Teenager in Training

Not quite sure what is going on here either...

Lying Meditation

Not quite sure what is going on here.
The last time I remember falling asleep in parks was in high school...

WE SHARE THE MOON

WE SHARE THE MOON
I look up at the moon,
and my heart feels you,
although a million miles away,
watching this same moon.

from a card I gave someone long, long ago but more recently from: http://www.travelerstales.com/carpet/show-one-carpet.tcl?id=31

"Precious" and reflections on sameness and difference

These past 2 days I have been home sick with the flu and watched dvds to entertain myself. One was the movie “Precious” which was pretty disturbing. It reminded me of when I had been a community organizer in the Bronx for a couple of years way back in the very early 90’s before coming to Indonesia.

1921 Morris Ave was one of the first buildings I was given to organize. It was a city owned building which meant that due to extreme neglect or debt the city had taken ownership of the building from the owner.  At first it was just an address on a folder in a stack of folders I had been given. Inside the folders were very sparse notes on building conditions and some tenant meeting attendance sheets.

I was acutely self-conscious walking on the side streets of the neighborhood. At nighttime I was more anonymous but honestly I was scared sh*tless seeing people lined up to buy drugs and the flashy sports cars zooming up and down the streets with the cops choosing to stay on the main streets unless they came in force to surround and raid a particular location. The “good” people in the neighborhood I knew just would not be out on the streets at night.

Following community organizing principles I “doorknocked” all the doors in the building which meant introducing myself as a new organizer from the neighborhood organization, trying to get a sense of what people felt were the important issues and try to get them to commit to attend a tenants’ meeting in the lobby later that week.  I met a lot of people since many of them were not working. There were a lot of single mothers and also a number of people who were obviously crack addicts. Knocking on each door I could hear what was going on inside and the reaction to me coming. Loud music, yelling, strange and strong smells were amplified by my fear, discomfort and desire to prove something, that I could organize and move these people towards change.

The first meeting was surprisingly well attended.  I was excited to see so many people young and old, African American, Latino, and even one white lady. I felt the possibility of unity and change in the air.

I tried to pull out the issues that were on people’s minds and make connections to the general situation in the building, hoping to build a common agenda. But the meeting quickly spiraled out of control. Some people were high, others had brought bottles to the meeting, they were exhilarated with the opportunity to vent, and then suddenly they were angry, unfocused, and ranting. In the midst of this chaos this little old Irish woman came up to me, hit and started scratching me. She thought I was a representative of the landlord and went on this 10 minute diatribe denouncing me and the landlord.  Everyone thought this was pretty funny and the atmosphere simultaneously sobered and lightened up.

On the way home after more than a few beers of my own I had the chance to reflect. Being young, idealistic and thickheaded I told myself it was a great experience while in my gut I dreaded going back.  But go back I did. Almost every day I went back and doorknocked each apartment in each of my buildings getting to know the residents.

My leaders in 1921 Morris turned out to include “Dimples” who was taller and larger than Precious but with one leg somewhat withered and bent making her gait fragile and lopsided, highlighting an unexpected vulnerability in someone so big. I asked her why people called her Dimples and she broke out a wide, sweet smile complete with a surprisingly adorable dimple.

There was “Wanda” who stuttered uncontrollably, always reeked of alcohol and usually had a 40 oz bottle of malt liquor nearby. Wanda’s apartment was a mess and her two young boys seemed sullen and lost and she would berate them fiercely for seemingly small infractions. The other residents told me that the boys’ father had frequently and severely beaten Wanda and that’s why she stuttered. Sometimes she would be so incredibly lucid, present and beautiful. Other times she would be lost in worlds I could only guess at. 

There was “B.K.” a Latina lesbian living with her partner and two boys. B.K. was a former heroin addict who was taking methadone. She was hard to keep up with and I don't know how well I knew her past a certain level. She would seemingly nonstop watch pirated VHS horror movies and ask me to watch with her. Since she was quickly elected the president of the tenants’ association I would often keep her company and sit in her kitchen as she brewed and drank strong coffee and we discussed recent developments, strategy etc. We'd also gossip and she'd share stories of past relationships. I'd share my long distance relationship woes which meant intermittent and at times sustained celibacy. 

I would spend a lot time with all my tenant leaders but with these women from 1921 Morris Ave. I developed close relationships. I’d come with a yellow pad full of notes about what I wanted to talk about, the prep work for an upcoming building meeting, trying to make connections to issues in other city owned buildings, neighborhood meetings on crime etc.  But looking back what these women really wanted was someone to talk to, someone to just be there and listen. I think they attended at least half of the meetings to humor me, so that I would feel good, like I was getting something done. Believing in the possibility of change was something that would not come easy to them.  The greatest help I could give was to be present. To listen and hear their stories of the lives they had lived, the struggles and difficulties.  Surprisingly accompanying their stories was much laughter, lightness and openness. Sometimes I would come in the middle of some household drama and hear yelling and banging from outside the door but they would still invite me inside and after sitting for awhile some incredibly complex and tragic story would emerge.  I was shocked by the tenderness and intimacy in their stories and the sudden anger or rage that would emerge if a child did the wrong thing or asked for attention.

But I have come to realize that there was no action that Dimples, B.K., Wanda or anyone else in that neighborhood did that I am also not capable of. No feeling, no anger, rage, pain, blame towards self and loved ones that I am also not capable of feeling or manifesting. The transparent self justification, running from pain, denial, and addiction is part of the sameness we share as human beings. Oppressor/oppressed, victim/abuser, exploited/exploited all inseparable turning in on each other and transforming into the other like some yin yang of suffering. Along with the light there is the capacity for darkness and we share this equally without exception.  The older I get and the deeper I look inside myself the truer this is.

Tenants would often offer me food but I really didn’t feel comfortable accepting because I knew their resources were limited. Sometimes though they would bring over food to the office when they knew I was there working late. This I gladly could not refuse. In one building – 1985 Creston Ave., we had a really successful rent strike and during the height of the conflict I was like a celebrity. People would often bring food or snacks to the office.  This was in a building that was mostly Latino and my Spanish was minimal. There were more intact families here and the men played a more visible and stable role in families and the tenant association. There were also far fewer drug apartments with open sales of drugs than in 1921 Morris. The first tenant meeting there were only four people. I remember translating what I wanted to say into Spanish and reading off my yellow pad in their lobby. But persistence made up for lack of skills and I kept coming back and kept talking about tenants’ rights in incoherent Spanish. I would doorknock for every meeting and eventually some more people started coming. Then someone even started translating for me which I took as a sign that they actually wanted to hear what I was saying. Then folks started talking to each other, in rapidfire Spanish, passionately and at length. About what I had no idea. Next thing you know the rent strike was on.  Since the landlord refused to come to any meetings we found out where he lived in Westchester, N.Y. and a whole bunch of tenants went to picket in front of his house and flyer his neighborhood. We got the city to take the landlord to court and the judge took away control of the building and gave it to a not for profit housing company to bring it up to code. The landlord was written up as one of the 10 worst landlords in that year’s Village Voice and I was quoted in the article. Heady stuff for a young organizer set on changing the world.

But it was like living and working in a pressure cooker. The problems were horrific and relentless. Without meditation I had no way to deal with everything and had no way to separate work from the rest of my life. I was constantly caught between how things were and how I wanted them to do be. I was frustrated seeing how elusive tangible change was. Where was the revolution? In the 2 years I was there I had become one of the senior organizers in the coalition of neighborhood associations and was supposed to be heading an area wide effort to organize city owned buildings.  I had seen tens of staff come and go and this included young, white college educated idealists, as well as African Americans and Latinos from the neighborhood or similar neighborhoods and young college educated and idealistic people of color like me. I had very close and strong relationships with my tenant leaders and had started to bring them onto the board of the neighborhood association of which I was the lead organizer and staff director. But I was young, my blood was hot and I decided to leave.

A sense of sadness and immediate distance is what my closest tenant leaders greeted my news about leaving with. I promised I would still come visit them and for awhile I did and sitting in their kitchens or living rooms it quickly felt like old times. But soon I was on to the next great adventure – Indonesia. I left because I wanted to and with a good education and no family responsibilities at the time I could.

After a few years while visiting the U.S., I came back to visit the old neighborhood and my old friends at 1921 Morris Ave. With me were 2 friends, husband and wife, white, very decent people from the program with which I had gone to Indonesia with. The neighborhood had changed quite a bit, become more stable and cleaner. Yet I felt the need to establish how dangerous the neighborhood had been as if my “street credibility” was in question. 1921 Morris was totally different too and I tried to find someone I still knew. B.K. was there. She told me Wanda was gone, someone else's daughter had been shot to death and Dimples had died of AIDS. B.K. took a look at my white friends and immediately asked me why I had come back, if I wanted to show off to my friends, as if this was some tourist sight. Cutting words that wounded me, but revealing more than a little truth.

Reflecting and remembering I feel a lot of sadness and regret. Not that I left but how my leaving exposed how fundamentally different our fates and lives could be. The priceless freedom of choice, to decide to leave and do something else, to shape my life the way I wanted it to be. That difference was an unbridgeable one.

May Dimples know she was loved

May Wanda and her boys have found a better place in life

May B.K. and her loved ones be happy

May I always cherish what they shared with me

May I remember our essential sameness no matter how different our lives may be

here's an article from the NYT on The Obesity - Hunger Paradox in places like the Bronx. Surprising but true and not only in the Bronx. Indonesia's poorer neighborhoods have a similar phenomenon.

I would like to acknowledge inspiration for this post from a post by Erica at Urban Refuge: http://urbanrefuge.ning.com/profiles/blogs/not-a-cholo and another post by Maia at Jizo Chronicles: http://jizochronicles.wordpress.com/2010/03/14/harmony-of-difference-and-sameness/ as well as influence from numerous others from the surprisingly vibrant and lively Buddhist blogger community. Thank you!    

Please Call Me by My True Names

Don't say that I will depart tomorrow --
even today I am still arriving.

Look deeply: every second I am arriving
to be a bud on a Spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, with still-fragile wings,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
to fear and to hope.

The rhythm of my heart is the birth and death
of all that is alive.

I am the mayfly metamorphosing
on the surface of the river.
And I am the bird
that swoops down to swallow the mayfly.

I am the frog swimming happily
in the clear water of a pond.
And I am the grass-snake
that silently feeds itself on the frog.

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks.
And I am the arms merchant,
selling deadly weapons to Uganda.

I am the twelve-year-old girl,
refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean
after being raped by a sea pirate.
And I am the pirate,
my heart not yet capable
of seeing and loving.

I am a member of the politburo,
with plenty of power in my hands.
And I am the man who has to pay
his "debt of blood" to my people
dying slowly in a forced-labor camp.

My joy is like Spring, so warm
it makes flowers bloom all over the Earth.
My pain is like a river of tears,
so vast it fills the four oceans.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and my laughter at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up,
and so the door of my heart
can be left open,
the door of compassion.

1989

-- from Call Me by My True Names: The Collected Poems of Thich Nhat Hanh, by Thich Nhat Hanh

from: http://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/H/HanhThichNha/PleaseCallMe.htm

The Wrong Kind of Green

Johann Hari, The Nation

Why did America's leading environmental groups jet to Copenhagen and lobby for policies that will lead to the faster death of the rainforests--and runaway global warming? Why are their lobbyists on Capitol Hill dismissing the only real solutions to climate change as "unworkable" and "unrealistic," as though they were just another sooty tentacle of Big Coal?

At first glance, these questions will seem bizarre. Groups like Conservation International are among the most trusted "brands" in America, pledged to protect and defend nature. Yet as we confront the biggest ecological crisis in human history, many of the green organizations meant to be leading the fight are busy shoveling up hard cash from the world's worst polluters--and burying science-based environmentalism in return. Sometimes the corruption is subtle; sometimes it is blatant. In the middle of a swirl of bogus climate scandals trumped up by deniers, here is the real Climategate, waiting to be exposed.

Johann Hari's piece "The Wrong Kind of Green" takes mainstream environmental groups to task for selling out their principles, often in exchange for money from the worst polluters.

Link: http://www.thenation.com/doc/20100322/hari

Gaylon Ferguson on “Community: Extending the View of Sangha

Gaylon Fergusonfrom: http://www.shambhalasun.com/sunspace/?p=15163

Following on our online discussion about practicing Buddhism without a formal group affiliation, Gaylon Ferguson here writes about the real meaning of community among Buddhists.

You’ll also find this article in the “Going It Alone: Making it Work as an Unaffiliated Buddhist” section of the new, Spring 2010 issue of Buddhadharma: The Practitioner’s Quarterly, but you can read it online here and now. 

We are human beings walking a path of liberation, and the value of community is linked to our fundamental humanity. As Suzuki Roshi said, “Buddhanature is just another name for our human nature.” As human beings, we are strongly affected by those around us: we share in their joys and sorrows, and we look at what is happening in our immediate environment and feel discouraged or inspired. Nowadays, evolutionary scientists tell us we are “hardwired” as social beings; it is human nature to be influenced by our association with family, friends, colleagues, neighbors, the communities we work and live in. The English word “influenza” comes from the same root, and the view here is that awakening is positively contagious: we catch each other’s wisdom and compassion, because wakeful examples resonate so strongly with our own innate nature.

In the various Buddhist traditions, “sangha” sometimes means, primarily, the community of nuns and monks walking the path, but more generally it includes all those committed to waking up. So we could extend this view of practicing in community: let us receive inspiration from the examples of basic goodness we encounter around us, from the people who are manifesting bravery and compassion in everyday life. Whether they are religiously affiliated or not, surely these are spiritual warriors, and our own commitment to cultivating fearlessness is strengthened by their shining examples.

When we appreciate the kindness of a co-worker or the thoughtfulness of a neighbor, we enter a virtuous gathering—whether we are in a zendo, temple, or meditation center at that moment or not. So, finding the noble community of the wakeful is in part a matter of perception. In this wider sense, traditional teachings on the supreme value of Noble Sangha are part of a “lion’s roar” proclaiming the fundamental goodness of all beings, encouraging our appreciation of the sanity and warmth in the diverse communities around us.

Yet what about the neurotic confusion, the selfishness, and greed we also see in our social environments? These too act as a mirror for us, reminding us of the strength of our own habitual patterns of delusion. There is something uncomfortably familiar in seeing others’ acts of stupidity and aggression. Inner mindfulness is sparked to take note of our own thoughts, speech, and actions—and their harmful or helpful effects. As Jamgon Kongtrul the Great wrote: “Seeing bad qualities in others is like looking in the mirror at the dirt on one’s own face.” We are all engaged in a learning process together, and the feedback we receive from others (even if not always egolessly pure) can be very valuable in guiding our journey.

So the path here is to value our existing connections, whether it’s as part of an environmental action group or hanging out with others after a strenuous yoga class. Our individual spiritual practice bears fruit in these collective human interactions.

The great Tibetan meditation master Patrul Rinpoche often greeted his students this way: “Has your heart been kind?” How we are with others is a revealing mirror. We should be somewhat suspicious of any developing sense of “personal awakening” that does not show up as increased compassion and care for others’ well-being. Wisdom shows its smiling face in the spontaneous joy of being with others.

Appreciating spiritual companionship means associating with any wakeful groups dedicated to compassionate activity. If slander and sarcasm are the daily bread of our communal meals, the determination to awaken gradually weakens and grows dim. Basic confidence and life-force energy decline. In a chapter in Ruling Your World called “Hanging Out with the Right Crowd,” Sakyong Mipham asks: “Life is precious. Whom are we going to spend it with?”

Gaylon Ferguson is the author of Natural Wakefulness: Discovering the Sanity We Are Born With. He teaches religious and interdisciplinary studies at Naropa University in Boulder, Colorado, and is a senior teacher (acharya) in the Shambhala Buddhist tradition.

Metta Sutta Part 2

I have really been into reciting the metta sutta to my kids when they go to sleep.  One night I was reciting:

To reach the state of peace 
Those skilled in the Good 
Should be
Capable and upright, 
Straightforward and easy to speak to, 
Gentle and not proud, 
Contented and easily supported, 
Living lightly and with few duties,

when my son interrupts and asks incredulously,
"Dad why are you talking about doodies?"

It hasn't been the same since...

Last Mother's Day breakfast

This is the omelet my kids and I made for my wife for last Mother's Day. It had a little of everything from our fridge and cupboards including tuna fish from a can. The potatoes were from our garden and so were the flowers! 

Fear, aversion, work and a path with heart

I often feel overworked, overcommitted, and overwhelmed in situations of my own making verging on being out of control, in imminent danger of bringing myself and the organization I helped start come crashing down in flames.

Yes somewhat dramatic but I often lie awake or am awakened at night by feelings of panic. What if we don’t find the funding we need for next year? Or to buy land we need? What if we can’t find the staff we need to run the program? What is happening to the youth we are trying to help? How are we going to get the reporting due to so many different donors with different formats done? How are we going to make the new programs work? What if things don’t work out? What if, what if, what if?

Yet somehow things always do work out and more than five years later the program has steadily progressed, expanded in scope, and gained support. At times it feels like this has happened in spite of my stress and worry, not because of it.

Last week I had a phone interview with Ines, my wise teacher from the online IMC course I recently participated in. After I conveyed what I have been feeling, she asked me, “So what if you did fail?” and this question gave me immediate perspective and clarity. Yes so what if I did fail? It would not be the end of the world. And why should I expect or hope to be free of failure? Isn’t that part of the vicissitudes of life? Praise and blame, gain and loss, joy and sorrow and what else? Despite meditation and intentionally trying to cultivate awareness of annica, why in my heart of hearts do I still expect to be immune?    

This fear of failure and the mental gyrations I have been doing around those feelings have been part of the suffering I have heaped on myself. This is the type of insight that once realized, we are amazed that we have been blind to it for so long…

Another thing she pointed out to me was that the reason I have difficulty concentrating on my administrative tasks is because I am experiencing aversion. Duh! It’s so obvious now but I have been beating myself endlessly with my inability to bear down and concentrate on getting all the financial and programmatic reporting done on time. Yes aversion. Makes total sense now but again up to now I had been totally blind to this. Amazing how blind we can be to our own problems and correspondingly perceptive about the problems of others...

Ines also said that this was a good place to be. This meaning realizing that I have aversion and now having the opportunity to start applying mindfulness to it.

Work is a really tough place for me in general though. It’s a job and organization entirely of my own making from the initial concept, to the board of trustees, the donors, the staff, the curriculum etc. We do really meaningful work – training drop outs, unemployed youth, street youth in organic farming, life skills and entrepreneurship in a residential program. We also work with local farmers on the border of the national park – training them in organic farming, agro-forestry and conservation. We will soon be installing biogas, solar panels and windmills for renewable energy generation. We just received a grant to work with alumni so they can further develop and train others in their communities. We are involved in a large project to provide life skills training and organic farming curriculum to organizations who will be training thousands of former child workers who are being returned to their homes and put back in school. We are in discussions to open an organic gardening and sustainable living learning center in the largest entertainment park in Indonesia.

Yet I complain, gripe, stress, moan and worry all the time. I often fantasize about leaving and getting some cushy job or a very simple job or even better yet a cushy, simple job, any of which in reality would make me extremely unhappy. I fantasize about winning the lottery, having some anonymous benefactor or longlost distant relative give me millions or about finding precious jewels or a bagful of money lying on the street. Other times I think about just getting up and walking away from it all, without any explanation and never coming back. I would walk barefoot across Java without any help or money until I reached the sea.  

  

Conceptually, theoretically I realize that these feelings are where my practice is or should be. Being aware of and applying mindfulness to intense and ongoing feelings of aversion and fear. Fear of failure, fear of the additional work and responsibility success brings, fear of not doing something significant. Aversion to the parts of the work I don’t like, fear of not doing what I should be doing and so not being present and not enjoying the many blessings involved in nurturing disadvantaged youth to care about themselves, other people and nature. A path with heart has embraced me, and shaped my life, yet I am still busy judging myself and finding myself wanting…

My response up to now has been to seek refuge in meditation as a way to get distance, calm down and try to create separation so I can somewhat leave fear and aversion at work. Now it seems like its time to use meditation and the tools as skillful means to engage and explore these feelings.

Sounds like a plan…

Great Martial Arts Movie Characters

#1 Po from Kung Fu Panda: The first time I saw this movie in the theater with my kids it was great and I willingly went back again for a second viewing. The third time I noted reluctance and faint aversion. Then the kids got the DVD (pirated) and continued to watch it over and over again, without seeming to lose enthusiasm.  When I would just fall sleep, my kids would happily use me as backrest or even stretch out and lie on top of me horizontally as if I was a mattress.

Po is adorable - and besides Jack Black's great voice, Po points to many lessons for us on the path. 

#2 Aang from Avatar: Aang the hero is the last Airbender and has a very graceful movement style. He is a vegetarian and does not want to hurt anyone else. A very interesting dilemma he faces is how to save the world from the destruction of the Fire Nation but without having to kill the Fire Lord or anyone else. Actually a lot of substance here in terms of morality, power, friendship, personal and spiritual development. Pretty cool for a 12 year old kid who is expected to save the world. My kids and I are bummed out about the whole movie thing though...Sad and strange this is still an issue decades after David Carradine was chosen over Bruce Lee for Kung Fu.

#3 Uncle Iroh: Despite appearances, Iroh is no slouch and besides being able to kick butt with style is also down to earth, wise, patient and modest in appearance and behavior, things we can all aspire to be. He likes tea, playing Pai Shō and the simple pleasures in life. When we talk about who in our family resembles which Avatar character, this is who my kids say I am but unfortunately I think they are referring to physical appearance rather than character.

#4 Jet Li as Wong Fei Hong in Once Upon A Time In China: This movie was like magic when I first saw it from the dramatic opening music and panorama to Jet Li's grace, finesse and restraint and the acrobatic finale. Loved the cinematography and fascinating historical backdrop of China starting to be influenced by the West and the struggle between tradition and the drive to modernize. 

#5 Donnie Yen as Ip Man: This movie was a lot of fun and the choreography was great too. Highlighting the positioning and timing of the throws was a personal favorite. Lots of humor too. My kids love to rewind and watch over and over the part where the guy gets his pants pulled down. Some parts were too brutal and not suitable for viewing by children but pretty much standard for this genre - complete with anti-Japanese rivalry and wounded Chinese nationalism and honor in need of avenging.

#6 Bruce Lee in Enter the Dragon: Bruce Lee was my gateway into martial arts and martial arts movies. Spent way too much time with nunchakas as a teenager... In many ways he was the original or forerunner of MMA that is so popular today. Bruce Lee was disdainful of tradition and wanted martial arts to be based on effectiveness and efficiency, something of a similar debate to that in Buddhism today between Asian Buddhism and Western Buddhism.

Not really sure where I stand on either debate and not sure that it matters. I have often chafed under the limitations and restrictions of tradition and in general tend towards "pragmatism" but as I get older there is much more appreciation for tradition and style as the vehicle or container for preserving science or knowledge whether martial or spiritual. There is something comforting and rooting knowing that you stand as a very small point in a long continuum. Perhaps its not an "either or" question, a debate that doesn't need to be resolved. It is the discussion itself that is of use to all involved. Tradition exists in a context and is inherently dynamic, reinterpreted and reapplied with the passing of time. Often self proclaimed, most "conservative" movements have the most radical reinterpretation or analysis given how much society has changed since their historical referents.

Beginner's Mind

"In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert's there are few." - Suzuki Roshi

One of the many wonderful things about having children is watching them experience the world with “beginner’s minds” unencumbered by the burdens we adults carry.

Having a family was what finally and irrevocably brought my path to Buddhism. Seeing how directly the influence of who I am and what I do on my children was powerful motivation to do delve deeper, to start to come to grips with my own suffering and self-destructive ways of being in the world. 

For me the driving question was as a father – what was the legacy I wanted to leave my children with? The answer was light, joy and happiness. But these are not things we can give to other people but rather must embrace ourselves before we can share them with others.

This means not striving for perfection or measuring oneself against a standard of what should be. For me it has meant willingly and lovingly making time for telling simple and silly stories, falling asleep while watching cartoons, turning on a light in a dark room, and assembling Legos. It means creating and sharing a world where stuffed animals, imaginary friends and dogs, live and talk, act out and reflect, giving us the opportunity to share our true selves with those we love!

Another wonderful manifestation of beginner's mind is how I appreciate my relationship with my partner. She seems wiser, more caring, loving and attentive. Sometimes she talks and I find myself thinking admiringly - wow that was a pearl of wisdom, where did that come from? Or she will say something and I'll think - that's Buddhism! Or I find myself with this sneaking suspicion she has secretly been listening to my Gil Fronsdal talks from Audio Dharma while I have been sleeping... How is it that she has changed while I am the one who gets up early every morning to meditate?! And is it really so? Or is it that I am more able to appreciate and see her true self? Or is it that somehow our paths are intertwined and mutually supporting? She is a natural Bodhisattva. Wisdom and learning does not always need to be named.

How strange and wonderful to find that while my partner and children haven't taken to meditation, that we are partners, fellow seekers on the path! That they are my teachers in ways big and small.

It is a tender almost heart bursting joy when they come in to kiss my cheek while I meditate. Or cover my legs with a blanket. It seems like this is what it means to be truly human.

May we always embrace our beginner's mind!

May we open our hearts and minds to find teachers and friends in unexpected places,  forms and guises,

Real and imaginary,

Human and animal,

Big and small, 

To accompany us on the path! 

May we all be happy!

Love

from:

peace is every step

 

from: 

random home and heart photos

This is Mount Gede as seen from our front porch, one of two volcanoes that are connected. Looking at it is very calming and centering. Centuries ago Indonesia was once Buddhist but somehow religion and even naming does not seem relevant when immersed in nature.    

 

Closer look...

Morning sun, flower, me, inter-are...

The view to one side of our front porch.

Bamboo and metal wind chimes call,  

evoke, remind and reconnect. 

 

This is a "village" rose. Here "village" has a derogatory connotation meaning narrow-minded but it can also mean hardy like this rose bush which is easy to take care of and has lots of gorgeous flowers!

  

This flower is common here and not sold but we have not figured out how it reproduces...

This wood Buddha statue is from Bali. I had a very strong affinity for it the first time I saw it. I love polishing it with teak oil and seeing the wood darken in color. I haven't been able to identify the mudra, but more importantly the hands are perfectly placed to hold hibiscus flowers which is my offering to myself and those who see it...

Pair of statues from Cambodia...

Loyal and good friends are very important on the path!!!

perspective/reflection

This is the view from our living room windows. A good friend took this picture last week while visiting with his family. Ten years ago we were both single guys on the loose acting out a second adolescence and now are both married with kids... Time.. flies...

Early in the morning and on clear days on the right a huge volcano is visible which is part of a national park. Every time I see it, its still like - wow that's big! It provides perspective for us, people, of time and nature as something that vastly exceeds our human life spans. Speaking personally sometimes its easy to forget this.

Years ago I learned about farming, walking and working barefoot on foothills below the volcano on land across from my martial arts school's training center. In the afternoon the earth would be so warm from the sun or during rainy season muddy and slippery in a very elemental way. Surprising how much one can feel through the soles of one's feet! One day I remember standing barefoot feeling rooted in a very good spot, watching bamboo sway and plants vibrate with the wind and sun and suddenly there was the thought, "the earth is alive and I am part of it". There was something both incredibly finite and infinite about that moment, the sense of being part of something vast and complex, yet alive, vibrant and immediate. Its the same feeling but different scale as holding a handful of seeds and feeling the energy, the potential for growth and expression, some powerful and ancient dance that we are part of yet only slightly understand. Human agency seems irrelevant in this context, our job seems to be to witness, to experience and wonder.     

Watching the fog on the hills or cover the landscape and blow right over our porch is pretty cool.

Early morning I love watching the sky turn from dark blue black to pink and orange and then the sun crest over the hills. Unfortunately if I am watching it, that means I am late with my morning meditation but I guess everything has a tradeoff...

May my eyes, heart and soles of my feet always be open to these joys!

May clouds, flowers and mountains always inspire and excite!

May good friends continue to grace and share our lives!

May my children continue to grow and learn with respect and wonder!

May I gain in wisdom, insight and humility.

Race, Diversity and Buddhism: Thoughts and a Proposal

Although I have been an activist for a long time and during my college years helped lead a student protest movement for diversity, to this day I dread discussions about race, the feelings they bring up in myself and others, the conflict that arises, and the ultimate and inescapable dissatisfaction with the ways things end. But recently I've been stirred and inspired by Arun at Angry Asian Buddhist, and even more recently by posts and comments by Nathan at Dangerous Harvests, and Katie at Kloncke.

At the same time I am concerned by the generally unsatisfactory discussion about race and diversity on many Buddhist blogs. These discussions have been full of misunderstanding, misrepresentation, hurt feelings all around, blanket statements, and a general lack of compassion or insight. Its often as if we don't really hear what others are saying but are separately instead engaged in a discussion with ghosts from previous discussions with all the accumulated baggage. At times we shout past each other, selectively hearing and cherry picking what is said for more fuel to add to the fire. It is even more regrettable when these discussions involve Buddhists because there is just extra arrow added on top of extra arrow, increasing suffering and seemingly disdaining the skillful means we as Buddhists should be developing and practicing.

Why have or participate in these discussions then? For me personally at a certain level there really is no choice. From a very young age, standing up to racism or asserting myself in a forum with racial overtones was part of an existential struggle. I felt like if I didn't speak out, stand up and fight back, I would not exist as a person and any risk was worth taking to prevent that. Those times I was silent or didn't fight back, I would torture myself again and again remembering my failure, cowardice and humiliation and despising myself for my weakness.

With meditation I have started to realize that the cost of anger is a steep one - the loss of personal balance and objectifying the focus of my anger which in other words is dehumanization and doing to someone else the very thing I don't want to happen to me. That's not to say I still don't get angry but the intensity has lessened and its not as all consuming. There is the awareness on some sort of fundamental level that the anger is not me and I am more than just the anger. I can be somewhat objective and watch it as an observer.

Also there is the realization that not every battle has to be joined, not every comment answered. We can choose not to accept those "gifts" as Goenkaji calls them (reminded of this by a post on Kloncke). There is something powerful in standing up for oneself and fighting back. There is also something powerful about restraint, abstaining, taking the time and space to just be.  

What comes next after the fighting and then the restraint and abstaining? How about a try for the middle way? I have been listening and working on Gil Fronsdal's Concentration series at Audio Dharma. At one point he describes concentration meditation like fishing - too much slack and the fish gets away, too forceful and the line will break. Perhaps these discussions on race needs to be the same - enough creative tension to get people thinking outside of their normal assumptions but not some much as to make them defensive. Easier said than done but adding compassion, trying out equanimity and remembering we are all in this together could help. What if at the point where someone says something that brings on very strong feelings of aversion and rejection - we try and label these feelings and then watch them with non reactive awareness? What would happen if we could get angry at someone else's limited and seemingly bigoted perspective but then put that feeling in a "larger container" and watch its power fade?

What if we could listen to each other for what lies behind our words?

Could there be a simple and shared desire to be heard, acknowledged and appreciated?

Would this premise be worth testing? How about a Buddhist bloggers' roundtable or panel discussion on different topics related to race, diversity and Buddhism? But the goal would not be to show how someone is wrong or convert others to your viewpoint, it would be to practice what Katie calls "mindful blogging" and do it in the challenging context of a dialogue about race, diversity and Buddhism.  

Sooo... Anybody game? I guess this is somewhat presumptuous since it assumes people are actually reading my ramblings...Is anybody out there?

ps - just in case someone is out there, I want to again acknowledge influence and inspiration from Kloncke and Dangerous Harvests for this line of thought - thanks!

Transformation!

When we look deeply into ourselves,

we see both flowers and garbage...
In the way that a gardener knows how
to transform compost into flowers, we
can learn the art of transforming anger,
depression and racial discrimination
into love and understanding.

Thich Nhat Hanh from: Touching Peace

Satyagraha Special Section: Blueprints of Freedom

How Martin Luther King, Jr., brought satyagraha to the U.S. and revolutionized the civil rights movement.

By Charles Johnson

In Atlanta SCLC office, 1966

FAR FROM THE police dogs, jail cells, and hostile crowds, Martin Luther King, Jr., stands in his office with his arms crossed in front of a portrait of Mohandas Gandhi. The juxtaposition of these two spiritual titans in this photograph reminds me that Gandhi’s “experiment with truth” was at the heart of King’s work for justice and equality. For King as well as Gandhi, the methods of satyagraha, far from being neutral tools devoid of cultural values, contained precise, challenging blueprints for leading a moral life.

King first publicly declared his admiration for the father of modern India during the Montgomery bus boycott, proclaiming, “Christ gave us the goals and Mahatma Gandhi the tactics.” Those tactics were tested in an American context for the first time during King’s fourteen-year career as the nation’s most preeminent minister and Socratic gadfly of the state. King was at a meeting during the Montgomery bus boycott, when segregationists bombed his house. He rushed back and found his wife Coretta and their baby Yolanda unharmed. Outside his damaged home, an angry, armed black crowd confronted the white policemen at the scene. The situation was edging toward violence when King raised one hand to quiet the crowd. “I want you to go home and put down your weapons,” he said. “We cannot solve this problem through retaliatory violence. We must meet violence with nonviolence.… We must meet hate with love.” According to the white policemen there that night, King’s calming words in the heat of racial violence saved their lives. King’s use of skillful means (upaya kushala) brought something uniquely redemptive to the struggle for black liberation in America; he established the actions of the Civil Rights movement as morally superior to those of its opposition. However, King never sought to humiliate his opponents. A practitioner of satyagraha endeavors to respect his opponent, retain him as friend, and provide him with a way to save face during their encounter so that he can maintain his dignity and join the ranks of the enlightened.

The electrifying Birmingham, Alabama campaign, infused with the spirit of satyagraha, brought segregation to its knees. “We shall wear you down by our capacity to suffer,” King announced, merging the passion of Christ and Gandhi’s doctrine in his belief that suffering, loss of property, and even physical pain were worthwhile means to a spiritual end. King and his lieutenants filled the jails with peaceful protesters, children as well as adults. 2,500 demonstrators marched on Birmingham’s streets. Racist Police Commissioner Eugene “Bull” Connor responded to the nonviolent protests with fire hoses and police dogs. His actions, captured in news footage and broadcast worldwide, backfired by alerting American citizens and the international community to the horrible conditions faced by black people in the South.

This brutality sickened the Birmingham firemen, too. On May 5, 1963, hundreds of blacks held a prayer meeting near the city jail. Enraged, Connor ordered his firemen to turn on the hoses. But the firemen fell back as if mesmerized, some of them weeping, and allowed the protesters to continue. This remarkable event proved yet again the

power of satyagraha, or “soul force,” in winning over the hearts and minds of one’s opponents. That victory was surely helped by the ten points of the “Commitment Blank,” a kind of activist’s version of the bodhisattva vows, signed by the leaders of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference and their followers during the Birmingham campaign:

COMMANDMENTS FOR THE VOLUNTEERS

I hereby pledge myself—my person and my body—to the nonviolent movement. Therefore I will keep the following commandments:

Meditate daily on the teachings and life of Jesus.
Remember always that the nonviolent movement seeks justice and reconciliation—not victory.
Walk and talk in the manner of love, for God is love.
Pray daily to be used by God in order that all men might be free.
Sacrifice personal wishes in order that all men might be free.
Observe with both friend and foe the ordinary rules of courtesy.
Seek to perform regular service for others and for the world.
Refrain from the violence of fist, tongue, or heart.
Strive to be in good spiritual and bodily health.
Follow the directions of the movement and of the captain on a demonstration.

When practicing soul force, activists were urged to work for change in the world and in themselves simultaneously. These “moral experiments” were intended to be performed in their daily lives as scientists might test their theories. Such an approach is in perfect accord with satyagraha’s insistence that it is futile to implement ideas in the public realm if we fail to practice them in our personal lives. Dharma teacher and mendicant monk Claude AnShin Thomas understood this well when he said, “As a Buddhist, I cannot think myself into a new way of living, I have to live myself into a new way of thinking.” If we hope to end war and violence, Thomas noted, “we must simply stop the endless wars that rage within.”

BEFORE HIS DEATH at the age of thirty-nine, King would receive fifty assassination threats and the wrath of J. Edgar Hoover’s FBI; live with a $30,000 bounty on his head; be stabbed, stoned, bombed, and repeatedly arrested and jailed. All this only reinforced King’s conviction that “civilization and violence are antithetical concepts.” In a short space of time, King revolutionized the civil rights movement, and his efforts took a heavy personal toll: after his death, an autopsy found that he had the heart of a sixty-year-old man. Although his life, like Gandhi’s, was cut tragically short, his powerful legacy endures. He reminds nonviolent activists that brotherhood is our goal, love our method, generosity and forgiveness our rule. King summarized the principle of satyagraha in language as simple as the purity of the ideal: “Strangely enough, I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be. And you can never be what you ought to be until I am what I ought to be.” King devoted his life to helping Americans be what we ought.

Charles Johnson is a professor of English at the University of Washington in Seattle as well as an award-winning author. His most recent book, Mine Eyes Have Seen: Bearing Witness to the Civil Rights Struggle, a collaboration with civil rights photographer Bob Adelman, was published in November 2007.

images: top: © Bob Fitch photo, bottom: © Bettmann/Corbis

 from Tricycle:
http://www.tricycle.com/special-section/satyagraha-special-section-blueprints-freedom?offer=dharma

A Path With Heart chapter 4: Necessary Healing

"True maturation on the spiritual path requires that we discover the depth of our wounds. As Achaan Chah put it, 'If you haven't cried a number of times, your meditation hasn't really begun."

At the end of my first 10 day retreat, before we broke Noble Silence, we were taught metta or lovingkindness. It was if a dam broke. I started crying, at first desperately trying to stop or at least slow it down or do it silently, then was totally overwhelmed as huge wracking sobs repeatedly washed over and through me in waves. The last time I had really cried was as a high school student more than 20 years before that and even then under very difficult circumstances. Since that retreat, I get teared up quite easily... The scene in the Gandhi movie where all the non violent protesters are beaten and massacred... Seeing Martin Luther King, Jr. giving a speech... Hearing about the progress of youth who graduated from the organic farming and life skills program I helped start and still run... But it has been more than just crying. Having spontaneous feelings of metta arise for others come up even in conflict situations... Acknowledging and embracing the heart, feeling the softening and melting, the tenderness and vulnerability of being human... Being present and compassionate for the small moments with one's children... A wonderful and immeasurable blessing!

"Unhealed pain and rage, unhealed traumas from childhood abuse or abandonment, become powerful unconscious forces in our lives. Until we are able to bring awareness and understanding to our old wounds, we find ourselves repeating their patterns of unfulfilled desire, anger, and confusion over and over again."
 
Wounds, pain and rage... I have spent much of my life wounding myself and others... expressing pain and rage... I used to love playing football with ferocity and reckless disregard for bodily health and safety. If there was a cocky white boy playing, I would try and break him. Blocking, hitting, tackling so hard and relentlessly, chasing him all over the field until he would start to avoid me. Sometimes he would fall down as I approached rather than have me tackle. Aggression and domination. It was both euphoric and addicting.

For a period of time I was an honors student in high school. There were very few students of color in these classes. I remember feeling invisible, inadequate and that the other students were smarter and better than me. I remember sitting in class wishing I wasn't Asian, that my skin was not dark, my eyes not slanted, my hair not black and straight. Eventually I started not to care and then even verbally harass and intimidate the other students and then stopped going to classes altogether. I would spend my time with friends vandalizing the school, making and getting into trouble. Outside of school we got into fights, vandalized buildings, parks, offices, "borrowed" cars, broke open tens of parking meters. After a few close calls, we wound up in the police station. My parents were at a dinner party with other Asian American parents who were bragging about their kids' various achievements when the police called them to come get me... At the time I had a bowl cut and the police thought I had fallen in with the wrong crowd and let me go. In one semester I went from honors student to being asked to leave school.

For years, I would throw my sparring partners as hard as I could, sometimes as if I were trying to throw them through the floor. Double leg throws with the other person airborne and then crashing to the floor. Slamming, booming throws from which people would not get up right away or have to stop. I would feel victorious, glad, sick, disgusted and self loathing all at the same time...

"The first area of healing comes when we develop a relationship of trust with a teacher"

One day my martial teacher in the middle of class told me something to the effect that I was afraid of my sparring partner. This was someone that I routinely put a serious hurting on and I couldn't believe it. My friends ribbed me about this and as time went by I continued to dominate and slam this guy around and mentally disregarded what my teacher had told me. Yet a seed was planted. What was fear? And what was its relationship to domination and aggression? Could it be that domination and aggression was a way of covering up and not facing fear? What would be an alternative? Soft throws are not just technically harder since rather than strength they rely more on positioning and timing but also demand we be more open to someone else's energy rather than imposing our own.

Helped by meditation I have started to see the whole process differently. Sparring does not have to be oppositional. Our real opponent is our own fears, desires, egos. But then even these are not our enemies. Awareness of my feelings not necessarily being me and occurring in a larger container. Watching - oh there is ego, there is aggression... Seeing these feelings come and then go without having to engage or manifest them.

Most recently I started to have feelings of care and even tenderness towards my partners. There is an immediacy and intimacy in letting others in, putting yourself in a vulnerable position and letting others throw you. Who throws and who is being thrown? There is joy, grace and interconnectedness in this mutual dance... What a wonderful thing to be alive for! What a wonderful gift! I am thankful to my martial arts teacher, meditation teacher and those who have shared the path with me as fellow seekers, learners and teachers!

May we continue to learn and grow and express our humanness together!