The Koans of Jesus

"What is the sound of one hand clapping?" "What moves, the flag or the wind?"

Huh????

These are koans, which are nonsensical Buddhist riddles, the very contemplation of which exhausts the rational mind so that a deeper wisdom emerges. When one of these riddles does its job, how we perceive reality changes. We no longer connect the dots of our lives in the same way.

What if the teachings of Jesus also function as koans? What if his parables were really wisdom tales intended to dislodge us from our comfortable, but limited, way of viewing reality? In fact, what if Jesus was really a Wisdom Teacher concerned more with our awakening than with our orthodoxy?

This is the notion promoted by Christian writer Cynthia Bourgeault and other progressive theologians. Of Jesus she writes:

"His parables are much closer to what in the Zen tradition would be koans - profound paradoxes (riddles, if you like) that are intended to turn the egoic mind upside down and push us into new ways of seeing...He is very deliberately trying to short-circuit the grasping, acquiring, clinging, comparing linear brain and to open up within us a whole new mode of perception (now what we see, but how we see, how the mind makes its connections.) This is a classic strategy of a master of wisdom." Wisdom Jesus, pp. 47, 50, 51

I love this approach to the teachings and life of Jesus. Most of us only hear the Bible through layers of church-speak that obscure and deflate its transformational power.

How can we hear sacred texts anew so that they turn our assumptions inside out? How can they mirror back to us our unconscious patterns of thinking and doing? How can they come alive and speak directly to our lived experience here and now? How do we recover the original punch these stories had? For unless scriptures create a visceral reaction and jar us into a new level of awakening, we have not really heard them.

Try this:

• Read a story from the Bible (or any sacred scripture) aloud. Better yet listen to it read to you. The Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32) and Jesus' other parables are excellent passages to use for this practice.
• Notice what your first gut reaction is to the story. Before the mind has a chance to tame the story, start writing the next chapter, that is, what you imagine might happen next. Let it be pure, spontaneous and uncensored.
• Then look at what you wrote in response to the passage:
  • What do you notice?
  • What is the dominant emotion you feel as you read what you wrote? Do you feel angry, sad, hopeful, confused, open like a breath of fresh air, deflated? What do you feel in your body?
  • What does your writing reveal about how you relate to life? How is it mirroring back to you habitual patterns of thinking, feeling or acting?
  • Particularly lean into any parts of what you wrote that are uncomfortable. What is being reflected back to you? How is this passage turning you upside down and inside out? 
  • What new way of relating to life, to yourself, to others, to the divine is possible?

When we treat the teachings of Jesus as koans, they regain their wild, untamed potential to surprise and transform. When we hold them as universal tools intended to enlighten rather than indoctrinate, they begin to shift consciousness and take us into the felt wisdom of our bodies. They attune our hearts to the frequency of compassion. They empty the inner clutter and create spaciousness. They jolt us into alignment with the flow of Life.

What is the sound of one hand clapping? It is the sound of wisdom awakened.

We the People

Did you cheer or jeer this week's Supreme Court rulings? Whether you experienced elation or disgust in large part depends on your understanding of a short phrase. The constitution begins with the words, "We the People". Who is included in the term "people"? White, male property owners? Heterosexuals? This week the Supreme Court handed down a mixed bag of progressive and regressive decisions in the attempt to further define what it means to be fully included as "the people". What I find interesting is the stance of those who oppose extending to others the legal protections they already enjoy. They sound like children throwing a temper tantrum because they now have to share their toys. Take for instance Justice Scalia's dissent to the majority opinion that struck down a key provision in the Defense of Marriage Act. He complained:

"It is one thing for a society to elect change; it is another for a court of law to impose change by adjudging those who oppose it hostes humani generis, enemies of the human race...In the majority's telling, this story is black-and-white: Hate your neighbor or come along with us. The truth is more complicated. It is hard to admit that one's political opponents are not monsters, especially in a struggle like this one, and the challenge in the end proves more than today's Court can handle."

Actually sir, the truth is uncomplicated. Your politics are monstrous.  Your viewpoint is an enemy of the human race. You fear you might be judged and ostracized just for being who you are? How ironic!

You defend laws that on the surface may seem fair and impartial, but the undeniable effect of which is to discriminate, impoverish, and marginalize. And it is the effect of such laws, not just the veneer of good intent, which must be examined.

With the possible exception of wealthy, white, heterosexual males, who really benefits from the policies espoused by Mr. Scalia and his ilk? Their tired, disingenuous arguments sound reasonable but upon closer inspection are revealed to be clever misdirections obscuring bigotry. For instance: "We are defending the historic understanding of marriage, which is between a man and a woman." Historically, arranged marriages have been the norm in which one family sells their property (the bride) to another. Until very recently, people of different races or religions were not allowed to intermarry. Is this the historical definition of marriage which you hold dear?

Or look at the Supreme Court's gutting of the Voting Rights Act this week. The court essentially said that the Voting Rights Act worked so well that it's now unconstitutional. Really? A close inspection of voting-related issues throughout racially polarized areas reveals Jim Crow is alive and well; he's just wearing more sophisticated clothing. (See Justice Ginsberg's dissent.)

Whether they oppose a level playing field for people of color, the poor, women, immigrants, or the LGBT community, the privileged perceive others' equality as their loss. As special rights are pried from their grasp, they whine: "We are the victims here!"

It's hard to see how Justice Scalia is in any way a victim. But let's play along. Perhaps he and his cabal feel like they are being marginalized. A few years spent in the role of the marginalized may be exactly what they need. Maybe if they experience life as a despised minority, an enemy of the people, a monster...all familiar roles for homosexuals, immigrants, people of color and women in this country...maybe then they will develop some empathy.

"We the People" is an unfulfilled promise. It is the latent, ever-unfolding genius of our constitution. It is the hope that one day "people" will include everyone, a "we" of fully equal human beings before the law, in theory and in practice. It is a vision in which all of us work together for the common good because individual liberty is selfish vanity if not spent for the benefit of all the people. Anything less is not only "unconstitutional" but also monstrous and an enemy of the human race. Mr. Scalia, it's time to share the toys!

Life Isn't Fair

How many times did your parents respond to your complaints by saying, "Life isn't fair!" While annoying, their analysis is proving increasingly true. Our global economic system rewards "the winners" at the top with far more than they deserve while "the losers" (everyone else) suffer. For instance:

• U.S. CEO's are paid 380 times the amount of the average employee salary. CEO's certainly work hard, most likely harder than most of their employees, but 380 times as much?
• The richest 300 people in the world have as much wealth as the bottom 3 billion people.
• While the industrialized nations send $180 billion in foreign aid to poor nations each year, $2 trillion shifts from poor to rich countries each year through tax avoidance, trade agreements that favor multinational conglomerates, and debt service. 
• 30 multinational U.S. based firms with $160 billion in profits paid $0 in taxes over a recent three year period. 25% of the largest corporations pay no taxes. And we recently learned that Apple Computers paid virtually no tax on $102 billion in profits.

The result is an ever-widening income gap (as graphically depicted in this video) in which the poor become more desperate, the middle class evaporates, the upper class struggles, and those at the very top reap the benefits of everyone else's toil. And it's all perfectly legal, but not perfectly moral.

Sadly, large segments of the Christian Church remain silent on economic justice, turning a deaf ear to the suffering of the nation and the world. Trusting more in the free market than in justice or mercy, much of the church barely resembles its namesake. The words of Jesus in Matthew 25 echo in my ear. In that passage Jesus separates true followers from the fakes based on how they care for the most needy among them. What would Jesus say to many who claim his name today?

I was hungry, and you said it was my own damn fault. I was thirsty because your company polluted my town's river in order to make a quick buck. I was a stranger, and you called me a wetback and paid me slave wages as I worked in unsafe conditions so that you could live in comfort among friends. I was sick, and you chose to start wars instead of providing me with access to healthcare. I was in prison, and you let me suffer in the hands of the prison industrial system, never admitting how your own greed led to my desperation. I tell you the truth, when you treat one of the least of these members of my family with such callousness, you have done the same to me.

The Final Frontier

Full disclosure: I'm a Trekkie, or to be more politically correct, a Trekker. I have loved Star Trek in its various iterations since I was a child. By the way, if you have not yet seen Star Trek: Into Darkness, beam yourself over to the nearest movie theater for another stellar performance by Zachary Quinto (Mr. Spock) as the crew battles its most treacherous villain, portrayed by the uber-talented Benedict Cumberbatch. The film explores how a peaceful society obsessed with fear becomes violent and violates the very values it is supposedly trying to protect. Whether or not Star Trek is your speed, check out the video interview below with Sir Patrick Stewart (Captain Picard from Star Trek: The Next Generation). While the amateur videographer must have used inferior dilithium crystals (apologies for the geeky Star Trek reference), the content is moving and important. Patrick Stewart reveals how his father abused him and his mother starting when Patrick was only 5 years old. This spurred him to become involved as an adult in safe houses and domestic violence prevention. He says, "I do what I do in my mother's name because I couldn't help her then. Now I can."

Patrick Stewart recently learned that his father suffered from severe shell shock (now known as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) as a result of serving with British forces in World War II.  (For an excellent portrayal of the effects of battle on a person's psyche, see Patrick Stewart in "Family", which is the next episode after what is arguably the greatest Star Trek story, "Best of Both Worlds", in which Captain Picard is abducted and assimilated by The Borg.)

Today's veterans returning from years of trauma from our ongoing wars, need thorough, proactive support, including alternative modalities like EMDR, EFT, and hypnotherapy, in addition to traditional talk therapy. While our government's response to this mental health crisis is improving, it has been woefully inadequate, even disgraceful, as veteran suicides have skyrocketed. How do we honor and support those who do violence in our name by giving them the support they need to heal and return to non-violent civility? Ancient cultures had rituals for soldiers returning from war in which the entire community would join together with the soldiers to purge themselves of the blood that was on all their hands. At most we hold a parade and then move on with our comfortable lives as if nothing ever happened.

Domestic violence, one war after another, mass shootings, those returning from our wars suffering from PTSD who are told to "get it together" or "soldier on"...these are all symptoms of a culture that has not learned to deal with its anger...or its fear. How do we transmute our anger and fear into creation rather than destruction? How do we mature so that we direct and integrate our emotions rather than explode or implode? This is the next step in our evolution as a culture and as a species.

We have been at war/in conflict for 216 of our 237 years as a nation. Are we truly as peace-loving as we claim we are? By facing the unpleasant reality of our violent propensities as a people, we bring this toxic secret into the light so that its power over us dissolves. By embracing our personal emotional traumas with courage, compassion and vulnerability, we boldly enter the final frontier, which is not space but the shadow of our human psyche.

The link to the video: Patrick Stewart interview

P.S. There is still space for those who wish to join us for Mindful Photography: The Art of Seeing the World with Fresh Eyes, which starts next Monday night.

Elegy for a Fir Tree

A

Douglas Fir

in our backyard

has died.

Its picture perfect

posture

drew the eye heavenward

through needles and cones

up its narrowing spine

Toward Infinity.

The grandfather of the homestead

made the blue sky coy as it played peek-a-boo

through thin as angel wing foliage.

Now the tree is dead and gone.

Beetles made a weakened old man their target.

Boring through layers of skin, the invaders left behind

ravenous offspring who feasted on the old man's vascular system

until the fatal stroke occurred. His complexion faded from green to yellow to brown

to ashen gray.

This death does not go down easily, yet is the way of things.

Impermanence.

He had a long life.

He shaded and

inspired. Avian

families nested

in his steadfast

arms. A stump

memorializes

where he lived

and died and

will live again.

For even death

is ultimately

impermanent.

Resurrection

in the form of

compost for

whipper snappers

who barely got to

know him in his final

year. In their roots,

stems, leaves, flowers

and fruit, the old man

will find a new lease on life.

Musical Chairs

Last week I attended a gathering of faith leaders who are seeking creative ways to promote economic justice. We did one exercise in which ten people sat in ten chairs, each person representing 10% of the U.S. population. Then we shuffled seating according to wealth in our country. Half of the population (5 people), clung to one-tenth of one chair, while one person owned five chairs. My first reaction was repulsion and anger at the injustice. Then…to be honest…my feelings shifted to fear. My negative future fantasies began to kick in. I have enough today (a chair of my own), but the future is completely uncertain. Don’t I need another chair, just in case?  Suddenly, I understood the fearful drive to accumulate more and more.

We live in a culture of fear. Bombings. Explosions. Recession. Shootings. Scarcity. Gridlock. War. Financial Chaos…

Let’s be honest. Our country and the world are a mess. Let’s also be honest that this is nothing new. What is new is that we are instantly aware of any trauma,, as it happens, anywhere in the world.  This drumbeat of misery and anxiety surrounds us, inundates us, and overwhelms us. We become numb. We grasp for and cling to what little security we think we have, but no amount of money, guns, foreign wars, or demonizing of others yields lasting peace. In fact, our grasping and clinging generates more trauma and misery.

“Perfect love casts out fear.” “True love has no room for fear.” Those words from John the Apostle remind me that love is more than an emotion. It is a deeply-felt-knowing that I’m connected to you, to Nature, to the suffering and the poor, to Life Itself, to a Presence that flows through us all and yet is more than the sum of our parts.

When caught up in fear and grasping, however, it’s hard for me to access love. To make the shift I remember someone whose memory breaks my heart wide open. I’ll remember my childhood dog Skippy, who was my dearest friend. Focusing on Skippy never fails to move me into love, and the fear dissipates. Who opens you like that? Who is your guide back to compassion?

When I shift from fear back to love, my way of holding life changes. Numbness melts. Overwhelm eases. A hopeful, practical set of questions emerges:

• I can’t hold the pain of the whole world, but whose hand can I hold today?
• I can’t guarantee my future financial security, but what one person can I help with the abundance I have today?
• I can’t fix climate change and save all the endangered species on our planet, but what is one member of one non-human species I can care for today?
• I can’t resolve global political crises, but what one problem can I address with determined compassion in the community where I live?

This is what love does. Love feels the fear and acts anyway. Love takes responsibility for its own life while opening its heart to all life. Love moves from a myopic “me, myself and I”, to a panoramic “we, ourselves and us”. It even occasionally vacates its own seat so that someone else can sit for a while.

Happy Birthday Mom!

Today would have been my mom's 80th Birthday. She was a beauty pageant winner (The grand prize in 1956 included spending the day with Elvis), an avid fan of music and the color pink, and as warm and loving of a person as you could ever know. She had a way of connecting with people, even those she was meeting for the first time, that almost always led to a heartfelt hug. My mother worked at the power company for almost fifty years. People, most of whom were poor, had a disability or were elderly, would pay their utility bill in person so they could visit with her. She had a heart for those whom society had cast aside as useless. Service dogs knew in which desk drawer she kept their treats.

The lobby would sometimes overflow with customers because people would forgo the next available clerk in order to meet with my mother. She was so loved that the utility company adopted a new policy requiring customers to see the next available clerk. Upon her retirement, my mother's coworkers made her a poster of a cob-web draped skeleton standing in the lobby, When the next available clerk summons him, the skeleton replies, "No thank you. I'm waiting for Mrs. Quinn."

So much of who I am comes from my mother. She taught me many lessons:

• Work hard and enjoy your work. From the year I was born until her retirement (36 years), she never missed a day of work. Not one. Even during her last year of work at age 69, she served almost twice as many customers a month as the average clerk. She loved what she did.
• More important than your job title or any achievement is how you treat people. Shortly before retirement, my mother's boss shared with her the contents of her work file. Over six hundred messages erupted from the file, written by people who had taken the time to let the power company know how my mother had helped them and how she had treated them with kindness and respect regardless of their social or financial status.
• When you realize that your best intentions are creating drama, own up to your silliness and have a good laugh. One Christmas my mother purchased decorative paper towels, which she dropped in a sink full of water. She was determined that we use these paper towels throughout the holidays and decided to put them in the microwave to dry them quickly. But she cooked them too long. The paper towels caught on fire. We rushed the roll outside, drowned it in a bucket of water and laughed uncontrollably.
• Every smidgeon of life is precious. When I was a child I would admire the blooming weeds and wild succulents. When I found one I particularly liked, she would help me dig it up, pot it, and care for it on the back porch. Insects, flowers, birds, amphibians, blooming weeds...pause to appreciate each and life flows with awe.
• Actual age is much less important than how old you act and feel.  Several years ago my mom told me how much she loved Pink's new song. I was amazed she even knew who Pink was. My mother always carried herself with a sense of youth and vital energy. At a carnival, my dad, who had failed to win my mom any prizes through his skill, had the brilliant idea to take her to the "guess your weight or age" booth. (I highly discourage this practice for any spouse who values his/her relationship...and life.) My mother, age 55 at time, approached the booth, and the attendant guessed that her age was 38. He offered her any prize, but she replied, "No thank you. Just hearing that I look 38 was prize enough." Dad dodged a bullet.
• Little things done with love make a big difference. Every day in my lunch, she placed a napkin with a little note on it, which was also "signed" by our dog Skippy with a pen-drawn paw print. Those love notes read at lunchtime saved me on many a rough day.
• The best therapy in the world is getting your hands dirty. My mother's therapy was working in the  yard and her gardens. Tending to the earth seemed to be her way of tending to her soul.
• A good story is worth its weight in gold. My mother's way of dealing with a difficult experience  was to turn it into a funny story. One time she was leaving the beauty parlor and instead of putting the car in reverse, she drove forward into a dead tree that fell over on top of her car. She got out of the car and was embarrassed but relieved to see walking in her direction a truck driver, who had stopped and could help her get the tree off her car. He walked up to the car, assessed the situation, and said, "Lady, if I hadn't see it with my own two eyes I would have never believed anyone could have been so stupid." He then turned around and walked away, leaving my mother with a dead tree on her car...but with a good story to tell.
• Give away all of your love here and now, and when someone you love dies, focus on life. Deeply appreciate and love with a full, open heart those in our lives. Even though the pain is great upon their parting, it's the only way to live without regret. When our dog Skippy died, she sobbed for a day. Then we planted a tree in the front yard to remember him with new life. Standing next to "Skippy's Tree" we remembered funny stories about him and laughed through our tears.
• A hand-written note means more than the words it contains. With cell phones and emails dominating communication, my mother still mailed me a letter at least once a week to encourage me and share one thing going on in her life. She would usually enclose a joke, cartoon or sweet story she had read. Mostly it was just to let me know that someone in the world was thinking of me and loved me. I think I miss those letters more than anything else.

Thank you Mom for all you taught me, for the sweet notes, for your loving spirit, for oodles of laughs, and for all the love you gave me throughout my life...and even now. I miss you and love you. Happy Birthday!

Seeds of New Life

About a week ago we planted various seeds for our first garden here in California: swiss chard, okra, bush roma beans, butter lettuce, arugula, sweet corn and leeks, to be adorned with marigolds and zinnias. Seeds are now pushing their way through the soil toward the beckoning light. I can't help but ponder the timing of these rising seeds. This is known as holy week in the Christian tradition with its theme of Christ's death and resurrection. Whether or not this is your tradition, the message is universal. Something is always dying, and this death is necessary so that something new can be born. For a seed to sprout, it must be buried and left for dead in the earth. This surrender is necessary for new life to break through.

In the Biblical stories about people encountering Jesus after his resurrection, there is a common theme. They don't recognize him. He appears to be a gardener...a traveling stranger...a beach bum. Then suddenly, their eyes are opened and they see Christ. The Christ of their expectations, the Christ they could control and predict, the Christ they could confine to one human body, had to die. Then they saw the Christ, the divine...everywhere. Their eyes were opened to a world of wonder. The seed planted within them had sprouted.

What in your life needs to die? What needs to be surrendered so that something new can emerge? Is it that tired story you retell that needs to be laid to rest so that you can birth a new narrative? Is it an outdated image of the divine so that something truer can emerge? Is it an addiction to control and perfection so that something surprising and uncontrollably alive can spring up? Is it a prejudging of a person or group that must be sacrificed so you can start to see the divine, see something sacred and precious, in more and more faces? (Of course, no aspect of us totally disappears but rather is accepted, transformed and integrated.)

Whatever needs releasing, the first and only required step is a willingness to surrender it. How does that willingness to let go actually result in letting go and then give birth to something new? That no one knows. It is a mystery called life.

P.S. If you want to let go of what no longer serves so that something new and alive can be born, join us on Tuesday nights, starting April 16, for a weekly gathering called Tuesday Night Live.

Stratego: A Poor Strategy for Life

My Uncle Frank came to visit my grandparents every summer when I was growing up. He and I would play games and cards hour after hour. I particularly liked Stratego, a board game in which two players pit their armies against each other. I developed a strategy that I employed every time, which almost always resulted in a win. Basically, it was a defensive posture focused on protecting my flag and setting traps in which the parts of my defenses that seemed weakest actually obscured hidden dangers.  I rarely went on the offensive, trusting that the way I set up my army usually guaranteed victory before the first move was even made. By the time my uncle figured out where my flag was, he usually did not have enough resources left to capture it.

Looking back now, I realize that I also began to employ this same strategy with life. Prepare thoroughly in advance, survey the board and plan for every possibility, control everything you can, and then trust that things will go your way because they should go your way. For the most part, this strategy worked well in school. (Isn't school essentially a prolonged board game?)

When entering the world of work, relationships and adult problems, however, this strategy simply did not work anymore. There were too many variables. No matter how hard I prepared and planned, the unexpected happened. Life turned out to be a Mystery that could be neither controlled nor understood.

Somehow this didn't seem fair. Why shouldn't life function like Stratego? If I did my part, shouldn't the world do its part and cooperate? Through all my hard work, have I not proved my worth and earned some sort of reward?

My resentful attitude reminds me of a character in a story Jesus told, which is commonly known as "The Prodigal Son". Both sons in the story are actually lost. The younger son wasted his inheritance on partying. The older son stayed behind on the farm as he thought a good boy should, yet he resented how his life was turning out. He worked hard every day, followed the rules, and was the poster child for responsibility, yet no one seemed to notice. No one even gave him a "like" on his Facebook page. Yet, his irresponsible partying brother comes home, and his father throws him a ginormous party. And the kicker: the older son stays out in the field all day working while the party is underway. No one even bothers to tell him about his brother's return and the shindig.

The father's words to him as he sulks in the unfairness of it all still resonate for me today: "All I have is yours already." This is the message the older son and I both need to hear:

By all this hard work, you are trying to earn what is already yours. You are innately worthy and beloved. No amount of strategy or work can earn what must be received as a given. Receiving your "belovedness" as a given, life starts to feel more like a gift and less like an imposition. A joyful balance of responsibility and freedom emerges. Yes, your brother needs to learn responsibility, and you need to learn freedom. Wholeness is the balance of both. And the balancing point is compassionate self-acceptance.

Life is far more mysterious, complicated and glorious than a board game. Perhaps the greatest mystery is that I am already worthy and forever ok without doing anything! Living from a sense of being irrevocably loved, that resentful sinkhole of compensating for the feeling that I'm never enough...that sinkhole starts to fill from the inside out.

I'm learning a new approach to this board game of life, and living from my "belovedness" may turn out to be the riskiest yet most rewarding strategy of all.

P.S. Beginning in mid-April, a new group will meet every Tuesday night to experience and explore together this mysterious freedom and "belovedness". For more information, go to: Tuesday Night Live.

Balancing on the Paradox Rope

"If it's not paradoxical, it's not true." Shunryu Suzuki

Life is a balancing act. When we walk across a narrow piece of wood or concrete,  we naturally extend our arms in opposite directions and find balance in the middle.

As we walk through life, we experience equilibrium when we simultaneously hold all of our conflicting ideas, habits, desires, emotions and thoughts. When we deny or obsess on some part of our human experience experience, we fall out of balance.  Focusing on certain aspects as "good" and repressing others as "bad" eventually leads to a fall. When we, however, welcome our paradoxes, those experiences and parts of ourselves that are true yet nonetheless contradictory...when we hold them all with compassion, we are walking that thin line of balance, truth and wholeness.

Here are a few paradoxes I've been playing with lately:

• Selfless service to others requires I practice selfish self-care. Otherwise I fall into resentment and burnout.
• Thinking repeatedly about my problems almost never yields new, helpful thoughts.
• A bird in hand is worth two in the bush. Do I really want the bird that wasn't smart enough to stay in the bushes?
• Accepting things as they are is the first step toward making effective change in the real world. Making effective change requires a refusal to accept things as they are.
• We rarely find answers to life's biggest questions through isolated navel-gazing. We are, after all, social creatures. Yet, the answers we seek are only found within.
• The Pearl of Great Price, however you define that in your life, is worth your every waking moment's attention. Yet, even when that Pearl is in plain sight, it is usually tossed aside without looking inside the ordinary shell where it lives.

And a few more that go a bit deeper:

• When I start giving to myself what I yearn for others to give and do for me, I find that the essence of what I've been seeking is already within me. Ironically, when I tend to my needs, I notice a blessed bonus: others start freely giving me what I used to try to get through manipulation.
• The more I resist those parts of myself that I don't like or that make me feel uncomfortable, the more those parts tend to dominate my thinking, my feeling, and my doing. The more I have compassion on those same parts that seem so dark and wrong, the more they ease up and actually find a constructive purpose.
• When I let go of my attachment to this limited human experience, I fall into the purity of limitless Spirit. Spirit only tastes the pure essence of being alive through me living my limited, imperfect human experience.
• A dog is man's best friend. A cat is its own best friend. A true friend is both.

What paradox have you noticed? How does holding that tension create balance?

Reflections of the Divine

Last week I attended an early morning contemplative service with hypnotic Taize-style chants. Just as mesmerizing, however, was the rainbow of reflected light emanating through the stained glass windows. As the sun rose, its rays painted an increasingly vivid palette of Monet-esque colors across its canvas of plastered walls. I feel like those walls. I see reflections of the divine scattered across my life. My partner's smile. Our cat "making biscuits" on my lap. My feet spontaneously tapping to the rhythm of a catchy new tune. A walk on the ridge near our house where I catch sight of a darting jackrabbit. I see these reflections of the divine, but I can't see the Source of those reflections.

What is that Source? A being? A presence? An energy? An evolutionary process?  I can't see through the window to know.

For many, of course, these questions are irrelevant. They savor the reflections with little thought given to their Source. While I honor and appreciate that straightforward approach to living, I've yearned for intimacy with that Source Itself. I've craved more. I've longed for more felt connection, more clarity about who/what the divine is, more of a deep sense of knowing, and, yes, more mountaintop ecstasy.

Instead what I experience are these reflections, disparate rays catching my attention, if only I am paying attention. And I'm wondering if that might be what's needed after all. Much like a committed human relationship, maybe it's not about grasping for that honeymoon or first kiss experience. Maybe it's about paying attention to and savoring the "blessed normalcy" of life together. Yes, there are peaks and valleys, but most of the relationship is marked by ordinariness that only nourishes when noticed and treasured. And in that noticing and treasuring is the connection, the intimacy and the seeing.

So, I am going to try an experiment. When I notice "reflections", I'm going to stay with them just a tad longer to appreciate them and let their sacred ordinariness be enough. I'm also going to honor my longing for more and notice if in that longing itself, I feel more connected to Source. The longing is sacred; it's the addiction to its fulfillment feeling or looking a certain way that causes me such angst.

And, if and when I catch a glimpse of Source Itself, of the divine, of God, I'll value that experience as no more sacred than moments spent admiring the violet-blossomed, amazingly fragrant orchid on the mantle above our fireplace. For in any moment of openness and awe, the seer and the Light and the reflections are all intimately one.

W.W.M.L.K.D.?

What would Martin Luther King do? (W.W.M.L.K.D.) That is the question many are addressing this week as we commemorate his birth. Disparate interest groups are claiming that, were he alive today, he would support their cause. The most outlandish claim I've head comes from Larry Ward, the Chairman of Gun Appreciation Day, who said last week:

"I believe that Gun Appreciation Day honors the legacy of Dr. King...The truth is I think Martin Luther King would agree with me, if he were alive today, that if African Americans had been given the right to keep and bear arms from day one of the country's founding, perhaps slavery might not have been a chapter in our history."

Um, yeah, right. And I hear that the Wicked Witch of the East adores "Houses that Fall From the Sky" Appreciation Day.

What would Dr. King be doing today? Fighting for the marginalized, the poor, the disenfranchised, and the oppressed. Moreover, he would be fighting for human souls with the power of love. For Dr. King, that love was not a touchy-feely emotion. It was a commitment to bring out the best in humanity, even when humans responded to that call with their smallest, cruelest, fear-based hatred or apathy. The love he proclaimed held justice in one hand and compassionate endurance in the other.

While most reference Dr. King's "I Have a Dream" speech as the zenith of his oratory, I am most drawn to a sermon he delivered shortly before his assassination. Here is an excerpt from "A Christmas Sermon on Peace" delivered in December 1967:

“I say to myself, hate is too great a burden to bear. Somehow we must be able to stand up before our most bitter opponents and say: ‘We shall match your capacity to inflict suffering by our capacity to endure suffering. We will meet your physical force with soul force. Do to us what you will and we will still love you. We cannot in all good conscience obey your unjust laws and abide by the unjust system, because non-cooperation with evil is as much a moral obligation as is cooperation with good, and so throw us in jail and we will still love you. Bomb our homes and threaten our children, and, as difficult as it is, we will still love you. Send your hooded perpetrators of violence into our communities at the midnight hour and drag us out on some wayside road and leave us half-dead as you beat us, and we will still love you. Send your propaganda agents around the country, and make it appear that we are not fit, culturally and otherwise, for integration, and we'll still love you. But be assured that we'll wear you down by our capacity to suffer, and one day we will win our freedom. We will not only win freedom for ourselves; we will so appeal to your heart and conscience that we will win you in the process, and our victory will be a double victory.’"

What would Martin Luther King do? I don't know, but I doubt he'd be clutching an AK-47 to promote nonviolence. The better question is: what will you and I do here and now? Dr. King is not alive, but we are. We are today's "soul force". We can embody his vision of a love that is both compassionate and just, that longs for the liberation of both the oppressed and the oppressor. What is one concrete way that you can wear down an injustice with your love and win a "double victory"? What will you do?

Swimming Upstream

At Muir Woods National Monument I recently watched the endangered Coho salmon prepare to spawn, which is shown in the video below as a male and female make a redd for their offspring. (A redd is a gravel depression salmon create with their tails and into which the eggs are laid and fertilized.) Coho salmon are making a comeback in the Redwood Creek that flows through Muir Woods here in Marin County, California. Each December after the first heavy rain, the sandbar at Muir Beach breaks. The seam allows salmon to leave the ocean and swim upstream to the creek where they hatched about three years before.

The parents undergo dramatic physical changes on this final journey. Their jaws and teeth become hooked. Their skin blushes with hues of red and pink. With immense effort, they make their way upstream. Finding a shallow spot for a redd, they create their nest, lay and fertilize their eggs, all the while maintaining their resistance against the incessant current. Having completed this final phase of the life cycle, they die having given their lives so that life may continue.

The final lines of The Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi capture the spirit of the salmon's life cycle:

"It is in giving that we receive...It is in dying that we are born to eternal life."

Of course, their behavior is driven by instinct, a genetic imperative that lacks our tendency toward prolonged self-reflection and angst. It simply is the way of things. The salmon just keep working their way through the water.

I, however, am not as zen as the salmon. I want to know why the current is against me, how to control it, and what's the meaning of it all. I gripe about how wrong it is that I must swim upstream when life should be so much easier.

The salmon school me in living. They inspire me to swim with my whole body, heart and soul, whether the current is with me or against me. They invite me to remain open to the inevitable changes that will occur in life. They remind me that, ultimately, this existence is not really all about me. My individual life serves the greater cause of Life itself, of which I am part.

The salmon don't pause to ponder what the meaning of it all is. They embody their purpose. They live who and what they are with every ounce of energetic verve in their being. That's all they do, and it's enough...for them and for us. As Joseph Campbell said:

"People say that what we're all seeking is a meaning for life. I don't think that's what we're really seeking. I think what we're seeking is an experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the purely physical plane will have resonance within our own innermost being and reality, so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive. That's what it's all finally about." 

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A Breath of Fresh Air

This morning I walked our dog Flash around the neighborhood. Turning a corner, I saw ahead of us two elderly smokers having a chat. Under my breath I complained to Flash about the upcoming pollution. I then held my breath while quickly scooting around them. After we passed them, I continued to mutter to Flash about their nasty habit and felt anger at the man and woman for desecrating our pure air with secondhand smoke. While I had seem them before, I didn't know anything about them other than I wished to avoid them on the way back.

On the return trip home, Flash and I encountered the same woman. She had always seemed rather unfriendly before, and I held Flash back to give her a wide berth on the sidewalk. She stopped. She extinguished her cigarette. And then a flurry of words snowed upon us: "What a beautiful dog! What breed is he? What's his name? His curly fur is amazing!" Before I knew it, Flash and I were engaged in conversation with a lovely human being.

As we parted ways, I started to question how certain I could be about my assumptions and expectations. A woman for whom I held a mild repulsion actually made my day. While I still abhor smoking, this person who smokes and whom I assumed to be unfriendly turned out to be delightful. What else might I be wrong about? How might my life be different if I approached each moment with a clean slate (the Bhuddist concept of "beginner's mind")?

On a macro-level, I couldn't help but wonder how the current impasse over the "fiscal cliff" is another example of unquestioned, entrenched assumptions. To be honest, I've seen the Republicans as arrogant, inflexible and dead wrong. Is it possible, however, that I and those of my political persuasion are also arrogant, inflexible, and, at least on some issues, partially or totally dead wrong? Am I adamant in the superiority of my positions, when I should be learning, investigating, conversing, getting involved, advocating with passion...and all with an open heart and mind? Can I be dedicated to my values, yet  willing to grow, evolve, and, yes, be surprised by the humanity of those with whom I disagree?

Today an Airedale and an elderly smoker melted my icy judgments. They taught me that I can oppose smoking and any number of other behaviors without walking around in a cloud of resentment. They invited me to hold my assumptions lightly so that I can pivot freely when the unexpected emerges. They reminded me that the truest way to experience each moment is with a mind and heart held as wide open as possible. And in that moment, I inhaled the deepest breath of pure, fresh air.

The Tyranny of American Enormity

Several years ago author Wayne Muller facilitated a workshop that I attended. One of his phrases has stuck with me: "the tyranny of American enormity". We live in a culture where enough is never enough. Every laptop and cell phone must have more features and be faster than the previous model. Profits this year must exceed last year's profits. More choices. More data. More. More. More! The consequences of our consumer culture on the planet and on the poor laborers who make our lust for more possible have been well documented. According to the Worldwatch Institute, we are 5% of the world's population, yet we consume 24% of the world's energy. Every day we eat 200 billion calories more than is needed, enough to feed 80 million people.

Nowhere is this addiction to "more" more apparent than during the Christmas season (a.k.a. retail season) as we spend our way into greater and greater debt. But the tyranny of "more" is not just economic. It's become an entire lifestyle. How many of us can keep up with the increasing number of emails we receive? To read, reply to or act on each email would take most of us most of our daylight hours. Just to triage email requires the skill of an e-surgeon.

Of course, email is not the only technology which has grown to enormous proportions in our lives ...text messages, Facebook, Twitter, radio, television, podcasts, Internet sites we frequent...the list is endless. And, of course, it's not just technology. Billboards, snail mail flyers and junk mail, books and magazines we've not read, clothes we've not yet worn or no longer wear, piles of papers and possessions...all compete for our attention and add a sense of weight to our lives.

How can we escape this tyranny of American enormity? This is the culture in which we live. How do we become counter-cultural and yet still function?

Here are some questions for reflection that might help us lighten up and simplify:

What if...

• Instead of buying Aunt Polly a 3-pack of jams for Christmas, I make a donation to a charity in her name?
• I take a three-minute break outdoors when I'd normally be immersed in keeping up with the demands of whatever my e-addiction is? What if I look at a tree or a bird or even water flowing over a wood bridge (photo above) until I feel a sense of awe, of "enough"?
• I limit the number of times I check email to once or twice a day? If my work does not allow that, what if I take a "e-Sabbath" one day a week or month when I don't check email or surf the Internet?
• I spend more time getting to know the camellia in my backyard and less time catching up on the latest "Honey Boo Boo" gossip?
• I unsubscribe to at least one email subscription and make it ok that I am choosing to keep up with one less thing in the world?
• I pause before buying the next item I plan to purchase and reflect on why I feel the drive to purchase it?

The Magi brought the baby Jesus gold, frankincense and myrrh. The gifts I long to receive this Christmas are simplicity, awe and a felt sense of "enough".

When You Can't See the Forest for the Trees

This past weekend my partner and I went to Muir Woods National Monument in search of Coho salmon, which are starting to work their way from the ocean into fresh water in order to spawn. Because of the heavy rains, the water was too muddy to see anything. While strolling through the skyscraping redwoods, I noticed an interesting phenomenon, "tree rain". While the skies were almost clear, the trees were so saturated with moisture that it felt like a steady rain was falling under the canopy. The unexpected precipitation was made all the more magical by the sun's radiant beams bursting through the dense foliage.

Sometimes it takes a broader view to see reality. When all that's visible is water descending from above, the obvious conclusion is that the storm still rages. A more panoramic view, however, reveals a truer picture in which sunny clarity beams above and at times through the drizzling darkness.

When all we sense is gloom and pain, a more expansive container for our experience is available. Whether we call that our Inner Wisdom, the Web of Life, God, or Higher Power, the invitation is to take a step or two back, look up and around and within.  Yes, we are getting wet and it's unpleasant, and there is also more going on that gives context and hope for our dampened spirit.

Brother David Steindl-Rast said that hope is the willingness to be surprised. In the midst of your obvious difficulty, is something surprising also starting to shine through? How can you get enough distance to be able to see it?

Spirituality is just a pious term for the intentional practice of welcoming surprise. It is letting go of our allegiance to what we think is going on until what is currently beyond our field of vision becomes visible. That view usually comes as a surprise, a gift, but the preceding willingness to release our narrow viewpoint is a choice. To have hope and notice life-giving Spirit everywhere is not a miracle reserved for saints or the lucky. It flows from the intention to open the aperture of the soul from narrow to panoramic.

Shake It Off!

After my mother was diagnosed with cancer, we spent a lot of time together. When I visited on weekends, we would try to have at least one outing to do something she enjoyed. One weekend she was stuck in a very pessimistic, anxious space, even deeper than usual after her diagnosis. As she continued this emotional nosedive, we still kept our commitment to go have some fun. We went to La Cantera, her favorite mall in San Antonio, Texas, which is known for its undulating outdoor paths, streams, quaint cabanas, and oases of lush landscaping.

Our venture to La Cantera, however, did not mitigate the downward spiral. We stopped for some hot tea as the emotional turmoil brewed within her.

In the midst of the overcast mood, we became aware of a mother and her young daughter seated next to us. The little girl was about four years old with numerous shoulder-length, tight brown curls. This little princess, however, was not getting her way about something. Nothing her mother said assuaged her, and her disappointment boiled over into a full-blown public tantrum.

The mother turned to her seemingly demon-possessed daughter, looked her in the eye and lovingly yet firmly instructed her, "Shake it off!" The little girl became still for a nanosecond and then began shaking her entire body with gusto, her bouncing curls flailing back and forth like a poodle after a bath. After about 30-seconds of "shaking it off", her mother asked, "How are you now?" "All better Mommy!" she enthusiastically replied.

My mother and I looked at each other and could not stop giggling. More dark steps loomed on the horizon as my mother continued her journey with cancer. When the fear, anger and sadness would on occasion spiral downward from a normal emotional reaction into despair, then we would remember that little girl. My mother would shake her head vigorously until she felt she was in a better space.

Tragedies and unpleasant emotions are unavoidable. The only way out is through. When, however, we find ourselves stuck in a place that is unhealthy, counterproductive or self-destructive, perhaps there's no better medicine than starting a wiggle that builds into a frenetic, full-bodied gyration, like a whirling dervish caught up in the divine. The cobwebs clear as the outer movement stirs inner movement. As we literally shake it off, we may discover that the body is a most trustworthy ally in the search for peace of heart, mind and soul.

P.S. If you want to "shake off" old ways of relating to the divine in favor of images and practices that are meaningful for you today, join us this Saturday, December 1 for a day retreat. Registration closes Thursday, November 29 at noon. For more information and to register, check out the Classes page.

Have You Outgrown Your Image of God?

I once did a year-long internship in New York on Long Island. On days off I would take the Long Island Railroad into the city. Years after the internship was over I still pined for New York, particularly the energy of Manhattan. I returned about once a year to visit the wonderful people I had met and to immerse myself in familiar favorites (MOMA, Broadway shows, Central Park, and The Cloisters) as well as seeking out new experiences. Several years ago I decided to explore moving to New York. Rather than live as a tourist, I decided to live like a resident. What would it be like to bring groceries home on foot from the nearest store, which was four blocks away? What would it be like to walk through the snow to and from the laundromat in February?   How would I thrive week after week, month after month in weather that was far too cold for my comfort level? How would I feel living in a fifth-floor, 350 square foot, walkup flat?

I quickly realized that I was not so much in love with the idea of living in New York City. I was in love with the idea of being on a permanent vacation in Manhattan. What seemed like magical perfection in my 20's now seemed like far too much discomfort, frenzy, noise and effort with not nearly enough connection to nature. I had outgrown my image of the perfect place for me to live.

Just as I had outgrown that image of where to live, I realized I had also outgrown my image of God. The God who sent all non-Christians to hell or who condemned homosexuals or who wanted women to keep their mouths shut in deference to men, that God no longer resonated with me. I could no longer relate to a God more petty than I knew myself to be. My image of God was too small.

Have you outgrown your image of God? Is even the term "God" insufficient for your experience of the Divine, of the Essence of Life? One way to tell is by the fruits of your divine image. If your experience of the divine makes you more open-minded, open-hearted, fully alive and willing to serve your neighbors and even have compassion for your enemies, then that image is congruent for you. If, however, your image of the divine leads to judgment, fear, self-loathing, restricted living, and spiritual highs with no genuine concern or action for those at the bottom of life's barrel, then that image of the divine is too small.

The spiritual path is one of surrender, embrace and surrender. We surrender and release an old image of the divine with gratitude for how it served us to this point. We embrace the new life-giving experience of the divine that is emerging for us, knowing that it too must be surrendered some day if we are to keep evolving.

The journey never ends. You can never experience the fullness of the divine. The Mystery is inexhaustible. Therefore, our images of the sacred are always incomplete. That is not meant to discourage but to excite us. Whatever our experience, emotion, dream, woe, latent potential or growing edge, the divine is already there ready to meet us with more life-giving possibility than we can imagine.

I read once that if you started at one tip of Manhattan and ate breakfast, lunch and dinner at a different place for every meal, it would take over 80 years to reach the other end of Manhattan. And, of course, by then new restaurants would have arisen, not to mention all of the non-eating stops along the way that are worth savoring. If it is impossible to experience all that a 3-mile strip of land has to offer, then how limitless are the adventures within the entire sacred universe. That exploration is one thing we can never outgrow.

P.S. Join us for a day retreat on Saturday, December 1 and explore what the divine is for you now and update how you relate to the sacred so that it is meaningful and life-giving for you today. For more information and to register, visit the Classes page.

Samsara

Samsara, which in Sanskrit means "continuous flow", refers to the repeating cycle of birth, life, death and rebirth. This cycle has been on my mind lately as the mothers of two friends have died in the past couple of weeks, and as this month marks the fourth anniversary of my own mother's passing. While I was sitting on our front porch and feeling the heaviness of so much death, a ruby-throated humming bird buzzed a few feet from my head, voraciously slurping sugar water. A wave of gratitude swept over me, and I felt lighter and freer in the presence of this magnificent creature. Midst the pain, there was also a beauty and perfection to the natural cycles.

A new movie, Samsara, celebrates this continuous flow of life and all its luscious diversity and unpalatable struggles.  With no words, only compelling images and music, the film cycles us through daily human experiences across the planet, eliciting compassion, joy, repulsion, curiosity, and above all, awe for the magnitude of human expression.

Here is the trailer for the film. Enjoy!

Samsara Trailer

If you would like to explore your own experience of "samsara" in a positive, safe, open environment, please join me for the new classes, private sessions and groups I am facilitating.

Facebook: My New Prayerbook

Facebook is becoming the face of the nation...and of much of the world. About 1 billion people are now active users, with half a billion posting each day. On the one hand, Facebook is a blessing. We can share parts of our lives with friends and loved ones around the world: a photo of an exuberant child enjoying a day with grandma,  the latest video of your dog at the park, or a picture of your latest culinary masterpiece that makes every reader's mouth water. I am grateful for the ability to stay so immediately connected with what is happening in the lives of people far and near.

And yet, there is a downside because Facebook is also an addictive ego trip consuming countless hours of our lives. I've been listen to my own internal dialog as I browse through posts. Here's some of what I hear within:

• Wow! Look at how many people liked my post...they like me, they really like me!
• Hmmmm, I wonder why no one commented on or shared my post? Did I say something offensive or was it just not that interesting?
• He needs a filter. That was way too much information.
• I'm doing or looking fantastic/pathetic in comparison to....
• I can't believe the ignorance of these people I've known since elementary school.

My internal chatter sounds like the din of a middle school cafeteria. My little ego wants recognition, approval, and to be proved right and superior. And Facebook is the perfect venue for my ego to play out its addictive games in pursuit of those pusillanimous yet very human drives.

This morning I brought my Facebook experience into my prayer/meditation time. I let go of all that was arising for me: my desire to be approved as evidenced by people liking and sharing my posts, my comparison of myself to others on Facebook, and my anger about what I perceive to be narrow-minded, closed-hearted posts from people I grew up with.

Over and over again, I acknowledged, owned up to, accepted and then released these ego trips into the divine spaciousness within. As I did a realization arose. Facebook had become my prayerbook. I then prayed for my loved ones and for those childhood friends whose posts had offended me. I prayed for our country and our world in light of both the beauty and the ignorance I had seen on Facebook. I prayed for my own beauty to be revealed and my own ignorance to be lifted. And then I let go; I let go of my needs, my self-righteousness, and of Facebook itself and experienced a deep peace, freedom and wholeness.

I intend to return to Facebook with a different posture. While I'll still share and read and like and post, I'll also use it as my book of prayers for all the faces behind those electronic posts. I'll use it as a mirror to reflect those patterns within myself that I will bring to my meditation and prayer time for healing and release. And, of course, I'll take it less seriously. After all, it's just an online middle school cafeteria. Might as well have some laughs, spend fewer minutes there, and move on.

Oh, and even though I know Facebook is just a glorified middle school cafeteria, I still hope you'll like and share my post. Everyone else is doing it.

P.S. Please join us for the new series of day retreats I'll be leading this fall, and/or spread the word to those you think might be interested. Details are on the Classes page. Thank you!