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.