MAEVE'S PASSAGE

Since I've been a child, my birthday has been accompanied by upsetting events. (The fact that Memorial Day has come to be associated with my natal day may add some of this weird energy to the mix.) Sometimes, it has been medical emergencies for me or a member of the family. Sometimes it has been a change in a relationship. An unexpected move or a natural disaster have not been uncommon. Few, however, have been as profoundly sad as this week's passage of my favorite fur- person of all time: Maeve, the Wonder Dog.  Forever forward, my birthday will also mark her departure from life and the life of my family.


I was in California when my sister Ann sent to Ireland for the King Charles Old World Cavalier Spaniel. I had  never even heard of the breed. Ann informed me that they were bred for intense connection with their human family. They were known for intelligence, bravery, beauty and the love they displayed. She showed me reproductions of paintings where the Cavaliers were always in the laps, on the beds, or by the feet of their humans. Ann did an amazing amount of research--educating my family for months before she sent for the pup.


Unfortunately, the research also revealed intense in-breeding--especially in North America. This had resulted in genetic problems involving heart issues, joint problems, skull deformities, and a host of other physical concerns. Many spent their adult lives in rescue shelters, because ignorant owners didn't know what they were getting themselves into. Ann had the spendable income and the background information. She assured us: the breed was worth the trouble. At the "large end" of the toy dog continuum, they were gorgeous. Silky-coated, red or black and tan or white mixes; long eared; long tailed; they smelled of popcorn and kept their puppyish looks into adulthood. Best of all, they were one of the smartest and most entertaining of breeds--keying off their owners, yet never slavish or dull. Ann was hooked and she hooked us, in return.


For years I would get Christmas cards, birthday presents and copies of photos of the wee Cavalier who came to be named "Maeve: Queen of the Fairies". She flew all the way from Ireland, from a reputable breeder, along with her litter- mates. Ann, my sister-in-law, and my nieces went to pick her up when she arrived. Maeve was the largest and most independent of the puppies. She was also very "butch" and "bossy". From the first, Maeve lifted her leg to pee...(Of course, this appealed to my nurse sister, Ann, herself independent and bossy!) So, Maeve picked Ann and Ann picked Maeve and so their love-story began.


Maeve came home sick, however. Giardia plagued her. This was followed by issues of a heart murmur and then reproductive problems (which made her unable to be bred).This insured that Maeve would reign Supreme, never to be upstaged by her babies! Ann stuck by the little dog through all of this. As my family has often said, if Maeve had gone to anyone else, she wouldn't have survived past puppydom. But she had come to Ann. Ann got her the best specialist care available. It also made Maeve the first and only dog my Mother (an animal disliker, for the most part) tolerated. (Something about Maeve's physical challenges mirrored my Mother's own and so they bonded-- as much as Beverly can bond, with an animal.) Even years later, when Maeve became diabetic, requiring two shots a day, Bev happily administered these (as did my Dad), when Ann was not around.  The entire family enjoyed her loyalty, her antics, her adventures, and pitched in to keep her healthy for the duration. In fact, Maeve was approaching twelve, last week--and right up until the end, was "present" and full of life--a milestone for many Cavaliers.


When I had decided to return to Gardner, after my Mom's cancer flared again, I was wondering how the little dog would react to me moving in. Ann assured me there would be no problem. (She knew I'd always had dogs in my life, but more than that, she knew Maeve.) The night we arrived from Logan Airport,(late, late, late) my brother Kev, niece Mer,  Ann and I, were greeted by both parents in the kitchen. With them, was Maeve.  Immediately, I could see how beautiful this dog was--even more appealing than her pictures. Red and white, about twenty pounds, long hair flowing, eyes intelligent and focused, assessing the situation, little teeth in a wide grin, she rushed in front of my parents and stopped short, in front of me.  The moment I bent over to pat her on the head, Maeve jumped up and began to lick my face. I sank to the kitchen floor-- exhausted from the long trip and the emotional toll of leaving my entire life of 35 years on the West Coast. Maeve seemed to "get it" in a way that my siblings and parents did not. No one really wanted to hear any details about my life "away". (They weren't even convinced that it was necessary for me to move back, though Ann had told me that Mom and Dad "werent' long for the world", and if I wanted to see them kicking, I better come home.) It seemed clear to the family that I had "morphed into A Californian". (Decades away on the "Left Coast" had transformed me in ways that they would never, truly understand). The lines were drawn; if I was going to stay, I would have to accept that.


Maeve didn't care. Once I was sitting on the linoleum, all she wanted to do was to know me better. She wouldn't stop licking my face and wiggling into my lap. (Of course I came to realize that she basically greeted most humans with this kind of welcome. ) On that first night, though,  it seemed that no matter how ambivalent everyone else was, I had a new friend in my corner. Like her, I'd flown thousands of miles, alone, and now ended up on the kitchen floor. We were "buds", for life.


I give all credit to my sister Ann and to her generosity in sharing her darling dog. I don't know if she understood that Maeve could get close to me in ways no one else would, or if she just was so sure that Maeve truly loved her BEST and ALWAYS, that there was no worry about competing affection. In either case (both true), Maeve sort of adopted me in the family structure in a special place. It was almost as if I'd arrived as a long lost litter-mate. Clearly not on top of the family ladder, but clearly having a bit more "clout" than she did, at least when it came to access to food and transportation. Further, I seemed to have the most free time to spend with her. While my parents were retired, their doctors appointments, and my father's continued service as City Councilman, made their lives less accessible. On the other hand, I was unemployed. Most of my childhood buddies had long since moved away, now scattered all around the world. So, our strange  crossed paths began to be shared.


Of course, as with everything else in this family, I was hit with a hailstorm of "advice". First off, I was warned that Maeve didn't do "tricks". She was so willful that she wouldn't submit to being taught even so much as raising a paw on command. Having had many dogs in my life and the lives of my friends, I had never found a dog who wasn't into performing. So, we began playing games that extended over the next three years, beginning with giving me her paw on command, to posing like Lassie (collie from the famous t.v. series) when I sang the Lassie theme-song. (Maeve used this ploy on everyone--learning that, not only did it elicit gasps of delight, but also peanuts, dog treats, back rubs and specialty snacks from even the techs at the vets' offices in two states...) The way to Maeve's heart was twofold: lots of absolute praise, and food.


Maeve had a very human palate. Of course, she had lived most of her life with my family, but it was "blamed" on me that her tastes for Mexican, Thai, Chinese, Vietnamese, Italian and other world cuisines was uncovered. (Only Indian food seemed to be refused, when offered.)  All other spicy flavors delighted her. It was as if when she saw "K.K. eat something" she assumed she would also enjoy it. So, seated between my father and myself, on the floor, at meals, she joined us at dinner. She also joined me at breakfast-- or would sneak up to my room if she smelled a snack in the offing--popcorn, guacamole, peanut butter. Sometimes she didn't want any, but she always had to check it out--yelping until I relented, letting her at least have a sniff. Now, of course, everyone else would sneak her treats--as they had for seven years before I came back. But Maeve's willingness to listen to me, follow me, and learn tricks from me, were all "explained" by the fact that "K.K. feeds her"....(Maeve and I knew there was a whole lot more to it than that.)


Maeve also greeted all of my closest friends with delight. Childhood buddies who welcomed my return back to New England were embraced with doggie warmth the moment they came to visit. (Even as I let people know of her departure, last week, sympathy notes poured in, friends remembering how sweet, inclusive and affectionate this dog was.) When things became "complicated" with my family, Maeve didn't lose sight that I was worth knowing. Always first in loyalty to her "mother"/Ann, even when Ann would get mad at me, Maeve would hang out and give me love. I could creep upstairs, as she guarded Ann, asleep in Ann's bedroom door, and Maeve would open an eye, see it was me, and sneak into the hallway to play. Sometimes Ann would wake up, yelling, but Maeve wouldn't desert me. She knew I was there to play, or scratch, or take her outside. I was the person who gave her "supper" and "breakfast". I was the person to take her to Dunn's park, for walks in the woods, or around the pond. When  her "mother" was at work, or unavailable, we'd go for  adventures and she listened to my voice in a way that was different from everyone else's. It was my sister-in-law who noticed that fact the first Christmas I was home. "Maeve behaves differently with you than with the rest of us," Laurene noted.


"It's because Karen feeds her all the time!"  answered the Family Chorus...(Right.)


Maeve did have quirks that irritated me. She was a "whole being" in that way. In later years, she didn't tolerate toddlers or strange, loud men. On Christmas Eve, my parents held a yearly open house, filled with said demographics. This meant that Maeve and I had to hang out somewhere else. I was her "Companion", as my niece jokingly re-named me--Maeve's long lost litter- mate, who could drive. One Christmas we spent at my sister-in-law's. One at a hotel. (There, every hour on the hour, we walked the long walk down the corridor, from the dog-friendly suites, to the front of the hotel, to "wee in the snow". Of course, the few guests who were also marooned in the place couldn't help but stop and pat her on the head. At which point, she would sit, grin, hold her paw up to them, and if they were not obnoxiously loud, lick them on the face when they bent down. This elicited dog treats from the front desk each time we went out.) After several in-room movies and  shared room service, we were allowed to return home. Last Christmas, while Ann and Brenda hosted the Christmas Open House at their new home,  Maeve and I just snuggled in for the night, at 88 Maple Street, where she really was "Queen".


She had her own stocking on the mantle. She had as many gifts as any of the rest of us. She hated the stupid hats my sister Brenda insisted she wear every Christmas morning, "At least for one picture". She relished every present--guarding even the smallest offering as if it were gold. Having to bark and run around the middle of the room, watching each gift get unwrapped, wildly excited, but patient for her "turn", it was as if we had a perennial five  year old in our midst during the holidays. (What will this year be like?)


Maeve didn't consider herself a dog. Probably because, from the first day, she was not treated like a dog. Oh, we have had other pets, before her. But this time, she was Ann's "kid", and Ann would let no one forget it. Maeve didn't need a lot of encouragement along those lines, anyway. I am sure it is because of this that my parents have remained in as good health and mindsets as they have--"the Baby" needed them (when Ann wasn't around). Maeve, of course, doted on this treatment--making my father feel especially macho when it thundered or stormed loudly. She would seek him out, wherever he happened to be, and then put her little head on his feet, her body as close to the rest of him as she could manage, trembling. Thunder was the only thing she was scared of... Dad would drape a light blanket over her entire body and there she would remain until after the storm. For a man used to being "The MAN of the House", this regenerated him.( I wondered if she realized how much her "needing us" fulfilled us, as a family?)


Often when there was nothing for my parents and I to agree  upon, or even converse about (since all their medical needs were already in the hands of each other and my siblings and I was always "the extra wheel" while their politics were so different from my politics any discussion only ended up in arguments and increased resentments), Maeve was the bridge. How she was feeling/acting/doing that day. Old stories about her before I arrived; things we had to do for her/to her/with her while Ann was at work, etc. The silence in our house was huge when there was no little dog to fill it.


She would "herd" the family together at every event: birthdays, barbecues or anniversaries. She would gather everyone for dinner and reprimand us if dinner went inordinately long. Then, leading us back to the livingroom, she would claim her spot in the middle, watching all of us, satisfied that we were gazing lovingly at her in adoration. She let us know she didn't think of herself as "a dog". She would pick fights with all other mutts, regardless of size, age or pedigree. When out on a leash, we would have to call across streets to folks with friendlier pooches, begging them NOT to let their dog come and greet our little girl...if they pooh-poohed us (owners of other dogs often thought Maeve was a wind up toy, too cute to be dangerous) and allowed their dog to cross closer, they, and it, would be rewarded by a sharp nip to the nose--or testicles--whichever was closest. Maeve was never admitted to a dog park nor Doggie Day Care. She spent her life in the company of Humans--which is how she liked it.


Because her breed has toenails that are very long, thick and fast growing, it takes a strong hand to clip them. Also, she hated to have them clipped. Her own specialist vet refused to take on the task because he didn't "want her upset" when he had to do "real medical procedures"...right. I don't know what Ann did, actually, before I arrived, but it became my task to find a local vet (no mere grooming spa) who would kindly clip her nails twice a month. I located Tender Hearts in Gardner. After the first session where it took two vet techs plus moi to hold her down, calm her, and get the nails clipped, and where she picked a fight with a Malamute while I was trying to pay the bill, we had an on-going appointment, first thing on every other Saturday morning, before other dogs and people arrived. The receptionist and vet techs didn't believe that I wasn't Maeve's rightful owner--or that my sister Ann was really my sister (as opposed to a long lost lover...)--since the only person they ever saw with the Cavalier was me. However, they went along with my slightly embarrassed explanations and relationship with the dog, finally falling under her spell, themselves. Two of them brought her special liver chews (from their own homes) because she wouldn't eat the vet- provided, generic , low fat "treats", given at the end of all sessions. She would take them, politely,never  holding it against the vet techs that they had to do the clipping--but then, she would drop the  vet-treat at their feet, giving them those very-human eyes. If they did fork over the special liver chews, she would reward them with happy hops, kisses on the face and hands, and a gobbled morsel. Days they forgot to bring the treats from home, she would look so sad that the techs followed us out to the reception area, apologizing to the dog!
(I have to write a note about Maeve's passage to them, tonight, too...sigh.)


When we would travel for vacations to Maine or the White Mountains, I was relegated to sitting in the back, with Maeve. Side by side, she would lean against me, always nudging me away from her preferred "middle spot"--where she could put front paws on the console between the front seats and see out of the windshield (or kiss "her mother" while Ann drove).


The first time I went to spend a weekend in Maine, we were running along a deserted beach, with Maeve on a hundred foot lead. She came back to us, soaked and sandy, carrying a giant stinking clam (quahog?) almost as big as she was! She then proceeded to eat the entire thing...our first indication that she had a taste for sushi...


Once she chased a wild duck into the harbor and disappeared past the breakwall, leaving my sister Brenda hysterical on shore, surrounded by a gaggle of baby ducks. Ann thought surely Maeve would be swept out to sea and never be found, again. But, Ann kept calling and minutes later, a tiny white head appeared on top of the waves. Maeve crawled up a wall of slimey rocks, shivering and shaken, but alive. Maeve: Wonder Dog.  That was her longest swim. (Ann and Bren bought her a Dolce and Gabana life vest the next summer...) I never could coax her into my kayak. When I'd swim at Ann's pool, Maeve would remain on the deck, watching me, in the shade, dry, by her water bowl and bone. I liked to think she was dreaming of being a life-guard.


She would let me bathe her without a fuss--though Ann told me she would be terrible. She liked it best in a kitchen sink--secure in the tiny basin, the warm water and suds flowing freely--my hands massaging and untangling her. She never shook herself until back on the floor. The next hour was spent in wild play as she let me chase her through the house with a big bath towel, only allowing capture a few times. She knew I wouldn't use the blow dryer on her, for fear of hurting her ears. She also knew I was more gentle with her--which Ann insisted was ridiculous--especially since I never (EVER...sigh...) "got all the soap rinsed out"...just as I never (EVER...sigh...) brushed all the tangles out of her long hair...etc. Maeve knew the truth, and always let me bathe and brush and towel dry her. In fact, I taught her what "doggie massage" meant, so that each morning, when I got downstairs, she would greet me, after I got my coffee, sit with her back to my knees, look over her left shoulder, and wait until I began to do the daily massage. When I'd worked all the muscles from spine to toes and tail and back, she would get up, go on her way and smile. I know it helped her arthritis. Often, she would come back and give me a kiss.


As she got older, her diabetes grew worse. I took over from the parents when Ann was not around and gave her her shots. She would come up to me, at eight in the a.m.  and eight in the p.m. and wait for me to give it to her. She knew she would get a treat if she came. How she told the time, I don't know, but I've never had a dog that was so good natured about needles. She knew we were trying to help. Same when she got "skunked"--which was several times. I wasn't around in the first years. But I was around twice, in the last three. Once, Ann was  not home, and so I had to carry a stinking, dripping dog, upstairs, to the bathroom shower, then get into the shower with her, while the parental units prepared a de-skunking concoction. Of course I smelled as bad as she did for two days. Luckily, I wasn't tutoring, then...Ann had her own adventures with Maeve and skunks. Maeve looked as miserable as any animal, or human, I've ever seen, on those occasions. I think a lot of this had to do with embarrassment. (She just couldn't help herself.)


Dad taught her to chase cats. When she was a pup. She didn't bark much and he was used to hound dogs howling. Worried something was wrong, to get her going, he would sit in the window with her and point out cats in the yard. Ann liked this because it kept the neighborhood cats from killing too many of the songbirds she fed.
I didn't like it because it was yet another confrontation, in public, I had to watch for. Maeve relished it...She was the only animal, besides squirrels, which she surprisingly tolerated when we weren't looking, allowed in the yard.


Oh there are stories too numerous for a blog...most I need to keep secret and close to my heart. I will share these final few: Maeve was the only family member who liked my harmonica playing. And while we all sang to her--even my father at times--she would let me sing her to sleep. In fact, these last six months, there were nights she would bark and bark until I came downstairs from my bedroom, interrupting my writing, to "put her to bed". I had to walk her to her cushy bed, give her a treat, stroke her for a few minutes, then sit and softly sing to her until she closed her eyes. She would wake up when I turned out the lights, but as long as I did the ritual, she would stay in bed, happily.


She saw invisible things. She tracked ghosts we couldn't see. Ann called it "dementia". I called it psychic dog sense. She guarded our cars, especially if we were in them with her, growling through the window even at gas attendants as they filled up the tank. If we got out of the vehicle, she would then revert to licking and greeting the same attendant...She would only eat French fries with ketchup--both of which she shouldn't have had. One time Ann was angry with Mom; we'd gone for lunch at a hot dog stand. When Mom asked for a paper plate to put  her lunch on, Ann reached around and gave Mom the one that Maeve had just had HER hot dog on.... It is a secret Ann and I and Maeve shared, though now, every time I am around hot dog stands with Ann or my Mother, I end up laughing hysterically.( Mom chalks it up to MY dementia...)


While Maeve was ever Ann's dog, and Ann had to make the brave decision-- after a long weekend of Maeve being listless and refusing to eat (except when I got her home and from my hand...) to take her to the specialist--to put her to rest, Maeve and I had a special connection that no one understood. Except us. Now, forever, silly or demented as it sounds or seems, my birthday will always carry her in it, indelibly.


Vaya con Dios, Maeve; Queen of the fairies.
 

NIGERIAN MOTHERS' DAY

Mothers' Day in the United States of America was proclaimed a National Holiday long ago, by one of our presidents. I am guessing it was in honor of his own Mom--that he had "the power to do something" to proclaim a life of devotion and respect. Of course, it was also to allow the rest of the nation to do the same--regardless of the true nature of their relationships. So it came to be in my time. But this Mothers' Day is different, even as these days we are living through are "different". This time is more raw and more global. How can any of us sit down to a celebration of the mother/child bond and not think of those three hundred daughters, captured in Nigeria, presumed pawns in an unending cycle of poverty and war? How can any of us celebrate with presents and cakes, flowers and chocolates, while the fate of those young women (and the fate of their parents and siblings who are also "kidnapped") splatters the global newslines?  (Nor should we...)


In thinking of these children, lost, and these mothers in mourning, how not to link them with eons of others--perhaps not so publically sought, but nonetheless still disappeared "pawns"?  (My mind goes back to Central and South America, when I was a student; then leaps to the international slave trade in women and children; then back to this hemisphere and the female victims in the border towns and deserts of Mexico; back to ancient slave routes and genocides all over the globe, where mothers have mourned the losses of their children.) Before Nigeria, how many millions on the continent of Africa, gone silently through AIDS, through drought, through war and starvation?


Whatever the current horror, we must not forget our spattered past. We must not let a recent tragedy blind us to the history we drag behind us. We must work BECAUSE we haven't worked enough, before. We must protest now because we haven't protested enough, in the past. We must demand governments across the planet take notice and work together to find these lost children, these potential mothers, bringing them back home, intact, where they deserve to grow up and grow strong--because we have left too many to die in silence, without witnesses, alone. (Or worse, in the arms of parents who felt abandoned and who could do nothing.)


Use the tools you have for this end, I personally implore you. Whether it be a letter or an instagram or a tweet to Congress; to the Senate; the President; the United Nations Secretary General or just to a friend. Before  you go to bed, tonight, speak about these lost Nigerian women. Meditate on what we can do to take action in some way, personally. Pray for them and their mothers. Pray for all of us.


Perhaps, this time, we may begin to change what we see.   

A PAINFUL POINT

How to not bring things to a "painful point" in this pain-filled world of ours?


Yeah, yeah, there is much beauty all around and things to delight the senses and even things to calm the heart--if we take the time to look. But, just when we are feeling really, really good and even successful--or we feel we at least have a handle on our place in the Multi-verse, BOOM! Someone comes along and just blows up our good karma!


Buddhist teachers suggest it is because we are so filled with our own pain that we allow the foibles of others to rock us out of our "seat" (and out of our heads). Some, like Pema Chodron, suggest it is because we "haven't made friends with ourselves", let alone the person who is causing us to blow up.
Hmmm.
She also suggests that we take a closer look at what is causing our own, separate pain--before the other person pissed us off. What is the powder keg--not just who strikes the match...Who filled the powder keg and sat atop it, just waiting for a spark?  (What is it filled with? Current problems, upsets, "issues"?  Past failures, guilt or trauma?  Childhood events we just can't let go?) If we know what we are sitting on and how dangerous those contents are, we can either empty the keg before someone lights a match or at least get off ! Examining our lives gives us a chance to do exactly that. Breathe. Turn over. Examine. Let go. All steps of emptying the combustibles. Then, no one can make us explode.


If we don't get to the point of explosion, then we don't get to the point of lashing out--even defensively. We don't want to "humiliate" the other person--nor cause them "as much suffering as they caused us". If we take time to track them down and talk with them, maybe, just maybe, we can explain why whatever has been said (or done) is causing discomfort. If we get to talk with them about the situation, calmly, with understanding of ourselves as the jumping off point, maybe we won't resort to humiliating them or taking them "out".


A friend just shared a situation where she had been having an on-going frustration with someone in the apartment near her whose loud lifestyle was totally deconstructing her work towards finishing her thesis. She shared all of her anger, frustration, upset but she shared it publically, on Facebook, and other social media. I don't know if this was just "venting" or if she hoped the errant neighbor might figure out she was talking about their living situation. Suddenly, one day, ready to pound the neighbor, she knocked on the door, instead.  No one even home, though the bass was loud enough to cross the  building and make the pictures on her walls bounce!


Looking out the window, she saw the neighbor, in his driveway, working on his vintage car. Having had enough pain and approaching the deadline of the thesis, she got up her outrage and marched out of the building, to confront the guy. He totally forgot he left the music on in the apartment! He was clueless his lifestyle was so loud--or that he was upsetting anybody. NO ONE had told him. Then, not only did he rectify the volume issue, he came back and wished her "good luck" on finishing the thesis! She was so shocked she posted the update in social media. Wow.


The point is, we don't have to humiliate anybody in retaliation. Especially in an argument or situation where we are magnifying the issues because of not understanding our own discomfort's roots. Not understanding (or owning or befriending)our own pain. Wow, redux.


Meditation gives us a chance of exploring those darkened corners. A process, as all of these learning slogans are, but one that works. All we have to do is try--and then, try some more.  

EXTERNAL DEMONS, EXTERNAL DELIGHTS

So, according to ancient texts, before Buddha was enlightened, there were some Big Time Ideas and temptations that crossed his consciousness. Very non-Buddha-like propositions. Seems that Jesus also had a share of alternatives crossing His path in the desert, when He was alone. (Or, at least when He was feeling alone...) So, if we hear of these guys, who did manage to get it all together, stopping for a second and at least "hearing out" the possibilities for fame, fortune, sex, drugs, power and prestige--all on a world-wide scale--how can we, possibly, deal with holding to the Middle Path in our mundane lives, without the benefit of Godhood, or Enlightenment?


There is a teaching in Buddhist doctrine which states, " Don't be swayed by external circumstances".
I've been contemplating this one for a bit. I think it means that, whatever comes up to our attention, in everyday life, be it taxes, relationship issues, even SUCCESS, don't let it sway you from your focus. Realize that all of these things are illusions. All will pass. All have nothing to do with who you really are or what you are really all about, on the deepest level. Or, if ideas sway us in our consciousness, we aren't to let them take us over, either. No actions nor ideas should prevent us from seeking, always, the Middle Path. It is the road to sanity and highest vision.


That's tricky. We are attracted to the bling of sweet substances and sweeter encounters. We rush towards anything that feels good. (Or promises to feel good.) Then, we seek to "own it forever". Become obsessed with holding on. With doing anything to replicate that experience or object or taste or sensation. We drown in attachment and craving. Ultimately, it can destroy us. (Read "Macbeth". Shakespeare got it!)


The other side of this sparkling coin is that we run, screaming, away from anything that smacks of bitterness or pain. We cringe and cry and flee from those challenges, not wanting to face a moment of discomfort nor "stretch", to see what's on the other side. This is what is meant by fleeing from external circumstances, off the Middle Path and into oblivion, yet again. Avoiding the darkness means never truly understanding the light...


Harmony might not be in sight, but it surely is out of grasp, if we cannot keep an open heart to ALL CHALLENGES. Neither fleeing nor avoiding; not bemoaning nor shutting down; nor even shutting out that which looks, on the surface, as upsetting. All lessons are valuable, the ancient texts teach us. Holding our seat, going through the center of them, not grasping and not avoiding, but simply examining, experiencing, accepting and keeping to the path, is the way to Enlightenment.


As Pema Chodron, Buddhist teacher and nun, writes: the point is, that challenges don't cease if you wish to keep your heart open...they increase...Realizing this doesn't make it easier, but it may make us give ourselves a break when we fail. Then, take our seat, once more, and remain open.


So, why do it in the first place? (Why all these teachings from teachers ancient and new? Why all these rules, regulations, vows, aphorisms, actions and words?) I guess only we can answer that.
In our own hearts, on our own quests.


Loads of people don't even ask the question.


(But, if you have, then, there are maps.)


Knowing this, no matter what external distractions are tugging at you, is the first step.
      

DON'T BE SO PREDICTABLE!

In advertising, predictability is what is depended upon. People see something flashy, expensive, dream-like, fast, they are attracted to it, no matter what it is, does or promises. If something is "sexy", based on what the dominant culture has accepted and deemed "sexy", it sells. If it promises to rid our pain or alter unpleasant reality--no matter if it slowly kills us along the way--we want it. We desire it. We dream and pine for it. No matter what. (Even those among us who know better (supposedly), the secret fantasies and yearnings still arise.


If something causes us to flinch--because the pain is immediate--we move away. If something causes awkwardness, discomfort, embarrassment, our first action is to retreat. To avoid, if at all possible, in the future. To remove it from our environment, and hopefully, from our store of "good memories". This, too, is depended upon when Madison Ave starts a new commercial campaign. Humans are  creatures of predictable appetites and habits.


But what if we stopped, for a second? What if we took the time to realize that the car we will end up paying for over and over, via taxes, tolls, repairs, running fees and gas/oil/electricity, will sap us for years passed its utility? It doesn't get us dates, not really, and not for long, even glances. It doesn't pay our taxes nor find us employment. It causes us panic and worry that someone will scratch or steal it or get a better parking spot. We also worry that maybe it will mark us as a "target"--for crime. It raises our insurance rates. It takes up precious space in our consciousness. It becomes an object of obsession far longer than it is worth our attention.


What if we took a second to realize this before signing the loan app?


What if we realized that all the Pretty Promises are not real?  All the spendable income we put out to make us more "something" does nothing?  Honestly. Really. And, if any of it changes us, for how long does that change last?  Is it a fundamental change? Or, do we have to replicate the process once a month, forever, to keep it intact? Does it really add to our self image or does it just bleed our savings and let us down? Are we truly better for imbibing in it? (Heroin takes away all pain but it also takes away all consciousness...Is this the promise of a better life that we are seeking?)


Change is scary. It is difficult. It takes time and consideration--constant consideration at every move. As humans, it seems that we are not invested in taking that moment to consider what is good or what is better for us. As humans in this era, we are conditioned to want an immediate "fix". How can we not be? Look at our bombardment of media, pseudo-spirituality, fame-based culture (in the West)...of course grasping at what is promised to "fix us immediately" seems natural, seems reasonable, seems attainable. In fact, isn't it a perversity to not desire this immediate "perfection"?  I mean, who doesn't want to be loved? To be rich and famous? To have everything?


It's Easter Sunday. For the first time in decades, I've colored no eggs. I've filled no baskets for others. I didn't even listen to "Jesus Christ Superstar". I did watch a documentary on "The Coming Armageddon", and one on the restoration of the "Gospel of Judas". I did pray and I did meditate and I did think about egg hunts, bunnies, animal rights, chocolate, and family dinner with ham. I am worried about full-time employment, taxes (still), and friends with cancer. I got a haircut, shopped for birthday cards and ate a lot of Thai soup this weekend. Later, I will help with clean-up of the family Sunday dinner.


How predictable am I?
(I'm writing this blog entry. I have been reading a book about documented cattle mutilations in this country since the 1800s. I have taught all week at the High School and then tutored all week, in my students' homes. I have played with and fed and given insulin shots to the family dog. I have found creative ways to cover rust on my Subaru and paid to get new brake linings on the aging car. I have done four loads of laundry since dawn and have a last load to finish. What pain am I avoiding? What pleasure am I seeking? What haven't I looked at this Easter Sunday?)


Take a breath.
Again.
Is the dream still going on?

DON'T BE JEALOUS

One of the first things I noticed when joining any kind of support group was that ultimately, everybody became jealous. Jealous! If it wasn't "who is progressing fastest ?", it was "who got asked out to coffee this week ?"  or, "who is the FAVORITE of the group leader?" Or even, "who bakes the best cookies to share?". (Seriously!)


Occasionally, it came down to "who drove the best car in the parking lot" or, "whose kid had the highest GPA"... Sometimes, it was about rival soccer teams, or dance competitions, or hair-stylists. Once, it was about the quality of "chips" at various 12-Step programs--which ones to attend for the best "bling" factor...and how a few people "missed out" by not attending THOSE meetings...


I guess I am most surprised when jealousy raises it's ugly head in the middle of a spiritual group. Whether at choir practice or in Bible study, this seems a bit antithetical to the whole reason for attending. I've witnessed Wiccans whacking each other upside the head over assorted sleights, in the middle of a Solstice celebration. I've seen drum circles break up, over people with no rhythm, just looking for some companionship. I've watched spiritual "healing groups" tear each other apart, smiling while they were doing it, over whose home the birthday of the Group Leader should be celebrated in. Why?


What are we thinking when we argue about hats at a funeral, or the roast on a High Holy Day? Who are we hurting when we begin to question if we are even valued by the Leader? (Are we there for validation by "an expert"? Is that our sole purpose for attending?) Who sets us against each other in the first place? Where do we learn such motivation? Why do we fall into these mindsets?

When I came across the Buddhist teaching slogan about jealousy, I first thought: "Obvious." But (as is usual with these phrases), something began to melt my skepticism and allow the slogan to seep into a deeper consciousness.


I started questioning what exactly IS "being jealous" all about?  When have I experienced it, beyond childhood? How does it mask itself in my daily life? Whom am I jealous of? (Why?) Where did I learn this feeling? How does it prevent me from accomplishing my goals? How does it stop me from loving--even myself?  What outside factors conspire to create this burden inside me? What can I do to confront this situation? How do I own it? How do I manage it? Can it be "cured"?


To find that this is something insidious and pervasive in our culture (even spiritually) demands close scrutiny. I know that I've stopped reading many great book reviews because they make me confront my feelings of inadequacy as a writer. (Or more profoundly, as a PUBLISHED writer...) Until I began meditating on this, I had lost the real motivation which propelled me to write in the first place: communication. Sharing what I saw (and offering it up as another voice in the wonderful chorus of community voices on the planet)! It wasn't about "publication", or even numbers. It was about the creation of my vision-- and then offering it up, wherever it would go. It doesn't matter if another writer got a better book deal or won a more prestigious literary award or was called (in the press) the "voice of his generation" (MY generation...). There is room for all. It doesn't make me a better writer to stew about what is said about others. It also doesn't make me less of a writer.




Too often "the business" of what we do overtakes the "why" of what we do. That's so unfortunate. It's great to be able to support oneself doing what one loves--for sure--but to lose our dreams because of lack of monetary rewards--that's tragedy. Jealousy can contribute to our downfall. Measuring ourselves, constantly, against others, is self-destruction on a Big Scale.


It can also stop our hearts up as surely as any plaque. Jealousy can create false scenarios, false accusations, falsehoods in general, that destroy any hope of honest relationships. Jealousy can rip apart family life as surely as any tornado. Long simmering jealousy is a wildfire burning up anything in its path.


It begins with me.
Right here.
Now.
Inside.


I've got to be brave and own that before any support group can touch me.

UNWORTHY OF SERIOUS ATTENTION

This is a definition of "frivolous". So is "acting with inappropriate silliness".  In Buddhist practice, it is a slogan to "not be frivolous". There is also the teaching of not falling into aggression, passion or ignorance. My guess is that frivolity is most often coupled with ignorance.


Ignorance about what?


Well, if I examine my day, I find a helluva lot of what little "extra time" I do have is spent on feeling exhausted and watching movies on my computer or on dvds. For me, I find this is a way to let my mind play in a playground of others' images and words. (Very rarely are these serious films.) Even more rarely am I not interrupted during the screening of these movies. (Phone calls; family interruptions; the dog's needs; an appointment half-way through the film; side jokes and conversations, etc.) These always water down the viewing of any film and create a false experience. At the very least, it doesn't honor the filmmakers. At the worst, it is "white noise" for my mind. A way of zoning out and not being present for anyone.


Why is this ignorant? Why is this frivolity? Can't I even take a break for a little while, each day?


Well, it falls into being "frivolous action" when I find myself dozing half-way through. (Unfrivolous action would be to take a nap or go to bed early, for once.) Ignorance of what I really need is reflected in the poor choice of actions. If my mind needs a break, a good book would better ease it. Or, weather permitting, a walk. Some yoga could help me unwind and refresh. Or Tai Chi.   


It is also frivolous when I might use the time writing seriously, OR meditating. While both of these are best done with no interruptions, either, I might at least get a bit of a start that could work itself into a focused session.(Same with painting.) Taking myself a bit more seriously will get me closer to my Highest Point, whereas a mindless film might take my attention away from a hard day's work for a moment, but will gain me no enlightenment. (It won't even make me feel better about myself or my conscious choices of spending life energy.) Snoozing through one more re-run of "Godzilla" won't make me a stronger writer--nor a stronger "anything".


Now, watching a movie once in a while, crashed out on the bed, or while munching a bowl of hot popcorn, is a valid respite--but it isn't a way to spend an entire day. (I find myself often doing this.) Sure, I also attend to laundry; taking out the trash; feeding the dog; shopping for groceries; but mostly I'm doing nothing but vaguely paying attention to a film that went directly to video--or worse, one I've seen in the past and didn't even really enjoy the first time. (Again, why?)


This is where analyzing and examining our lives can lead us to make changes that will lead  to enlightened lives. Not damning myself for these ignorant lapses, but just noticing. Questioning. Pursuing the "why" of the choice. Then, to stop for a moment before making that choice the next time. Perhaps taking a breath or two. Doing a bit of tonglen practice before hitting the "play" button. Breaking the mindless cycle. Making a better choice the next time just because I took a conscious moment to think through my action.


At that second, even if it is only for a second, I am practicing Mindfulness. I am being totally present and choosing a better action in that present moment. (The veil is pulled aside, if only for a nanosecond.) If I then choose to watch a film, perhaps my choice of film will be more profound. My attention to the art of movie-making will be more conscious. My enjoyment will be more pronounced. I will see something that I might have overlooked all the other times I fast-forwarded to "the good parts". Everything will be enhanced because I have made a conscious choice.


At the end of the day, while I review my life before going off to sleep, I can breathe easier and give myself encouragement for the choices, instead of beating myself up with criticism for another lost afternoon. Even if I fail to follow through, I can practice a moment of Loving Kindness (to myself), forgiving this ignorant action and embracing a new attempt.


As we progress on this path, there is also the promise one may offer to oneself and the Universe: I want this change to be reflected in my life. No more mindless activity sucking me dry. (No more outrageous silliness that adds nothing to my quality of existence.) I want this change to be permanent and for good. Wow. By definition, "serious stuff".


I WANT my life to be worthy of serious attention. I WANT each action to reflect that. For the world. And, for myself.