NEVER WANING GRATITUDE ?

"Pay heed that the three never wane..."
                                                            Teaching slogan


What "three" does this refer to?
Pema Chodron, Buddhist nun, explains that the lojong phrase is talking about gratitude: for the teacher, the teachings, the practices of this discipline. She also goes on to explain that the third point is to keep the basic vows of seeking to go into the world without a safety net; to remember and keep the Bodhisattva vow, which moves us beyond our own self-centered views of the world and our own opinions--nudging us (kick-starting us, really) into awakening our dead hearts and moving ourselves (as well as all sentient beings) further along the path.


Again, I am "blogging Buddhist adventures" here--my own short-lived experiences, (so far), and understandings. I am not a teacher of Buddhism. I am a student. I am sharing my writing and musings because that is something I CAN do. It is also something that is encouraged by most Buddhist teachers because only by sharing can we help each other along the path. This path: Life. So, for what it's worth, here are my exploits thinking about this lojong phrase.


Our teachers can be anyone. The Buddha rather pointedly explained this. However, I believe this phrase is also referring to specific teachers we have known to stay with us on our journey. These teachers never gave up on us--even as we screamed, cried, gave up on ourselves, and sometimes, even on them! Being forever grateful to my teachers is not something that I take lightly. If ever I honestly feel humble, it is in the presence of these beings of Light. I may grumble, I may protest, I may even argue or try to avoid their lessons, but in the end, I always benefit. I follow their words; their deeds; their insights. Sometimes slowly. Other times, it is instantaneous. (Usually after a terrible event...sigh...) So, into the world, ALL THANKS AND HONOR to my TEACHERS.


Next: gratitude for the teachings.  These include all the access I have, as an American, to books, articles in magazines, translations, classes, videos and the postings and blogs on the Internet. This includes translations I can receive and read and ponder on my own. These also include, of course, the one-on-one teachings from my Teachers. ALL my teachers. This goes back to the Buddha: the One who explained Enlightenment; lived it; offered his interpretation of it, and how we might understand our own lives better. I know that these teachings have made my life more compassionate in a very concrete way. I know they have "entered into me" in such a way that my philosophy of life is less agro; less desperate; less competitive; even, less angry.


It has not replaced Christianity, for me, as I believe Buddhist teaching is NOT a religion. It is a philosophy and an education about being in this dimension --in a much more detailed way--than religion can do. Religion is a matter of faith.  However, there are so many codes and warring standards--so many conflicts among every sect--"religion" has left me in confusion and frustration.




In an ironic way, the study of Buddhist principles has made me a better Christian; a better human. I cannot be like Jesus because I don't know enough about the nuts and bolts of Christ's life. (Too many conflicting stories; too many loose interpretations; too many scandals and hurtful practices by those who are supposed to clarify Christ's teachings and make them accessible in this world.) But I want to believe. So, I rely on "faith". However, the "owner's manual" to humanity seems to be Buddhist teachings on behavior and motivation. I want to "love my neighbor as myself". Buddhist philosophy gives me actual practices of mind and heart to become that loving person. (It's, for me, like therapy for my soul.) Buddha never claimed to be God. He never even claimed to be the Son of God. However, Buddha did have some tools to help me along the journey to God. Or Om.




Some Buddhists will disagree. That's okay. That's Buddhist, too! But, they won't fight about it and kill each other over their different interpretations. (Something Christians need to learn!) They won't hate each other nor excoriate each other about these things. As Buddhism has traveled country to country, it has changed. It has embraced cultures and made spaces for different people. (Again, something Christianity is far behind in.)  Perhaps I am all wrong about both. If so, I believe I will ultimately find my way to Truth. But for now, I have gratitude for the teachings and the teachers. All.




The last point that needs to be remembered are the vows one makes when one is ready. These include finding refuge, not in the outside world and its dreamspaces, but within ourselves. Within a community, however far-flung, which respects our journeys. Finding refuge in those who have gone before us and lit the darkness for us, like the Buddha. (You can study Buddhism and not take these vows, ever. However, it is likely, as the years progress and your heart begins to unfold, you will begin to live them.)




The Bodhisattva vow is harder to understand. My "take" on this is that we can choose to live as a bodhisattva (or choose to come back, after death, as one) by making every living moment mindful; prayerful; actively seeking to help all sentient beings wake up from this illusion and become free. Again, the irony is the parallel between what Jesus did with his day- to- day life and what Buddha did!  Compassion, compassion, compassion. Enlightenment. Teaching. All Love. No judgment. No hate. Highest Love. They were and are different Beings, but what they held out to us, as humans, was wrapped in ultimate peace.



Someday I will understand the vows of the Bodhisattva, completely. For now, I think of all the saints that  have come down through the ages...unsung as well as famous. Persons of Light whose only goals were to assist all sentient beings they encountered.


I know it goes deeper than just this simplistic view--as all of my Buddhist studies do. For now,  however, this is what I have to share.




So, be grateful.
Be open.
Be awake and aware.
 Love without stopping--even if it is hard or hurts or makes you (us) afraid.




Namaste.


      

YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE

"Of the two witnesses, hold the principal one."
                                                                          Lojong Teaching Slogan


 People love to give advice--especially if it isn't about a tough situation that they are involved with. It makes them (us) feel important and useful.  Advice from afar can, possibly, hold some amount of wisdom. We know that everybody has potential Enlightenment in their centers--it's a good idea to hear everybody out. However, ultimately, it comes down to heeding what your own Soul/Mind/Center says.


Pema Chodron, the great Buddhist Nun and teacher, tells us that all dharmas agree at one crucial point: ONLY we know what is happening, inside.


Only us.


What we are running from; what we are confronting; what we are denying; what we are expecting; what we are holding tight; what we are letting go...this is the "who" of "who we are and are becoming". We can present a perfect façade to the outside world--sparkling clean; melodious; sweet smelling; all the right plastic and bling ; a perfect relationship; a perfect occupation; even an adoring entourage to "have our backs". However, unless we understand the costs (as well as benefits) from not only acquisition of such things, but also the retention of them and how they hinder or aid in our karmic journey, it is nothing. Shadows and smoke. (Pollution?)


Only if we come to understand ourselves completely--all the hidden nooks and crannies--and are willing to face those ugly and lovely spaces--to take responsibility for them (wherever that leads)--will we attain the real answers we are searching out.

The weird part of what Buddhism teaches is that, eventually, it will happen to every sentient being. Actually, if we can just sit still and "listen", it will all come clean. (Understandable.) Clear. However, in this time of "hurry hurry hurry" and "disengage with anything not on a screen", sitting still and just "listening" is perhaps the hardest exercise of all. (Even in countries without access to "screen technology", the fall-out from the rest of us who do have access, impacts upon them. The detritus of our Westernized (shared global) culture forces even the most remote points of the planet to "hurry hurry hurry"--and to stress out--to fight.) So, teachings like the slogans, offer basic steps to learning how to slow down. To sit down. To listen to our Centers for the real answers.


We need to work with whatever comes to us in this world. To feel all it brings to face us. To see how it connects and informs our deepest self. Not to push the evidence out of our consciousness. Not to numb out--artificially or otherwise. Not even to struggle against this karma. We need to face ourselves honestly and then, as the Buddha suggests, to take our own best advice.


Other people aren't "wrong"--they just don't know the whole story.


That's up to each of us, ourselves.


Namaste.      

UPDATE: TORTUGA AND TONGLEN

So, after six weeks of : renting a car to go to work; sending tons of e-mails and phone calls to BOTH insurance companies; dealing with my agent(s), AllState agent(s), appraisers; two garages; local cops; state RMV; investigators; everybody's secretary and Office Manager; my parents; my familia; I finally get the call: your car is ready to be picked up.


I return the rental car and find out that though AllState will pay for the rental it will NOT pay for the additional insurance I was forced to take out on said rental.  After my life being sucked dry by this charade for over a month and a half, I find that I am out one thousand and fifty-four dollars, which I can only (possibly) get back IF I take the guy that hit my parked car to court--and then he sues his insurers and I get to face the AllState lawyers in small claims. (Is this worth a summer of dealing with paperwork and "the Court System"...I am so tired...)


I chalk this entire scenario to "karma". Breathe. Happy I have enough money saved to cover this final "cost" and don't have to borrow anything from anyone. Happy to have some breathing room to enjoy summer and swimming and kayaking and writing...


Two days later: I come outside to a car that has spent its first night "home" leaking gas all over the driveway from a broken gas line.


(Karma?????????????????????????????????????????????????) Nope. Just a broken line under an old car...


I take it into the station. The guy in the garage is looking stressed and exhausted, too. He recognizes me from a year ago when they fixed my brake lines...he also recognizes the "old Subaru".  He tells me he can't get to it until tomorrow and I am not going to be driving it home, today...he offers me a ride to Maple Street.


He knows my brother, the cop. I feel safe. I ask him why he's the only one in the garage?  He sighs and I hear the entire story of a newly sobered up employee who has been missing for two days, now, and how everyone expects the guy fell off the wagon and has "disappeared", yet again.  I hear about wanting to support the dude but needing to hire someone reliable and not being able to "hold the job opened", but also worried about his friend and feeling helpless.


We talk about sobriety. We discuss the high incidence of addiction in Gardner. We both agree: thank God it isn't  heroin...I talk about that first year of getting clean and sober and how almost everyone "falls off the wagon" the first time...


The guy talks about his two young daughters--loves of his life--his worries about them growing up and "being girls"; talks about his wife; his job; drives me right up to my door. (Lots of strange men in the last six weeks giving me rides home...so weird this energy...) He promises to try and get the car done by tomorrow. Says it won't be over "a thousand"...Great. I shudder. He laughs. (I hope it is the kidding kind of laughter and not the "I've got a hooked fish" kind...)


Walk up to the front door as he leaves the scene and I suddenly realize: my housekey is still on the keychain with the car key.  Sigh.


I ring the doorbell.
I can hear the t.v. blasting loudly enough, in the livingroom, that it is totally audible on the front porch, with all the doors closed!  (At least the parental units are home...)


I ring the doorbell.


I hear the phone ring, inside, also audible from the porch.


I hear Mom yelling into the phone--some salesperson calling--Mom's less-than-patient-response.


I ring the doorbell.


I tap on the window, knowing they can't see me from inside.


I knock on the door.


I ring the doorbell.


Somewhere, from the bowels of the house, I hear Dad yelling to Mom about the doorbell.


I ring it, again.


This time, I hear his walker clicketyclickclicketyclick as he shuffles to the front door.


My greeting: "Where's your key? We couldn't tell if it was the front door or the back door bell or the phone or the t.v.!  Where's your key?"


I explain, moving quickly inside, headed for the aspirin bottle and the quiet of my bedroom, midday.


Mom: "So, why didn't you take the car back to the Body Shop?"
Me: "It has nothing to do with their work at the shop or the accident. It's just an old car and it's rusted on the bottom...even the mechanic said so. He will work on it, tomorrow."
Mom: "So, the insurance companies aren't going to award you "emotional damages" or anything?"
Me: "No. Just repairs on the car caused by the collision...and the immediate rental."
Mom: "That doesn't seem right..."


I sigh. Breathe. Head up the stairs.
No, it doesn't seem right at all.


Outside, it begins to rain, yet again.


(I realize: this would be a blessing in California.)  This isn't California.


Tortuga must last one more year. ( Whatever transportation spirits that reside around here, please take note.)  My finances will allow a newer, more dependable vehicle in another year. Right now, all I can do is keep the little green Subaru running, safely, and pray my "car karma" has finally evened out.


(You could have burst into flames, today.  You could have been stranded somewhere much farther out, no gas left. You could have been awarded five hundred dollars for the total write off of the car.)


I flop on the bed, next to the open window.
I fall asleep, still listening to the rain.

FINDING OUR OWN WAY

                     "Each of us finds our own way."
                                                                          Pema Chodron




Finding our own way is what is most terrifying.


Old institutions have always crumbled.
(We just don't believe they will in our own lifetimes.)
From the Ancients of all continents to the Catholic Church, right here and now, whatever we have clung to has always disappeared. Yet, there is something fundamental in the human being which continues to cling.


Pema Chodron, the Buddhist nun, relates a fable about humans being born as eagles--at first, noticing in the distance, how beautiful the horizon is--open and inviting. But over time, the nest begins to become our voluntary prison. It fills with "our stuff". We put on clothes and shoes and hats and collect ''stuff". Everything from new sneakers to sunglasses and I-phones weigh us down; altering our image--our true self--so much, that we forget who we really are. We forget we were born to fly.


Free falling is the first lesson. (Perhaps it is the most terrifying.)
To take that first leap into nothingness. To drop, unsure of what we really know or even how to use it...


No safety nets.


(The real deal...)


Letting go of what we've been programmed to accept, without question, is that free fall.
Willingness to step off, naked, over the lip of the nest, into The Unknown; to strip off "this is what your life should look like" and find out, once and for all, who we really are, who we were born to become. Not to accept that the only worthwhile existence is to remain trapped--no matter how familiar or entertaining or decorative the cage is. To risk all in becoming who we really are.


When my students graduated this past weekend, I listened to speeches that always say the same things: we are unique, we will make history notice us, we will always have each others' backs, we will never forget, we are a group of individuals the likes of which this school has never seen.


The faces were fresh but the sentiments could have been culled from my own yearbook, four decades earlier.  For these graduates, some of those words are true. (Surely the feelings are. No doubt.) But what I wanted to stand up and yell to them (and to their families in the bleachers) was that life will not see you in this way. History will not record you along those lines. You have not been given all of the truth. Much has been withheld from you for fear that you WILL learn to fly; that you WILL leave the nest--under your own power.


And then?  (What then?)


Perhaps, you will never return.
Or, upon returning, tell us something those of us still trapped do not want to hear. Or know. (Or have to live with...) How much safer to hide some of the harsher secrets...


In the final Lojong teachings,the student is instructed to walk the walk, even at the risk of losing one's life. (Jesus told His disciples much the same thing...interesting.) To walk that journey, you have to be willing to find the path that is your own. You have to leave the nest, falling freely, soaring above the ground to scout out a road to follow. Your road. (NOT the road of your ancestors nor your religious leaders nor your teachers.)


 Wowza.


It will feel, at times, like death. It will feel at times like gravity will grind you into the mud. It will feel at times like absolute loss and destruction. Yet, it's the only lasting way. No institution will save you. No pre-paid ticket will guarantee a free flight zone nor a secure landing strip. (You must risk everything.) This isn't about being a radical. Nor is it about protesting your parents' plans and dreams. It isn't about school or a job or marriage or politics or even your future success. It is about right now.  This moment.


It is about discovering your Authentic Self. Your absolute core being. (From every angle.) And how that self is connected to everything else.


"Risk it all to find it all."


That's what I wanted to yell.


No guarantees. (No matter what it looks like from the inside of the Nest.) No matter how great some of us look dressed up with all our shiny stuff and our puffed chests and bo-tox smiles. None of that really matters.


You have to risk it all to find your own way.


When you do, that's when you find everything.


Namaste. 

Tonglen and Car Accidents: a cautionary tale

How many times must I repeat this?  Since I was conscious, something awful has always happened around my birthday.  Even when I work extensively on creating positive energy, going slow, taking vitamins, filling out all forms and checking them twice, something awful happens around my birthday. I was almost convinced that this year, five days away from the doom-date, I would emerge unscathed.


Hahahahhahahhahaha. The Universe laughed.




Sitting in my Subaru, waiting for an early take-out dinner at the local Eastern Fusion Palace to be wrapped to go, I notice a burly young guy come out of the AT and T outlet and climb into his monster truck, which is parked right next to me. He peels out way too fast and BOOM!!!!! The front end of Tortuga-the-sea-green Subaru is spread underneath his giant back tires, glass and wires and everything fiberglass strewn in all directions!  I lean on the horn, which still works, and he stops, dead.


I am so furious!  No airbags have gone off.  I have no whiplash or pain, but the entire front of my beloved little New England car is squashed and smashed on the macadam!  And the guy cooly hops out of his gargantuan cab, phone in hand, full of cool machismo, telling me "Be calm, Lady. I got insurance. It will pay ..."


"Hey!" I am not screaming but I am yelling at him, yeah! Damn straight!  "I was parked! I didn't even have the motor running!  YOU were parked, right next to me! It's broad daylight!  No other cars on either side of us, man!  How could you NOT SEE me?????"


"I don't know, be cool, Lady. I told you, the insurance will pay. I'm not gonna give you any trouble!" He holds up his hands and gives me "The Big Man Look".


"Yeah they'll pay! You hit a parked car with the driver in the driver's seat! You took off my front end! You smeared it all over the lot! Anyway, it's not about money!  I'm a teacher! This is the week of final exams!  I have a prom to chaperone next week!  I have two elderly parents at home and now I've got no wheels!  No wheels!  How am I going to get to work?  How am I going to get home?  Pick up prescriptions? Groceries?  My car is full of stuff for my Senior graduates! I've got kayak paddles and backpacks and hiking stuff in the back of the car!  It doesn't look like  much, but it's a good car and look at it! What am I going to do, now?  I don't even  have a ride home!"  I feel myself shaking.
I think of the blood pressure meds I didn't pick up this morning, believing I'd do it before heading back to Maple Street...


"I'm sorry, just, well, you want me to call a cop?" The guy drops a little of the attitude.


"Yeah, I want a cop, here, and your insurance stuff, Man. Get it out."  As usual, I am not afraid. I am not tearful. I am pissed off. I am furious. I feel taller than this guy. My mind knows, if he wants to drive off, I've got no witnesses who stayed around. I don't have his license number. I can't fight him. If he ever had a weapon, I'd be dead, but I don't care. I'm just so angry that this has stopped my entire life, point blank, and all I was doing was sitting in a  large, uncrowded parking lot in the middle of the afternoon after a long day at school.


I keep thinking about what I had planned to do when I got home: eat supper (the take out); take a shower; work on my formal evaluation for the Vice Principal, which is due, now; work on my five year professional plan for my Mentor, which is due, tomorrow; correct about fifty final essay tests for my two senior classes and my two sophomore classes; pick up my meds; iron clothes for tomorrow; pay bills...then BOOM!  Nothing will get done, now. Now, all that exists is this mess and all the details that will consume my life until I get the car back...


The guy comes over to where I'm pulling my backpack and papers out of the front seat. A folder of student reports blows open and suddenly there is a snowstorm of essays heading towards Stop and Shop.  This white-haired guy chases them down and brings them to me, shaking his head.


"I didn't think you'd feel like chasing down papers right now," he smiles kindly and hands me my work.


I thank him.


Accident-Man mumbles that he's got the cops on his cell.
"Tell them that we need someone right away!" I yell to him.
He communicates with the cops: "Sorry, I can't hear you, the lady is screaming at me--"
"I am NOT screaming!" I yell back, sure I am not screaming. Screaming is fear. Screaming is a strained throat and a high pitched voice and a victim's song.  I am yelling. Strongly. Hoping the cop hears me and sends a patrol vehicle soon. 


The Accident-Man shuts down his cell and turns to me.  I see he's not White in a very White town. I see a "Baby on Board" yellow placard in the back window of his blue monster truck. I see his pressed clothes and the line up of his hair and his beat up hands. He's a thirty-something Dad, I'm sure.
This truck is his pride and joy. He is probably scared and decidedly embarrassed.


I take a breath.
(The more I look at the car the more I feel sick. No one ever needs an accident, but to have it happen while I'm sitting, parked, during the three busiest weeks of my first year at Gardner High, when I need my wheels all day, every day and if I have to ask for any more favors or special consideration I may not have a job...they have fired people for less. I am the class advisor. I have to make these events. I have to show up, on time, every day, and stay late, almost every day. No way can I call in to deal with paper work and police reports and body shops and insurance agents... )


Accident-Man looks at me, still clutching his beat-up phone.


I take another breath.
"Man, look, you have a baby, right?  How would you feel if your wife and baby were in your truck and someone hit them?  You'd be yelling, too, right?  Can you understand why I'm upset? If your truck was wrecked, how would you get to work?  You get why I'm mad and not 'chill'?"


He looks down at his feet. "Sorry."


I lean against the bent hood of my Subaru.  He leans against the monster wheel of his truck.


"AT and T made a mistake on my bill and wiped out my bank account, today. I was upset when I came out..." he trails off, not looking at me.


I breathe again.  (I get it. I've had these troubles, too, running to make a payment on something, keeping the lights on or the phone connected or even the rent. Killing myself to get there on time to keep my life intact and honorable and worth living--and having some glitch in a system which doesn't care. ...or not enough money till the next paycheck to cover the extra service fees...going away depressed, frustrated, furious at a system that rewards nothing but the almighty dollar ...I've been there.)


"AT and T sucks...I changed servers because of that, " I honestly tell him.


"Yeah...like, I've got nothing in my bank account right now because of THEIR MISTAKE!  I guess I wasn't looking when I pulled out...sorry."  Accident -Man sounds human for the first time.


I hold out my hand. "What's your name?"


"Mario," he says, giving me his.


"I'm Karen."


"Want me to try the cops, again?" he asks, sheepishly.


"Yeah, please. I've got to get home," I say, sighing, wondering who I should call to come and pick me up.


The cop arrives, sirens blaring. People begin pointing at us in the parking lot. I can see it now, plastered on The Gardner News...another embarrassment for this aging teacher.


The cop is nice. Cool. Almost too cool. Gives me that "Man-talking-to-older-woman-about-a -car" attitude which I don't  need right now. I know that fiber glass and these Japanese cars come apart easily...I also know that the entire front end and God knows what else under it has been wrecked and with this older model, might not be able to be repaired...and I won't get enough money to buy newer wheels...then what? But the cop files the report, takes photos, calls a tow truck and when I ask for a ride home, agrees. In the back of the cop car.


He takes Mario's info and mine, calls it in.


When I get in front of the house, my neighbors are gawking. The cop unlocks the back seat and helps me to the door--as if  he picked me up, drunk, at the prom. "Have a good night--"then he catches himself.


"Have a better night!"  He laughs as he roars off.


Five days before my birthday.


I pray the awful thing has already happened.


(Tonight, I will practice tonglen: for Mario.  For myself.)

MISHAPS INTO THE BODHI: or Easter Fights

"Transform all mishaps into the path of bodhi."
                                                                            Lojong phrase




Even if:
all holiday plans are abandoned, argued, bantered, shouted down, re-enforced, demolished, demanded, controlled, played-out, played-with, encoded, inflated, deflated, destroyed, restored, polished, tarnished, coughed up, smoothed over and obliterated.


Even if:
there are favorites; there are sides; there are politics and bad weather; food is over-priced; over-stuffed; over-sauced; over-cooked; under-appreciated; left-over; left-out; left-behind.


Even if:
dishes are unwrapped; taken down; taken out; washed and re-washed; polished; put back; set out;
singled out; separated; unmatched; missing- in- action; taken home to the wrong abode; brought back from the wrong abode; cracked or broken; replaced; remembered; resented: re-defined.


Even if:
there is little to be said of anything deep; there is little discussion beyond illness and the need for discipline in a child's childhood; little conversation about ISIS or drought in the West or Passover or more snow predicted or climatic conclusions or the lack of a single dyed Easter egg.


Even if:
there is chaos and confusion and hurt and long-held pain; demented uncles and elderly parents still controlling what they can; or guilt served with the honey-glazed ham and sweet potatoes.


Even if:
there is harm done.


Suffering is the first teaching of the new Buddha. (First thing he said to folks after the Bodhi tree.)
Suffering is human existence. We hurt each other. We are hurt. Close as we can get to each other, we cause pain. Know its truth. Know how to see this. Without adornment or blame. Acceptance of all sides. Causer and recipient. Doer and the done.


Understanding: I am both in pain and causer of pain allows me to change this pain. Transform it. Breathe it in and let it go. See the dance coming and don't step aside. Waltz through it. Embrace it. Forgive it and myself and finish the dance. Learn a new step in the dance. Get to the other side.


No interruptions. (Even if...)


It is all information to aid us in awakening.

Instead of blaming: understanding. Because we, also, have been in that chaotic place, (that fear den), so many times.


    

LIBERATE YOURSELF

"Liberate yourself by examining and analyzing."
                                                                            Lojong Slogan


There is a wonderful feeling of relief in the moments when we realize that Buddhism offers a way out of self-disgust; panic; self-loathing; guilt; and even self-hate. (So many of these states of being are used by organized religions of all stripes and many governments, world-wide, to control human beings! Don't take my word, do your research on this point...) What a wonderful shrugging off of years of accumulated sadness (or powerlessness)! And, it is available to all, regardless of financial status or spiritual belief. (Just ponder that one!)  Talk about true revolution.

How can this be so?
 
Well, taking a very close look at what the slogan is telling us: liberate  YOURSELF.  Use examination of your life (YOUR life) as the catalyst. Just stop, wherever you are, take a breath, sit down, breathe again. Let your life, in this second, come into focus.  Then, actually see YOURSELF as you move through this second.

Angry?  See yourself angry.  Jealous?  See yourself jealous.  Hurting?  See yourself in that pain.
Causing hurt to others?  See the actions, the words, the part you played in all of that stuff. Tired? Look at the exhaustion in your life, in your body, in your mind and spirit. Actually see it inside of YOURSELF.

At first, when I studied this slogan, it felt a bit like Catholic confession--visualizing all my past "sins" and transgressions--and the analysis was like beating myself over the head with remorse, guilt, the need for absolution.  However, the good news is that Buddhist philosophy and practice doesn't store much value in guilt. Guilt leads to self-loathing and ultimately, to self-hate. (If you hate yourself, how can you practice lovingkindness towards any other sentient being?)

The "way out" of this trap is to actually do the visualization of yourself (myself/ourselves) and then, just to "see". To unravel, examine, forgive (if necessary) and to just accept the whole enchilada. Even the ugly stuff. Especially the ugly stuff. (Being gentle and loving and kind to oneself, even as we admit our follies; our failures.) It is the first step to turning everything around.

In her work, START WHERE YOU ARE, Pema Chodron writes:
 "Instead of using it as ammunition against yourself, you can lighten up and realize it's information that you need in order to keep your heart open."

I'm in this adventure to learn how to keep my heart open.

Namaste.

ANOTHER REQUIEM

In the past weeks two special friends have died. One is an icon to several communities. Much has already been written about, filmed, debated and passed on to posterity. I knew him, first, as a writer, when I was young and dealing with my own issues. I was facing a rising spirituality that questioned the safe Catholicism I had been raised in--a Catholicism that held no place for me. His words, his questions, echoed my own. When priests I turned to for answers (at the suggestions of nuns and parents and friends) grinned or shook their heads, or ignored me outright, it was his words that I found some comfort in and his words that led me to the words of others, like us. Those written words helped me to survive.


Years later, I, now grown, now a writer, myself, now equally committed to working with struggling youngsters, met the man. He was like an aging Santa, with sparkling eyes, a full paunch, an engaging smile. I felt his kindness and his warmth, though our connection wasn't as deep as I'd wished. He was nearing the end of his walk on this Earth. He had enough close friends and family. I was welcomed when I was present but I was not part of the inner circle. It was surprisingly enough. On the other hand, his life partner met me with open arms and a heart that was clean and encompassing. We are closer in age and experience, I think. We have many of the same observations of the young; many of the same concerns; have shared many of the same issues. We did become friends. He, too, is a writer, an artist, an activist, a spiritual quester of the most open style. So, when this past week, his husband died, it was not the Great Man that I most grieved for...it was my friend, whom I grieve for, still. I cannot understand such a loss. (I have witnessed many, up close, personally, but I cannot say I've experienced them. So, I stand and bear witness for my friends; helpless to do more; ready to do anything.) I know Malcolm Boyd will be remembered in history. Far finer writers than me will pay him homage--including his spouse, Mark Thompson. I join my respect and affection to all who remember the Great Man. I send my love to Mark.


Yesterday, another friend passed from this planet. She was a teacher with me at the University of California Farm School during a time of great transition. She was a Teacher of all of us on a wider stage: the stage of Life. Sometimes misunderstood, she never bore a grudge to any of her detractors. She was like a Boddhisatva, a living Saint, a Great Soul. Filled with music, art, dance, opera, an appetite for life as it unfolded, she brought genius and compassion to all who took the time to know her. Ever kind and humorous, ever brilliant-- as an engineer who went into teaching for the love of children and science--never looking down on those of us whose brains didn't follow the flashes of light she so easily manifest, she was the best of friends one can imagine. Distance, time, circumstance never interfered with her connections. You knew you were loved by her,unconditionally. Sometimes it was difficult matching that rap sheet. But, we tried, Ann Litvin. We tried.


Her daughter, Shayna, now walks the same path as my buddy Mark. Both having lost significant sources of solace. Both bereft, though both putting on stoic faces for the hundreds of mourners sending off condolences, even this moment. Shayna, too, is my heart friend. Another younger sister, or niece. A friend over time and distance. Her hurt, I can do nothing to alleviate. I know Ann would remind her: this, too, is part of The Dance. This IS life. So, for Shayna, I will bear witness to your pain. I will extend my prayers and love and hope you know, I am here for you. Always.


Today is International Women's History Day. For all of us who are women; who hope to be women; who have loved women; who have benefitted from women; who have come from women; I share this, in our honor and solace:


"May all sentient beings enjoy happiness and the root of happiness.
May we be free from suffering and the root of suffering.
May we not be separated from the great happiness devoid of suffering.
May we dwell in the great equanimity free from passion, aggression and prejudice."
                                                                           THE FOUR LIMITLESS ONES  chant


I know Ann Litvin and Malcolm Boyd would agree.

ECCENTRIC ENLIGHTENMENT

Aspiration: the last strength.


This one helps with all the merde that we sit in.  (All the merde we create, to sit in...)


I find I am not alone in this situation.
Every one of my friends who would label  himself or herself as a spiritual seeker seems to be a spiritual self-critic--and not in the best ways.  (At 12-Step meetings this also seems to be the rule, rather than the exception...We are so good at beating ourselves up for mistakes; for lapses; for wrong turns in our lives.)


As an educator, I know that real learning BEGINS with mistakes.
We need to know what we do NOT know in order to move forward. However, disliking ourselves for making those errors is not part of that journey. So, it is an easy leap to understand that letting go of the guilt (and hopelessness at the center of failure) is something to aspire to.


Speaking (thinking) our wishes for Enlightenment, aloud, to ourselves (for ourselves) is the way to begin. Reminding ourselves (out loud) is a road to empowerment. Voicing our aspirations strengthens them into reality. (This is a Buddhist exercise that is easy to practice, every day.) Openly reminding ourselves that it isn't about "what we want" but it is about "waking up" and realizing our power.

"May my work bless all whose path I cross this day."
"May I find peace within." 
"May I put others before myself."
"May I experience compassion for myself."


Whatever positive thoughts we aspire to, simply saying them aloud, to ourselves, where we are the only audience, might seem strange, at first, but, so what?  Depression, anxiety, regret, guilt, hate, impatience, upset--aren't these the real strangeness?


(I KNOW I was not born to be depressed. I did not come to this planet to hate. My destiny is not one of guilt and regret. Impatience makes me upset and being upset does no one any good--least of all, myself.)


 I have decided on the good. To be and to do good, to my highest capacity, for the greater good. Let my legacy be that I walked the path, best as I could, aspiring, ever, to be better, believing Enlightenment is attainable for us all.


"The Five Strengths are the heart instructions on how to live and how to die..."
                                                                               Pema Chodron  (START WHERE YOU ARE)


Namaste.  

REPROACH

"Do you always want to be right or do you want to wake up?"
                                                                 Pema Chodron (START WHERE YOU ARE)






I wonder.
(About everything, actually.)
DO I really want to "wake up"?


I find myself filled with good intentions, insight, clear-headed determination and then, WHAM!
One of the parental units waits until I'm halfway out the door, arms filled with something heavy for school, backpack packed to the brim with books (worn over down jacket and hood), mittens slipping my grip off the doorknob, to call me back, to remind me of something like, "There's extra coffee in the pot, you might as well finish it..."   ARRRRRRGGGGHHH.

Nothing urgent. Nothing life-threatening. Nothing they need or desire. We've already connected for the morning--they know I'm rushing to make the first bell. They see I'm already tottering under everything I'm carrying. They can hear the back door ballet as I keep dropping my keys and missing the door knob. Yet, they call me back...for something inane. Something I can't make use of...and they know this. (They KNOW this.)


I spend ten minutes warming up the car, my ears and fingertips burning from the sub-zero temp. (My face burning, because I wanted a day full of light and controlled emotion and insight awareness and joy.) Now, I'm almost late. I have slipped on the ice because my arms were so full. I struggled to get the frozen-shut car door open and had to go back inside the house, to retrieve a cup of hot water to pour over the lock and handle. I'm irritated with my parents for breaking into my thoughts; breaking into my  rushed routine outside, into the winter workday.

I am more upset with myself, for being upset with them.
(I am most upset with failing, yet again.)


At school: lessons go very well. Students take a quiz and demonstrate their progress. No one refuses to write the assigned essay. All come in, have pencils and paper and notebooks and are relatively focused. Suddenly, someone throws a water bottle across the room.

"He called me------------------------"
"HE called me----------------------first!"


The class erupts in cheers and laughter. Two boys much taller than me, one outweighing me by about fifty pounds, stand up, ready to start the goat-butting push and pull that begins every fight I've seen between teens.

I try speaking softly. No one listens. (No one.)
I raise my voice, making a joke about how no one but me can hear the joke...
I ask that everyone sit down and go back to their writing...
I close the door into the hallway, attempting to get attention off the two who remain standing and yelling, waving fists in the air.


A third party throws a rolled up piece of notepaper at one of the combatants, attempting to tip the argument over the edge.
I turn and face the class and now I yell: "Stop! Just everyone, stop!!"


Everyone does.
Boys sit.
Students go back to writing.
I report the two boys for the almost-fight, and for hijacking the class with this idiocy. (This is school protocol.)
It doesn't change the energy in the room. It doesn't rewind the argument. It doesn't return lost minutes of education.
A kind of "order" is restored.


(But, at what cost?)


At night, I cannot sleep, thinking about the entire day.
(Begun with such promise, such hope, such belief that I'm understanding this journey through the Dharma. I'm learning these lessons--seeing their effects on my attitude, my life.)Then, just the usual "bumps" that every day contains, throws me off the horse, into the ditch of my "wanting to be right" self. (My "perfect daughter with a professional position" self.)


Ugh.


The answer, according to Chodron, according to the Dharma, is to go back to the teachings. To literally whisper, in the dark, to myself. (To my Real Self.)
To take a long, cleansing breath, and talk to myself. Remind myself that my own "sins", my own "failings", my own expectations of perfection, are the brands of neurosis I insist on still engaging in.


 I'm trying to be "the good daughter", still; I am trying to be "the perfect teacher", ever; I am trying to be the Enlightened Minns, on my own schedule.  (Insanity. Pure and simple.)


Instead, I should just relax.
I should just sit and focus on my breath.
I should repeat what I've come to learn: start where you are.(Breathe.) Recite the Four Noble Truths.
Breathe.
 Focus on the teachings about Life and Death.
(Acknowledge what is going off the path and what is staying on the path.)
 Find my way back, through the Dharma.


Instead of self-flagellation and "checking out because I'll never succeed", I can use reproach to realize I have the rest of my life to keep moving forward. (To continue learning. To teach myself.)


To have my life add up to an Awakened Existence. (I can.)


I don't have to always be right. (Even most of the time...)



Reproach is the fourth strength.


(Good-night.)    

SEARCHING FOR HAPPINESS: the seed of virtue

"Searching for happiness prevents us from ever finding it."
                                                                                            Pema Chodron


Well, isn't that a bummer?
Aren't we all supposed to pursue positivity until our noses bleed and our tear ducts are dry?
(I'm being facetious here...apologies to the Positivists...)


I believe the point is this: we have what is referred to as "the seed of virtue" already planted inside us.
It's truly already there. What is necessary is to relax into that belief. To stay alert and water this seed with mindfulness, with lovingkindness. To breathe it into growth.


"Let yourself fall apart into wakefulness."
                                                               Pema Chodron


You can't really force a seed to sprout.
But you can keep it warm and moist. You can nurture its appearance above the earthline.
In the same way that you don't go through life digging up seeds to see if anything is going to pop up, you don't spend your life pursuing this virtue in hopes of achieving something--including happiness.
Stay open. Awake. Become soft as spring ground.


This is the third of the Five Strengths for learning about life and death.


Namaste.

Second of Five: familiarization

I've already written about the first of the five strengths that teach us how to prepare for death and how to live our lives. Now let me share about what I understand about "familiarization". It is the second of the five.


To familiarize oneself in this context (the Five Strengths) is to constantly be aware (mind-full) that everything we need is already inside us, whirling around, waiting to be recognized (or discovered). Everything. It's what the Dharma teaches us. It is exactly what Buddha found out. We don't have to be witty or even educated. We don't have to be urbane or pretty. We don't even have to be innocent. We don't have to be anything but who and what we are. Enlightenment is the sudden and total realization of exactly that. Simply that.


Whew.


Of course, being familiarized means believing this totally. Familiarization means constantly referring back to that point. Knowing the Dharma to be the escape route of our own story-lines. Freedom from the drama-rama prison we construct and insist on remaining in. Familiarization means living from where we are right now and believing this wakefulness, this mindfulness, this presence is exactly who we are. It means trusting that, with every breath. (Realizing that every being shares in this.)


Namaste. 

TODAY IS A GOOD DAY TO DIE

Or, live.
(Whatever may occur.)

Be open to surprise.
Be open to what you never thought would happen--and go beyond that step, too.


Today, in the middle of a new snowstorm, stuck in the thick of it, unsure which decision to make or how to tackle the frozen obstacle blocking my path--which was also contributing to freezing me--I just let the snow cover me.


I took responsibility. (Which is different from giving up.)
I let the people know I would not be where everyone expected me to be. (I could not get there.)
I sent ahead the information that was necessary, so my "replacement for the day" might be successful and give an excellent lesson to whomever did show up.

I shoveled snow.
I shoveled snow again.(And again.)
I watched the doily-flakes dress the earth with yet another layer of lace. Of ice. Of blue-white.
(Still, I kept shoveling.)


When back inside, I warmed myself by answering mail. Scoping out rushed-over announcements and invitations, one link leading to the next, I found myself in avoided territory. Long lost friends from communities I no longer was part of--if I ever was part. (Feels like I never was part...or maybe, a part. Apart.) Just a year off, to be at the center. Always just a little late...coming in to witness "the end".
(No wonder I am so bad at endings.)


No one wants to relate to the "newbies at the end". We are like polliwogs in the pond--numerous and nameless. Ferocious in our hunger to be recognized; big-eyed and watchful. Too many of us will pass away to get too close. Too many of us swarm in small-- grouped worship and make way for the Big Dwellers--too many unnamed. We die or drift off. A few of us continue, though. To grow. Differently differentiated. To discover bigger places with more space and perhaps, a place for us, after all.


(Now, in the snow, I am still swimming. I realize this. I do.)


Online, I come across old faces; find clues to where these friends have landed. (Some, from different "ponds", have crossed each other's paths, though I wonder if they realize that they both know me.) Some have passed. (Shocking. People I have loved and lived with or lived with and loathed. People whose cars I know by their smell or the sound of the engine or the close of a door--gone. Vanished from the planet. Their bodies forever dust, planted in the ocean or at the base of somebody's garden--I knew that body. Touched that body. Ate and drank and laughed with that body. Kissed that body...gone.)


Some removed from that place I held them, in my mind. Vacated photographs...like cut-outs...or faded sepia prints...only an outline in that space remains. Their truth is that they had begun parallel paths ( to my own...like Govinda and Siddhartha... ) but suddenly veered. Plunged into the darkness of uncertainty, they forged ahead, while I stopped to ponder. Stopped to wonder. Stopped to wander.


I find their timeline facts and friends' greetings and photos of who they look like, now. I put together the pieces and formulate a historical collage. I cannot know their hearts. We are too long separated. (Could I ever? Really?) I can only know bits of their minds--bytes they publically share--open for the masses. (Open to the polliwogs.)  They have become Serious. They have taken classes and teachers and robes and vows. They have shaved their wild ways down to the scalp; their words, their public words, ring simple. Ring true. Ring clear and wild as bells.


In the middle of this snow-storm I have what I'm told I must discard: the narrative.
The story-line.
The expectations and the desire. (Desire is suffering. I know I know I know.)


None of this is competition.
None of this is real.


I struggle with the polliwog heart inside me; eyes still watchful; bulging; hungry; working my way out of the little pond.  (It does not matter. I know I know. Breathe. Pray. Meditate. Breathe.)


I send light and Love and wishes for ultimate mindfulness to these Ones from The Past, who dared.


In the middle of a snowstorm, caught and frozen, I find that I can let go of questions that never die.


(How unexpected.)


Namaste.

THE FIVE STRENGTHS: strong determination

There are five strengths that appear in several of the lojong slogans: strong determination, familiarization, seed of virtue, reproach and aspiration.  They show up on both ends of our spectrum on Earth: the living of daily challenges AND the ejection of our consciousness at death. Seeing as these five are seminal to our existence on this plane, it would seem wise to explore each of them, fully. So, as I enter into the second "storm of the decade" (already a foot of snow and still falling fast), I thought I might ponder the first strength: strong determination.


Pema Chodron, our good Buddhist friend and teacher, reminds us that these are "heart instructions on how to live and die".  She also reminds us that "there's no difference".  She goes on to write that, if you "know how to live then you'll know how to die..."  (Chodron, START WHERE YOU ARE, 1994)


For me, strong determination means not shrinking from nor withdrawing from new challenges that are scary. Learning that I've usually just "pushed through" (often with bitching and grinding of teeth) situations that terrify me. I've "had to prove myself"--to others (or to myself)-- so often, that it becomes a kind of personal style. The result is this façade : Minns is so tough!  The actuality is that I'm exhausted and sad a lot of the time. Exhausted, because it takes so much energy trying to be "the strong one" or "the good one" and sad, because I feel nobody has taken the time to see behind the mask--or cares to know the "authentic me". (Do I blame them?  No. The "authentic me" is full of doubt, fear, insecurity and confusion. Which way to go, now? What will the next five years bring? Can I pull this off?  Have I passed the age of accomplishment? Will I always be alone? What does that MEAN?????) Of course, hot on the heels of these serious inquiries, is the nagging worry of being
self-centered. The truest parts of me seem to be worried and selfish most of the time. (Sigh.)


The lojong slogan of strong determination seems to offer a way out of this hailstorm. To relax and realize that the light in this tunnel involves developing a strong spiritual appetite. (Hey!  I recognize that! Good news, finally: I've always possessed that !  Maybe I'm not a lost cause after all !)  Next, instead of powering through situations that are scary, I need to breathe. Try to chill out and just meet them, with joy. Meet them as new friends on the path of my life. Relax and trust that these are simply challenges.


If I soften my heart and don't rush past, trusting and open-- this IS exactly what I need-- I don't have to be afraid. I can let go of whatever outcome I may have hoped I could force. Whatever happens is precisely what is necessary. My "take" on the situation can be dropped. I no longer have to wear "the mask of toughness". The story-line of the situation isn't what is important (or real). The free space of possibility swings wide. Terror, unabating worry, suffering lessens.


Suddenly,there is room for Enlightenment.

INSEPARABLE

"Keep these three inseparable: action, speech, thoughts..."
                                                                                             Buddhist slogan




When we say something (suggest an answer), this can make a situation more polarized. The person we are trying to help--the situation we are trying to rectify--the problem we are trying to solve-- may simply convince us of our separateness, our own feelings of isolation and frustration. So often when we SAY something, meaning to be helpful, meaning to be wise and uplifting, it comes off to the listener as preaching, or inappropriate intrusiveness or unwanted information. Our reaction to the lack of gratitude ("Hey! I was only trying to help you out!") becomes yet another nail in the coffin of our lonely existence.


However, when we add reaching out, via thought and action, speech becomes the vehicle for our outreach. The three, together, support our attempts to communicate. They build a platform for our hearts. How much easier for people to trust us if they see we're giving thought to their suffering. We are actually going to back our opinions through a commitment to action. Our speech isn't a "speech", then, but an invitation to friendship. It is an affirmation of shared humanity.


Or so it is suggested by the lojong teachings.




Action, speech, thoughts. Inseparable tools.

WRESTLING WITH DESIRE

Everything Buddha taught was based in the teaching that desire is the seed of all suffering.


All.
So, what to do when one has read that; heard that; studied that; meditated upon and experienced it, up front and personal? Just when I think I've got a handle on dealing with  accepting the present moment something BIG hits me between my eyes (and then, usually,lower...) and the Monster is sitting in the room, again.


I'm not going to use any names, here. (People who may need names can probably figure this cryptogram out.) Those to whom it isn't important won't care that there are no implicated individuals. It isn't about specific details. That being written: up front, I'm going to spill out what my meandering thoughts are, tonight:  I recently watched a Norwegian film-clip, with a  famous Norwegian woman writer. She pointed out that readers must be careful about what they read...writers must be careful about what they write...put no one on a pedestal...simply because someone chooses to express themselves through the written word, doesn't mean they are any more evolved than anyone else...we best all believe that. Be aware. (Beware, said the lady.)




 (In other words, don't make false goddesses out of your favorite authors, because you cannot know who they really are, as human beings, beyond their words.)



Mea culpa.


I struggle with being opened to wondrously HUGE ideas, or images, and then finding out, later, that the writer was a Nazi, or a misogynist, or a racist, or a  homophobe. I fall in thrall with a piece of art (or music) only to discover the creator of the piece treated everyone else like crap.


Should this make a difference?  Shouldn't the art stand for itself? Shouldn't the work, if it touches down inside us, be enough? (If our politicians get away, literally, with murder, why should our artists be held to higher standards?) 


There is just something very sad about having one's soul touched by an artist's creation only to find that this person shouldn't be touching anybody's anything! Yet, the experience of the piece is undeniable. What's up with that?  How to deal with this irony?


When I was just starting out as a writer, I used to dream of writing, not for money nor prestige, but for love. BIG LOVE. (The romantic, epic, Dr. Zhivago/Out of Africa/Desert Hearts kind of immensity.) I believed if I just wrote long enough, intensely enough, well enough, someday someone would show up; somebody who recognized me--and whom, in turn, I recognized. (SOULMATE style! Baboombaboombaboom.)  After all, I'd seen enough cinema to know it could happen. Just had to work harder. Smarter. With deeper commitment to the Process.  Put all of my passion into the craft.


Of course, as life progressed, other "stuff" happened. (Though several great passions of my life did, indeed, appear, and were, indeed, caught up with at least some element of wordsmithing, it never was exactly as I'd dreamt it would be.) The SOULMATE never knocked on the door.


So, one learns to accept, continue, compensate. (Diet and exercise. Scholarly pursuits. Philanthropic causes. Work. Work. Work. Work. Spirituality. All of which do increase the quality of one's life--sometimes the quality of one's art, too.) Inevitably, however, the MONSTER arrives, popping up in the middle of the loft or livingroom. Desire is back, unconquered, with a vengeance!


Even recognizing it--calling it out--putting out cake for it and inviting it to stay (Buddhist tactics), doesn't work...at least in my experience, recently.


In the middle of this middle-aged heartstorm, I came upon an Indie film about a sixty year old woman, a widow, who, over the course of five days, meets her Soulmate, via her daughter's friend. The friend is eighteen or nineteen years younger and absolutely the wrong "package", on all sorts of levels. And yet, there is such a connection, such a truth at the core of this unbelievable tale, I was swept overboard. (I only found out later that the film has been winning awards since it first came to the screen in 2013.)  Suddenly, not only was a basic fantasy and desire re-ignited in the middle of my quite cooled-down life, but some very hard lessons from core teachings were put into effect.


"Desire creates pain."  (Even desires one thought one has already vanquished.)


Either through its unattainability, OR through its attainment, desire causes pain. (Because all things are transient, even when one attains what one was on fire for, it cannot retain its temperature.) It cannot remain what one thought it would be. We change. It changes. Life moves...even in stillness...life moves.


This small film wrenched me open to past connections that have never healed. I recognized, too, what many viewers recognized: we are so often shut down and isolated; even in the midst of successful jobs, huge circles of friends and active social lives. (There is something off balance...deep within.) This film explores that. Decides to take the leap of looking silly; a bit fantastic; impossible, really. (In doing so, it touches down and it touches in those tear-soaked tender spots we don't want anyone to see.)


So, viewing the film was, overall, a good thing, non?


Well, again, that MONSTER (desire) has awakened. It is not satisfied that my mind and heart are now a bit on fire...that it is harder and harder to accept where my life is, in this moment, and that pretty much, I am as isolated as the characters of the film.  (The MONSTER manifests by making my intelligence itch to know more ABOUT the film: the actors; the directors; the cast and crew; the writers...desiring the fantasy to be true...at its core...)


My DESIRE wants to find that, because someone had really lived it, it could repeat; the cast cared deeply about the characters they were portraying and wouldn't sell out their characters, once the film got publicity. I wanted to believe that the cast took their roles seriously enough to realize how many hearts they would be touching when portraying these lonely people, on screen. (It wasn't "just an Indie job".) Of course, this is a bit obsessive and crazed. But that is the nature of DESIRE.


So, I researched. I came up with answers. I allowed DESIRE to prod and pull and break up my peace. What I was looking for I had no right to. It was unfair, actually. (It was in fact, exactly what the Norwegian writer warned against: don't put your artists on pedestals.) If the work is transcendent, it is enough.


The film exists. It creates a place for my most secret heart-chords to cry. It touches something that needs to be touched upon. It allows me to know another unlit edge of my soul--one that I'd hidden (from even myself), these past years.


 I have a right to nothing more. Art, in the end, is nothing more. No artist can save us.


I also send Light to the filmmakers--cast and crew, etc. --for creating such a brilliant gem in the midst of a long winter. (I am not alone in this. They've succeeded where Major Motion Picture Companies crash and burn. So, kudos and gracias, all.) No names are mentioned because this is NOT a review nor a critique of your efforts.


I guess, in the midst of all these blog entries about following the Buddhist doctrines and writings and trying to be a strong student of the Middle Path, sometimes it seems like I'm on the soapbox. (Hopefully, not the pedestal.)  Preaching instead of teaching.


Please, nobody think I've ever meant to do that. The only wisdom I have is what I've earned--from living--I share these cosmic comics because it is suggested we share our struggles along the path.(Our own stories. To encourage each other. To break the isolation. To ameliorate the loneliness.)


The visit from the MONSTER, DESIRE, hits me and knocks me flat. I fall victim to an Indie movie about an impossible situation, that never, ever really occurred. (No real-life romance. No SOULMATE discovery.) No one- hundred- and- eighty- degree- turn- around in peoples' lives. A fantasy I fell for, because I also carry it, still, somewhere, inside.


Now, I have to own it.
Examine and understand it. Admit it.
Continue to breathe with it, walking beside me, down the road.
(Now, you know it, too.)


Namaste. 


               

BEING A CHILD OF ILLUSION

A million people are protesting terrorism in France, terrorism in Europe, terrorism in the world.  Billions of people are still suffering in fear, displaced, starving, freezing, running for their lives.  Here, we are worrying about the sudden onslaught of arctic temperatures and bursting pipes and rising fuel bills. We are worrying about slipping school test scores for the state and we are worrying about the growing disrespect shown to every human as we become isolated and numb. Fear shadows most of our steps--whether they be to the grocery store, the bank or the synagogue. What can a sane response be to this cacophony?


There is a Buddhist slogan which states, " In postmeditation, be a child of illusion".  It means that, when you are not focusing and breathing and sitting in meditation practice, here is advice for how to move through this insane existence. Even Jesus Christ taught this: we  must become, again, like children.


It seems to me that it isn't about acting in an immature nor childish manner. It doesn't mean to be needy, selfish, me-centric, nor irresponsible. In fact, it means to see with the eyes of a youngster. To hear with the eyes of someone who is not jaded nor closed down. To be open to the mystery of "not knowing for sure"--to sense the adventure, as well as the terror, in every situation. Because most young children haven't memorized a specific program of action, they enter into experience with no pre-conceived notions about how things "should be". They just interact, observe and absorb. Their judgments don't stop them from the activity--which can result in both massive learning or massive hurt. (Yet much comes from being hurt!) There is a lightness and a freshness there. (Even with the possibility of pain.) Observe the youngest around us and notice how they move into the world.


In the lexicon of these slogans, that is the point. There are no final answers on 'how to be' nor 'what to think'. These are not laws written in stone. They are guideposts and maps, only. They sustain us when we are stuck or mired down in the horrendous facts of this life. They are meant to be "chewed upon"; to be meditated upon; to be questioned, thought about, discussed and shared. This is how an emerging child interacts with the world: with an open heart and mind. Our lives must be experienced: up close. Personal. Not shunted away. Not shoved down. Not viewed on screens nor hidden. All the good with the bad; the wonderful with the painful. All is NECESSARY.  ALL.


In the same way that space between atomic particles is part of the overall make-up of matter, even if we can't always see that space, nor yet understand the precise reason for its existence around us, it is critical; it is part of US. Inside and out. So, too, the dark with the light. The evil and corrupt with the innocent and the lovely. There is a kind of insidious balance that no belief system, no religion, no philosophy can totally explain. Yet, we all experience it, every waking  moment. It is a kind of real-life magic which simply must be believed...because it IS. To find our balance, it seems that we must go with this and accept this enigma, knowing that, this too, will even out, will balance, in the end.


We must not run from its reality. We must not ignore its menace. We must approach it with lovingkindness and mindfulness; meeting it head-on. We have to allow it to speak for itself. Allow the world to present itself, in all of its complexity, and be not afraid to engage with it, completely. Lightly. Knowing it is all, ultimately, an illusion. A dream. (A mystery we cannot understand but must interact with.) For in the end, that is what being human is...being present for ALL.
Being willing to continue this life, more curious than fear-filled. Trusting, that even without all the answers, everything does make sense. (So, so hard...)
       

SAY WHAT?

Je suis HUMAN.