I got up with J.D. when he went to work. I walked to the metro and waited for the train. I sat on the bench and thought randomly about freezing to death. I've read that after awhile you feel warm or just fall asleep (images of climbing Everest alongside pages from Jack London playing through my head). Finally, the train came, and I enjoyed feeling the warmth soak back into my body. I noticed the air rushing out of the warm train at every stop because it cast a shadow on the seat in front of me.
I got off at UMSL North and walked to the Touhill. Up the stairs, to the Lee Theater. I checked in and was given a t-shirt, but I didn't put it on immediately. Instead, I grabbed a left-over donut and a cup of tepid coffee, swigging it down. Then I hurried to the main theater, only to be turned away at the doors by the usher, who said, "This area is for special people." I told her I was instructed to come this way, and she only pointed to the stairs, down to lower seating. I reflected that it felt unnecessary to behave that way, especially for the occasion. I did find a seat in the back, I suppose with the "unspecial" masses, which was just fine with me. I'll take the seat in the back with my fellows rather than the upper legion of seraphim. The ceremony itself was nice. I enjoyed the singing by the New Sunny Mount Missionary Baptist Church Chancel Choir -- what a mouthful. Their a capella rendition of "Jericho" was lively and moving, but I was thinking, why do we celebrate a military victory where genocide was the aftermath? I guess it all matters who's the hero and who's telling the story. Earlier, I had felt moved by the invocation by Rev. William Kempf. I wish I could remember exactly what he said. Isn't it sad how the usher's words were burned into my brain, but I lost the reverend's words? Overall, I enjoyed sitting with a group that felt joyful about tomorrow. I enjoyed the feeling of fellowship, harmony, and agreement. As the speeches progressed, singers sang, and dancers danced, as voice-overs and snippets of Dr. King's speeches were played again and again, mantras and leitmotifs, I began to realize that at some point in our lives, we all make a choice. We decide if we want to stand in the choir of fear or the choir of hope. If we stand with those in power or those oppressed. If we stand for aggression or peace. If we stand for self-interest or community. If we stand for the love of ourselves or for others. There aren't many beliefs that I have about life, at least not anymore. But I do believe it's in our power to choose good, and I do believe with all my heart in the sanctity of love. Mom has been telling me recently about the talk radio at home. Some of my family members listen to those types of programs everyday and get a vision of the world where people are untrustworthy; where we are supposed to be scared and afraid; where difference is the source of the problem. People in Burley are good people, really good. But this is the divide that I felt very clearly today. Right now people are either preaching doom and destruction (with a fresh twist of Armageddon on the side) or the radical opposite, visions of utopia. That's not what I'm talking about either. This isn't an unrealistic dream scape, a "no where." This is the call to a reality that will never be perfect, but it can sure be better. Mainly it's like coming back into the warmth, letting that warmth soak into you again, letting your mind drift from fearful images and thoughts of freezing to death, to a warm awareness of the world around you, open to feeling.
After the service we broke into our groups. I was in a group going to a local food bank to stock items. But there was no one in the building. So instead, we were sent to an elementary school. Once there, we painted the library, reorganized the books, put labels into new books, and made signs to hang over the bookshelves. I made a sign, labelled books, and helped clean up, but I also made new friends, and I had a great time. The principal said the teachers, students, and librarian would be thrilled to see their renovated space. Honestly, it still looked like it could use a lot of work, but they were so happy and grateful.
Riding back on the train that night, I didn't think that much about the cold.
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