Crying Light - Living In Between

"Let I
Shy cry
Under the light
Let I
Cry sight
A child at night
I can
Have courage
To receive your love
I can
Step steps
Follow my blind
Inside
My self
The secret grows
My own
Shelter
Agony goes
I was born to adore you
As a baby in the blind
I was born to represent you
To carry your head into the sun
To carve you face into the back of the sun" - The Crying Light, Antony and the Johnsons

To explain this feeling of living in-between, let me return to an August post. In August, a dear friend invited me to The Church of Two Worlds, a spiritualism church in Washington DC. Spiritualism is a Christian school that believes in mediumship to connect with other spiritual beings and God. My father was raised as a Christian Science, which is distinct from spiritualism, but it falls within a tradition that teaches God's omnipresence. Many of his beliefs have passed onto me. In the August post about receiving the dharma that you need (i.e. you will always be taken care of if you are willing to receive) I described the latter half of the service in which the minister conveyed messages from spirits onto audience members. It was quite the experience. I had two messages conveyed to me--both powerful--but there is a particular one with meaning that I did not fully appreciate until now. The medium said, "Your ancestors are rooting for you. Don't give up. There's light ahead."

A couple of weeks later I joined a friend in a regular Saturday morning sitting meditation. Only two of us practiced that morning so we had a chance to deeply share our sit with each other when we finished. We got onto the topic of a book that she had read, called Many Lives, Many Masters, a several-decade old book written by a psycho analyst's past-life regression experience with a patient. I believe that reincarnation is the continuation of life and life-force energy, and I have my an understanding of previous lives of my own. I borrowed the book, reading it in a single day. I was simply blown away. For at least two reasons. On one hand, I was beginning to see how spiritualism, phenomenonalism, magic, and other systems of thought to which I think glean universal insight blend together. On the other hand, the book thrust me into a condition which Buddhists call "absolute truth," or a spiritual existence, apart from our day-to-day existence. This is far from any degree of enlightenment. It's more like a SuperAwareness where you feel more adept in surveying deeper truths while also being present-minded. I have felt more detached over the past several weeks for this reason.

Many Lives described seven spiritual realms in which we ascend as we re-discover our true nature as One Spirit. I thought that the number of seven realms was intriguing because seven is a celebrated number in numerology and other traditions. So, as I've contemplated, and lived through, my practice during September, I have thought less about "right," "wrong," "good," "bad," but instead I have asked: what will contribute toward spiritual development? What is the spiritual (not worldly) lesson here? This re-orientation, different way of thinking, is making a lot of sense to me at the moment.

I continue to work with my energy-worker who observes my brighter aura all of the time (which reaffirms my belief that I am on the correct path). I have since started another book about Atlantis which is re-introducing me to occultism, a broader school than spiritualism that recovers "hidden knowledge" through psychic-ism, shamanism, mediumship, meditation, etc. I believe, like many occultists do, that we all have these gifts of being as we discover more about our true capacities. This is, in part, why I value reiki so much, and why I believe that it came into my life when it did. I'm reminded that it is all here.

I am thinking more about mysticism, herbal medicine, and all of the "alternatives" to conventional Western well-being. Tomorrow I will attend Pathway's Natural Living Expo with another dear friend who has accessed chakra-cleansing. There is a lot to learn in a single lifetime!

I will say, for friends and readers, who are skeptical that there are different ways to understand what this all is. I could not accept reincarnation until very specific details about a past life were conveyed to me during my first year of college were recited to me, almost verbatim, in April 2008. I could not explain it otherwise. Since, I've had many more experiences, but these ideas have also resurfaced more subtly. In holistic organizing, for example, we call, and thank our ancestors for their guidance, before we embark on our work. I often do this in spaces dominated by Black-folks or Southern-folks. For many of us the "presence" of spirits supplies our strength and courage. This is also true in numerous other traditions and spaces. All I can offer is that an openness may expose you to a lot of things, but never, nothing more than you can handle.

Receiving our own crying light.


*http://www.pathwaysmagazineonline.com/Pathways%20Online/expomainpage.html

Being Faithful

Last night, I revisited a conversation that I had with a sangha friend about faith several weeks ago during a 20-minute walk from the school to the bus stop.

My friend read a Buddhist book that suggested that we do not need faith if we, instead, know the truth. Both of us were struck by the idea. I did not understand at the time. Is this correct? Does truth set one free from faith? The question stayed in one of my consciousnesses until yesterday. As I walked through complete darkness, I saw that faith is vital to our being, and most of all, to our spiritual awakening.

When I say "faith" I do not mean a leap of it. I think about the way from one point to another, from knowledge to truth. There are a great many things that I do not yet know, and there is a vastness, a quality of being, that I do not yet know to be true. Truth, alone, does not sustain me, as I wake up each morning to ask "today, am I willing to be transformed in the service of my work?"* I believe that faith is the vessel, carrying us between the distance of our understanding to true understanding.

A confession: I often do not reflect on my last name anymore. But, last night, I examined its meaning to me. I suppose that being faithful is beyond firm loyality or commitment, it is persistence along the path.

It is an elegant surrender to Universe.

*I credit this beautiful intention to my most dear change-making group, Southerners on New Ground (SONG).

Mistakes

"In this sense, the word generosity is the ideal translation of dana, because generosity shares the same root word as generation: the causing to be, the procreative force." - Buddha Is As Buddha Does, Lama Surya Das.

I make and notice my mistakes all of the time. In fact, I fail everyday. I make the wrong choice; I say hurtful words; I damage my body; I see, in hindsight, that I've missed an opportunity. So it is :) Mistakes are a very important part of my life that I hardly write about on this blog. The primary reason that I can write about spiritual lessons at all is attributed to my mistakes. Failure is on my mind because today I made an intentional mistake. It was the wrong choice, yet I made it to benefit from the gift of wisdom that it offered. As years go by it is harder for me to distinguish success from failure.

The above quotation is from a book that I found on Clearance at the bookstore by well-known American Tibetan Lama, Surya Das. It is about the Bodhisattva Vow, a commitment to walk the path of awakening. A Boddhisattva embraces ten transformative practices (paramitas or "perfections"): generosity, ethics, patience, heroic effort, mindfulness, wisdom, skillful means, spiritual aspirations, higher accomplishments, and awakened awareness. Many of us who strive to live ethical lives implicitly make such a vow. I have not formally done so, until now.

Interestingly, the practice is by way of perfections. Living the good life requires, above all, constant failure. It, then, breaks through our outer and inner selves, to re-discover our Buddha-nature. It seems that the paramitas are themselves means to awakening--generosity can also be failure by another name--the mistake of learning selflessness in a tangible self-oriented world. A cause to be (human).

A Year of Mindfulness

A year ago, about this time, I was so excited about my new life direction. New energy, new prospects, new surroundings. Today, I am still embracing change, as I approaching my second-year of law school, and I am excited about this moment, if not law school itself (for reasons which seem evident to any lawyer).

At our POC sangha this month, we reflected on how mindfulness changed our lives. I appreciated the question because it had been some time that I contemplated my past practice, leading up to this point. At the turn of the year, I made commitment to mindfulness, so that I could be less future-oriented and more present-minded. I've come some way. I visited my previous blogs from August 08 - July 09 so consider insights, lessons, and observations.

In August,
-I learned how to surrender to silence. Practice of "letting go."
-I observed how my identities have evolved, changed, and replaced themselves during my lifetime. Impermanence.
-I wrote a poem about love's re-discovery. Practice of metta.

In September,
-I noticed that Dharma (truth) is everywhere. Fourth Noble Truth; the path toward freedom.
-I paused to witness the beauty of autumn, my favorite season. Four Immeasurable Minds; compassion and equanimity.

In October,
-I posted a picture that I'd drawn of a heart-opening and a deeply-moving quote about the foundation of love. Mindfulness.
-I reflected on the miracle of meditation and contemplative stillness to create peace. Skillful Concentration; one-pointedness concentration.
-I wrote about finding home. Skillful thinking.
-I discussed my own failures regarding sex-positivity and harmful consumption. Skillful action.

In November,
-I described the power of remembering, as inspired by James Baldwin. Own Buddha-nature and karma.
-I posted a friend's writing about America's historical election. Three refuges; building sangha.
-I reflected on spiritual terrorism on National Transgender Remembrance Day. Third Noble Truth; cessation to suffering is possible.
-I wrote an open letter to other left-visionaries. Three Doors of Liberation; aimlessness.
-I was reminded about inter-connectedness after seeing Milk. Three Doors of Liberation; emptiness (selflessness).

In December,
-I re-visited my own body-relationship after a body-meditation. Mindfulness meditation.
-I contemplated family-inherited struggles and how I will serve as a vessel for breaking-free. Prajnaparamita (understanding).
-I committed to a more simple lifestyle. Skillful action.

In January,
-I documented my southern road trip to see family in Georgia & Alabama. Skillful effort.
-I shared my first silent retreat experience where I committed to mindfulness.
-I celebrated Martin Luther King Jr.'s spirit and legacy. Four Immeasurable Minds; compassion and equanimity.

In February,
-I recounted the incredible struggle to defend my True Sangha. First Noble Truth; life is suffering.
-I shared my thoughts about "giving" after a Baha'i Devotional. Danaparamita; generosity.
-I honored a younger, wise friend of mine with a poem. Six paramitas; "perfect wisdom."

In March,
-I divulged my challenges with skillful speech and how sacred pausing helped my skillfness. Skillful speech.
-I reveled about "little people" after visiting my friend, Catherine's, first-graders. Buddha-nature, continuity/reincarnation, beginner's mind.

In April,
-I observed Dr. Seuss' lessons about compassion. Four Immeasurable Minds.
-I claimed Buddha as my life co-pilot. Fourth Noble Truth; a way toward freedom.
-I recalled my abandoned beliefs about permanence. Three Doors of Liberation; impermanence and signlessness (seeing beyond the surface).

In May,
-I wrote a poem about my abandoned attachment to always being happy. Third Noble Truth; desire as suffering.
-I wrote about the power of reiki and healing. Fourth Noble Truth; a path toward freedom.
-I expressed gratitude about living among community (of all life) after visiting a neighborhood garden. Four Immeasurable Minds; lovingkindness and joy.

In June,
-I used a nature metaphor to share about difference and belonging. Kshantiparamita (capacity to receive, bear and transform pain).
-I described how I re-discovered joy once I understood my parents' addictions. Four Immeasurable Minds; joy.

In July,
-I came upon the dharma that I needed on holisitic work and honoring self. Skillful Livelihood.
-I posted a poem that I wrote for a dear friend about the Oneness of mind, heart, and soul. Three Doors of Liberation; signlessness.

In August,
-I came upon another dharmic lesson: how to turn away from fear. Practice of "letting go."

Really, each of these lessons, is ultimately the same lesson--another step away from greed, delusion, and fear. I am incredibly thankful for the spiritual growth over the past two years, and I see endless possibilities at the end of another moment, another year.

This will be the Year of Concentration. If mindfulness is a transformation of heart, concentration is a transformation of mind.

I'll see y'all along the way.

"You Will Get the Dharma You Need" Act Two: Freedom from Fear

I intended to write this entry three weeks ago after an uninhibited weekend trip where I began to discover the thread which runs through pageanism, Buddhism, and domination/submission spirituality. In fact, the Act One teaser made a glib reference to "Buddhism & BDSM." But, as we know, plans are fragile expressions, so I find myself, nearly three weeks later describing this month's lessons on fear. It is only a short leap, however, between pain and persistence, and during these recent days, my blind fear pushed me to enter fearlessness--a formless, peaceful place.

My defeat over fear began in June. I experienced a psychic sea-change, meaning, I felt a new air surrounding me. In a way that one might notice a subtle shift in time or space when waking up the morning after a major life event. Things are simply different. This is how I felt the month of June. I acted "out-of-character." I tried seemingly random new things (kayaking, foods, people). I made choices that I would have never before considered. I shed those heavy self-imposed limitations with every decision. Life became particularly fun. And, remarkably, I didn't think too much about it.

My sea-change washed into an erotic July community camp-out. My dear high school friend signed us up for an all-gender, all sexuality, all-sexual explorative weekend in a remote West Virginia campground. (I playfully warned friends to send a search team if I did not return.) Ethan described his experience on his blog. As for myself, I can only describe our time there as living in an alternate universe where outside conventions were not at all assumed or even preferred. Leather sex-games took place next to eating areas; bearded, full-breasted people wandered fully exposed; and pagean gods/goddesses were often evoked for guidance. I noticed: the strangest place I had ever known, also transformed into a momentary home.

Fittingly, the first workshop we attended, called Honor and Service, explored the spiritual aspects in a domination and submission lifestyle. This lifestyle calls for a dominant to essentially own a submissive, a form of voluntary slavery, toward a purpose to experience total intimacy. A "sub" finds selflessness by several means, including surrendering his/her identity to a dominant--no personal thoughts/feelings, no separate decision-making, no independent personality from the submissive role. A "dom," in turn, is governed by a noble ethic to best serve the "sub." If a sub is to surrender to a dom, a dom is to surrender to Universe (or in the workshop's case, a pagean God). Power's absoluteness did not destroy or corrupt either participant, rather, it shaped the karmic power of their indistinguishable being. A formula resembling, Humility plus Compassion equals a spiritual partnership. I came to understand.

Later in the day, like most others, I abandoned my proclivities by the dirt roadside. I flounced about outside during a thunderstorm, I leafed through available pornography, and, without too much reservation, I stripped off my clothes for Saturday evening. What use did I have for them, anyway? I was elsewhere--perhaps a place called freedom.

A place to which I returned this week. It was long and complicated, but what I will offer are the sanguine words of a Spiritualist minister who advised me last weekend: "It's OK. Take a chance. Even if it's not OK, it will be fine." Because simplicity are empowered by context, these words were the most consoling words that I could have then heard. He offered me clarity. I accepted.

He further offered me this: I was unaware of my own power through which I would discover all the answers to my deepest questions, if only I meditate. In other words, all I needed to do is ask myself. His words, thrown upon the sea-change, thrust me into fearlessness. Once he offered me the possibility to be powerful, I gave myself permission.. Why be afraid if I could hold the worst-to-happen, and better yet, I was able to transform it, seeing it clearly into its true nature. Indeed, the worst happened the previous week. On Saturday, the day before the sermon, I removed the distractions--I embraced the heaviness--I examined experience for knowledge--and I was here, receiving advice. I accepted and I let go.

In hindsight, I see that "doing new things," "worrying less," and "breathing more," were synonyms for surrender. It isn't hands-in-the-air desperation nor is it a grinding ambivalence. It's merely being OK. A silent strength that runs in your veins. So, on Tuesday, while on the bus, I realized that I was no longer afraid. I suppose this is fearlessness. It feels good and most of all, it feels like a transformative change. Exactly the dharma that I needed.

The Way

The Way

The mind reveals the way of the world,
Separating the real from the non-real,
Without the mind, we would not know what to do
To be grateful for the wisdom that it sees.

The heart reveals the way of balance,
Separating indulgence from need,
Without the heart, we would be lost in our lives,
To be grateful for the care that it offers.

The spirit reveals the way of truth,
Separating craving from our nature,
Without the spirit, we would remain enslaved to our mind and heart,
To be grateful for the peace that it creates.

Change continuously separates our selves,
From mind, heart, and spirit,
Yet in our practice—our way forward,
Each remains as One,
To guide within ourselves and throughout, Universe.

the beautiful struggle

I finished an inspiring memoir this week from which this entry is its namesake. It is the story of Ta-Nehisi Coates, a young man who was nearly swallowed by black Baltimore-city slums, during the 80s crack epidemic, and under the hands of his Black Panther father.

I wanted to share a long excerpt from my favorite chapter (chapter 4, pp. 107-111), "to teach those who can't say my name." This chapter is when Ta-Nehisi begins to discover himself, amidst the hard street-game, family turmoil, and his own father's ideological shadow. He was the type of young brother who was groping in the dark for meaning in his personal and social identities. At this point in his life, Ta-Nehisi found hip-hop, a door for him to unearth forgotten words and melodies of his spirit.

He lays it down:

"I took Consciousness because there was nothing else, no other sorcery to counter death for suede, leather, and gold. My father bet his life on change. For the glory of ex-cons, abandoned mothers, and black boys lost, he had made peace with his end. I was a coward, mostly concerned with etting from one day to the next. How could I square my young life with this lineage? What would I say to the theology of my father, which held that the Conscious Act was wroth more than sex, bread, or even drawn breath?

There were no answers in the broader body, where the best of us went out like Sammy Davis and spoke like there had never been war. I will avoid the cartoons--the hard rocks loved Billy Ocean, Luther was classic, and indeed, I did sit in my seventh period music class eyeing Arletta Holly and humming "Lost in Emotion." But you must remember the era. Niggers were on MTV in lipstick and curls, extolling their exotic quadroons, big-upping Freed Astaire, and speaking like the rest of us didn't exist. I'm talking S-culrs and sequins, Lionel Richie dancing on the ceiling. I'm talking the corporate pop of Whitney, and Richard Pryor turning into the toy. Was the Parliament had never happened, like James Brown had never hit. All our champions were disconnected and dishonored, handing out Image Awards, while we bled in the streets.

But now the word turned Conscous, De La refused to scowl and Stetsaonic shouted across the Atlantic gap. First, Chuck, then KRS, and then everywhere you looked MCs were reaching for Garvey's tricolor, shouting across the land, self-destruction was at an end, that the logic of white people's ice had failed us, that the day of awareness was now.

Across the land, the masses fel away to the gospel. Old Panthers came out in camoflage to salute Chuck D. Cold killers would get a taste of 'Raise the Flag,' drop their guns, and turn vegan. Brothers quoted Farrakhan with wine on their breath. Harlots performed salaat, covered their blond french rolls in mud cloth and royal kente. Dark girls slashed their Apollonia poters, burned their green contacts, cut their hair, threw in braids. Gold was stashted in teh top dresser drawer. The fashion became your father's dashik, breads, and Africa medallions...

At first I felt the words of otehrs pulsing through me--my reforming brother, the esotric allusions of the God, the philosophy of KRS-One--and in truth, in many years of trying, I never completely touched my own. My hand was awkward; and when I rhymed, the couplets would not adhere, punch lines crashed into bar, metaphors were extended until they derailed off beat. I was unfit, but still I had at it for days, months, and ultimately years. And the more ink I dribbled onto the page, the more I felt the blessing of the Jedi order of MCs. I wrote every day that summer, rhymed over B-side instrumentals, until my pen was a Staff of the Dreaded Streets (plus five chance to banish fools on sight) and my flow, though flicted and disjointed, a Horn of Ghetto Blasting. The words were all braggadocios, but when done with the recital, even though I was alone, I felt bigger.

I'd walk outside, and my head was just a little higher, because if you do this right, if you claim to be that nigger enough, though you battle only your bedroom mirror, there is a part of you that believes. That was how I came to understand, how I came to know why all these brothers wrote and talked so big. Even the Knowledged feared the streets. But the rhyme pad was a spell book--it summoned asphalt elementals, elder gods, and weeping ancestors, all of whom had your back. That summer, I knew what Fruitie was trying to say, that when under the aegis of hip-hop, you never lived alone, you never walked alone."

The hip-hop generation thanks you.