Blowing a whistle and carrying a sign

I told myself if I ran into this guy at another one of these places I was going to write about him.  Well, you guessed it, May Day happened and there was this guy. This guy is a man named Leo.

I first ran into Leo, or rather I watched him run about nine years ago.  If you are envisioning a svelte athletic looking young man dashing about, you would be wrong. This guy was following after what could only be described as Little Mob Running.  I think he wore white pants, white shirt and a white cap; I know he carried and blew a whistle,  had a very gray beard and quite frankly, not that much hair then. The kids were about 5 and 6 years old and first time team soccer players.  And so it was with great  passion, determination and not much empathy for each other they wildly charged after the ball. They didn't have much understanding of the game rules either but then there was the man in white.

It's really quite something to watch the kids learning the game.  The coaches  (bless them) worked hard to teach basic technique, what not to do,  team spirit, and to simply pay attention for more than two minutes when the ball was not in front of you. The ref, on the other hand, who was this guy Leo, was evaluating the levels of the rule's transgressions and the sounding of a whistle. He blew his whistle with all the reverence of the Shofar on Rosh Hashana  Mercifully, lots of stuff went by as kids did their best to get it right, but quite often enough the piercing sound of whistle brought structure to the organized chaos on the field.

 He was clear and gentle, never shaming, as he explained the infraction and it's consequence. That would have been enough, (dayanu), but Leo was the only official who gathered both winless teams ( nobody, ahem,  was supposed to keep score at those early games) and spoke to them about the game they just finished playing. More than the rules, Leo was really talking to them about fair play and sportsmanship. I remember thinking how lucky my girls were to have someone in authority see things in that way. I was happy whenever I saw him on the field.

I later ran into him when I joined the Temple as my kids would be studying for their bat mitvah. He was always friendly and open and not dressed in all white. And when we would talk - and this guy could tell a story -  it was usually with mild humor about things that we both valued.  I also came to find out that he wrote really thoughtful articles for the Temple newsletter.

I liked him even though  I didn't  know where he lived or what he did for a living. I did know he seemed to care for people and  family alot and made a great couple with his wife, Martha  When my kids were to become B'not Mitzvah, he and Martha came to our home the day before because they were not able to be at the service. They gave my girls two framed photographs he had taken during their trip to Israel. They, of course, came with a personal story. They hang on our wall still. He seemed to just understand the underlying spirit and importance of  meaningfully honoring and sharing with others on any field.

After that I would run into Leo at various events and demonstrations that I occasionally went to. But this season of you better get off the couch alot more 'cuz trouble is afoot, I would run into Leo all the time.  I saw him in the park at Occupy Albany;  I saw him at a march for Trayvon Martin; I saw him at a screening  of  Voices In Wartime, (an excellent documentary about poetry as witness and force for healing for troubled returning vets, by the way).  And then May Day in the park happened and you guessed it, Leo became destined to become the object of my respectful attention.

 It's so easy to take our everyday teachers for granted until it's too late. So this post is about (and for) this soft-spoken, intelligent mensch of a guy who so  understands fair play and is not afraid of blowing a whistle or carrying a sign.  Thank you, Leo,  for being  one of my characters with character  that gives opaque structure and goodness to the world in which I live.

Caution: Still Living Writer

A million and one years ago on Long Island, I was a co- editor (they needed a dyke presence), wrote a column called Caution: Living Writer (under a pseudonym) and one called Press RE-Views, (to give our perspective on what was passing for mainstream news) for the nascent gay and lesbian press. These various publications were the outgrowth of the radical self identifying of the "Gay Liberation Movement" of the 70's and 80'. It was exciting and frankly more necessary than most people realized when the AIDS Crisis hit.

Recently someone asked me to a contribute to a column called To Be A Blessing in Community, The Monthly News Journal of the Capital District Gay and Lesbian Community Council. People from various congregations of faith contribute to this column. The column below ran in the Dec/Jan edition.

In some way, I feel like I've just passed myself the baton...again.

TO BE A BLESSING…Two Rallies Move the Spirit
By Shelley Glick

I stopped regularly demonstrating and marching about 15 years and two kids ago. I was however profoundly moved by two recent rallies initiated by the current face of the LGBTQ movement and community. On the evening of the first, “Wear Purple Day,” the Capital District Gay and Lesbian Community Council invited people to the park to memorialize and respond to recent gay youth suicides. The following week Queer Rising, called for a rally dedicated to ending anti-LGBTQ violence and anti-Muslim discrimination after Aiden Webster, a gay man was beaten by Jamil Karmina, a Muslim man. I am so grateful to both these groups for these events. They were for me a blessing, healing and recognition of a shifting and evolved paradigm for change both personally and politically.

Some 30 years ago I gave a workshop on Long Island called “Spirit and the Gay and Lesbian People” to the Gay and Lesbian Organization at SUNY Stony Brook. My point centered on the belief that gayness and lesbianism was not a choice, but the nature of our spirit, which of course seemed to me at the time to have absolutely nothing to do with any type of G-d consciousness.

The workshop itself was a disaster. The word spirit appeared to most of my audience to be wholly and holy the property of organized religious institutions and simply could not be seen as existing in any other context. Back then I didn’t have the language or the wisdom to talk about it terms of the deep spiritual need of lesbians and gays to live a life of authenticity in connection to who we are. All I could do was use the word spirit to define this animated conviction. So the workshop flopped, but I think it was the first of many steps in my exploration of spiritual consciousness.

I have spent much of my adult life engaged in trying to make the world a better place, shaped mostly by the Gay Liberation and Feminist movements of the 70’s and beyond. I marched, wrote, read and confronted and tried to evolve and express a moral conscience true and consistent with recognition of one’s wholeness and being. It was a loud, exciting and challenging time and sometimes so extremely dark and painful.

Entering Washington Park to honor the pain and loss of the kids who killed themselves as a result of being subjected to torturous bullying and humiliation, I remembered how so not new this truth was to our community and carried it’s sadness in my bones. But what was new enough was the media and societal attention to this horror. I saw this event not only offering support to those still targeted, but also making evident to the “outside” world what has been really happening to gay youth and kids simply perceived as different for a long time.

But this time I was walking in not just as gay activist but also as a mother and I found myself carrying the grief of a parent for a child. My perspective on the world was bigger and more inclusive. This time I found myself more sad than angry and still just as willing to express both. As I walked into the rally my eyes opened to gay, straight, young, old, families, singles, young school children, college kids, many colors, many religions, acknowledging the painful loss and demanding change. To actually see the diversity, visibility and inclusiveness of this moonlit community was such a blessing to this old soldier. I hold such gratitude for all who were there. What did we all want? Safe schools, safe space for kids to be unafraid to be who they are, to be authentic, to be real. Gay, straight or just different - it didn’t matter. Safe Schools. The change we can all live with. Put that on your bumper!

The following week I find myself in Townsend Park listening to a bullhorn call two communities to tolerance. What could have been an angry and reactive action to a violent act, thus furthering increased splitting and wounding, was instead a compassionate, thoughtful and proactive response. People of communities so often bruised by bigotry and violence simply ask of each other to respect each other and honor differences. How simple. How golden. I used to think that tolerance was a cop out. I don’t any more. I think it may be a real first step in healing. I have never heard a bullhorn used so sweetly, which I guess, is a great metaphor for our own capability to behold opposites and difference and still exist as we are.

So what’s the big deal here? It’s really all about the journey called life and life is a spiritual journey. It’s a journey we take to heal our wounds, live as authentically as we can and be fully who we really are. There is no difference between what we think is our personal life and our spiritual life. It’s all the same. And sometimes you get lucky and notice in the middle of the ups or the downs or at an event or two that you and the person next to you are indeed a blessing.

Shelley Glick is an IKH Nondual Healer and Workshop Leader. She also designs bumper stickers and is a congregant of Berith Sholom in Troy.

Tis' the Season and a Political One Too.

Yesterday, I was walking through the mall looking for gifts for my kids and partner. I came upon one of those signs you hang on a door or wall. On the top, it said "Family" in big bold letters, underneath that it said "Happy Holidays" and underneath that it said "Because Two People Fell in Love" and at the bottom "I (heart) my Family (heart) My Home". It all seems so simple. Except it's not.

My dear friends, family and fellow citizens I really don't want to sound like Scrooge but good thoughts and compassion are not enough. If you are living in NY and it's December you gotta make a call to your Senator telling him or her you support Family Equality and the right of same-sex partners to marry. You better believe that lots of people who are against it are telephoning in their "There's no room at the Inn" perspective. Hey guys, it's not about being right or feeling right, it's about doing right. This season, you want to actually give some Peace and Joy to a whole lot of loving people --make the call.

September's Siren Song

I'm back after almost 6 months of the"I really gotta" thought traps regarding my effort to blog very intelligently. But once I gave up on the thought of intelligently and went with honestly, at least for the moment, it was easier. In addition, today my kids returned to school. The surrounding quiet feels like the homecoming of a very missed personal coziness. The truth is I, too, am a forever child of the academic calendar and always think one should really start things in September.



We all had a great summer, much travel, grownup conversation and argument, kid conversation and argument, dancing, meeting new people, joking with old friends, still learning new things growing up and growing older. I was very aware of choosing to be in beautiful spaces and places of family and friends that are essential to my psyche and soul. I and we are very lucky.



The time since my last post has also been quite the personal and political journey for me. My reactivity to the politic and politics represented in this country initiated a binary coup of personal withdrawal and feelings of blinding aggressiveness. How could they think that? When is he gonna? They are Neanderthals. Give me a break, this is sooo stupid. That did it, remember who put you in office. Us and them and the forgotten minority. Does any of this sound familiar? Fact is any of the us and them could say the same things. So I've been working on this thought as a new paradigm for myself and it keeps me more present.



It is for me just another way of caring for my own psyche and soul. I think that what we all express is a function of our present experience, often lacking awareness in the moment, and often a defense against our awareness of it's truth. (Now I am not saying rightness- I am saying truth) When I can hold this idea, then I can stay present for another. This is where I believe the possibility of intelligent and broad meaningful change will come.



I think this is so important to heal the splitting occurring in this country now. Did I know this before? Yes. But I really feel I must bring it to mind again and again. It is a way for me to embody a thoughtful compassion that makes for a truer relationship to what is. And it is from this place that things are negotiable; a space so much more alive and creative than mere compromise.

My Favorite Civics Teacher

Before I was a registered Democrat and was merely voting in elementary school for class president, I fell in love with American History and Social Studies. I am guessing in the generation before me they may have called it Civics.

I think I may have to come out of the closet here and admit some things. The easy stuff is to mention that I was a (even then I was the "older") child of the 60's. In true rebel fashion I demonstrated against the war in Vietnam, marched and wrote for gay rights, reproductive freedom and anti-discrimination. I joined the War on Poverty for way too many years and ran the US Flag on my van antenna upside down. Seems like the generic biography of the times. What may not be so generic in the crowd I ran, danced and sang freedom songs with was that ever since I was a teenager I always owned, but often hid from plain sight (it not being a cool thing) an "authentic reproduction parchment copy of the US Constitution and the Bill of Rights". To this day the spirited genius of those documents remain awe inspiring to me. Those that knew me well enough back in the day could whisper to my face, "Ya know, ya got a little streak of John Wayne in ya" but they had no fear of me voting for Goldwater or walking in the Duke's funny way either (Remember always La Cage a Folle).

To say I've been sub-registered in the under the covers malcontent party for years is probably an understatement, but with and since the primaries, the fire came back and it all changed. I became a CNN junkie and was obsessed, and I do mean obsessed, with the game of politics. It was maddening and invigorating and hopeful and righteous and meaningful ... heroic and social. But that has changed too. And it changed for me when my computer and I took part in the White House Online Town Hall Meeting. It was the first live video stream from the White House using questions for the President devised and voted on by everyday folk or at least everyday folk with access to computers. Yes, I know that the Republican cohort will likely say that this was just as much a part of the political game of one-up-manship and I do get that point. But this event touched something much deeper.

It was the stuff of 21st century civics in the USA. Many may not remember, but those of my generation will remember an early television program, in black and white I might add, called "YOU ARE THERE". In this program the viewers would see a key event in history say George Washington leading the troops into the battle of Valley Forge or the Continental Congress getting ready to debate. The scene would be acted out in period costoms and an unseen TV narrator would interrupt the characters with probing questions that made history and it's meaning come alive for the viewer. Technology as well as the valuing of intelligence and education supported the idea that American citizenship was something that once was and could be lived in real time.


During that Online White House Town Meeting on the Economy, as President Obama listened and spoke to those questions that matter to the people, oh so intelligently explaining the underpinnings, focus, interelationships and goals of his administrative vision he became my new favorite civics teacher, right there in real time. And like all good civics teachers he invited us to take responsibility and think on our own about our country as well as ourselves. He encouraged us to be present for history in the making. But mostly he reminded us that We, the people are really still here.

Life on the Road

This photograph (copyright Shelley RK Glick) is a picture of my kids on an amusement ride during a recent trip to Arizona. They are twin 11 year old girls and the center of my world no matter how many circles I find myself traveling in. I smiled when I saw this picture in the back of my camera, but it was the kind of smile where you don't part your lips, your bottom lip pushes up a bit so that the corners of your mouth go down and a little puff of air seems to blow out of your nostrils. I've also been known to offer a softened and simultaneous sigh on these same occasions. This odd facial manifestation is usually the result of some sort of deep recognition, sometimes arcane and to be dealt with later and sometimes, like this one,whose clear meaning you are all too happy to resist.


I got it. Someday, not so far away, these heifers will indeed be riding off into the sunset and my watery eyes begged the question; Am I ready...well, not so much. Yes, I know the stuff that is meant to pass for relief giving wisdom shared and written in magazines--ie. This ultimate heartbreak is why you parent in the first place; to be able to send them off to fight the good fight, to earn a good living and G-d willing, to do both. And after swallowing that we go on to read about the Empty Nest, The Need to Reinvent Oneself or Fall in Love with Your Partner Again, How They Never, Never Really Leave.....etc. etc. That is, if one makes it through the teen age years intact and is still willing to read anything about the family, mythical or otherwise, ever again.


But what is not talked about often enough and what this picture brings to my mind, heart and soul is the healing and wholeness these crazy making, button pushing, and sometimes Dark Angels offer to bring to us-- time and time again. And if we miss this opportunity to do the personal and spiritual work that enables us to leave ourselves open and and sometimes vulnerable we miss what we knew to be G-d's gift on the day they were born or whatever day it was we might have found each other.


The parenting relationship is surely not the road for everyone. But for me it is and has been a true and appreciated gift. Family life challenges us every day to really deal with present reality. I feel freer, richer and more joyous than I ever was or could dream of being before I had kids-these kids. Most of the hurting and suffering that gets in our way comes from our own individual history, the choice then really simply boils down to either Heal or Hurt, both yourself and those you love. To take on the challenges and enable yourself to heal, physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually is the highest obligation of any relationship and particularly that of parenthood. And yes, I like everyone else still blow it and need to drop a nickel in the mythological jar for my own kid's future healing because that too is a simple thing that boils down to that's just life on the road, kiddo.

Crossing The Street

The Israeli-Palestinian Conflict/War had me doing a slow immobilizing churn in deep gut territory.
It was Marty Kaplan's excellent but hard hitting post "Eyeless in Gaza" on http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ that moved me to get off my tuchas and ask myself the question; where is my honesty in all this when I can see both sides? Which led, to the realization that honesty has absolutely nothing to do with the truth, just truthfulness, and it's time to travel a road whose signposts where sunk in the Bronx.

Growing up as a East Bronx Jew in the 50's meant being touched by a generation who realized and remembered the strength and beauty of the ghetto/neighborhood. As a result, a couple of perks included kids hearing English peppered with colorful Yiddish phrases and commands and that you could ask any adult or responsible teenager to "cross" you at any time. " Cross me" was Bronx speak for take me across the big street to the other side. In my neighborhood the big street was Bronx Park East and on the other side did in fact lay the massive Bronx Park. It was acknowledged as an exceptional rite of passage, more meaningful to a kid than a bar mitzvah when you were able to to "cross yourself" (remember, it is Bronx speak). Before however, you could enter the delightful freedom of the park, you always had to pass, like a one sided gauntlet, The Benches.

The Benches that surrounded the park was where the women sat. The women, mostly mothers and grandmothers sat to gossip, discuss, argue, support each other and watch--absolutely everything. As the guardians of custom and culture in a post Holocaust community, the fledgling Israel was a big deal even if you did not identify as a Zionist. It's unqualified support was enmeshed with the teachings of survival of a people and never to be questioned. To speak otherwise was clearly a betrayal and threatened the safety of this and every other existing Jewish community. Somehow it became part of the first law of survival and to be understood, like all laws of survival, in the bone.

Survival lesson one. The truth? No. Is there truthfulness in my knowing this? Yes. Do I understand survival in my bone differently? Definitely. Does my view and expectation for the the people of Isreal and Gaza to exist in safety feel more embodied now? Yup. Signing petitions along with others to stop the fighting somehow did not offer the sought after freedom from narrow views, dogmatic assumptions, circular reasoning, as well as a stomach churning guilty conscience. The blogosphere is many things for many people. For me it allowed me to "cross by myself".