Diana K. Serquina

April 2006 

 

 

I've always wanted to be a writer...well, almost always. I did go through times when something else captured my imagination for a while. (In kindergarten, I wanted to be a nurse...until I discovered that it involved blood and people who might throw up. That put an end to that.)

As early as elementary school, I was writing poems and short stories, and dreaming of a glamorous life as a writer. In late elementary school, I announced that I wouldn't need to go to college, or even finish school, because I was going to be a writer, and everyone knew that writers didn't need a specific degree like doctors or lawyers. My parents, luckily for me, quickly disabused me of that notion.

When my ever-practical father informed me that being a writer was rarely glamorous, and that it also rarely paid the bills, I decided to be an English teacher instead, but I never quit thinking of myself as a writer. It's as much a part of who I am as labels like female, Caucasian, blue eyes...and could no more be changed than any of those traits.

I never quit writing poetry, either. My poems were primarily personal, talking mostly about my relationships with family, my experiences of love and loss, or my moments of pure joy that just begged to be put down in writing. Looking back, though, even as early as age 18, there were the seeds of activism in my poems. I wrote this poem on New Year's Day, 1990:

Our Time Now

This is our time -
We children of the Seventies
Are grown now,
In college, or working somewhere
Living our lives
We are at the crossroads
Child to adult
Past to present
Student to teacher
What will we do with these years,
The Nineties?
They are ours to live.
Let us live them well.
It is our time now.

We can change the world
If we're only willing to try
We can make a difference
If we can only take the time
We have the strength, the will
The courage is ours
We can build our world
It is our time now.

And in May of that same year, I wrote:

Guardians

This world is not ours
To destroy
To desecrate
To rape
If we must believe
That it belongs to someone
Then let us believe
That it belongs to our children
And that we are merely
Its guardians
Here to
Protect
Preserve
Defend.

During college, I had a powerful spiritual experience with my writing. I had been reading Madeleine L'Engle's "A Ring of Endless Light," and as soon as I finished the last page, I picked up a pen, and wrote three poems in rapid succession. The first two poems were deeply personal, and deeply spiritual. Here's the last poem I wrote that night in 1992:

Creation

My God
What is this
The words flow from my pen
But they are not mine
They flow through me
Into the pen
As much as through the pen
Onto the paper

What great hand
Holds me, and
Dips me in this
Terrifying
Black
Ink
To make words flow
Into torrents
POEMS

My writing improved once I discovered that I could tap into that--though not every time I wrote--and that summer was the first time one of my poems was accepted for publication. I'd finally started to fulfill the goal I'd been working towards since childhood--being a "real" writer.

What has changed over the years is my understanding of my calling as a writer. From the early days of thinking I would write happy stories (or sad ones that resolved nicely at the end) and heartfelt poems about nature and love, I grew into a more business-like approach to writing, determined to prove my father wrong and make a living at it.

I did become a writer, after some detours during which I thought I'd found a career that was what it should be...responsible, financially secure, whatever. In my mid-twenties, I had an article published in the Unitarian Universalist denomination's magazine, World--the first time my writing life publicly intersected my religious life. Around that same time, I worked as a staff writer for a computing magazine for a year and a half. It was a miserable experience for the most part, but it got my foot in the door and made the freelance career that followed possible (although not without a few more detours while I built up enough of a clientele to support myself with my writing).

All along, I kept quietly writing poetry, for my own eyes and once in a while to share with a friend or two. During my most successful freelancing years, though, I would never have called myself a poet...I thought it was incompatible with being a "serious writer."

My poetry continued to be almost exclusively personal. I also found that I went through long "dry spells" during which no poetry came to me. I hadn't yet developed a discipline about writing poetry, so I only wrote it when I felt inspired. During my first marriage, I wrote very little poetry, despite going through several intensely emotional experiences, including a struggle with infertility and the eventual failure of our marriage (due in part to the infertility...or rather, to how we handled it). When we separated, poetry began to flow again...intensely personal, painful poetry, but occasionally with glimpses of where I was headed.

I wrote this poem in July of 1998, one of many I wrote during a trip to Montana to a "retreat" with a good friend who was also grieving the end of her first marriage:

Holding Pattern

Like this airplane, I have been
waiting, circling my destination
but temporarily unable to reach it.
It's no one's fault but my own,
and now that I see that,
I am finally on final approach,
back on track,
moving into my future
instead of circling, stuck
in the past.

The airplane begins its descent,
and I see the critical difference--
instead of waiting for permission to land,

I've been waiting to fly.

At age 27, just months after my divorce, I underwent biopsies which fortunately proved benign, but I spent the days between the biopsy procedures and the results thinking hard about what mattered to me, and about how I'd want to spend my time if it were going to be limited. The answers were: spend time with people I love; be in the mountains somewhere, where nature speaks more clearly to me; and write poetry again. There was also a less-easy-to-articulate sense of how I wanted to live...more simply in terms of material things, and more richly in terms of the spiritual.

That transition period is embodied in this poem from March 1999:

Simplification

I want to--need to?--simplify my life
Focus on good things, important things
Poetry, music, nature
Reduce the bad, the trivial
Clutter, chores, stress
Start living the kind of life
I've envisioned for so long
Simple, beautiful, peaceful
Wrapped in nature and art
Far from so-called civilization and progress
A spiritual life
Not necessarily religious
But nonetheless worshipful
Reverent
Sacred

That re-evaluation of my life led to the decision to become self-employed, making my writing full-time and leaving Corporate America. I had been afraid to make that leap before because it would mean a lower income, but I knew now that it was more important to be true to myself than to make as much money as possible.

As soon as I built up a freelance clientele that could support me, I gave up my job as an information technology instructor at Mutual of Omaha, choosing to earn less doing something that I enjoyed more, and that allowed me to live the lifestyle I wanted. I no longer commuted 15 miles each way every day; I walked to the desk and began to write. I didn't have dry-clean only business outfits; I wore old jeans and sweaters. And certainly my stress level was lower and my health better.

And yet, what I was doing was not fulfilling the heart of my dreams of being a writer. In 2001, I wrote:

"Now, though I'm grateful for the right to call myself a writer and not have to qualify it with words like "part-time" or "hobby," I'm still reaching for something. Most of my work so far consists of articles about computing...the easiest topic for me to sell, because of my experience in that area. But that writing, while of value to the readers of the computing magazines, has no soul. And I want my writing to be about soul, not about a paycheck. (Well, okay, it needs to include a paycheck...but along the way, there needs to be some spiritual payoff, too.)"

Shortly before making the leap to fulltime freelancing, I also began to write sermons, after being asked to take a turn speaking at my small Unitarian Universalist church in Omaha when we were without a minister. In that most unlikely of genres, I found something I had been missing--a higher purpose for my writing. Instead of writing about CPU upgrades, desktop publishing, or e-mail etiquette, I could write about things that mattered, things that need changing, things that people need to think about but too often don't. Much to my surprise, I, who had always hated public speaking of any kind, loved being in the pulpit.

Those sermons are some of the most satisfying writing I've done. For a while, I considered going into professional ministry...until a new idea came into my thoughts, first from my own questioning, and then reinforced by some writings by others. I can perform a type of ministry through my writing. Ministers have told me that traditional "pulpit" ministry does not leave much time for writing. There's too much else for ministers to do in their work. But we can all minister in various ways, without going to seminary or being ordained. My ministry is largely one of written words, though sometimes I get to take those written words and speak them to a congregation or other gathering.

In August 2001, I wrote:

The Call

I feel a call
A voice commanding quietly
Yet clearly and firmly
"Minister to the people"

But how?
What is the call
For me?
How will I
Answer best?

From a pulpit,
Where I am surprisingly
Comfortable?

In the community,
Helping not just "my people" but all people?

Or with my pen
(or computer)
using words on paper
instead of in worship?

Truly, it is all ministry,
Even all worship,
If you look closely.

In 2002, I moved to Montana, got remarried, and had our son...all major steps that fulfilled longtime dreams of mine. My focus shifted to family, but I still sought ways to pursue my goals of writing and ministry. My writing focus shifted from the technology-oriented articles that had supported me since 2000 to articles focused on people, particularly on the family and on social justice issues. I began writing articles for the Great Falls (Montana) Tribune's family page.

In 2003, my husband's job brought us to Spokane, and I continued writing for the Tribune, but shifted from writing interview-based articles to writing a monthly column about being a first-time parent. It was the first time I ventured into what I now recognize as personal essay writing, and I found that I loved it. It gave me the freedom to express my thoughts and opinions without having to find some outside expert to validate them. Thanks to my trusting and supportive editor, it also gave me a forum in which to address topics like prejudice, environmentalism, and religion in the context of how those issues affect parents and children.

I've continued to explore different ways to be involved in the Unitarian Universalist church community (both locally and at the national denominational level), and to live a life that is centered in my spirituality and grounded by my belief system. I'm still thinking about ways to blend my writing and some form of ministry. Until recently, I thought I might eventually pursue graduate degrees in both writing and theology, but then I discovered a graduate program that blends writing, spirituality, and activism all in one program. It offers classes with names like Ecopoetics, Poethics, and Poetry As a Spiritual Practice. I love this excerpt from the class description of Poethics:

"What is the writer and artist's role in a culture in serious 'denial' about global warming, about fossil fuel dependence and gluttony, about the ecological and spiritual implications of war, about imperial aggression in the guise of globalization? On the suffering of those below the radar around any natural disaster? We invite discussion and creative solution in the form of investigative and documentary poetics."

I will apply for admission for Fall 2007. Right now I'm taking preparatory steps toward that goal, both in terms of developing a writing sample to accompany my application for admission, and in terms of readying myself financially, mentally, and emotionally to re-enter the world of academia.

I participate in the WordGarden poetry group at church. WordGarden provides me with a "comfort zone" in which I can share my most personal poems, but it also gives me contact with other poets who write about some of the topics that I'm passionate about: peace, freedom, the environment, and the abuse of power.

I'm also taking my first online writing workshop, getting back in the swing of turning in assignments and giving and receiving feedback, and learning whether or not online courses work for me.

Starting last October, in addition to occasionally giving lay sermons at my own church here in Spokane as I did in Omaha and Georgia, I am the regular guest speaker at another UU church on the first Sunday of every month.

I was recently asked by a writing instructor, "Why are the easiest of answers--peace is good for humanity and so is clean air and water--not addressed by religion?" I'm lucky that my religion does address those issues, and our free pulpit gives me the opportunity to address them in my own words. I can write about these issues, I can write what I feel, I can share these ideas and hope that even one person makes small changes because of what I have written.

Now, when I am inspired by someone or something, I write about it not only in my personal journal and poetry, but often in a sermon. When I heard Dr. Jane Goodall speak a year ago and felt called to share her message of peace and hope for the world, I had an outlet in which to do so. An excerpt from that sermon reads:

"We the people elect our leaders. If we, as a nation, made it clear that the environment was one of our top priorities, and that we expected our government to take care of all of our people, not just those with money or those who supported the current administration at the polls or with their checkbooks, perhaps we'd have better leadership. Leadership that shared our goals. Leadership we could believe in.

I can hear some of you thinking, "I didn't vote for this administration. I voted for better leadership. What good did it do?" I think the answer is that we need to do much more than vote. We need to spread a message of hope and peace to those who need it. We need to help the people who don't vote because it seems hopeless to them see that they can make a difference.

And there are politicians out there who get it. They're not in the White House yet, but if we support them, they will be one day. After Hurricane Katrina struck and we saw how poorly our government responded, Senator Barack Obama said on the floor of the Senate, "I hope we realize that the people of New Orleans weren't just abandoned during the hurricane. They were abandoned long ago--to murder and mayhem in the streets, to substandard schools, to dilapidated housing, to inadequate health care, to a pervasive sense of hopelessness."

Maybe by focusing national attention on the plight of the poor, elderly, and sick--the "other America" John Edwards spoke of in campaign speeches--Hurricane Katrina will help do what I thought outrage over the 2000 presidential election would: mobilize people, prompt them to take action and take their future into their own hands. But first, people have to have more than anger. They have to have hope. Without a sense of hope, there is no motivation for constructive action."

When I remembered the incredible compassion of Anne Frank, even in the face of persecution and imminent death, I was able to take that and create a sermon about the good and the bad in human nature, and relate her Holocaust experience to more recent genocides. As Mother's Day approaches, I can celebrate it by writing a sermon about the activist origins of Mother's Day, long before it became a "Hallmark holiday."

Finally, the pieces are starting to come together, and a clear path is emerging. Instead of wavering between "writer" and "minister" I now see myself as "poet and activist."

I don't earn even a fifth of what I did when I wrote about the latest and greatest in computing technology, but what I get now is much more satisfying than money. I get a chance to share messages that the world needs to hear, both messages of reassurance, and messages that challenge us to make much-needed changes. I get to talk to people about the things that matter most to me, and I get to hear from them about how my words have changed their perspectives, and sometimes even their lives. I get to, as my minister says, "Comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable." I get to live out my values in my work.

In a recent newspaper article, columnist Leonard Pitts wrote about the hard questions that "tomorrow" will have for "today". He concluded with the sentiment that when tomorrow comes knocking with these questions, some of us want to be able to say, "We stood up." Graduate school will, I hope, give me the skills and perhaps the credentials to be able to "stand up" more effectively...to be able to get my message, a message of peace and healing (and sometimes one of outrage) to a wider audience.

As I look back, the threads of passion and activism that connect my early writing days to the writer I am today are more and more obvious to me. For example, in 2004, an anthology of poetry by WordGarden members and others from our church included this poem of mine (really a series of them written over a span of 14 years):

Then and Now

August 1990

 

Now I'm angry.
Angry at my fellow Americans
Who are calling in to
"Larry King Live"
Saying we should
attack Iraq or
take Kuwait back or
declare war

No one called in to say
We should tread carefully,
think about the losses
we could suffer
before we jump into this
No, they all thirst for vengeance
for blood
for war
There are times when I'm not
very proud of my people.

January 1991

 

It began tonight--the first war of our generation
What can I possibly say?
People are dead, dying, wounded
widowed, orphaned...
It has come to this.

"Operation Desert Storm" began at 3:00 AM
over in Kuwait and Iraq
Our planes dropped bombs to knock out airports,
telecommunications, weapons sites

Meanwhile, some of our reporters are trapped
in a hotel in Baghdad
surrounded by strange noises
and explosive flashes across the night sky
They report "live" to us, telling us the horrifying
details of the scene outside their window.

Around the world, we are riveted to televisions
trying to learn all we can
We have family, friends, loved ones
over there with the large
"multinational military force"
and we are scared.

June 2004

 

Fourteen years since I wrote
my first poem
on this topic
and here I am echoing it again

Another George Bush
in the White House
Another war in Iraq
with, in my opinion,
even less justification
than the last one
More yellow ribbons on trees
Another loved one in harm's way

It's my little brother, this time,
a Captain in the Marines
He wanted to enlist during that first
war, but was too young

Once again, people are divided,
labeled patriot or pacifist
But I am both

I love my country
Support my brother and our
servicemembers
But not the leader
whose misguided commands
they must follow
Or this war they fight
at great risk to themselves
long after our President
declared major conflict over

I've come a long way from the young girl who envisioned a romantic, dreamy life as a poet. The life I now see unfolding for me is more challenging, riskier, and more controversial by far...but also infinitely more satisfying. And when I look back, I see the seeds of activism even in that young girl. I think I'm finally becoming the woman, and the writer, she always had the potential to be.