Part 1: Guns, Barbies and Prayer

I recently saw the Barbie movie. It is the most recent experience that has convinced me that forms are empty. Buddha was right - there is nothing inherent or fixed about anything.

I used to love playing with Barbie dolls when I was still naive to the Western mythology of femininity: that I was supposed to look and act like a white, disproportionately sized, mute, and anesthetized doll. Little did I know that my brown skin, short stature and precociousness were quite magnificent (now I'm all about it; in fact, I lovingly call this powerhouse combo, "Vera", aka my daughter). Then, I became the soapbox feminist committed to annihilating all Barbies. Then, I saw the movie, and now "Barbie" is back in the category of dope. I recognize I am also saying that the art of cinema, plus Greta Gerwig's wit, plus my current take-nothing-too-seriously mindset, are part of what has earned back my respect for Barbie. But really at the end of the day, aren't all forms informed by a zeitgeist? By a constantly changing, always-subjective conglomeration of elements? Even "Aidyn" is a peculiar combination of miscellaneous stuff in this moment of writing.

I have also witnessed the meaning of "guns" shift for me. I used to identify as a staunch pacifist, who universally rejected guns. Then, I met an incredibly sharp, articulate and inspiring trans-woman who explained to me that trans communities have become more militant in the face of increasing threats, in the form of discriminatory legislation, toxic public discourse, and straight-up violence. Pacifism is a hard line to toe when your loved ones are in danger. What would you do if you and the ones you love are in danger simply for being alive? Even Dr. King himself supported self-defense with guns as sometimes necessary. To further explore this potential conceptual shift, I devised a durational performance art piece that involved the repetition of a single movement over the course of four hours (https://www.amancenido.com/architectures-of-intimacy). The movement were the motions of wielding a gun. I discovered that extending my arms from my heart-space, as one does when extending their arms to shoot, can have an entirely different meaning. The movement of wielding a gun is not in itself indicative of violence. Words can be weapons of mass destruction; or poetic vessels of love. Guns can be vessels of love.

And lastly, prayer. I had also created a cozy enclave for myself in the world of spirituality. I called it "Buddhist." Saying I was Buddhist was another way of saying, not-Catholic or not-Mormon; or not any other religiously insular group. Little did I know that my progressivism had become lethargic. I loosened my indulgent grip on spiritual nomenclature when my daughter told me she wanted to start attending Latter Day Saint services (formerly known as Mormon). I agreed because: she expressed a sincere desire to practice her faith; I wanted to practice what I preach as a cultural anthropologist; and I wanted to spend quality time with her. At the service, I used the time as an opportunity to quiet my mind and to listen to their perspective on charity. I was moved and developed some clarity about how I would like to approach charity. Afterwards, I realized that church and prayer are also just forms. What gave them meaning was my intention, and the peculiar combination of various elements at that moment. I now know that the "peculiar combination" at that moment amounted to love.

I now know that at any moment, it can be love. Any form can be love. Even germs and steel, I'm certain.