Answered Prayer

Today I went to UT hospital with my friend. She got the results of a diagnostic test expected to confirm a cancer after a screening test indicated abnormal cells. We had been discussing dates for surgery and recovery plans. But instead she got a clean bill of health, no cancer at all! I was shocked. The nurse indicated this sometimes happens. To me it is a miracle. She has been taking very good care of herself and I have been praying hard for her.

When I prayed about this issue a few weeks ago got an indication in prayer that she did indeed have an early stage cancer. So today I thought perhaps I had been mistaken in my understanding. But after the hospital visit I prayed again asking about it all. Immediately I got a signal that it had not been a misunderstanding, but that Goddess had answered my prayers, and healed my friend of an early stage cancer. I am so pleased, so thankful.

I think of others for whom I pray and see them doing better. It gives me hope. I know that I cannot understand or control things, but I do think that good things happen, that prayers are sometimes answered, that we are being taken care of, that there is an intelligent goodness that somehow responds to our focused thought. I am a believer, period.

Limited Circumstances

For some reason a quiet Monday morning is my favorite time for long meditations. With the unusual working situation I have I often have Monday mornings to just meditate after a busy outward weekend. Today's mediatation was especially fruitful. But it is difficult to begin. I started this blog wanting to share vision from meditations. I feel I am led to do so, but it is hard for me. As I have noted it feels like an alien thing. And yet I do think a reader might be encouraged by it. Perhaps they might be encouraged by the "lessons" of the vision, or, perhaps more importantly, they might be encouraged to seek out their own visionary process. Still I hesitate.

Rather than a specific vision, I will start with a small thing, a change of perspective. You see there are a number of ways in which my life seems limited. And often I find that worrisome, thinking that I should do better, live more broadly, more outwardly, be more succesful, go faster, all that stuff. The "limitations" relate to finances, physical health, use of time, and outwardness. For example, I have a very small business that may in fact be dying. However, I continue to have some work, and by a means I do not clearly understand, I live rather well. I have a nice suburban home, drive a safe paid-for car, eat excellent food, and from time to time I enjoy pleasant outings. But in fact I work very little. It is a mystery and often I worry about it. I think I am foolish to continue that way, just barely hanging on (and perhaps I will need to make a change, though is has been 8 years this way).

I shall continue with another example before moving on to the change of perspective, that perhaps you are already anticipating. My health is also "delicate." There are many things I cannot do, especailly things I cannot eat. Well, I can eat them, but then I have problems. No need to bore you with the details, I do that too often in person. People eat together a lot so the topic comes up and apparently I still need to talk it through. Another aspect of the health thing is that I sleep lot. But in fact I have excellent health in recent years. I don't get specific illnesses, like colds or flu, and I'm not too troubled by the usual allergy symptoms. About the food problem, the things I can't really eat are: sugar, pork, highly processed foods especially meats, and low quality (or high volume) alcohol. Does this list of restricted foods look familiar?

So yesterday I was working in my yard feeling sorry for myself,"All this yard work to do, all on my own, such a big place to try to keep up with, blah blah blah." Then I realized I have such a big place to keep up with, oh yeah, have a big place of my very own! And then it all tumbled in. Thinking about low income my usual thought is, "Oh my, I don't have much work." But then I realized, oh yeah, I don't have much work! Instead I have lots of free time! Then I thought about my health. Instead of "Gee, my poor delicate body can't take much." (You get the idea). Now I'm thinking my delicately lovely body won't let me take in much crap. All of my circumstances that seem to be limitations have led me to this life of disciplined contemplation. (And I haven't even discussed my sex life, though I may briefly. Well, there are limitations there as well. I don't need to be specific, but some things work for me and some things don't - in a very clear and unpleasant ways. And when I think with my brain (as verses with other parts), I realize that the things that don't work for me are troublesome in many ways. So the same principle seems to be at work).

My "limiting circumstances" are amazing directions, as in instructions. These instructions are every where. I can't even drive fast. It makes me too nervous, feels like the car is out of control. It drives my kids crazy. But I get there, just slowly. It is another example of "limitations" that lead me to a life that is different from the cultural demand to live faster and faster. I see the harsh demands of our culture especially in the workplace. When I do work, I go to industries where employees are sick from the work. Usually I find they work very long hours, regularly over 40 hours per week, sometimes not taking weekends off (not honoring the Sabbath). I think no wonder you are sick. For me I cannot work that hard. One time I was taking with my son about finances and my business. He said - mom if you worked full time (that is billable work 40 hours every week) you'd be Rich! Yes, but when one is a sole proprietor is not usual to be billable full time (unless they work 60+ hours per week- which many do). But I am just not that successful. It seems that I do my business in a limited way.

So today I am contemplating the blessings of my limited circumstances. I have an unsuccessful business that allows me time for writing, and church work, and playing. I have poor health that allows me to consistently eat very healthfully and sleep well. And I have a highly sensitive mind prone to insanity that allows me to go slowly through life and enjoy deep contemplation, intense prayer, healing energy, and perhaps prophetic vision. Wow, maybe I can finally take in this change of perspective and remember it. Maybe I can stop fighting my circumstances, perhaps I can stop resisting and fearing my life. Perhaps I can begin to thank Goddess for providing exactly the limitations I need to develop into the disciplined contemplative visionary she as offered for me to be. Perhaps I can have the courage to speak it out, to show that within an ordinary life one can find a different way to live in a very fast, harsh, poisonous, and dehumanizing world.

Watching a fire

Well, I have made my way back from the place of rejection and shame. And I feel better. I think it is an interesting story, so I decided to tell it after all.

I had been requested to give a small help to a friend with a health problem, to give a "laying on of hands" for transmitting healing energy. (It is difficult to say that in a way that doesn't sound "flakey" because I guess it is flakey, but so it is.) Nonetheless, it was a priviledge to have this request, a rare opportunity. But it went strangely; it went awry. It was not a laying on of hands. Instead, unexpectedly, it was a "reading." What I mean by a reading is that immediately as I laid on my hands I felt intense emotions and "saw visions." That is I had understandings of a visual nature, as if remembering the scenes of a dream. But the difficulties came in that it was not my emotions, and not my dream. I had not been requested or invited to view the inner shadows and dreams of my friend. Of course at the time I did not think of this. I was fully involved my event of having visions. I just verbized the reading thinking that a bonus gift was occurring.

It went more strangely from there. Gradually over a few days time, I came to understand that my friend's experience of the reading been a shocking and invasive event, not a gift. With this understanding I fell into deep rejection and shame. For me it seemed that I had found yet another message saying that the deepest most secret gifts I have to give are unacceptable, that the place wherein I feel the greatest power is too alien. It was as if I had offered lovemaking that the partner felt as rape. It was devasting. My desire was to hide, to reject my friend, which would have been a punishment even if that was not my intention. So as I struggled over the ordinary, returning a phone call, arranging on luncheon together, I considered many things. I sat in quiet for hours, waiting and thinking and praying; not responding, not discussing, not throwing more words onto the fire. However, also being in withdrawal.

Eventually I saw a simple understanding. I had had an experience and my friend had had an experience, but these were not the same the experience, though they occurred with the same event. And oddly, the next understanding was deeper. I had not caused her experience, though I triggered it. And my friend had not caused my experience though she triggered it. Oh my, I was having my OWN experience, my own event. My friend did not do anything TO me. She simply had a bad experience right up next to me, and in response I had had my own bad expereince right up next to her. But each of these were oddly independent, not about each other. My shame was my own. What she had rejected was her experience of the event. Graciously, she had not rejected me or even my capability of "reading." I simply did not get the validation - the gratitude and admiration - I had thought I "should" have gotten, but instead was asked to sit through my friend's difficult experience. And ultimately she came around to appreciation after having some time to look at it again, and to view it with the help of another friend.

But even then it took me some time to realize that withdrawal, isolation, and even punishment were not necessary. If I continue to feel unsure about how I am, and what place there is for my capabilities, that is my own journey. I do not have to choose to feel shame as I struggle with these things. I do not have to punish my friend during my struggle, a friend who began with only requesting a small help for an illness. In the end I returned the phone call, reopened communications, reopened my heart, bruises and all.

Then the most remarkable thing happened, I did not feel ashamed anymore. It was as if in granting a bit of grace outward, the mercy to not punish an innocent friend, then then some how that mercy shone back on me. I seem to have forgiven myself for being so different, for stumbling about with a glaring laser of awareness, for not know where to place myself in this distant land I live in for a time, this land of time and space, of "normal" physical reality. I do desperately want to go home, to the spirit realm, but for now I live here, in my rough bruised skin. And need a friend to hold, imperfect and stumbling like me, a friend who gives another chance.

Putting out Fires

It's been a while since I posted. It seems like some what of a roller coaster, but perhaps not, perhaps that is just an illusion to distract me from my larger purposes, though I am not sure what these may be, except in the most general terms. I think I get easily distracted. Perhaps it is a form of attention deficit disorder, (ADD), though not in the intellectual sense, rather in a spiritual sense, Spiritual Attention Deifict Disorder (SADD). Intellectually I can sit down and write a technical report for six or eight hours at at time, though usually only after I have waited until the deadline is looming, but that is about motivation not attention. And if I am interested I can read an entire book in one sitting. So attention is doable intellectually.

However spiritually, and relationally, perhaps there is an attention deficit. I get to a certain point and want to wander off. Spiritually I learn a little something, then get distracted by something that seems like a really important crisis and forget what ever I just learned. A few days ago I had dream about fires in a cave where I lived, all these fires popping up out of no where, even stones were on fire. Fire chasted me down the tunnels as I ran with my teacup full of water. I was putting out the fires using a tea cup. splash. It was not effective. Finally I found a way to turn on a whole flow of water that went right through the fires. And they all went out immediately. I think that my subconscious (the cave) is troubled by many small emergencies (busy putting out fires) and I use meager resources (a tiny tea cup full) to address them when I could turn on an ongoing flow of resources to calm all the emergeniges, and keep the fires from restarting. I am thinking the flow of water represents love, an onging flow of love. "Perfect love casts out all fear." I have struggled with what is "Perfect" love. Maybe it is love that flows continuously, rather than the way I usually do it, in little spurts, a teacup full. splash. I'm very loving in spurts, until you piss me off. Then its another fire.

So this week the fire is a sense of rejection. It is a long and very personal story so I won't go into the details, but I feel utterly rejected, an alien who will never have a place to be who I am. I am licking my wounds ready to pack it in and go back home. This is another little fire distracting me from the larger truth. The larger truth is that It is all about love. But I can't seem to get the flow to stay on, and the fire is blocking the faucet again.

"Special People"

Two situations arose in the last week wherein people I am involved with set up exclusionary gatherings. I have been thinking about this a lot. There are times to be exclusionary. It seems to have something to due with the level of intimacy, as verses the level of publicness of a situation. For example I exclude nearly everyone from my bed, even my cat (she walks on my head, unacceptable).

On the other end of the spectrum I went to Sundown in the City last Thursday - a thoroughly public free concert event, outdoors, downtown. Apparently about seven to ten thousand people included themselves, estimates varied. It was oddly intimate though due to the extremely close proximity of those ten thousand people. When I go there I get on the "people mover," the flowing sections at the sides of the square where people move up and down the square for no apparent reason. Perhaps they are just like me, cruising on the people mover. It's a fun ride, unless you get in front of someone who is playing handzies while on the people mover - not good. I like to practice my "don'tfuckwithme" posture while riding the people mover (I love being extremely tall). It usually works. So with exclusiveness and inclusiveness some areas are clear - very exclusive in the bed, very inclusive in the public square - it is all those middle areas that are shady.

Both of the situations that I got concerned about centered around the church, which is a public setting, but not entirely so. We do have some excluding criteria, though fewer than most churches. I would say our excluding criteria is only that one must behave peacefully within our house. That is all. So Jim Adkisson who shot nine of us last year is definitely in the excluded category. Again the extremes are easy to figure out. It is the more subtle areas that are tricky.

These exclusionary gatherings were not really about church and that was the problem. Two groups were soliciting SOME people from among church for private gatherings. But only SOME people, Special People, were to be included, but that was unclear. In one case it was Special People born female, as verses those who exert huge effort and sacrifice, socially and financially, to become physically female. In the other case, the group was soliciting Special People who by some unclear criteria are manifesting a certain high level of spiritual understanding based on the judgement of the group leader. In both cases the group leader looked around and using her visual and ethereal assessment determined "you people are Special Enough" and "you other people are Not Special Enough." The Not-Special-Enough-People were so informed, with the expected unpleasantness following. In both cases I was deemed special enough. And that makes me very uncomfortable. Sometimes being special is not such a good thing.

I am reminded of the kindergarten lesson about birthday party invitations. It is a lesson for the parents. If you are having a birthday party and ALL of the children in the class are invited, then you may pass out the party invitations in the classroom. However, if only some of the children from the class are invited (say only the boys), then you must mail out the invitations privately. Seems pretty obvious. One is free to hold whatever private gatherings one would care to hold. But going to the public and (supposedly) welcoming setting of the church to gather and organize the meetings is, at best, rude.

"Let brotherly Love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers for thereby some have entertained angels unawares." (Hebrews 13: 1-2) The point is love, the point of everything is love. That is what is special.

Drawing Lines in the Sand

First of all Admiral Nelson is not Captain Morgan. You have to be careful which pirates you bring home. Arrgh.....

Now to my story. I was very sad last night. (who cares aah? well, this may have meaning or it may not...) I had had a hard day or so, over extended myself. When I came home I drank too much of a bad liquor and a had a terrible spell. You know that one, the world is coming to an end spell, the nobody loves me spell, my life is a small sad joke spell, it is a dark and pitiable thing. Surely the doing of some devilish pirate. So under the influence of this dark spell I laid awake crying and composing e-mails to the various offenders. These were quite articulate and all fully justifiable. It is fortunate that I do not have a handy laptop in the bedroom, all fired up and online or else these dreadful missives may have gone out spreading the dark spell further in nasty little tendrils like the slime trails of a snail. I did have the sense to know I was poisoned, that it would pass, that I needed to hold tight to mast of the ship in the storm. For me that mast is prayer, like a tree, rooted and rising, holding me here when I would hurl away in a storm.

So in the morning I did feel better. But I still felt I needed to calmly communicate that these offenders behaved unacceptably towards me and draw some firm lines in the sand. But first, breakfast and bible reading (yes I am that way, though not every day). Today I knew I needed to read in John. So over eggs and toast, my big parallel bible already open on the dining table, I flipped over to John and at random fell in at John chapter 8. "Lets him among you who is without sin cast the first stone." "You judge the flesh. I do not judge."

Oh my, so, there you have it. I had been gathering up my stones to cast all night. This morning I set aside the boulders but I was still testing my pitch on the fist sized ones. Okay, I'm thinking, so I won't cut off from these groups and persons that made me feel bad. However, I still get to write them nicer little notes about how sad I am due their behavior, right? I can tell them this sweet little bible story and point out how gracious I am to let pass their terrible offenses to me, right? I can wrap up the stones with flowery notes and a rubber band, "Dear Sister So and So....." But no. I just get to suck it up and grow up and know they had a bad day too. That's all. And that is grace, the practice that is so hard for me to Get It.

In that story from John chapter 8, Jesus has this whole interaction with the Pharisees about not stoning this woman. Twice it details that he bent to ground and wrote with his finger in the dirt. Why add this detail? How is that so important that it is noted twice? One version says that he drew on the ground as if he did not hear them. And then while all the accusers were drifting away he wasn't even watching. After they are gone, He looks up and says where are they? What does detail of his manner mean? I think it shows detachment. He not only did not condone the casting of stones, he didn't even get himself personally involved in the drama. I like that picture. I can see that, squatting down, drawing in the sand, letting them drift away.

Letter to Daddy

I was thinking about patience. My friend asked me how I was feeling about my work and finanacial situation because things are still tenuous. I asked myself, how do I feel about it? Do I feel afraid? Confident? Anxious? What? Then I thought, “I feel patient.” Yes, I feel patient about my work situation. How surprising to feel patient, so unusual for me to be patient. I said wow, I must really be transforming if I feel patient about that, something so big and scary for me. Patience is one of the fruits of the spirit that is new for me. I tend to be impatient, sometimes in the irritable angry way, but more often in a frightened timid way. For example if I am traveling and I am unsure of where I am and where I am going, if I do not know the way, I may be become impatient, anxious, and begin to believe I should already be there. Since I am not there, then I think, “I am lost.” Then I become frightened and disoriented, perhaps even making wrong and unnecessary turns. I was praying this morning about all that, what direction to take about work, what to wait for and what to head toward, about that patience, and I remembered a story about you Daddy.

I remembered when you and were both on separate business trips in southern California. We agreed to meet for dinner. It was a distance away and began to travel with directions and plenty of time, but I got lost, very lost. I worked hard to get back on track, but so much time went by and I still wasn’t there. It was dark. I had been through strange and seemingly unsafe areas. I was frightened, crying, and ready to give up but I still had to arrive somewhere. I stopped at a market to ask for help. The employee told me simple instructions, but I was so frightened I couldn’t understand. I kept asking him to repeat and clarify. Finally he walked with me out of the market door, and he pointed. There, within sight, was the highway I needed. It was right there, but I had been so afraid I couldn’t see it. So I got on the right road, finally, and made my way to the restaurant where I was to meet you. I was two hours late, two hours. I was sure you would be gone. I opened the door and there you were, waiting for me, waiting patiently. You had not even eaten; you had only waited for me, with patience and faith even in your anxiety about me. You were not angry with me; you were only relieved that I had finally arrived safely. I was so relieved and happy to see you. We had such a good evening together. We talked about difficult things as I was in a time of serious decision-making and you wanted to change my mind, but you were so gentle and respectful, pointing out important things, telling the truth with loving kindness. You were the only one who did that. There was neither glossing over nor condemnation. I did not agree but we parted with love. And many things you spoke of came to pass as you were concerned that they might.

The patience you showed me was such a gift. To just wait for me to find my way you show such love. I am blessed by this wisdom. I feel that you are still waiting for me to find my way to you. And in some ways I do. It is as if we can meet at way stations, a place to stop and be nourished for a moment while on our separate journeys. And now I feel that patience growing in me. It is if I see a wiser, older part of myself, perhaps the Holy Spirit, sitting at rest, in a safe and nurturing place, while the rest of me wanders in darkness. Through this wise one, I am having patience for myself to make my way back to the right road. And if I don’t get too frightened and impatient I may be able to see that the road I need is right there, in sight, just drive up a block and turn right, then keep on that road. Thank you for patiently waiting for me, for having faith that would eventually make my way there.

Hard to believe but true...

Well, I am going to just step out here and preach a little so be forewarned.
It is finally sinking in. I had heard parts of the story all my life but it is finally sinking a little bit. I'm guessing there is way more that I still don't get but perhaps I will see te rest eventually too.

I've spent my whole life Trying Real Hard, complete with stomach troubles, tight neck, and TMJ to prove it. Or else being sick and rebellious because I couldn't try any harder. I've been trying to be good, or at least to be pleasing. Mercy, the things I have done to be pleasing, the list is long and horrible. I married a man I cared for but didn't love, I took on my fathers illness, I spent my education opportunity in a field that is not where my gifts and calling lie, so many things. It became such a habit to be pleasing that I have submitted to rape several times. Such a tragic way of life, so disempowering, it is not what is intended.

You see I was taught that being pleasing was what God required. I let that become such a huge corner stone of life that it lead me to do things that surely would not please God, but I apparently thought were necessary to be acceptable in that moment. And being acceptable in the moment becomes a god, a dangerous one.

But now I'm seeing things differently. The way to live in joy and in power is not in hoping to be acceptable by being pleasing, but to rest in faith and trust. Geez, that sentence sounds so cheesy. Let me try again.

We need to feel safe by feeling accepted in to the tribe, accepted by the high status authority (whatever form that takes). We all need to feel powerful by being accomplished in some way. And we need joy it sustain us, because life is full of suffering. Joy is the food of the spirit and keeps us alive. There is no power or joy in trying hard to be pleasing. And it is not possible to accomplish that goal, not to please people, not to please God. And it is a waste of life energy, a distraction that leads to other even more dangerous distractions like anger, depression, bitterness, and isolation. And these lead to other distractions like addictions and hatred.

Recently I have been feeling better. Just that, feeling better. The sadness is not falling so hard, or so long, or so often. The hopelessness is easing, though in fact the circumstances for "security" are little improved. I have just been feeling better, calmer, happier more often, more easily satisfied, more wiling to engage with others, to listen and be present, to gobble up their proffered morsels of friendship and love. I attribute it to something subtle and powerful, something whose words and name sound contrived in a modern world. I attribute this change to the power of the holy spirit.

What des that mean "The Holy Spirit"? Well, in truth I am not entirely sure. It is like asking what does it mean to "Fall in Love." Mostly one has to go there to really know. The words only point in a direction. But I know a few things. The Holy spirit is a gift. It is more than a feeling but it does come with feelings. It is like gravity wherein one falls into God, god being that great Love that sustains all things. Though, I can step out from it and go back into my difficulties and darkness at any moment, so it is not as demanding as gravity. One must chose to remain in the spirit. Under the influence of the holy spirit the world feels better, brighter, there is hope. One can look at people and processes and see something to love, something in each that is lovable. But there is more.

Somehow the power of the holy spirit actually changes things. I believe that brain chemistry stuck in depressive imbalance of neurotransmitter production or lack of production is rebalanced. I believe that cellular mutations that develop into cancer and milder dysfunctions are realigned at the level of the DNA. I believe that addictive processes loose their intensive pull on our bodies and minds. I believe that the spirit can ease bitter unforgiveness. I've have even had the surprise of remembering grievances I had forgotten, and then realizing that even with the memory, it did not matter anymore.

And the power of the holy spirit extends beyond that. It doesn't just change the way others look to me, I think it changes the way we look to others. I even think people who are walking in the spirit look younger and more beautiful. I think it changes the field around a person so that others respond differently, more positively. I believe that the holy spirit can actually speak through us to say important things to others that they need to hear and are ready to hear, encouragement, and redirection. The point is that the holy spirit changes everything. Things that had been a Big Deal, are not so bad. I heard a voice (a thought in my mind) telling me yesterday "This is not a Problem." Oh yeah, that's right, this Is Not a Problem. Now.... what was it I really wanted to focus on?

So how do you get it, this mysterious holy spirit? Well, the way I was taught is that is a gift that descends onto a person at Christian baptism. But I was Baptised when I was only nine years old, and I guess it did descend at that time. But I have certainly wandered off since then. Also, I have seen the spirit on people who are not Christians. So I am guessing there are other ways to get it besides just Christain Baptism. I still approach the holy spirit through Jesus, but oddly it is a big Goddess I see when I close my eyes. So I don't understand it all. These are just the story book pictures we are getting. I think the way to get the spirit is ask for it. To look for it in all things. To head that way all the time, to be in prayer without ceasing. To read about it and talk about it, to look for others who have it and spend time with them.

Getting back to my first point that it is by faith and trust, rather than by being pleasing that we can enjoy a life of power and joy. The trust part is trusting that the power of the holy spirit is working. It is working right now to make all things new. It is a new mantra "the holy spirit is working, the holy spirit is working....."

I know I am a long way off from it too often, but I think I've got a glimpse now. I know I want more, more of the transformation that makes life sweeter, right here, right now.

No cure for Hate Article

Subject: [Tvuuc-el] "No 'cure' for hate"
Sorry to post again so soon but it seems like recently some issues keep finding their way to me. I receive the McClatchy news group Washington office articles as a supplement to other news sources. I read this commentary from their Miami paper. Given we as a congregation have a sort of ongoing dialogue with how to view and deal with evil, and even in our forward looking expectations as we sing at the end of each service, "...declare that fear and hate are done...", I thought this perspective pertinent. I think it at least reflects our world as it is. Gary _________________________

Commentary: No 'cure' for hate By Leonard Pitts Jr. The Miami Herald

There are now 926 hate groups in this country. Take a second and consider that number. It represents an increase of more than 50 percent since 2000. And by "hate groups," I don't mean guys in their bathrobes who go online and pretend their followers are legion. No, I mean actual Klan cells, Neo-Nazi sects, gay-bashing "churches," cliques of black separatists, white nationalists, nativists, racist skinheads and other merchants of venom who meet, plot and recruit in all 48 contiguous states (Alaska and Hawaii have no known hate groups). Nine hundred twenty-six of them. The number is a record. We learn all this from the Southern Poverty Law Center (splcenter.org) in Montgomery, Ala., which has, since its founding in 1971, become a leading authority on the business of hate. According to the latest issue of Intelligence Report, the SPLC's quarterly magazine, that business is booming. And maybe you wonder how this can be. How can hate enjoy such phenomenal growth in a nation where a Jew serves as senator from Connecticut, a Muslim serves as representative from Minnesota, a Hispanic is governor of New Mexico and a black man is president? The answer is that we are a nation where a Jew serves as senator from Connecticut, a Muslim serves as representative from Minnesota, a Hispanic is governor of New Mexico and a black man is president. Because if those things strike you as signs of progress, well, they are signs of apocalypse to those who believe only white, male Christians are fit to lead. But that's not the only reason for the increase. SPLC also cites the debate over illegal immigration that has dominated much of this decade. Though former President George W. Bush offered thoughtful, moderate leadership on the issue, he was drowned out by demagogic extremists competing to see which could most effectively scapegoat undocumented workers. They, too, bear responsibility here. Finally, there is the economy. When things get tough, people become more receptive to the idea that their miseries are all the fault of some alien other. So the stock market, too, is implicated. Hate rises when the Dow falls. I imagine the SPLC findings land like cold water in the faces of those who took Barack Obama's ascension to the presidency as proof that the nation was finally cured of the sickness of hate. The truth, I'm afraid, is more nuanced than that. Maybe it helps to think in terms of alcoholism, a disease that can, with treatment, be contained, controlled, put into remission – but never cured. Even when you've got years of sobriety under your belt, the germ of it lurks in your bloodstream. Which is why alcoholics do not call themselves cured. Rather, they say they are recovering. Hate is something like that, a fact some of us have never quite understood. Such folks are convinced there is a goal line out there somewhere which, once crossed, will allow the nation to declare itself cured. And once cured, we'll never have to grapple with hatred again. But it doesn't work that way. In a nation so deeply riven by culture, race and religion, there is always a temptation to hate somebody, to blame some group of others for the job you lost, the crime committed against you, the fear and uncertainty you feel. There is a simplicity and a seductiveness to it that are all too easily mistaken for righteousness. So there is no "cure" for a nation's hate. There is only an ongoing process of getting better, not unlike the alcoholic who must daily earn his sobriety anew. This explosion of hate is a reminder of what happens when we forget that, when we are undeservedly sanguine about how enlightened we've become. It is said that eternal vigilance is the price of freedom. Well, that's the going rate for tolerance, too.

ABOUT THE WRITER Leonard Pitts Jr., winner of the 2004 Pulitzer Prize for commentary, is a columnist for the Miami Herald, 1 Herald Plaza, Miami, Fla. 33132. Readers may write to him via e-mail at lpitts@miamiherald.com. He chats with readers every Wednesday from 1 p.m. to 2 p.m. EDT at Ask Leonard.