We can be in control of our lives: #Booktube #PlantPositivejournal in review #amreading

I am posting a review of the journal Plant Positive created and written by Kate Galli. The review that I recorded for Book Tube is below and the written review is below that. I was thinking that this is good to post for the holidays given the toxic food culture, but really it is good to read about Plant Positive at all times. The journal is a reminder that we are in control of our food, what we do and do not eat, and ultimately we have more power over our lives than we think we do.

When I saw Kate Galli interviewed on Rip Esseltyn’s PLANTSTRONG Podcast, I was intrigued. I immediately ordered her recently released Plant Positive Journal.

I got it as a gift for my partner but decided to read through it before she started writing in it. It is a year-long daily journal, broken down into months, weeks, and days, with the intention of helping people change their thinking, habits, and ways. I got the impression that the journal is designed primarily for people who are new to the vegan lifestyle. However, my partner and I have been vegan for four years now and the Journal was still extremely helpful.

Plant Positive Journal is beautifully done with exquisitely wrought drawings and well-placed inspirational quotes that alone are worth the price of the journal and the postage from Australia to the United States.  Kate Galli, who created the journal, is a vegan bodybuilder and health coach based in Sydney, Australia. Her podcast, about all things plant-based, is called “Healthification” and can be found wherever people get their podcasts.

As my partner said when I gave her the journal (for our fortieth anniversary), “It is the best present I ever got!”

Being vegan together—which we first did for health reasons and then went through a consciousness-raising about the animals and the environment—has been pretty amazing also.

Kate writes, “This journal covers the habits and thought patterns that help me manage my time and more importantly, my MIND.”

One of the suggestions from the Journal was to “piggyback” good habits onto each other. Kate mentions ten-minute meditation practices in the book, and I ended up “piggybacking” a ten-minute meditation onto the end of my regular yoga practice. I was meditating regularly but fell out of practice. I found this technique of “Piggybacking” my habits to be quite effective. The meditation time that I added has been life-altering and I often find myself looking forward to it!

One of the nuggets of information in the Journal was that both the American Dietetic and the British Dietetic Associations have stated that “A vegan, plant-based diet is nutritionally adequate, healthy, and safe at all stages of life, including pregnancy.”

As Kate writes, “Animals taste great. I will admit it. Most vegans will. We don’t become vegan because we hate the way animals taste. We become vegan because we discover we have been LIED TO.

We have been told our ENTIRE LIVES that some animals are ‘products.’ That it’s ok to eat some animals. Not all of them. That’d be bad!”

Plant Positive Journal created by Kate Galli reminded me of how much hope—for people and their health, for the animals, and the planet—that being plant-based also inspires in me. I found it practical, beautiful, inspirational, and very well-written.

This is Janet Mason with reviews for Book Tube and Spotify.

For more information on my most recent novel Loving Artemis, an endearing tale of revolution, love, and marriage, click here:

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THEY, a biblical tale of secret genders — excerpt nominated for a #Pushcart — #amreading #LGBTQ

Since the Biblical season is on us and everybody is holy, I am re-posting a published excerpt of my novel, THEY, a biblical tale of secret genders published by Adelaide Books (New York/ Lisbon). (For more information about the book — click here.)

This piece was first published in aaduna and was nominated for a Pushcart Prize.

The Mother  

(sometime early in the first century)

In the beginning was the Mother.

In the womb, Tamar took mental notes. The heavens trembled — at least it felt like the heavens. Maybe it was just gas. The Mother shifted. At first, it was too dark to see. But Tamar could feel. At first it felt like chaos — like everything was unconnected. But then she felt something holding her. A curved wall. She was leaning into it. It was soft and warm. She felt her backbone curve behind her. She was half of a circle. Was she floating? There was a chord attached to her belly. She relaxed once she realized that she wouldn’t float away.

There were appendages coming out from her shoulders. She looked down below the chord. On the lower part of her body there was a small bump and on either side of that were two more appendages. There was liquid all around her. She felt warm and safe. She didn’t have to worry yet about breathing.

Whoosh. She flinched. Slosh. Gurgles whizzed by. There was an abbreviated bubbling. After it repeated three times, she identified the sound as a hiccup. After a few moments, there was silence. Then there was a contented hum coming from the distance. Tamar knew it was the Mother, and it calmed her.

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The darkness lifted. She saw a distant light glowing through the pink barrier. She looked down and noticed tiny extremities with red lines moving through them. They were attached to the ends of two appendages, on each side of her. She found that she could move them, as if she were trying to grasp something. She knew that these movements would come in handy later. The light went out. Darkness. Tamar felt herself in her body.

She was perfect.

When she woke again, she blinked for the first time. It felt good so she did it again. The pinkish yellow glow came back. She clenched and unclenched her fingers. She rubbed the short one across the tips of several of the others, and felt a roughness. She felt a nourishment rushing from the chord through her body. And it was good. She went back to sleep for a long while.

When she woke, she stretched and yawned. She saw a pinkish yellow glow. It was faint and came from the other side. She looked toward the light and saw the sack next to her. There was someone inside who looked like her. It even had a light glowing around its edges — just like she did — down its extremities and around its fingers and toes. She remembered now that she had entered one body of two. Her twin was beside her. There was a large, round dome attached to a small body like hers. The big round dome faced her. The eyes looked at her. One blinked and the other stayed open. The two corners of the lips went up. Somehow she knew that this was a smile. Her twin was welcoming her. She wanted to welcome him back, but something stopped her. She didn’t know who her twin was. Was her twin part of her? She wasn’t sure she wanted to be part of someone else. She definitely didn’t want to share her Mother.

There were appendages on both sides of his body. There were five fingers attached to the end of each appendage. The fingers clenched and unclenched. They seemed to wave at her. Tamar thought about waving back, but she didn’t. She wasn’t sure if the thing next to her in the translucent sack could see her. So she pretended that she didn’t see it. Then she looked down and saw something protruding. At first she thought that she was seeing a shadow. She moved her head slightly. The shadow was still there. She looked down at her own body and saw that she also had a third appendage on the lower part of her body. It was much shorter than the two other limbs. She clenched and unclenched her fingers. They were all there — five on each side, including the shorter ones at the ends. None of them had fallen off. She looked down again. Somehow she knew that this protrusion made her a boy and knowing this made her angry.

She knew her name was Tamar, but she had forgotten where it came from. She knew that Tamar was a girl’s name, and that she was a girl. She had a vague memory in her cells that she had come from a single egg, fertilized by a trail of light that had come just for her. And she remembered that another egg, fertilized with its own stream of light, was next to her and that the two eggs had merged. They crossed over and into each other, exchanging some vital information. Tamar’s egg knew that it was female. But it absorbed a sequence of information that told it that its genetic material that it would be male and female. The secret language of the cells said that each of the eggs would be XX and XY.

The thing next to her had a longer protrusion than her. She took comfort in that. Perhaps this meant that she was really a girl after all. But the thing next to her — gradually, she came to think of him as her twin — would most likely be lording his superiority over her forever.

On the sides of the protrusion were two lower appendages. She found that she could use her mind to stretch them. And once she stretched them, she realized that these were her legs and that her feet were attached to the ends of them. She kicked at the inside of the pink cushion that surrounded her.

“Ow,” said a woman’s voice. It was the voice of the Mother. Tamar knew that she had to get the Mother’s attention first. She kicked again.

This time she felt a gentle hand push down on the other side of the pink cushion. Her twin nudged the Mother back.

“What are you trying to tell me, my son?” asked Mother.

I’m a girl — a girl just like you Mother, Tamar tried to say. But speech eluded her. She had yet to utter her first cry. But she had to get Mothers attention —

to read the entire piece in aadduna, click here

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What’s in a name? — a #UU reflection #secularhumanist #amreading

Recently, I participated in a service on the topic of secular humanism at the Unitarian Universalists of Mt. Airy in Philadelphia. The YouTube video of my part of the service is immediately below and the text is under that.

Since becoming a Unitarian Universalist, I’ve learned there is a theological name for what I am: a secular humanist. But in my book, this doesn’t mean there is no mystery in my life. In fact, I live in the mystery.

As a writer, I live in a world where people become other people in my mind. I call them characters. History often comes alive. And increasingly, especially since I’ve become vegan, talking animals come to me and tell me their stories. I live in a world where stories take on life and often become puzzles. For every beginning, there is an ending, and I usually don’t know that ending until I get there.

I did this with my novel THEY, a biblical tale of secret genders when I was in a group here called “The New UU” some years back when I first joined. Since I was raised secular, I wasn’t only new to being a Unitarian Universalist, but to religion in general. I decided to read the Bible, which wasn’t required, but I wanted to be thorough. Besides, I had always wanted to read the Bible since the tenth grade when my English teacher described it as the best work of fiction ever written.

When I began reading the Bible, I started wondering what if? I wondered what if there were strong women? And what if some of those women loved other women? What about gay men? What if there were transgendered people? How did they survive? What if some people did not fit the binary? What if some people were gender-fluid? How did they manage to survive in the harsh desert culture?

So, in some ways, I am a believer. I’m a believer in stories and I’m a believer in re-inventing those stories. Like many writers, I’m a believer in myth and in inhabiting that myth and rewriting it until it suits me. Often that is my entry point to myth. I read the reinterpretation and then I read the myth it is based on.

I’m a believer in change and knowing why that change is necessary.

And I believe in the inquisitive mind, including my own. Maybe it took a long time for me to believe in myself. Sometimes it feels that way and sometimes it doesn’t. But I did have to invent myself, in a culture where I am different in many ways. And I am proud of that difference.

I am a deeply intuitive person, so I don’t always know how things happen. But I know that they do happen. And I know that being part of this congregation has deepened my belief, particularly my belief in myself. So, I profoundly appreciate being here with you, as we invent our moment.

–Namaste

For information on my most recently published novel Loving Artemis click here

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Finding the Light–#UU #amreading #Hanukkah

I am reposting this talk that I gave to mark the occasion of Hanukkah. The talk was a Unitarian Universalist (UU) service that was called “Ringing in the Light.”

I talked about my childhood memories of being touched by Hanukkah and my experiences in celebrating the Winter Solstice and with the Gnostic Gospels. You can see my words below on the YouTube video or read the reflection below that.

Janet Mason on Light – YouTubeAuthor Janet Mason talks about finding the light through a child memory of a Hanukkah play, celebrating the solstice, and the Gnostic Gospels in a Unitarian Universalist context.www.youtube.com

As far back as I can remember, the light beckoned.

The sun was a ball of fire in the sky.  The light changed into vibrant colors in the morning and the evening.  It filtered through the branches of trees.  The sunlight had, in fact, shined down and helped to form the trees.  So the light was in the trees (along with the rain and the earth).

Even when it was cloudy, I knew the sun was there. Sometimes I could see the ball of sun outlined behind the gray clouds.

The first time I remember being drawn to the light in a religious context was when I was in elementary school watching a play about Hanukkah.

Despite its nearness to Christmas on the calendar, Hanukkah is one of the lesser holidays in Judaism. Hanukkah, also called The Festival of Lights, began last Tuesday at sunset and ends this Wednesday, December, 20^th, at nightfall.

When I asked my partner what Hanukkah meant to her, she responded that it is a celebration of survival, hope and faith.

The holiday celebrates the victory of the Maccabees, detailed in the Hebrew Bible and the Talmud.

This victory of the Maccabees, in approximately 160 BCE –  BCE standing for Before The Common Era — resulted in the rededication of the Second Temple.  The Maccabees were a group of Jewish rebel warriors who took control of Judea.

According to the Talmud, the Temple was purified and the wicks of the menorah burned for eight days.

But there was only enough sacred oil for one day’s lighting. It was a miracle.

Hanukkah is observed by lighting the eight candles of the menorah at varying times and various ways.  This is done along with the recitation of prayers.  In addition to the eight candles in the menorah, there is a ninth called a shamash (a Hebrew word that means attendant). This ninth candle, the shamash, is in the center of the menorah.

It is all very complicated of course – the history and the ritual – but what I remember most is sitting in that darkened auditorium and being drawn to the pool of light around the candles on my elementary school stage.

I am not Jewish.  I say that I was raised secular – but that is putting it mildly.  My mother was, in fact, a bible-burning atheist.  Added to that, I was always cast as one of the shepherds in the school’s Christmas pageant since I was the tallest child in elementary school.

Also, I had Jewish neighbors – and as a future lesbian and book worm growing up in the sameness of a working class neighborhood — I may have responded to difference and had a realization that I was part of it.

Then I grew up, came out, thanked the Goddess for my secular upbringing, and celebrated the Winter Solstice with candles and music. This year, the Solstice falls on December 21st. The Winter Solstice (traditionally the shortest period of daylight and the longest night of the year)  is this coming Thursday in the Northern Hemisphere of planet Earth – which is where we are.

One of our friends who we celebrated the Solstice with is Julia Haines. Julia is a musician who has performed at Restoration.  She has a wonderful composition of Thunder Perfect Mind which she accompanies with her harp playing. You can find her on YouTube. Thunder Perfect Mind, of which I just read an excerpt, is one of the ancient texts of the Gnostic Gospels.

The Gnostic Gospels were discovered in the Egyptian town of Nag Hammadi in 1945.  Originally written in Coptic, these texts date back to ancient times and give us an alternative glimpse into the Gospels that are written in the New Testament. They are so important that they are banned in some conventional religions.  And in my book, that’s a good reason to read them.

Reading them led me to think of myself as a Gnostic – meaning one who has knowledge and who pursues knowledge – including mystical knowledge.  The Gnostic Gospels have provided me with inspiration for my writing, particularly in my novel THEY, a biblical tale of secret genders, soon to be published by Adelaide Books. And they also inspire me in the novel I am currently writing — titled The Unicorn, The Mystery.

I am inspired by the Gnostic Gospels in part because they let in the light.  In particular, they let in the light of the feminine.

As Julia says in her rendition of Thunder:

am godless

I am Goddess

So how does finding the light factor into my experience of Unitarian Universalism? Later in life, after fifty, I found a religion that fit my values.  I found a religion wide enough – and I might add, secure enough – to embrace nonconformity.

In finding a congregation that is diverse in many ways – including religious diversity – I have found a deeper sense of myself.

And in that self, I recognize that the darkness is as least as necessary and as important as the light.

As a creative writer, I spend much of my time in the gray-matter of imagination.

It is in that darkness where I find the light.

Namaste

For more information on my most recent novel Loving Artemis, an endearing tale of revolution, love, and marriage, click here:

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#World AIDS Day — Surviving a Plague: When Literature Invokes Life

Note: I am re-blogging this in honor of World Awareness Day which was on December 1st.

Every now and then comes that rare book that brings your life rushing back to you. How To Survive A Plague: The Inside Story of How Citizens and Science Tamed AIDS by David France (Knopf 2016) is one such book.

The book chronicles the AIDS epidemic from the early 1980s – when the mysterious “gay cancer” started appearing — to 1995 when hard-won advancements in research and pharmaceuticals made AIDS a virus that people lived with rather than a disease that people died from.

It was an epidemic of massive proportions. As France writes:

“When the calendar turned to 1991, 100,000 Americans were dead from AIDS, twice as many as had perished in Vietnam.”

The book chronicles the scientific developments, the entwined politics, and medical breakthroughs in the AIDS epidemic. AIDS (Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome) is a chronic infectious condition that is caused by the underlying human immunodeficiency virus known as HIV. The book also chronicles the human toll which is staggering.I came out in 1981 and while the devastation France writes about was not my world, it was very close to my experience.

In my book Tea Leaves, a memoir of mothers and daughters (Bella Books, 2012), I write about how volunteering at an AIDS hospice helped me to care for my mother when she became terminally ill:

“The only caregiving I had done at that point was tending to an old cat and reading poetry to the patients at an AIDS hospice, called Betak, that was in our neighborhood. A friend of ours, who was a harpist, had started a volunteer arts program for the patients. She played the harp, [my partner] Barbara came and brought her drum sometimes, and I read poetry. These were poor people—mostly African American men—who were in the advanced stages of AIDS and close to death. The experience let me see how fast the disease could move.”

In those days, the women’s community (what we then called the lesbian and feminist community) was mostly separate from the gay male community. Understandably, gay men and lesbians had our differences. But there was infighting in every group. Rebellion was in the air, and sometimes we took our hostilities out on each other.

Still, gay men and lesbians were also allies and friends (something that is reflected in France’s writing).

I’ll always remember the time my partner and I took a bus to Washington D.C. with the guys from ACT-UP (the AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power, an international activist group that is still in existence) from Philadelphia to Washington D.C. to protest for reproductive rights. The women then went to protest with ACT-UP at AIDS-related protests. Remember the die-ins in the streets?

One thing that lesbians and gay men had in common was that we lived in a world that was hostile to us. At that time, many gay men and lesbians were in the closet because we were vilified by society and in danger of losing our employment, families, housing and, in more than a few instances, our lives.

AIDS activism necessitated coming out of the closet. Hate crimes against us skyrocketed.

There is much in this book that I did not know, even though I lived through the era. In 1986, in protest of the Bowers v. Hardwick ruling of the US Supreme Court (which upheld a Georgia law criminalizing sodomy – a decision that was overturned in 2003), about 1,000 angry people protested in a small park across from the legendary Stonewall Inn in New York City, where the modern gay rights movement was born after a series of riots that started after a routine police raid of the bar.

At that same time, Ronald Reagan (then president) and the President of France François Mitterrand were celebrating the anniversary of the gift of the Statue of Liberty.

“’Did you hear that Lady Liberty has AIDS?” the comedian [Bob Hope] cracked to the three hundred guests. “Nobody knows if she got it from the mouth of the Hudson or the Staten Island Ferry.’”

“There was a scattering of groans. Mitterand and his wife looked appalled. But not the Reagans. The first lady, a year after the death of her friend Rock Hudson, the brunt of this joke, smiled affectionately. The president threw his head back and roared.”

How to Survive A Plague is told in stories, including the author’s own story. This is apt because the gay rights movement was full of stories and — because of the epidemic — most of those stories were cut short.

Almost every June, my partner and I would be part of the New York Pride Parade and every year we would pause for an official moment to honor our dead. The silence was cavernous.

This silence extended to entire communities. A gay male friend, amazed when his test came back negative, told me that most of his address book was crossed out. He would walk around the “gayborhood” in Center City Philadelphia surrounded by the haunting places where his friends used to live.

And we were all so young then.

When I turned the last page of How To Survive A Plague, I concluded that this is a very well-done book about a history that is important in its own right. The plague years also represent an important part of the American experience. And an understanding of this history is imperative to the future of the LGBT movement.

This piece of commentary was previously aired on This Way Out, the LGBTQ news and culture syndicate headquartered in Los Angeles and published in The Huffington Post.

For more information on my most recent novel Loving Artemis, an endearing tale of revolution, love, and marriage, click here:

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