Last weekend I attended my very first Buddhist-meditation retreat with my home-community, Insight Meditation Center of Washington (IMCW). Each year IMCW sponsors a Women's Retreat, and this year I was fortunately enough to be part of the Retreat's most diverse gathering yet. It was located in lonesome and remote New Winston, Maryland, among rolling hills and farmland. Me and my new partners-in-crime, Gretchen, and Pabitra (all beautiful folks of color) took the scenic route through rural Maryland to our destination, which we were especially glad we reached--all things considered.
I didn't have any expectations for the weekend nor did I have a particular intention for practice. I only knew a few things: seventy or so women planned to attend, a majority were either queer or women of color, we would engage in Noble Silence, and we would be meditating, a lot. Each expectation was met.
We had a simple schedule. Noble Silence began after our first sitting meditation on Friday; sitting and walking meditation on Saturday punctuated by a few non-meditative activities, like yoga, group interviews, and sacred circle dancing; and Sunday was reserved for a final sitting medtiation, small and large group processing, and goodbyes.
I had shared with friends before I left that I was not intimdated by the silence. The idea--silence all weekend--really bothered some friends of mine. That is something that you wouldn't do voluntarily without being offered large sums of money. Others thought expressed admiration but assured me that they couldn't do it themselves. Over the past year my life's narration has unfolded inside my own head. I spent much of my time in silence either reading, listening to music, writing, etc, but alas, Noble Silence is a different sort of thing. When engaged in Noble Silence you forbear any thought-provoking activity, such as reading, listeing to music, writing, so that you are truly within yourself.
It dawned on me: this is serious.
I also learned post-retreat that eye-contact or other gesturing is also disfavored. Oops. I should have attended that Beginner session. At least if I offened anyone I did not hear about it on Sunday.
Overall I enjoyed the retreat and gained a few important insights. I admit that the experience did not come together until Sunday when we talked to each other about what had just occurred. This was really our first and only opportunity to wholly commune with other participants during which time I found much in common with seemingly different women. In fact, a very nice older white woman paid me a compliment at the end of our small group talk. She told me "You are beautiful. I mean, you have a beautiful face." I felt beautiful at that moment. Thank you, Adrienne :)
A common Buddhist allegory is about "making an island onto yourself." To practice mindfulness sometimes it is necessary to take a sacred pause in which you can close your eyes and envision yourself retreating to your safe, private island. Well, over the weekend, I felt like I was on an island, but more of a Gilligan's. I was shipwrecked so that the prospect of other life inspired me.
I found that Noble Silence paired with our restricted activity nearly drove me mad. I reached a breaking point during our pre-dinner sit around 5pm. There was little I could do, however. I sat there rather helplessly, impatiently. My meditation awareness went as far as I was very much aware that I was uncomfortable. My eyes began scanning the room. I found a flame upon a candle, and I just stared. I must have continued staring because my mind went somewhere else. I wasn't thinking or dreaming, instead, I went within myself searching to see what was left. Then, sit was over. Forty-five minutes passed. I had one of my most probing and emotional sitting meditations in some time. What a lesson! Actually, I should say: what lessons! (It reminded of our pre-breakfast sit which was another positive experience for me. I had become nauseous during meditation. After a few moments I decided to simply "sit" with it. Acknowledge and embrace the pain knowing that it would pass. It did. Another valuable lesson.)
Another important insight is that when I hand-supreme a tangerine I need to do so with the flesh facing down. I had several seeds flying across the silent dinner hall never to be found again. If I hit someone I would have infringed on so many teachings simultaneously! (Of course, I'm kidding. That is Wrong Thinking. If I had hit someone and they did not suffer too much I would have been taught quite a few things, including how to deal with mortal embarrassment within sangha.)
I also enjoyed sacred circle dancing. I love dancing and expressive, emotive dancing is even better. We weren't exactly in a drum circle but synchronized stepping to "Hindu" music bound by pinkies was surprisingly fun.
On late Sunday morning all three of us packed up our things, and returned to all the things we knew. A funny thing? I felt the retreat's most potent effects on Monday morning. I was able to wake up a few minutes early to do some yoga poses. I stretched my hamstrings, inner thighs, and pec-muscles where a lot of my stress resides. I was more clear-minded throughout the day. I was very mindful. My practice only grew stronger throughout the week. My third-eye seems much sharper. I can attribute my deepened mindfulness to the retreat, which is nice because my year-long intention is to cultivate my mindfulness practice.
So when I checked off "attend retreat" on my list of "2009 Commitments" taped to my tall drawer I knew that there was a great deal of power behind that stroke.
It should be a good year.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
The Slender Sadness
"The Japanese have an expression that seems to capture the sense of pathos that is at the heart of our all too human dilemma: mono no aware, "the slender sadness. Simply by living we take life...
Treating our bodies and the bodies of others as precious stuff is not so easy, driven as we are by duty or desire, fear or confusion.
We are called to be honest about the struggle most of us face daily in living a wholesome life."
--Foreward: The Road is Your Footsteps by Joan Halifax in For a Future To Be Possible / Thich Nhat Hanh
Since reading this passage nearly a week ago I have felt the slender sadness. It is not a crushing feeling, nor a haunting one. The slender sadness I know is bittersweet, consuming, and in many ways, comforting...
I can best describe it as this.
On Thursday (Jan. 19) our law school community celebrated Martin Luther King, Jr.'s life with a commemoration program. The program consisted of two parts: a community "I Have A Dream" speech citation, and an address by Prof. Perry Wallace entitled, "Civil Rights: Openings and Challenges."
Dr. Wallace had led an impressive life. Today he is an American University Washington College of Law faculty member, specializing in environmental law and corporate governance. He claims many academic distinctions. He is probably best known, however, as a legendary collegiate basketball player. Prof. Wallace was the first black Southeastern Conference (SEC) player on Vanderbilt's all-white basketball team. He played, and he played very well, perhaps to some people's dismay, despite player and fan ire. Later he went on to Columbia's law school, and earned his law degree in 1975.
He shared this observation during his speech. Prof. Wallace attributes his cultural literacy abroad (his ability to immerse himself into new places overseas) to growing up Black during the Civil Rights Era South. His sensitivity--learned deferrence and humility--acute listening--are from his life-long experience of being a foreigner in America. He was a Black American who was estranged from his very home; he was treated as a foreigner in a familar land.
Prof. Wallace knows the slender sadness. Where he was denied the home he inevitably found elsewhere. Where there was spoiled soil, he sought the a stronger light.
His remark stayed with me while witnessing the impending Weekend Celebration here in DC. The joy around me is contagious, for which the reasons are numerous. If you stand still in the cold Washington air you can absorb the hopefulness, the happiness, the hollowness.
By hollowness I mean what Buddhists describe as one of the Three Liberation Doors--emptiness. A willingness to embrace anything that comes with the understanding that there is no separate self. We are One.
Certainly ahead of us are very difficult times, but what Barack Obama, and other hopeful people offer, as we stare into deep darkness, is an irrational courage. I am encouraged. We are as encouraged as we are afflicted. We celebrate, and we struggle, together. We are living the Dream.
Have a beautiful weekend, everyone!
Treating our bodies and the bodies of others as precious stuff is not so easy, driven as we are by duty or desire, fear or confusion.
We are called to be honest about the struggle most of us face daily in living a wholesome life."
--Foreward: The Road is Your Footsteps by Joan Halifax in For a Future To Be Possible / Thich Nhat Hanh
Since reading this passage nearly a week ago I have felt the slender sadness. It is not a crushing feeling, nor a haunting one. The slender sadness I know is bittersweet, consuming, and in many ways, comforting...
I can best describe it as this.
On Thursday (Jan. 19) our law school community celebrated Martin Luther King, Jr.'s life with a commemoration program. The program consisted of two parts: a community "I Have A Dream" speech citation, and an address by Prof. Perry Wallace entitled, "Civil Rights: Openings and Challenges."
Dr. Wallace had led an impressive life. Today he is an American University Washington College of Law faculty member, specializing in environmental law and corporate governance. He claims many academic distinctions. He is probably best known, however, as a legendary collegiate basketball player. Prof. Wallace was the first black Southeastern Conference (SEC) player on Vanderbilt's all-white basketball team. He played, and he played very well, perhaps to some people's dismay, despite player and fan ire. Later he went on to Columbia's law school, and earned his law degree in 1975.
He shared this observation during his speech. Prof. Wallace attributes his cultural literacy abroad (his ability to immerse himself into new places overseas) to growing up Black during the Civil Rights Era South. His sensitivity--learned deferrence and humility--acute listening--are from his life-long experience of being a foreigner in America. He was a Black American who was estranged from his very home; he was treated as a foreigner in a familar land.
Prof. Wallace knows the slender sadness. Where he was denied the home he inevitably found elsewhere. Where there was spoiled soil, he sought the a stronger light.
His remark stayed with me while witnessing the impending Weekend Celebration here in DC. The joy around me is contagious, for which the reasons are numerous. If you stand still in the cold Washington air you can absorb the hopefulness, the happiness, the hollowness.
By hollowness I mean what Buddhists describe as one of the Three Liberation Doors--emptiness. A willingness to embrace anything that comes with the understanding that there is no separate self. We are One.
Certainly ahead of us are very difficult times, but what Barack Obama, and other hopeful people offer, as we stare into deep darkness, is an irrational courage. I am encouraged. We are as encouraged as we are afflicted. We celebrate, and we struggle, together. We are living the Dream.
Have a beautiful weekend, everyone!
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
My Southern Road Trip
I went from Columbus, Ohio to Columbus, Georgia in an ol’ southern pilgrimage and as a follow-up to Understanding in Three Acts. It was time to visit my Georgia-family who raised me for six months when I was a year old. Days when I enjoyed a cloth-diaper and bottled ginger ale (legitimately). I was obviously well-loved.
I packed a week’s worth of things, including food, and got in the car with Norfolk as my destination. Norfolk, not quite as southern, but it is where I entered the New Year with Julian and Jenn. I even had a little bit of bubbly that had a little bit of an effect—I fell soundly asleep.
I embarked on January 2 (Friday) after staying in Norfolk for another day. I looked at my car, my walnuts, and my ipod, took a deep breath, and prepared for 12 road-tripping hours.
I drove. Drove. Drove some more. Continued driving.
Then I made a stop at none other than South of the Border. Who, after all, can deny hundreds of miles worth of signs about Pedro? Pedro needs me! And after six consecutive or so hours of driving I needed Pedro. Plus Jenn essentially dared me to throw away my pride and make a visit. 2009 may be the Shameless Year. (South of the Border is the kitchiest place probably ever.)
I arrived and I began searching for a suitable souvenir for Jenn. Hat Shop? No. Ice Cream Shop? No. Hotel. Big No. Africa Shop? Absolutely. I admittedly was skeptical, since, after all, South of the Border is a parody of its Mexican self. I only hoped that I didn’t see the sales-clerks in Kunte-Kente cloth. As it turns out there was a sizeable carved art collection (including masks) supposedly from Kenya and Cote de Ivoire. I selected a stone box. Once satisfied with my choice I did what any reasonable person would who found themselves inside world’s most hyped crapshoot.: I went to the arcade. I had to stare down the 7 year old who was coveting my Skee-ball tickets. (I’m actually not serious—you would never receive all of your entitled tickets there.) I ended up discreetly leaving my tickets at a racing game. Perhaps a disappointed child can redeem them for a plastic parachuter.
South of the Border is located just when you reach the South Carolina border. I made it to Augusta, Georgia (just at the Georgia border). I stayed overnight at the Clarion Suites prepared to drive four hours to Columbus for my family weekend. (How do you know you’re from a southern family? You have about eighteen relatives to call assuring them that you’re doin’ alright : ) I arrived the next morning (Saturday) to my Auntie Roslyn’s home where Courtney (my cuz) greeted me.
For the Woody-Howard-Cary family tree (that I now know). I have three great aunts (Auntie Roslyn, Rea, and Nay) who have four children among them (cousins Shamar, Shamice, Roderick, and Courtney; the latter two are Roslyn’s children; and Auntie Nay has no children). As with most families there are half-siblings, unknown children, and shot-guns marriages, but unique to southern families, we don’t talk about any of ‘em. I was happy to patch the family history together best I could.
I hadn’t seen my cousins during my adult life so I had no expectations. But damn. They were all real cool—two cousins are artists (musician and cinematographer). Cousin Courtney (the cinematographer) knew everything about everything, particularly films. We bonded over boutique foreign films all weekend. His worldview was too big for little Columbus.
I made the most of my weekend stay. Our conversation staples were law school and more so, veganism. Of course I prepared my explanation in two parts. First, I don’t eat meat (hmm) and second, I didn’t eat any dairy (uh oh). No animals or by-products. And yes, that includes fish. Veganism, as it turned out, was a hit! Even if it was not fully understood, folks appreciated trying to smart-up their southern food lifestyle. Sure, you can enjoy a few cans of beer or scotch, with your barbeque, but your day should also include a fistful of almonds, and an extra helping of greens. (By the way, I had the yummiest tomato-corn-okra salad by Auntie Rea—their side was my very tasty meal.)
On Sunday night, in particular, we ate, talked, and were merry, southern style. Everyone came over, shared the latest about town and neighbors, and punctuated our conversation with fits of roarin’ laughter. Life is hard but you gotta laugh about it. Better yet I was able to have a heart-to-heart with Auntie Roslyn. She shared her opinions about her life, relationships, and family. We even talked about our respective faiths, in which she related to me a Christian lesson and I related to it with a Buddhism one.
One of best things were my Auntie’s reaction to my “new look.” On separate occasions, each Auntie spotted me, inspected me upon first glance, had me turn around, and patted my bottom, mentioning that I had lost most of my booty. (It’s true.) Each said I was skinny but that I still looked healthy. If I ever have their disapproval I’ll know something is wrong.
I had a grand time.
Monday morning it was time to return. DC is the place with which I am familiar, but Columbus felt like another sort of home. Georgia (and the South) are where my people are from. I also have people in Ohio but I honestly feel more deeply connected to southern life, most likely because my regional identity is most tied to Virginia. In this celebratory vein I was sure to pick-up five cases of Foise (Georgia hot sauce) for my mother at the Phenix City, Alabama, Piggly Wiggly, and peach salsa in Gaffney, South Carolina en route to Norfolk.
I’m back in DC fully satisfied about re-establishing connections, and re-cultivating roots with folks who love me, and who always have. No other place I could be so embraced, so unconditionally. A rare find.
I packed a week’s worth of things, including food, and got in the car with Norfolk as my destination. Norfolk, not quite as southern, but it is where I entered the New Year with Julian and Jenn. I even had a little bit of bubbly that had a little bit of an effect—I fell soundly asleep.
I embarked on January 2 (Friday) after staying in Norfolk for another day. I looked at my car, my walnuts, and my ipod, took a deep breath, and prepared for 12 road-tripping hours.
I drove. Drove. Drove some more. Continued driving.
Then I made a stop at none other than South of the Border. Who, after all, can deny hundreds of miles worth of signs about Pedro? Pedro needs me! And after six consecutive or so hours of driving I needed Pedro. Plus Jenn essentially dared me to throw away my pride and make a visit. 2009 may be the Shameless Year. (South of the Border is the kitchiest place probably ever.)
I arrived and I began searching for a suitable souvenir for Jenn. Hat Shop? No. Ice Cream Shop? No. Hotel. Big No. Africa Shop? Absolutely. I admittedly was skeptical, since, after all, South of the Border is a parody of its Mexican self. I only hoped that I didn’t see the sales-clerks in Kunte-Kente cloth. As it turns out there was a sizeable carved art collection (including masks) supposedly from Kenya and Cote de Ivoire. I selected a stone box. Once satisfied with my choice I did what any reasonable person would who found themselves inside world’s most hyped crapshoot.: I went to the arcade. I had to stare down the 7 year old who was coveting my Skee-ball tickets. (I’m actually not serious—you would never receive all of your entitled tickets there.) I ended up discreetly leaving my tickets at a racing game. Perhaps a disappointed child can redeem them for a plastic parachuter.
South of the Border is located just when you reach the South Carolina border. I made it to Augusta, Georgia (just at the Georgia border). I stayed overnight at the Clarion Suites prepared to drive four hours to Columbus for my family weekend. (How do you know you’re from a southern family? You have about eighteen relatives to call assuring them that you’re doin’ alright : ) I arrived the next morning (Saturday) to my Auntie Roslyn’s home where Courtney (my cuz) greeted me.
For the Woody-Howard-Cary family tree (that I now know). I have three great aunts (Auntie Roslyn, Rea, and Nay) who have four children among them (cousins Shamar, Shamice, Roderick, and Courtney; the latter two are Roslyn’s children; and Auntie Nay has no children). As with most families there are half-siblings, unknown children, and shot-guns marriages, but unique to southern families, we don’t talk about any of ‘em. I was happy to patch the family history together best I could.
I hadn’t seen my cousins during my adult life so I had no expectations. But damn. They were all real cool—two cousins are artists (musician and cinematographer). Cousin Courtney (the cinematographer) knew everything about everything, particularly films. We bonded over boutique foreign films all weekend. His worldview was too big for little Columbus.
I made the most of my weekend stay. Our conversation staples were law school and more so, veganism. Of course I prepared my explanation in two parts. First, I don’t eat meat (hmm) and second, I didn’t eat any dairy (uh oh). No animals or by-products. And yes, that includes fish. Veganism, as it turned out, was a hit! Even if it was not fully understood, folks appreciated trying to smart-up their southern food lifestyle. Sure, you can enjoy a few cans of beer or scotch, with your barbeque, but your day should also include a fistful of almonds, and an extra helping of greens. (By the way, I had the yummiest tomato-corn-okra salad by Auntie Rea—their side was my very tasty meal.)
On Sunday night, in particular, we ate, talked, and were merry, southern style. Everyone came over, shared the latest about town and neighbors, and punctuated our conversation with fits of roarin’ laughter. Life is hard but you gotta laugh about it. Better yet I was able to have a heart-to-heart with Auntie Roslyn. She shared her opinions about her life, relationships, and family. We even talked about our respective faiths, in which she related to me a Christian lesson and I related to it with a Buddhism one.
One of best things were my Auntie’s reaction to my “new look.” On separate occasions, each Auntie spotted me, inspected me upon first glance, had me turn around, and patted my bottom, mentioning that I had lost most of my booty. (It’s true.) Each said I was skinny but that I still looked healthy. If I ever have their disapproval I’ll know something is wrong.
I had a grand time.
Monday morning it was time to return. DC is the place with which I am familiar, but Columbus felt like another sort of home. Georgia (and the South) are where my people are from. I also have people in Ohio but I honestly feel more deeply connected to southern life, most likely because my regional identity is most tied to Virginia. In this celebratory vein I was sure to pick-up five cases of Foise (Georgia hot sauce) for my mother at the Phenix City, Alabama, Piggly Wiggly, and peach salsa in Gaffney, South Carolina en route to Norfolk.
I’m back in DC fully satisfied about re-establishing connections, and re-cultivating roots with folks who love me, and who always have. No other place I could be so embraced, so unconditionally. A rare find.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Crises Convergence
My housemate, Mia, recommended that we watch "The End of Suburbia" (I am constantly tempted to call it the "Story of Stuff" which is another documentary about America's consumptive lifestyle.)
The film was wonderful because it was eerily accurate. Even though it was made in 2004 the film's stark predictions about problems regarding our energy use, economic strength, infrastructure, and lifestyle patterns have already come to our immediate attention.
Moreover it was a visionary film. The film showed that the energy-scholar community has reached consensus that our lives will fundamentally change within my lifetime. We have depended on exhaustible resources for too hard for, too long, so that our transition into the new economic and cultural era will be even more challenging. Most important is that Americans address the heart of its cultural problem: our attitudes toward access and use. At least a new progressive era has a chance to mitigate the worst damage by finally telling the truth and taking action.
The End of Suburbia also did an exceptional job weaving several stories into a single narrative critiquing America's way of life since World War II. It's more than about energy access, or consumption, sprawl, or poorly planned infrastructure, or the failed suburban dream, or bad policies, or our weakening economic engine, or localization, or trends toward new urban planning. It's about the detriments of unaccountable power.
Here I wanted to convey a few messages to specific people inspired by the film:
Dear Mom.
I love you and worry about you the most. I can imagine the housing industry quickly evaporating further limiting your opportunities within the next ten years. Soon I will finish school. I will support you if you should return to school, seek out training, or pursue your dreams. I know it has always been your plan to live with me once I have a home. You are always welcome. I do not think a global transition will be difficult for you. All in all you live very simply, and have always done a lot with few resources--like so many people are forced to do, even within our Rich Land. Your passion for nature and living things may soon become economically valuable. You've experienced much bigger hardships.
Dear Dad.
Your life curve has peaked at just the right time. Any major global shifts will hurt you as your lifestyle epitomizes Suburbia. I know you don't like change either. The next 10-15 years will be hard if you remain in Centreville. But since you become eligible for retirement a year ago, you should be able to retire in the near future. You've been a proud and accomplished public servant for which you deserve a restful retirement. I think retirement may offer you a different sort of wealth than the suburban affluence you enjoy now. I can see you in a city. City-life will keep you at the center of vitality and provides easy access for your children and other loved ones. It may also allow you to have a more healthful life, in which you can continue to greatly contribute to your local community. I encourage you to embrace the many changes that you will encounter soon.
Dear Little Bro.
Enjoy your SUV while you can! The future holds a culture shock for you because all we have ever known has been hyper-suburban life. You'll be OK going with the flow. Soon, when your music career launches, you'll be separating from dad and experiencing a great deal of change, anyway. Just remember how your "hippie" sister may have been right about a few things.
Dear Friends.
Most of you share the vision shared by The End of Suburbia and like-minded films, so I will be brief. I do have a few friends attached to their cars. This will change. Most of you, however, are under 30 so you will easily find your lifestyles more active within "walkable communities" assuming that either your neighborhoods are converted or you re-locate to one. For my fellow city-dwellers I would expect more white-affluent-influx (we are currently seeing this in Columbia Heights). More gentrification, increased segregation, unless we speak-out. As we see crises converge we have to demand that our solutions converge as well. We cannot enter 21st century American Life by trading one set of evident problems for another.
Indeed, we have a lot of work to do!
The film was wonderful because it was eerily accurate. Even though it was made in 2004 the film's stark predictions about problems regarding our energy use, economic strength, infrastructure, and lifestyle patterns have already come to our immediate attention.
Moreover it was a visionary film. The film showed that the energy-scholar community has reached consensus that our lives will fundamentally change within my lifetime. We have depended on exhaustible resources for too hard for, too long, so that our transition into the new economic and cultural era will be even more challenging. Most important is that Americans address the heart of its cultural problem: our attitudes toward access and use. At least a new progressive era has a chance to mitigate the worst damage by finally telling the truth and taking action.
The End of Suburbia also did an exceptional job weaving several stories into a single narrative critiquing America's way of life since World War II. It's more than about energy access, or consumption, sprawl, or poorly planned infrastructure, or the failed suburban dream, or bad policies, or our weakening economic engine, or localization, or trends toward new urban planning. It's about the detriments of unaccountable power.
Here I wanted to convey a few messages to specific people inspired by the film:
Dear Mom.
I love you and worry about you the most. I can imagine the housing industry quickly evaporating further limiting your opportunities within the next ten years. Soon I will finish school. I will support you if you should return to school, seek out training, or pursue your dreams. I know it has always been your plan to live with me once I have a home. You are always welcome. I do not think a global transition will be difficult for you. All in all you live very simply, and have always done a lot with few resources--like so many people are forced to do, even within our Rich Land. Your passion for nature and living things may soon become economically valuable. You've experienced much bigger hardships.
Dear Dad.
Your life curve has peaked at just the right time. Any major global shifts will hurt you as your lifestyle epitomizes Suburbia. I know you don't like change either. The next 10-15 years will be hard if you remain in Centreville. But since you become eligible for retirement a year ago, you should be able to retire in the near future. You've been a proud and accomplished public servant for which you deserve a restful retirement. I think retirement may offer you a different sort of wealth than the suburban affluence you enjoy now. I can see you in a city. City-life will keep you at the center of vitality and provides easy access for your children and other loved ones. It may also allow you to have a more healthful life, in which you can continue to greatly contribute to your local community. I encourage you to embrace the many changes that you will encounter soon.
Dear Little Bro.
Enjoy your SUV while you can! The future holds a culture shock for you because all we have ever known has been hyper-suburban life. You'll be OK going with the flow. Soon, when your music career launches, you'll be separating from dad and experiencing a great deal of change, anyway. Just remember how your "hippie" sister may have been right about a few things.
Dear Friends.
Most of you share the vision shared by The End of Suburbia and like-minded films, so I will be brief. I do have a few friends attached to their cars. This will change. Most of you, however, are under 30 so you will easily find your lifestyles more active within "walkable communities" assuming that either your neighborhoods are converted or you re-locate to one. For my fellow city-dwellers I would expect more white-affluent-influx (we are currently seeing this in Columbia Heights). More gentrification, increased segregation, unless we speak-out. As we see crises converge we have to demand that our solutions converge as well. We cannot enter 21st century American Life by trading one set of evident problems for another.
Indeed, we have a lot of work to do!
Monday, December 22, 2008
Understanding In Three Acts
Act I
I visited my grandparents in Ohio this weekend. I hadn’t seen my father’s parents in over four years. My father found inexpensive plane tickets, and he asked if I could join him about two weeks ago. I told him that I would think about it. I did and we left Virginia without my brother on Friday.
I never doubted that I would make the trip. I was certain this visit would be my last time to see my grandparents alive. Rather, I was preparing myself for an intricate time. Both my grandparents have been ailing for a long time. The last time I saw my grandmother she was struggling to remain in her simple, two-story home on Main St. It was the first time I cared for a sick elder; for my brother it was a traumatic experience. My grandmother now resides with a family who offers her twenty-four hour care (she was violently unhappy at a caretaking facility); my grandfather has survived at “Heartland” moving once from their Bridgeport hometown to his current location in Centerburg, Ohio. Centerburg is said to be the center (read: heart) of Ohio.
Overall the visit was positive. My uncle remarked that my grandfather was more active during this visit than he had been in years. (The previous year my grandfather was not able to wake-up when my cousin visited.) Grandpa was fully awake, speaking, and expressive. He even managed to tease my father whom he told that although he was talking, he wasn’t saying anything. Our end was as nice as our beginning. We finished the visit with a few pictures.
We saw my grandmother twice who was admitted into the hospital for an infection. Her doctor described her as “ornery” which was assuring to my dad and uncle because that meant “she was back to herself.” Well, in a way. My grandmother has lived with cancer twice, thyroid disease, and a host of other physical ailments. But since I had last seen her, things had changed.
Like with my grandfather, my grandmother warmly greeted me. I remained silent for most of the time being content with smiling and being attentive to her physical needs. My father was surprised that she remembered details about who I was. I took this as a sign for reunion.
Yet I think I understood her. Grandma was sharing about how all of her family members were on TV. She had seen my brother on Letterman several times. My dad assured her that without her glasses that she saw people who resembled us on TV, but none of us appeared on TV. Grandma was particularly concerned about the UFOs hovering over the roofs outside her window. My uncle changed the subject. When we left the second night, grandma reminded me to let her know when I was ready—ready to run her hotel and get to the bottom of conspiracy surrounding her wealth that had engulfed my dad and uncle. I smiled and told her that I would.
Doctors have diagnosed my grandmother with Alzheimers, and another form of dementia. My father was persistently correcting her, insisting that she was mistaken, wrong, or sometimes chose to ignore her. I understood why he did this. I know how difficult it is for him to witness this change in his parents. At the same time my grandmother was very upset that she was being treated as if she was “crazy.” This I saw. Her family and caretakers’ attempts to be “rational” with her—to tell her the “truth”—deeply hurt her despite their best intentions. I think I understood her. We talked freely. And I enjoyed being with her.
Act II
Sunday evening I saw Seven Pounds. The film was awe-inspiring. I regret that I cannot share much more for fear of compromising the film, nonetheless, I think it was one of those unique transformative films. I related to Seven Pounds as a film about the depth of human capacity. Our power is remarkable. Yes. I think I understand.
Act III
Sleep tells a lot about us.
I was in an outdoor classroom with fifty or so students. One of my classmates was none other than a young Spike Lee. Our professor was dialoging with the class, and Spike Lee raised his hand. When called on, all he said was “ex-cess.” A sharp “ex” and “cess.” Silence--
He had made a poignant point.
Then he continued, “ex-cess,” “ex-cess,” “ex-cess,” and he went on for about a half an hour.
I woke up and in three instant flashes--noticed my dad’s snoring—remembered my uncle’s remark about Faithful over-consumption—and thought about my own sweet-food addiction.
Three simple acts. A lot of clarity. Prajna paramita.
I visited my grandparents in Ohio this weekend. I hadn’t seen my father’s parents in over four years. My father found inexpensive plane tickets, and he asked if I could join him about two weeks ago. I told him that I would think about it. I did and we left Virginia without my brother on Friday.
I never doubted that I would make the trip. I was certain this visit would be my last time to see my grandparents alive. Rather, I was preparing myself for an intricate time. Both my grandparents have been ailing for a long time. The last time I saw my grandmother she was struggling to remain in her simple, two-story home on Main St. It was the first time I cared for a sick elder; for my brother it was a traumatic experience. My grandmother now resides with a family who offers her twenty-four hour care (she was violently unhappy at a caretaking facility); my grandfather has survived at “Heartland” moving once from their Bridgeport hometown to his current location in Centerburg, Ohio. Centerburg is said to be the center (read: heart) of Ohio.
Overall the visit was positive. My uncle remarked that my grandfather was more active during this visit than he had been in years. (The previous year my grandfather was not able to wake-up when my cousin visited.) Grandpa was fully awake, speaking, and expressive. He even managed to tease my father whom he told that although he was talking, he wasn’t saying anything. Our end was as nice as our beginning. We finished the visit with a few pictures.
We saw my grandmother twice who was admitted into the hospital for an infection. Her doctor described her as “ornery” which was assuring to my dad and uncle because that meant “she was back to herself.” Well, in a way. My grandmother has lived with cancer twice, thyroid disease, and a host of other physical ailments. But since I had last seen her, things had changed.
Like with my grandfather, my grandmother warmly greeted me. I remained silent for most of the time being content with smiling and being attentive to her physical needs. My father was surprised that she remembered details about who I was. I took this as a sign for reunion.
Yet I think I understood her. Grandma was sharing about how all of her family members were on TV. She had seen my brother on Letterman several times. My dad assured her that without her glasses that she saw people who resembled us on TV, but none of us appeared on TV. Grandma was particularly concerned about the UFOs hovering over the roofs outside her window. My uncle changed the subject. When we left the second night, grandma reminded me to let her know when I was ready—ready to run her hotel and get to the bottom of conspiracy surrounding her wealth that had engulfed my dad and uncle. I smiled and told her that I would.
Doctors have diagnosed my grandmother with Alzheimers, and another form of dementia. My father was persistently correcting her, insisting that she was mistaken, wrong, or sometimes chose to ignore her. I understood why he did this. I know how difficult it is for him to witness this change in his parents. At the same time my grandmother was very upset that she was being treated as if she was “crazy.” This I saw. Her family and caretakers’ attempts to be “rational” with her—to tell her the “truth”—deeply hurt her despite their best intentions. I think I understood her. We talked freely. And I enjoyed being with her.
Act II
Sunday evening I saw Seven Pounds. The film was awe-inspiring. I regret that I cannot share much more for fear of compromising the film, nonetheless, I think it was one of those unique transformative films. I related to Seven Pounds as a film about the depth of human capacity. Our power is remarkable. Yes. I think I understand.
Act III
Sleep tells a lot about us.
I was in an outdoor classroom with fifty or so students. One of my classmates was none other than a young Spike Lee. Our professor was dialoging with the class, and Spike Lee raised his hand. When called on, all he said was “ex-cess.” A sharp “ex” and “cess.” Silence--
He had made a poignant point.
Then he continued, “ex-cess,” “ex-cess,” “ex-cess,” and he went on for about a half an hour.
I woke up and in three instant flashes--noticed my dad’s snoring—remembered my uncle’s remark about Faithful over-consumption—and thought about my own sweet-food addiction.
Three simple acts. A lot of clarity. Prajna paramita.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Two Inches
There are two inches between the top of my hip bone and the bottom of my ribcage. I find this fact remarkable. I hardly have a torso! I had made this observation before, though, not in such an illustrative way. I am amazed that I have all of the internal organs I need--and that they fit.
My body and body-relationship have rapidly changed over a year. At the same time I hardly look at "it." If I closed my eyes and envisioned my body, parts would be missing. These parts would not be missing because I am necessarily ashamed or embarrassed of how I look. Rather, I just don't have a vivid memory of what these parts look like, likely, for the reason I never take an opportunity to see my body as much as I feel my body. It was a stunning realization.
I wonder if I was subconsciously motivated by recent conversations about body image. Within November I spoke to two women about our body-relationships, their evolutions, and our relative happy places at present. I concluded that I am happy with my body despite my wanting body-relationship. I attribute improvements to a health consciousness that reflects through my body in a way I have not known during my adult life. I pay much more attention to what I put into it (what I choose NOT to put into it), how I treat it, and how I see it--as also a deserving part of me. I no longer wish to look or appear a certain way. I feel good and my body agrees.
How can I characterize this transformation? My shift in thinking from an assailed body-image to a happy body-relationship. I refer to another lesson from The Heart of the Buddha's Teachings. Thich Nhat Hahn describes the Three Bodies of Buddha as Dharmakaya (source of enlightenment and happiness), Sambhogakaya (body of bliss or enjoyment), and Nirmanakaya (historial embodiment of the Buddha). My physical body has benefited from my return to activity. Exercise allows me to see Dharmakaya, feel Sambhogakaya, and be led to Nirmanakaya.
I previously called my early life my athletic "first life." I was always active because I was naturally inclined to be and enjoyed experiencing my nature. I was forced to suddenly leaving team sports as a teenager, and I struggled to return to an active way of being without team sports. During my senior year in high school, I discovered power-lifting. Today, weight-lifting is a passion. I look forward to building my strength, setting and reaching goals, and essentially challenging myself in a productive way.
Dharmakaya means that the living Dharma can be seen and lived by us. We can see it in a sunset, a blossoming tree, or pushing 30 lbs. weights over our heads. It is when we see light before us so that our path toward love and understanding is clear. Exercise allows me to feed my body, and thus, practice self-love.
Sambhogakaya is the celebration attached to the living Dharma. It is easy to see how physical activity manifests itself vis-a-vis bliss, enjoyment, results, and rewards. Particularly satisfying is reaching a weight-or-running goal which you have set for yourself. In many ways exercise is a great metaphor for the practice. Incremental training, persistence, and patience lead to the Sambhogakaya body. Ultimately mindfulness toward your body and each (training) moment makes a strong, vital self.
Exercise is a form of self-love that relieved suffering to which I had grown so accustomed that I did not even realize it existed. Nirmanakaya is here.
Now it is just a matter of embodying this experience into other parts of my life. I guess that's all it takes :)
My body and body-relationship have rapidly changed over a year. At the same time I hardly look at "it." If I closed my eyes and envisioned my body, parts would be missing. These parts would not be missing because I am necessarily ashamed or embarrassed of how I look. Rather, I just don't have a vivid memory of what these parts look like, likely, for the reason I never take an opportunity to see my body as much as I feel my body. It was a stunning realization.
I wonder if I was subconsciously motivated by recent conversations about body image. Within November I spoke to two women about our body-relationships, their evolutions, and our relative happy places at present. I concluded that I am happy with my body despite my wanting body-relationship. I attribute improvements to a health consciousness that reflects through my body in a way I have not known during my adult life. I pay much more attention to what I put into it (what I choose NOT to put into it), how I treat it, and how I see it--as also a deserving part of me. I no longer wish to look or appear a certain way. I feel good and my body agrees.
How can I characterize this transformation? My shift in thinking from an assailed body-image to a happy body-relationship. I refer to another lesson from The Heart of the Buddha's Teachings. Thich Nhat Hahn describes the Three Bodies of Buddha as Dharmakaya (source of enlightenment and happiness), Sambhogakaya (body of bliss or enjoyment), and Nirmanakaya (historial embodiment of the Buddha). My physical body has benefited from my return to activity. Exercise allows me to see Dharmakaya, feel Sambhogakaya, and be led to Nirmanakaya.
I previously called my early life my athletic "first life." I was always active because I was naturally inclined to be and enjoyed experiencing my nature. I was forced to suddenly leaving team sports as a teenager, and I struggled to return to an active way of being without team sports. During my senior year in high school, I discovered power-lifting. Today, weight-lifting is a passion. I look forward to building my strength, setting and reaching goals, and essentially challenging myself in a productive way.
Dharmakaya means that the living Dharma can be seen and lived by us. We can see it in a sunset, a blossoming tree, or pushing 30 lbs. weights over our heads. It is when we see light before us so that our path toward love and understanding is clear. Exercise allows me to feed my body, and thus, practice self-love.
Sambhogakaya is the celebration attached to the living Dharma. It is easy to see how physical activity manifests itself vis-a-vis bliss, enjoyment, results, and rewards. Particularly satisfying is reaching a weight-or-running goal which you have set for yourself. In many ways exercise is a great metaphor for the practice. Incremental training, persistence, and patience lead to the Sambhogakaya body. Ultimately mindfulness toward your body and each (training) moment makes a strong, vital self.
Exercise is a form of self-love that relieved suffering to which I had grown so accustomed that I did not even realize it existed. Nirmanakaya is here.
Now it is just a matter of embodying this experience into other parts of my life. I guess that's all it takes :)
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Your Liberation, My Liberation, Our Liberation
Not too long ago, I returned from seeing "Milk." It's a profoundly inspiring (and well-made) account of Harvey Milk's late-life. I had planned to write this post for several days, but I should credit the film for creating just the right mood for me to assess and share where I am.
:Deep sigh: All times, and especially this time of year, I undergo an emotional inventory. Often I am hard on myself as the New Year turns. I never achieve all that I wish (which is not an unusual feeling). It's strange, however, because I am never my harshiest critic. It's something about seeing another year in retrospect.
I am actively attempting to counter-balance these negative feelings by looking onto my spiritual growth. It has been significant and it has taken me places which I never could have imagined existed for me a year ago. One day I may be able to chronologically trace it. For now, I will just sum it up the best I can. I have not embraced any single faith of my own. I believe in order to reflect the world's stunning nuance, I could not do so with a single lens, no matter how wide or strong. I continue seeking as if this lifetime's liberation depended on it.
Soul. When I was a young philosophite I insisted that soul was nothing more than our self-conception. My sense of reason could not know better. Over time I substituted my intuition for my intellect. It felt right. Ever since I have been able to "feel" soul even if I could not properly conceive or explain it. Soul consists of unique energy that we possess. Mine resides just above my heart. Soul is me and soul is all things.
Energy. All things are energy. When I was younger, my Christian-raised mother exposed me to this idea called energy. When necessary she'd turn on her initution like a switch. I had long-wondered what guided her. In pieces over the years I learned that she saw energy, nature, and love combined forces into God. I call the culmination of these forces, Universe. Similar ideas. From quantum physics to aura, I see energy as the basis of all things. It radiates or deteriorates. We are able to shape its direction--that is our human power.
Nature and Living Things. After an estranged lifetime, I am slowly reuniting with living things. See more green. Becoming vegan. Knowing which natural resources sustained my livelihood. I can appreciate my connection to water. I am no longer offended by co-existing with other living things. And I sometimes contemplate how I am dominating our shared space (although I remain unsure about what to do). This planet for which I am a guest and I are reconciling with my host. Other living things, Earth, and myself are no longer distinguishable.
Time. I had always had a complicated relationship with death. I was uncertain what it entailed, and more important, I was afraid to face it before I was ready, which meant I was afraid to die before accomplishing what I intended. That fear has virtually evaporated this year for several reasons, some clearer than others. Nonetheless, I am happy with how I have lived my life and how I live it each day. Perhaps my morbid prediction about dying by a random space toilet was more of a quirky prediction about spiritual finality? I am finally comfortable with time itself being beyond my comprehension, around and through I construct. I know of reincarnation. I see my daily choices as ones for this lifetime, which is a manageable idea compared to ones that may reverberate ad infintium. There is always enough time.
Practice. Since beginning Buddhist meditation nearly a year ago I see myself within a "practice." Meditation came naturally, yet practice always felt broader. It was never a quantity nor a quality. It was more of a constant challenge, "how could I be a better human?" Today I intentionally practice by writing, reading, discussing, and mediating. I try to mindfully practice every moment.
Art. There are few things I love in this world more than beauty. Transcendental experiences are ushered by beautiful things. Art moves me as well as other self-expression. Music. Spontaneity. Poetry. Eloquence. Photography. Courage. Performance. Self-expression is easily spiritual. I will be doing more of it.
Love. One of the reasons why I have set aside my fear of death is because I have known true love. Such an experience defies any description I could write at this time. Love is energy and soul and much more. I intend to discover a love that I could know beyond this lifetime and every other convention that we impose.
Future. There is a particular lesson I learned about the future this year. Each action you take alters even the most predictable "future." That's why choice is so powerful. There were times when I had certain knowledge--unshakeable knowledge about what was to come--and it always came to fruition--just never the way I had anticipated. My expectations, not my knowledge, were fickle.
I cannot wait to see what is next. :)
:Deep sigh: All times, and especially this time of year, I undergo an emotional inventory. Often I am hard on myself as the New Year turns. I never achieve all that I wish (which is not an unusual feeling). It's strange, however, because I am never my harshiest critic. It's something about seeing another year in retrospect.
I am actively attempting to counter-balance these negative feelings by looking onto my spiritual growth. It has been significant and it has taken me places which I never could have imagined existed for me a year ago. One day I may be able to chronologically trace it. For now, I will just sum it up the best I can. I have not embraced any single faith of my own. I believe in order to reflect the world's stunning nuance, I could not do so with a single lens, no matter how wide or strong. I continue seeking as if this lifetime's liberation depended on it.
Soul. When I was a young philosophite I insisted that soul was nothing more than our self-conception. My sense of reason could not know better. Over time I substituted my intuition for my intellect. It felt right. Ever since I have been able to "feel" soul even if I could not properly conceive or explain it. Soul consists of unique energy that we possess. Mine resides just above my heart. Soul is me and soul is all things.
Energy. All things are energy. When I was younger, my Christian-raised mother exposed me to this idea called energy. When necessary she'd turn on her initution like a switch. I had long-wondered what guided her. In pieces over the years I learned that she saw energy, nature, and love combined forces into God. I call the culmination of these forces, Universe. Similar ideas. From quantum physics to aura, I see energy as the basis of all things. It radiates or deteriorates. We are able to shape its direction--that is our human power.
Nature and Living Things. After an estranged lifetime, I am slowly reuniting with living things. See more green. Becoming vegan. Knowing which natural resources sustained my livelihood. I can appreciate my connection to water. I am no longer offended by co-existing with other living things. And I sometimes contemplate how I am dominating our shared space (although I remain unsure about what to do). This planet for which I am a guest and I are reconciling with my host. Other living things, Earth, and myself are no longer distinguishable.
Time. I had always had a complicated relationship with death. I was uncertain what it entailed, and more important, I was afraid to face it before I was ready, which meant I was afraid to die before accomplishing what I intended. That fear has virtually evaporated this year for several reasons, some clearer than others. Nonetheless, I am happy with how I have lived my life and how I live it each day. Perhaps my morbid prediction about dying by a random space toilet was more of a quirky prediction about spiritual finality? I am finally comfortable with time itself being beyond my comprehension, around and through I construct. I know of reincarnation. I see my daily choices as ones for this lifetime, which is a manageable idea compared to ones that may reverberate ad infintium. There is always enough time.
Practice. Since beginning Buddhist meditation nearly a year ago I see myself within a "practice." Meditation came naturally, yet practice always felt broader. It was never a quantity nor a quality. It was more of a constant challenge, "how could I be a better human?" Today I intentionally practice by writing, reading, discussing, and mediating. I try to mindfully practice every moment.
Art. There are few things I love in this world more than beauty. Transcendental experiences are ushered by beautiful things. Art moves me as well as other self-expression. Music. Spontaneity. Poetry. Eloquence. Photography. Courage. Performance. Self-expression is easily spiritual. I will be doing more of it.
Love. One of the reasons why I have set aside my fear of death is because I have known true love. Such an experience defies any description I could write at this time. Love is energy and soul and much more. I intend to discover a love that I could know beyond this lifetime and every other convention that we impose.
Future. There is a particular lesson I learned about the future this year. Each action you take alters even the most predictable "future." That's why choice is so powerful. There were times when I had certain knowledge--unshakeable knowledge about what was to come--and it always came to fruition--just never the way I had anticipated. My expectations, not my knowledge, were fickle.
I cannot wait to see what is next. :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
