Show). Outside of work I'll also be helping continue development on a piece I worked on in May when the creators of the piece are up here. My first full day of work was today, and I'll post more updates about that as the summer goes on. Lots to say, I'm very excited to be here, I have to read two scripts for a design meeting tomorrow and I am THRILLED FOR DESIGN MEETINGS I LOVE THEM.

After the summer, the plan is to visit Virginia briefly, then return to New York, work (a day job and) as a sound designer, and self-produce my own directing work. It would make no sense for me to move back to Virginia or really go anywhere else. Grad school is not an option until I've been out in the world more, all of my connections are in New York, and places that will pay me for what I have my degree in and love doing are also in New York. So, that makes sense. I've got an apartment with fabulous rent out in Brooklyn (a 10 minute walk from the only Bojangles in NYC, WIN!), I've got some show offers on the table. It will work out.

Ithaca is a small hippie town nestled in the middle of nowhere in that vast land known as "upstate New York" which really means "any part of New York that is not New York City". So far it actually reminds me a lot of Asheville, North Carolina, a feeling confirmed by the lighting design who is from North Carolina. The arts are thriving. Nature is beautiful (lakes and hills and waterfalls). There are lots of small places to go in town, but nothing surrounding it. I like the isolation. There's something really lovely, after being in the city, to going away, changing your pace, and working out whatever you need to work out.

Which brings me to part two of the summer, which my mother thinks is a continuation of my last blog post. I'm not sure how much I really agree but it's on the subject of love, and the challenges and values of love, which is really what all my blog posts are about, but anyway.

I am starting this summer with a question. How do you love when it seems impossible? How do you love when someone you trust and love does something incomprehensible? How do you love when something rips apart a thing that was once whole and beautiful? How do you love when you watch the hurtful ripple effects of a decision you vehemently disagree with with every fiber of your being? How do you love when you, frankly, don't want to anymore? When it would be so much easier and feel so much better if you didn't? How do you love even then?

Some things happened this week that have violently pushed those questions into my brain. An awful situation that has shaken me and most of my friends to the core. In the past few days I've been more angry, upset, confused, and worried than I have been in a very long time. Because something ripped through the center of something I loved quite deeply, I have seen people act in ways I never would have expected, and people I love have been hurt (and will continue to be as the news spreads). And the thing with me is, you can do whatever you want to me, I have the patience and the stamina for that. But if you hurt someone I love, this Toby-instinct* rages up in me and I could actually murder someone.

*Toby-instinct, referring to Tobias Ragg, that little kid character in Sweeney Todd. Toby is, I think, the purest example of love and devotion and loyalty I have ever seen in art. Toby loves Mrs. Lovett ultimately unselfishly--if it came down to it, if it was better for Lovett if Toby disappeared, he would. It would kill him, but he would. He's SO singly focused, if anything begins to threaten her, protecting her is where ALL his attention goes--and how much he could be hurting himself doesn't cross his mind. Which actually makes Toby the most powerful and the most dangerous character in that show--because you can do an incredible amount of physical damage if you're not afraid of breaking your own hand. A summary of my years of Toby analysis is actually somewhere on Facebook if you're into the whole Sweeney Todd thing. It's from the last time Toby really flared up, in 2008.

So, being in a very particular emotional state, needing some solidarity and grounding, and having gotten no sleep for the past several nights, I did not go to church on Sunday morning. Instead, I went down to Battery Park and walked the labyrinth that's there. It's a small classical labyrinth (as opposed to the Chartres-style labyrinth) laid out with stones in the grass. I sang, a lot, while walking it, which I'd never done before. And I spewed out the situation and prayed desperately for those who have been affected by it. But then on the walk out of the labyrinth, I got to the hard part.

I am not allowed to hate anyone.

It is, actually, against my religion, which we all know I take very seriously.

In fact, I am supposed to love everyone. And yes, that's always difficult because it's hard to expand your care that much, but I have never found that so hard until this moment. Because I don't WANT to love them right now. I would LOVE to vilify and hate and be done with it. But actually, this very strong code I have instilled in myself says that I can't do that. And intellectually, I know that bringing more hate into the world won't help the situation at all. And I know that love does not mean approval, or letting things slide, and love is definitely not letting people off the hook, and there is some way to love within all of this, but emotionally I am not at all there. I was praying for help in trying to love, and it was a physical struggle for me to get the words out.

So here I am now. In beautiful Ithaca, which is particularly good for me as it is away from New York City, the center of this situation. With the question, "How do you keep loving when it is the hardest possible response?" Which is a question that will take much longer to answer and be very hard to put into practice, but I've got to get some kind of beginning. Partially logistically, because I need to be able to look at people in the face and have a conversation by the time I return to the city. What I said to a group of friends as we lent each other our support, wrapped in blankets and crying on a balcony in Brooklyn, was, "I don't know how to even begin to heal this situation." And it's one that's going to need a lot of healing in a lot of different ways, for a long time, so we've got to start somewhere.

Why is love so easy to give and so hard to receive?

I have been away. Doing shows. Finishing classwork. Graduating (what? yeah. I'm in the midst of that now). So this post is long overdue. My apologies.

Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. The devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him. And during supper Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, ‘Lord, are you going to wash my feet?’ Jesus answered, ‘You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.’ Peter said to him, ‘You will never wash my feet.’ Jesus answered, ‘Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.’ Simon Peter said to him, ‘Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!’ Jesus said to him, ‘One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.’ For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, ‘Not all of you are clean.’

After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, ‘Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them. I am not speaking of all of you; I know whom I have chosen. But it is to fulfil the scripture, “The one who ate my bread has lifted his heel against me.” I tell you this now, before it occurs, so that when it does occur, you may believe that I am he. Very truly, I tell you, whoever receives one whom I send receives me; and whoever receives me receives him who sent me

.’ - John 13:1-17

Until this Maundy Thursday, I had always read this scripture as "we should wash each other's feet, we should act as servants to each other". Which is, absolutely, a huge part of it. I summarized this for some friends of mine by saying that Maundy Thursday is the day when Jesus passes the torch. He says, "Alright, guys, I've been here loving you and caring for you and challenging you, but I'm about to not be around, so you're going to have to do this for each other now." (that's where we get "maundy" from "mandatum", the Latin for "commandment", Jesus giving the commandment for us to love each other.)

But this Maundy Thursday, I noticed Peter for the first time. Peter, the well-meaning but often misguided disciple who ended up being the rock the church was based on. The disciple with the most character development. Peter who refuses to let Christ wash his feet. And I realized that in any given foot-washing situation, I'm quite willing to wash someone else's feet… but completely unwilling to have my feet washed. I'm not going to inflict my beaten, smelly feet on anyone, especially not someone who I have such love and respect for. Which is exactly what Peter says to Jesus. And Jesus tells Peter, "If you don't let me wash your feet, you have no part in me. In any of this."

It is incredibly difficult to accept love. I think it is often more difficult to receive love, truly receive love, than to give it. Because while giving love is vulnerable, for fear of rejection, receiving love (which is different than reaching out and grabbing love, trying to take love) requires you to allow someone else inside of you, give them leave to affect you intimately--in fact, let go of control. And that's terrifying. I think a lot of us have no idea how to do it. I'm terrible at it. A lot of the people I know who are very good at giving love have a very hard time receiving it. For various reasons. We don't know how, the vulnerability required is scary. Mostly, I think, because we get caught up over what we "deserve" or not. "Deserve" is about as useless as "should". Both "deserve" and "should" are ideas we made up. According to some Christian doctrine, we don't deserve anything. We're all Totally Depraved, we're steeped in sin and deserve nothing, and so (some of us) reject everything that comes our way because we don't feel we "deserve it". Then, there's others who feel they absolutely deserve it and therefore take it ruthlessly. Also not the point.

Christ's coming wasn't about sanctifying us so that we deserved his love or sacrifice. Christ's coming was not a gift of mercy towards undeserving people. Christ's coming was, "Guys, get over that whole thing. Thinking about whether or not you deserve it just isn't helpful. There's life to be lived." ("I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly." - John 10:10) Grace is that which frees us from thoughts of what we do or do not deserve, should or should not do, and allows us free movement, choices, mistakes, life. Grace is forgiveness that has already been bestowed. I read some philosophy for a class this semester, Hannah Arendt, who said that forgiveness was one of the ways we were able to make choices. Otherwise the irreversible effect of our actions would seem too much, it would freeze us in our tracks before we performed any action, but it is the existence of forgiveness that allows those strings to be loosened and for us to move forward without fear. I (and John Wesley) would call that grace. Prevenient grace, to be precise.

There's something about not accepting love that easily becomes romanticized. Starving artist who won't let anyone in. Wearing the scars of your self-deprecation. Dealing with your own problems, washing your own feet. But the fact of the matter is, no matter how much love is in the world, if we can't receive it, it doesn't matter. And that's the true problem. When we don't receive love, wearing our self-sufficient badges proudly, we are nullifying the presence of love in the world. Yes, we could always use more love in the world, but if we can't receive it, it doesn't matter. That's the story of the crucifixion. A man coming in and loving, deeply, truly, wholly, and the people he was trying to love rejecting it, lashing out against it in anger, screaming, "CRUCIFY HIM! We can't handle that!" In The Problem of Pain, CS Lewis speaks of God's love in The Problem of Pain, in a way that I've become obsessed with: "He has paid us the most intolerable compliment of loving us, in the deepest, most tragic, most inexorable sense." And it truly can be an intolerable compliment we try to scratch off of our skin.

I can't believe that anyone is truly evil. I just can't. I have to assume that anyone who commits atrocious acts either hasn't been given the love that would have prevented that, or hasn't known how to accept that love. And so the love can never land, change, transform. It is negated. And no matter how much love I try to give to the world, I'm not helping if I can't receive love. I am, in fact, making the problem worse, and have no part in all of this, as Jesus says to Peter. He's teaching us not only to love, but to be loved. Not only to give, but to receive. Because the fact is, we have to be able to do both, because each one is dependent on the other. It's the only way this world will begin to heal.

More from me soon, but someone linked me to this blog post about Osama bin Laden's death, and it says everything I would want to say on that subject.