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.)