Snow White, Jesus and Racism.

I saw Snow White last Friday. At least, that’s what she looks like, if Snow White had let her hair grow longer, thrown on some shorts and got a tan.

Snow White is a friend of Church Time Past. Half a life time ago I called myself a Christian. That can mean a lot of things, but I was sincere. I was strangely devout, manic in my love of God, adoring of Jesus. I don’t quite understand how my non-Christian friends suffered it, but they have since said they didn’t take a lot of notice when I went on about it. It probably helped that most of those friends were stoned or drunk on occasions where we got into debates about such matters.

Recently I’ll admit to once again calling on Christ. For so long I would not. But why punish an ideal, an energy, a type of loving consciousness, just because a whole lot of people have used that name to inflict pain, guilt and torture? I don’t even mind if Jesus died or not, and I can’t exactly explain why, since that’s meant to be central to the whole Jesus + Cross = salvation recipe. Take one political activist/prophet and combine with a massive dollop of suffering, a resurrection, and I give you, the Christ Cake, bloody and broken for your mass consumption.

Is this what humanity really requires? If you’re to believe what ministers tell you, then this is the gift freely given by God’s son. But who ever wanted such a gift? It sounds like a guilt trip to me, and that’s why I question it. Whatever God may be, it is spirit, and spirit is beyond guilt tripping. Snow White said that’s why it’s such an amazing thing, that Jesus suffered so much, not because we wanted it, but because of his great love.

I like Jesus a lot. Obviously I don’t know him in a cup of tea or even wipe his feet with my hair and oil kind of way (erotic). I like and love the idea or essence of Christ because He has a sound view. He was unconventional. He shook shit up. He made a difference. Did he walk on water? Who cares! What impresses me was how he questioned authority, was kind and to those who were considered the lowest of the low, and was always trying to get people to see the bigger picture. I love Jesus because Jesus is short hand for unconditional Love . For me, unconditional love doesn’t require a sacrifice; if Jesus got off the cross and went on to live happily ever after, I’d like it! His message would be no less powerful to me, but I guess that’s easy to say from this point in time and space.

I don’t mind if Jesus died on the cross or not, because either way, he overcame ‘death’. If he died literally and rose again, fine. If he used yogic techniques to appear dead and then roused himself later, that’s also very cool. It isn’t so much his death as his life that makes me love what he stands for. I still feel like the cross is somehow a powerful symbol, but maybe it could mean something other than suffering? If he was doing the yoga thing and had gone into a deep meditation, then all that whipping and torture may not have even been felt. Like a yogi who can ly down on a bed of nails unharmed. That person has found a way to overcome suffering and death, but perhaps not in the way that we first assumed.

Anyway, seeing Snow White was wonderful. We had such a good catch up, but when discussing the nature of Illusion, she didn’t know what I was on about. I found it hard to explain. You know, the world is a dream we have all conspired to create, however unconsciously. How to live in a dream then? Well, that’s a rather big question, but one I’ve been trying to understand and live for quite a long time now. It makes you question the nature of suffering, guilt, fear, joy. Too many writers have explained this so very well. Perhaps I should tell Snow White to read The Power of Now, or even that intense little number A Course In Miracles.

I think what I get out of it, what helps me, is that it’s simply a way of being more present and observant. To dream, and to know that I dream, and therefore know that I am creating this experience; that feels authentically powerful. I can choose what to think. I can choose my reactions. I can choose to believe any ‘story’ I want.

When I speak of ‘story’, I’m referring to the whole weight of attachments dragging from something in the past, or even the imagined future. Someone will complain about having no money, and they have a glass of wine in one hand and a bag of Mcdonald’s in the other. Someone will say they don’t know what it is to love or be loved while a trail of broken hearts squelches beneath their heavy feet.

I watched this movie ‘Hesher’ last night. Hesher talks about losing one of his nuts in an accident, and how he was so devastated until he focused on having one nut left. His dick still works. So there you have it; focus on the good. You can always focus on how your dick actually works rather than lamenting the loss of a nut. You can turn yourself into some kind of hero rather than a victim.

Today this is my heroic act; I will make the bed. I will wash my hair. I will be nice to myself, and I will eat some fruit. I will smile at strangers, and if they don’t smile back (which is rare) I will not mutter ‘fuck you’ as I continue to walk by.

I have written my gratitude list for the morning. I have consumed my two cups of coffee.

Last week and yesterday I got a few hours nanny/slave work for a woman in Herne Bay. I enjoyed observing how the Other Half live. Some things are sort of surprising; fake flowers and no sign of filtered water or organic produce. A show home feeling, expensive decor and paintings obviously purchased with an increase in value in mind. I counted the husbands’ shoes. Thirty pairs. I liked looking at her shoes too; the nicest pair were from Topshop, and that’s comforting. I vacuumed the whole house, made their beds, did the washing, helped his Little Lordship with homework, tidied his room, put away his clothes ... and was made to feel grateful for the pay. I am grateful; but it’s a bit of a come down compared to what I was getting paid as a Literacy Coach. Let’s face it, money does buy a certain amount of happiness if we consider food and shelter major contributing factors. I’ve been miserable and poor and miserable with more, and the latter is preferable.

Last week as I walked her son home from school he pretended to hitch hike for a minute. I said I’ve picked up quite a lot of hitch hikers before, and the thing is, to trust your instinct about people. I said that it’s just a feeling you get, you know if the person will be ok to pick up, whereas some people just don’t have a good feeling.
“Like if they’re Maori?” he responded.
“Well, not really, I’m part Maori, not that you can see it cos I’m so white. Er, it’s not really to do with skin colour, it’s just a feeling.”

I was mellow. Who knows if it’s his parents who are racist, or if it’s the result of attending Ponsonby Primary school and not being familiar with a variety of cultures? Perhaps he overheard a bigoted grandparent, or he’s only ever seen the Maori beggar lady who sits on the pavement on Ponsonby Rd looking sullen?

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll go to my Marae. I’ve dreamt of it, and the dream was powerful, the message being that my value has nothing to do with my ethnicity or anything else defining the human condition. If I go back, I have to be completely at ease with this. With not being ‘Maori enough’. I can’t say I want to willingly enter into that atmosphere. It was hard enough working for an Iwi station years ago and being bullied and given shit for being white all the time. Racism sucks. I get it though; people are always looking for a point of difference to others, ways to continually separate. Yet at end of it all, we’ll likely see how much of an Illusion that separation is. Buddha, Christ, Goddess, these energies of love will be Us in a way that we can understand. And then, we’ll start again.