Cat in a Bag

The other night Bebe decided to make a "cat cave" out of a paper bag. Safe and snug, content and tranquil, she hid inside her protective sack. After a few minutes, however, she had her fix and hopped out of the sack and onto the bed with her two humans and the Fox Terrier. All of us need to be like a cat in a bag from time to time. We need a place to escape and hide out. Yet, after a respite, we too need to come out of the dark caverns and rejoin life. While it is comfortable to stay small, cozy and unnoticed, within us is a drive to express, connect and shine.

For the past few weeks before my morning meditation, I've been reading a selection from Adyashanti's Resurrecting Jesus: Embodying the Spirit of a Revolutionary Mystic. This morning's selection (p. 159):

We turn away from the light and into the darkness, because sometimes the light is hard to bear. It's a myth that the light of being is always easy to bear; sometimes the radiance of the divine asks us to do difficult things. To remain oriented toward the spark of divinity within us is not always easy, and to act from that space can take great courage and faith...Do we embody the radiance of spirit, or is it simply a passing experience? The whole Jesus story is the story of embodied spirit, of what it means and what it looks like to embody and act from divine being.

To embody and act from divine BEING. Wow! What a life that would be. It would shift the energy with which we do everything. It would mean pausing throughout the day to ask:

• Am I acting from a place of openness, centeredness and compassion?
• Am I emanating that essence of my divine spark, no matter how menial the task?
• Am I consciously choosing to be the presence of Christ/Buddha/My Best Self as I interact with people today?

For most of us shining this brightly is a terrifying prospect. Would people think we are crazy? Would we be on a different wavelength than our loved ones and coworkers and feel isolated? Would we have to change long-cherished patterns and behaviors?

We usually just slink back into our paper bags.

But everyone once in a while, the divine spark turns into a flame, and we can no longer ignore it. Those critical moments change the trajectory of a lifetime if we decide to come out of our "cat caves".

Perhaps no one has said it better than Marianne Williamson in A Return to Love:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

Meryl Streep and The Pocket Knife

The other night I dreamed that I was watching Meryl Streep while she mourned the death of her lover, Robert Redford, who had died in a plane crash. (No, I hadn't fall asleep watching Out of Africa.) In the dream, Meryl goes to the reading of Robert Redford's will. He leaves to her one item: his pocket knife. She holds it as if she has found the greatest treasure on earth.

What was the pocket knife about? In the dream it seemed to symbolize the need to cut away anything unnecessary so as to live more fully. A pocket knife is incisive, yet it had an almost benign or humane quality about it, much like pruning sheers that pare down in order to spur new growth.

Each of us has a sense of calling, an invitation from within to live truer and bolder. Few of us need to be told what that is. Just a few minutes of honest sharing with a loved one about what we truly desire will easily reveal it, and we will likely hear ourselves saying what we already know.

We know the way forward. What we lack is wholeheartedness. We lack a fierce commitment to what we know resonates with our being because it seems too costly, lonely, scary or unpredictable. We lack a "pocket knife" to prune away anything, even good things, that keep us from coming fully alive.

What is your true north? What keeps calling you? What must you prune away in order to move forward with a whole heart?  

Sometimes what we most need is not another epiphany but a pocket knife.

Meanest Dog I Ever Had

I took Cowboy, our Fox Terrier, to the dog park last week. He outraced all other dogs to the thrown tennis ball time after time. Then Cowboy started to mount other dogs, each of which was two to three times his size...and none of whom welcomed Cowboy's dominant display. As I was apologizing to the other people in the park, an old man looked at me and said, "Don't worry about it. I had a Fox Terrier once...meanest dog I ever had!"

I don't think Cowboy is actually a mean dog. He simply doesn't comprehend why the universe does not organize itself around him. Why would any human give attention to another dog or cat when Cowboy is available? It simply doesn't make sense to him.

Of course, humans and their animal companions often share traits. This morning I picked up an orchid, which was tangled with another orchid. Both dropped to the floor, splattering debris.

After yelling a few choice words, I realized my deeper anger: The universe was not organizing itself around me. Why were these plants, whose lives I'm sustaining, making my life harder when my intention is to care for them? Why had The Universe/God not cooperating? Why am I not getting what I want? I was howling like a Fox Terrier.

Once I realized these self-absorbed expectations, I pondered what to do:

• Embrace these patterns with compassion, knowing that we all have selfish tendencies that need loving attention.
• Put the lie to these false expectations. I could say, "Get thee behind me Satan!", or in other words, "You are present within me but not helpful. I choose to move forward and leave you be. Get behind me."

What do you do when self-centered craziness takes hold of you? Which method liberates you? 

After a few minutes, I couldn't help but smile at myself. The simple awareness on this self-centered illusion called its bluff, and it seemed to dissipate as quickly as it arose.

Perhaps the spiritual path looks much the same as becoming a skilled human companion for a Fox Terrier. The wise human learns when to say "no", when to embrace, and when to laugh and simply let things be.

The Question is: "Are You?"

Sometimes a question becomes its own answer and clears up all confusion in an instant. I recently had such an experience with my partner when we sent to visit a wise septuagenerian from India, who teaches non-dualism through provocative questions and art. We sat down to chat, and I wove a story about how childhood experiences still create specters of anxiety, self-doubt and over-functioning. After listening carefully, he explained that most of our conscious energy goes toward modifying our stories or replacing them with better stories.

Our stories, however, are illusions; they are mental constructs without permanent substance. There's nothing wrong with having stories about our lives. We can choose to enter into and enjoy our stories, but unless we realize them for the illusions that they are, we will be trapped in their web.

Of course, I wanted to know how to break free of my illusions. He mentioned the usual prescription: meditation. Focusing on a candle, the breath, a chant, or a word can break the addictive trance of our thoughts/stories.  We can then take a step back and be the witness of all that comes and goes without becoming identified with what comes and goes.

He hinted, however, that there was something more, something beyond the witness. What was he talking about? I got that I'm not my stories. I understood that there was something more to me than these mental constructs, but in that moment, I couldn't seem to get past the web of my stories. And I admitted that although I meditate daily, the effect doesn't seem to last throughout the day. That's when everything shifted.

He looked at me and said, "I have a question for you: 'Are you?' I'm not asking, 'Who are you?' or 'What are you?' but 'Are you?'"

We let the question linger in the air. Within me I felt this crystal clear, potent answer surface: "Yes, I AM!"

He said, "That which answered your question is The Answer itself. It is Self knowing Self. God knowing God. That which answers the question, 'Are you?' is the pure Essence, Being Itself. It is the creative intensity from which all stories arise and into which they all subside.  This is what drew people to Jesus. He mirrored the divine within people back to them."

In that moment I felt I AM.  I could neither describe nor grasp what was happening, nor did I want to. I was Being!

My stories, once frozen in my mind, seemed fluid, no longer solid. I realized this Presence/Being is who I am. I knew it in a way that was beyond forgetting. This knowing grew in intensity through art he showed us, living canvases which seemed to exist on the border between inanimate and animate.

I left feeling free and grounded. Of course, the stories have come flooding back, but in their liquid state, they tend to flow through me more readily. If they start to solidify, I realize what is happening and ask myself one question, "Am I?" The Answer to that question answers everything else.

Is Robin Williams in Purgatory?

Robin Williams' death hit me hard, just as the death of Phillip Seymour Hoffman did earlier this year. My partner Herb showed me a James Lipton interview with Robin Williams. Lipton asked, "If heaven exists, what would you like God to say when you arrive at the pearly gates?" Robin Williams replied, "There's seating near the front. The concert begins at 5. It will be Mozart, Elvis, and one of your choosing. Or if heaven exists, just to know that there's laughter. That would be a good thing. Just to hear God go, 'Two Jews walk into a bar...'"

Even though he lived just a few miles south of me, I never met Robin Williams. His neighbors seem unanimous in their recollection of him as someone who was unfailingly kind, generous and humble.

Yet, we hear the stories of "demons" that haunted him. Depression. Addiction. As Margaret Rutherford said, "You never have a comedian who hasn't got a very deep strain of sadness within him or her. Every great clown has been very near to tragedy."

So where is this great clown now? What happens after death? After someone takes his or her own life?

I'm not a Roman Catholic, and I don't believe in purgatory. It's always seemed like one of the oddest among many odd doctrines. I simply wrote it off as silliness...until I read Ronald Rolheiser's Forgotten Among the Lilies: Learning to Love Beyond Our Fears. There I read these words about purgatory and praying for the dead:

"Purgatory is not a place separate from heaven, a place you go in order to be punished for your sins so as to prepare you for heaven. Purgatory is the pain of entering heaven...

By praying for the dead we share with them the adjustment to a new life (which includes the pain of letting go of this life). In our prayers for the dead, we offer encouragement and love to them as they, just born from the womb of the earth, adjust to a new life...

Purgatory should not be understood as a place distinct from heaven. It is rather the pain of entering heaven and of being embraced by perfect love when we ourselves are less than perfect. Love itself can be a painful experience." pp. 277, 281

I believe that our essence is enfolded in The Essence now and beyond death, and we remain energetically connected with everything and everyone now and beyond death. So, it makes sense to me and is my practice to send positive energy/prayer to those transitioning to Perfect Love.

Is Robin Williams in purgatory/heaven? I'd prefer to say he is preparing for a new role and would benefit from loving support as he adjusts. Whether we call it heaven or purgatory or just Mystery, I can only imagine that what comes after death is as wonderful and jolting as being born into this world.

Perhaps we should also say a prayer for heaven. From what I know of Robin Williams, I think they are in for quite an adjustment too.

Gaza: How Email Etiquette Might Help

An email I received yesterday triggered me. My first reaction was to write an email that thoroughly explained why I was right and why the sender was wrong. My response, though not mean-spirited, was self-righteousness, and it left no room for the other person's point of view. I moved my mouse to press "Send"...I paused..."Is this really how I want to handle this conflict? I sound like a petty child." I decided to wait a day before responding.

This morning that email sits in my Drafts folder. As I ponder what edits to make before sending it, I am also pondering how my situation is a microcosm of what is happening in Gaza.

"You hurt me. Now I'm going to hurt you back."

"I'm right, and I will prove that you are wrong."

"You make me feel threatened. So, I'm going to attack."

Whether it's a tense email exchange, an international crisis, or a fight on a kindergarten playground, the rationale for a violent response sounds the same. Our knee-jerk response is usually primal, ego-driven, and fear-based. 

Pausing for a day helped me regain some perspective. I don't feel as threatened today. I realize that this person who emailed me likes to take strong stands. I admire that...it's just easier to admire when we are on the same side of the argument! While I still hold to my opinion, with a little space I now can admit that I might not be right. There is another valid viewpoint. Remembering all this, I dedicated my morning meditation to the wellbeing of the one who emailed me.

I started wondering about how I handle conflict:

• Can I discipline myself to pause before responding harshly?
• Am I open to the possibility that I am not totally right and that the other side is not totally wrong?
• Can I see through the aggressive action to view in the other person what I also am feeling: scared, angry, defensive, self-righteous or frustrated?
• Will I choose to see the whole person, not just the part I fear or dislike?
• Can I find something in the other side that I admire or relate to and build on that?
• Am I willing to pray for/send positive energy to those with whom I am in conflict?

This self-reflective approach to conflict is a lot less fun that sending a clever, nasty email followed by three snarky snaps in the air. It's less macho than firing another missile. But eventually, how we handle an issue becomes the issue. How we handle conflict becomes more important than what the initial conflict was about.

How we handle conflict creates an atmosphere that either generates more potential solutions or narrows our options down to fear and violence. It determines whether we grow our capacity for peace and cooperation or whether we as a species are doomed to self-destruction.

The choice is ours, and the choice to do the work of peace comes anew each day. Even how we respond to an email matters.

First World Problems

"Weird Al" Yankovic's new album "Mandatory Fun" just became the first comedy album in over 50 years to top the Billboard charts. Buoyed by a viral campaign to release eight videos in eight days, the album's new videos were watched over 46 million times during the first week of their release. One of the more interesting songs is entitled "First World Problems". In it, "Weird Al" parodies the trials of modern life:

• The angst of missing the breakfast menu because of oversleeping on a weekend.
• The moral outrage of a barista failing to create an artsy design in latte foam.
• The unbearable burden of having to brush one's teeth manually because the electric toothbrush isn't charged.

What are your "first world problems"? How do you respond when they arise? 

I've noticed my own irritation lately with first world problems. My newish iPhone is past its warranty and is virtually impossible to charge because the lightning port is damaged. My car's air conditioner takes ten to fifteen minutes to kick in. How can I possibly live with such misery and injustice?

Meanwhile, in my county, activists are pushing (against ongoing opposition) for local governments to create a permanent shelter for the homeless. Health Affairs Blog, a public health policy website, estimates that between 7,000 and 17,000 people will die because they live in states that refused to expand Medicaid under the Affordable Care Act. Tens of thousands of unaccompanied immigrant children crowd detention camps along our southern border. Not all problems in this country are "first world problems".

First world problems narrow my aperture so that my immediate pesky concern becomes my entire universe. In that moment, I can become a self-entitled, raging diva, or I can widen my aperture and let in the light of gratitude. Gratitude shrinks first world problems down to their appropriate size.

My spiritual path tells me to "not worry about your life...but seek first the kingdom of God" (Matthew 6). What does that mean? Isn't it human nature to worry? Of course, but seek to keep your worries in perspective. What's the bigger picture here?

Yes, my iPhone isn't recharging. And I'm also breathing and walking. I had a wonderful dinner last night, have interesting work to do today, have a great partner, and I live in an amazing home nestled in a glorious, sunny valley. I seek first to remember that I'm blessed, I'm loved, and I'm part of a bigger Cause called Life.

Check out "Weird Al" Yankovic's new video and take a moment to share how you deal with "first world problems". How do you widen your aperture and regain perspective?

Living in Your Dream Home

Years ago I had a discussion with an older married couple. The wife said she had identified her ideal furniture but was waiting to purchase it until she and her husband moved into their dream home. He looked at her and responded, "Honey, we've been married forty years and lived in the same house that whole time. Your dream home? You're living in it!" How many of us are holding out for something better, not realizing that we are living in our dream home, our dream job, our dream relationship?

In An Hour Before Daylight, former President Jimmy Carter writes of his pint-sized hometown Plains, Georgia:

It is difficult for me to explain why the town of Plains is so attractive to Rosalynn and me. It is obvious that our family ties in Plains are strong. We will take our grandchildren and some guests to the family cemeteries, one north and the other south of the town, where our great-great-grandfathers, all born in the 1700's, settled, farmed the land, and were buried with their wives and progeny. Both us grew up here, and at least one of us is related to many of the citizens, who are still our neighbors. Pains is where I've seen the members of my family laid to rest, and where we expect to be buried...

There is a sense of permanence in Plains, of unchanging values and lasting human relationships, and the town has been a haven for us during times of political and financial crisis. Having visited almost 120 foreign countries and "seen the sights", we find the quiet attractions of Plains stronger with our increasing age, so that, no matter where we are in the world, we soon begin wishing we were back home.

Few of us have this kind of multi-generational connection to a physical location. For those of us who have moved many times, home may be more of a feeling than a location. After two years, our home in San Rafael, California is feeling more like home, but parts of me still feel home is Austin or San Antonio or New York or San Diego.

Can home be more than a singular location? What makes for a home? For me, home is where:

• Worth is a given with no need to earn or prove it.
• The external topography in some way mirrors my inner landscape.
• Laughter dissipates gloom.
• My pets welcome me with equal enthusiasm on victorious days and abysmal days.
• My fears and neuroses lay down their armor.
• Gratitude melts my self-centered negativity.
• The people I love most dare to be vulnerable with me.
• I care for a piece of the Earth, and the Earth cares for me.
• I learn the value of setting aside plans and expectations for life as it emerges.
• All those I've ever loved are somehow present, nurturing and cheering me on.
• My heart rests in a Love that even death cannot disturb.
• I'm allowed to be downright crazy for a few minutes each day (but not allowed to wallow in crazy).
• I realize I already have the essence of what I've been striving for.
• A sense of connection with the Eternal frees me to be bigger and better than I have been.
• I learn the art of forgiveness, for myself and for those nearest me.

What is home to you?

What is God?

Children are the best theologians. A colleague told me about a recent conversation with her seven-year-old granddaughter. "Grandma, I don't believe in God. Do you believe in God?"

"Yes, I do."

Pause....."What is God?"

Grandma felt a flash of anxiety, "Oh God, how do I answer that?" she thought.

I love the question. Not, who is God, but what is God? How would you have responded? In some traditions, any answer to that question is by definition not the answer because whatever God is cannot be defined.

I'm reminded of the story where Moses encounters the Divine Presence at the burning bush and asks for a name to take back to his peeps. All Moses gets is a riddle: "I AM THAT I AM".

What is God to you?

Lately, I've been experiencing God as "The Background", that backdrop of existence upon which all reality plays out. I've been contemplating God as the Silent Oneness from which all the particulars arise.

I recently had an amazing conversation with a Hindu teacher/holy man who described God as "Is-ness". There is an energetic "Is-ness", always present, but seldom in our awareness. The point of meditation and other such practices is not to escape reality but to return awareness to the "Is-ness" beneath, behind and permeating all reality. The contemplator, that being contemplated, and  contemplation itself, all become one.

“The eye through which I see God is the same eye through which God sees me; my eye and God's eye are one eye, one seeing, one knowing, one love.” Meister Eckhart

Why is this important? It's not because "God" is some narcissistic, overbearing parent needing fawning attention. Rather, in awareness of "Is-ness" or "The Background" our lives find context. Only when we experience ourselves in the midst of this infinite background do we find the expansiveness needed to hold our woes and worries.

How to cultivate awareness of "Is-ness"? It's more a matter of subtraction than addition. The Hindu teacher reminded me that my attempts to get there with my agenda to be in that space was counter-productive. This background is omnipresent. Every spiritual practice from chanting to gardening, from prayer to dancing a happy jig, is ultimately aimed at dislodging us from our self-absorbed stories so that we experience being absorbed into the Energetic Essence, which we often call "God".

From that space we are free to see things as they are and make appropriate choices. We can let go of the narratives that keep us miserable and stuck.

One would expect this Silent Emptiness to be devoid of character, but oddly, I don't experience this Background as neutral. I sense a grace,  a compassion, a gentle lovingkindness, a beneficence filling me when I return my awareness to "Is-ness". Even the horrors of life, which we may think are opposed to this Presence, ultimately arise from it and are surrounded by its graciousness.

So, how would you have answered the seven-year-old granddaughter? I'm not sure I have an answer...only an experience that immediately vanishes as soon as I try to put words to it.

When my colleague was put on the spot to answer her granddaughter, she resounded with the first thing that came to mind:

"I think of a Bible passage I like which says, 'God is Love'."

Perhaps that's about as good an answer as any.

What Is the Sound of One Poppy Blooming?

These Orange Chiffon Poppies burst into sight through every other foliage in the garden, yet the bloom only lasts one day. Splendor is always in the moment and transitory, whether it be a poppy or a human lifetime. Below is a haiku inspired by the photo. Please share a haiku that comes to you as you view the photo. (A traditional haiku is 3 lines: 5 syllables, 7 syllables and 5 syllables.)

 Is this the sunrise

Or its reflection? Gazing

Softly, they are one. 

N.I.M.B.Y.

It's election season. Commercials. Mailers. Competing signs, facts and statistics. While all politics are supposedly local, the basic political landscape is fairly universal. Here in Marin County, California one of the main issues in next week's primary race for County Supervisor is a project called Marinwood Village. In essence, the project would transform a blighted shopping center into a mixed-use development of retail space and residential units, with almost all of the residential units being set aside for affordable housing.

While the history of the project is long and complicated, I think opposition to it can be summed up with an acronym: N.I.M.B.Y. "Not in my backyard." I live in a liberal-leaning county where progressive politics is the norm...until taking a progressive stand costs us something.

"Yes, let's have affordable housing, but not near my house."

"Yes, let's make it easier for middle to lower income workers to get to their jobs, but don't inconvenience me with any more traffic." (61% of those working in my county don't live here, in large part because housing is so pricey.)

"Yes, I believe our community should be integrated with people of color, of different ethnicities and religions, of various socioeconomic backgrounds all living amongst each other, just do it on the other side of the highway."

"Yes, let's ensure that every child has equal access to quality public education, just make sure my child's education is more equal than others."

Community, equality, justice, fairness, and compassion are all cherished values until those values might ask something of us:

• 30 seconds added to our commute on Mondays and Tuesdays
• Sacrificing that new state of the art auditorium for our school so that a less-privileged child can master Algebra and know the difference between a simile and a metaphor
• Facing our unconscious racism and classism

The plan's opponent say it will overcrowd schools, create traffic snarls, and result in any number of other dreaded outcomes. I assumed the plan was for over 1,000 residential units with 500 new children attending public schools and 700 new cars clogging our roads.  No, the plan is to build 82 units, 72 of which would be designated as affordable housing. That's it. All this hubbub is about 82 units.

To be fair, we all have our version of N.I.M.B.Y., ways in which we sacrifice our principles when they are not convenient or comfortable. For instance, I refuse to patronize Walmart and other corporations whose business practices I believe to be detrimental to our society and environment. Yet, my retirement account is invested in various mutual funds, which, in turn invest in several corporations whose values clash with mine. It seems virtually impossible to build a retirement fund and avoid entanglements with corporate malfeasance. How do I live my values in such a situation?

What's your version of this conflict? Where in your life do you find it hard to live your values? The work of the soul is to get clearer and clearer about our true values and find the courage to live them.

Any value worth holding will cost us something. If there is no cost or struggle, then these are not personal values but rather worshipped abstractions, meaningless babble, self-serving affectations. Will we pay the price to do something, no matter how small, that is in alignment with the values we extoll? (Perhaps divest in just one mutual fund whose values conflict with our own.)

Only when we look into the backyard of our own hearts can we get honest about the gap between our expressed values and our actions. And when we look there, what we are likely to find is fear. Fear that we won't get our "fair share". Fear of losing control. Fear of pain. Fear of rejection. Much of this fear spirals outward from a center of self-entitlement weaving tales of doom that are not grounded in reality.

If we lean into our fear-based darker impulses, we can find beneath those layers of protection a greater compassion, a spacious consciousness, a liberating connection with All That Is...Something greater than ourselves which enables us to be the people we want to be. Change, whether in a person or in a society, always begins in our own backyard. If not now, when? If not in my own backyard, then whose?

I Just Can't Keep Up Anymore

I just can’t keep up anymore.  

I don’t know the contestants on American Idol.

Unfinished projects multiply like swirling fractals.

I can’t even keep up with my emails.

Current count is 4,335 messages in the Inbox.

Should I feel guilty?

Am I failing the exam of modern living?

Every morning I begin my day quietly and slowly.

I read. I drink tea. I meditate.

Stillness.

For a nanosecond or two,

Eternity breathes me.

I remember who I am.

I’ve caught up with myself.

And all is well.

Then the whistle blows,

Jarring me from Life to making a living.

I’m already behind.

Throughout the day I catch a whiff of Life…

A laugh with a colleague

An unexpected kind word

A darting contentment fleeing the scene like a fugitive.

Mostly though I move faster and faster to the beat of a cyber-drummer,

Further and further from consciousness.

Where do I go during these hours?

Eventually the sun retreats, having burned itself out once again.

My ashen spirit mimics twilight’s shifting allegiance

From lusty tangerine to oatmeal to a monochromatic surrender.

And then, in the wan eventide, grace saturates the pallor…

A walk with a wire fox terrier

The simple luxury of tea and a book

My lover’s smile tucking me in the for evening…

My grasping, frantic, never-caught-up mind unclenches its fist

And releases my heart,

Which has known the truth all along:

What's most worthy of keeping up with

Keeps up with me

Without any effort on my part.

Did Jesus Poop?

I was talking to someone who is on the borderline between acquaintance and friend. She mentioned an important personal fact as if I obviously already knew, which I did not. But I pretended that I knew and tried to piece together the the facts from the rest of our conversation. Afterwards the self-analyzing questions: "Why did she think I already knew? Why didn't I just admit that I didn't know and own up to my ignorance? What am I trying to protect by pretending to be so knowledgable?" I decided to take these questions with me on my morning walk. During these meditative walks, I often invite God/Jesus to join me (although at times I listen to the chant "Om Nama Shivaya" for a Hindu-infused jaunt).

As I walked, I pondered how my view of Jesus might affect my response to my earlier behavior.  In popular Christianity, much focus is placed on Jesus' compassion, wisdom, and divine/supernatural abilities. But the Gospels also present a fully human Jesus who gets mad, cries, and has problems with his biological family. Which Jesus was I calling on to gain perspective on my behavior?

This led me to the crucial theological question that dominated the rest of my morning walk: Did Jesus poop? Of course he did, but somehow that thought seems, well, "unChristian". We have sanitized Jesus to the point of being non-human, and in so doing, we have lost any hope of becoming like him. If he's only for veneration, then he's of no use for transformation.

According to the Gospels, God said of Jesus, "This is my beloved with whom I'm well pleased." If the Divine Essence can inhabit that biologically messy, emotional, limited human being known as Jesus...and be well-pleased, then shame, blame, judgement and self-judgement have met their match. That's the heart of Christianity. The Divine Mystery looks at us, loves us, takes up residence in us, as us, in all our humanness, and is well-pleased.

While my walk didn't yield a psychological cure-all that magically erased all my self-protective foibles, I did gain a deeper experience of Jesus that is proving to be just as therapeutic.  To experience Jesus is to experience that we imperfect beings are embraced at such a deep level that we cannot fail at life, cannot be a disappointment, cannot be anything other than loved.

Within such truly unconditional love, our masks and pretenses are acknowledged without push or pull. No need for judgment, angst-ridden self-analysis, or a $10,000 self-help course. We, like God, see the messy, human reality...and smile.

Did Jesus poop? Absolutely. And thank God he did.

Playfulness, Pace, and Presence

What do our dogs teach us? Can we learn new tricks from them? Our terriers, Flash and Cowboy, have started a new morning ritual. After breakfast and some free-range roaming in the backyard, they come into the sunroom and settle down together for a side-by-side morning coffee break…without the coffee. As I see them lying together, I become aware of their way of being in the world, which is becoming my mantra for how I want to be in the world:

• Playfulness - Nothing brings them more joy than playing with their favorite toy: THE KONG. This indestructible rubber ball is both serious business and serious fun. How can I bring a sense of playfulness to those responsibilities that feel burdensome? How can I infuse my work with the fresh exuberance of a child or my dogs? My intention is to make all of my serious business bubble over with serious fun.
• Pace - Our dogs move at the pace that is authentic for each of them. For Flash, our old Airedale, that pace is unhurried, like a sumo wrestler lumbering through a marathon. For Cowboy, our Fox Terrier, that pace is frenetic and hyper. Neither is right/wrong or better/worse. They move at the appropriate pace for their temperament. I have come to accept that my natural rhythm is closer to Flash's pace than Cowboy's. Yet, it seems like the world I live in wants me to move at Cowboy speed. I recommit myself to a pace that is authentic for me and own that without apology. The world is not best served when I fly at breakneck speed, multitask myself into a tizzy and feel the anxious weight of being constantly behind. The world needs me to be me: thoughtful and spacious, persistent and tranquil, forward moving yet with a sense of the deeper reality penetrating each moment. My intention is to own, accept, and celebrate my authentic pace.
• Presence - Our dogs give no thought to yesterday or tomorrow. Only this moment has any meaning for them. Can I meet the inevitable interruptions and not-according-to-plan moments with compassionate attention and welcome rather than resistance, anger, and judgement? Can I focus on what is happening rather than what did or might happen? Can I be grateful for and open to what is, as it is? I intend to shift more and more of my attention to this present moment.

For our dogs, playfulness, pace and presence come naturally. For me, those traits require practice. Perhaps, some day, with more training, I will become as wise as they are.

Dayeinu!

Recently I went to Point Reyes National Seashore and walked along the cliff-ringed beaches, listening to the roaring surf as foam bubbled onto the shore. While that was magnificent, I found that I was just as mesmerized by the slender shadows of grasses waving upon the sand. If I had only experienced those oscillating silhouettes dancing on the dunes, that would have been enough. This week the Jewish tradition observes Passover, an annual meal to commemorate liberation from a period of slavery in Egypt. Passover has a universal message. Even the name Egypt is rich with symbolism. It literally means "narrow places". What are the narrow places in your life that need expansion and freedom?

During the Passover Seder meal, the story of liberation is recounted. One popular Passover song, "Dayeinu", lists 15 blessings from the story, anyone of which would have been enough. Dayeinu means "it would have been enough". If only one of those blessings had occurred, that would be reason enough to celebrate every year with a meal of remembrance, but in the midst of so many blessings…

What is your Dayeinu? What blessing in your life is so AWE-some, WONDER-ful, that, in and of itself, it is worthy of an annual remembrance? Who or what, when you take the time to savor and remember, fills you with such gratitude that you feel like you are going to burst and overflow? What makes you sing "Dayeinu"?

When we practice Dayeinu an odd transition starts to occur. More and more people, places and experiences prompt gratitude, to the point where even a few blades of grass casting shadows becomes reason enough to be on the planet, just to experience that moment. This ordinary, often difficult existence suddenly reveals itself to be one miracle after another. If only we have the awareness to recognize it, and when we do have that quality of awareness…Dayeinu!

New Life for an Old Coat

This year marks the 75^th anniversary of the film The Wizard of Oz. Actor Frank Morgan portrayed The Wizard and also Professor Marvel, the once magnificent showman who fell on hard times and was relegated to working county fairs in Kansas. To play this part, Frank Morgan needed an elegant coat that also had fallen on hard times. So rather than create such a costume, the wardrobe department bought fifty dusty coats from a secondhand clothing store. Frank Morgan and the director chose a tattered, black Prince Albert coat with a velvet collar. One day while filming under the hot movie lights, Frank Morgan was sweating profusely while wearing this heavy coat. During a break in filming, he took off the coat and turned the sweat-soaked pockets inside out so they could get some air. That’s when he glanced down at the lining on which was written the name of the original owner as well as the tailor in Chicago who made the coat. Coincidentally, the original owner shared his name: Frank.

This coat was about to be seen by millions in movie theaters across the country. So, Frank Morgan did a kind thing. He had the studio track down the original owner, who, it turns out, had died twenty years before, but his widow still lived. She was touched that this Hollywood actor would want her to have this final reminder of her late husband. Yet, this coat was no longer the same. Only a short time earlier, it was one step away from the trash heap. Now it had a whole new life in a timeless movie. And having been given new life, it was happily returned home where it belonged.

Do you ever feel like you are getting a bit threadbare and tattered? Even as spring brings promise of new life, the reality is that it all starts with dead seeds planted in the dry dust. For old coats, dead seeds, and  tattered souls, the common need is hope.

The Biblical prophet Ezekiel had a vision (Ezekiel 37) in which dry bones come back to life. This vision was a lifeline of hope for the original hearers who were living in exile after their nation had been obliterated. Bereft of identity and seemingly any future, they felt like a valley of dusty bones.

Then this vision of hope breaks out. Life comes from the four winds, from breath and from God putting God’s Spirit in people. The bones reunite, put on flesh and breathe again because of wind, breath, and spirit. In the original Hebrew of Ezekiel's prophecy, they are all the same word, RUAH.

Why is the same word used in such diverse ways? Perhaps because each version of new life is all the same thing. The wind at your back. The breath of friendship. The Spirit of your God. They are different forms of one movement, any and all of which restore life and hope.

But there’s a catch.  Revival is not individual. It’s communal. The prophecy was not for a person but a people. We are the means of renewal for each other. This is just the way Life/God seems to operate:

• As we inhale gratitude and exhale compassion, we become the Breath of Life for each other.
• The wind at our back is the encouragement we give one another.
• The Spirit in us, literally “inspiration”, is Sacred Essence flowing through us to inspire each other.
• That’s the way it works. Life/God revives us is through each other.

Here's one extra detail about that coat from “The Wizard of Oz”. According to oral legend (and one documented account), this coat had travelled from its creation in Chicago until it reached a secondhand clothing store in Los Angeles.  Of all the clothing stores in Los Angeles, the wardrobe department happened to pick this store, and of the fifty coats brought back to the studio, this one dusty coat was selected, and it fit Frank Morgan perfectly.

What I did not tell you was the full name of the original owner. Frank Morgan was stunned when he looked at the lining and read the name of the coat’s first owner...a man who had the coat tailored in Chicago, a man who had died twenty years earlier, a man whose coat was saved at random from a used clothing store, a man named...L. Frank Baum, the author of “The Wizard of Oz”.

Finding our way home takes brains, heart, and courage, that is, a community, and sometimes a wee bit of magic. When we feel dry, alone and without purpose, remembering where we belong is the wizardry that restores hope. In the context of community, we are revived and become revival for others. New life for coats and people comes when we find our way into belonging, that is, we make our way home, and there truly is no place like home.

A Tale of Two Pets

Does this look like the face of repentance? No, I don't think so either. This is our fox terrier Cowboy, sitting in the passenger seat of my car after I sprung him from jail. A couple of weeks ago, he escaped from the backyard and went on an adventure. After chasing him across town for four hours, we gave up for the night and went to bed worried. The next morning we called the Humane Society. They had him. Cowboy had travelled a few miles that night, crossed a highway, and ended up at a fire station and from there was taken to the Humane Society, where he joined the other incarcerated fugitives. After I posted his bail money, Cowboy appeared with a look on his face that said, "It's about time you arrived. The food here sucks. Take me home and feed me."

The woman at the front desk chatted me up about whether this had happened before. When I admitted that this was not his first expedition, she sighed in relief and said, "I roll my eyes when a person says, 'Oh my dog has learned his lesson. He'll never do this again.' Yeah right! We'll see them again in a couple of months because that dog hasn't learned a thing except that he can go on an adventure anytime he wants." Apparently, the adage is true: You can't teach an old dog new tricks.

I'm wondering if you can teach a human new tricks. Can we actually change? If so, how does it happen? Why do our wistful cries of, "never again" rarely lead to longterm behavioral change? And when we do actually change, what, outside of a dramatic shift in life circumstances, is the impetus?

Perhaps to learn new tricks we should seek advice from cats instead of dogs. Our cat Bebe, eleven years old, has long been referred to as "the fourth pet". Sweet, but not overly affectionate, she has typically been a loner. She usually has slept outside in warm months and in far corners of the house during cold months, while the other three pets (two dogs and another cat), jostle for position in the bedroom to sleep as close as possible to their humans.

But starting in February something shifted. Bebe now sits on my lap (as much of her as I can fit on my lap) and wants to be petted. Bebe constantly brushes up against me, marking me as her human. She hops up into bed each night and sits on top of me wanting to be nuzzled before the lights go out.  She then snuggles alongside me and settles into a contented, sonorous rest.

What changed? I think it was our insistence during some cold nights in February that she sleep inside. Something in her clicked that she was no longer "the fourth pet" but was loved as dearly as everyone else in the house. That sense of being loved shifted her behavior.

I notice that I too am freer to move from good intentions to changed behavior when I am steeped in love. What usually keeps me stuck is fear - of rejection, failure, isolation, financial distress - and what gets me unstuck is flooding myself, particularly those fearful parts, with unconditional love. I know this sounds overly simplistic, but it does seem to work. When I find myself closing down, resentful, and anxious, rather than stew in those ways of being, I shift my focus. I imagine every cell of my body filled with worth, acceptance and a love that can neither be earned nor taken away.

Now I do have one caveat. While I am finding this increasingly effective in my own life, and while I believe it has transformed Bebe into the most adoring of cats, I don't know that it has any effect whatsoever on fox terriers. Cowboy is lavished with more attention than any other pet in the household, and yet he remains an unrepentant, incorrigible, jealous escape artist who will jump at any chance to run away. And still, I can't help but love him.

Jesus in My Latte

As I wait for a friend, a barista whisks steaming milk

like a stylist teases hair,

creating the perfect palette

with which to practice one's craft.

"Low fat latte for Scott…"

I look down at my brew.

Looking back at me?

Not vague impressions

of a leaf

or a heart,

but the unmistakable visage of

one who's face we've never laid eyes on

yet whom we immediately recognize.

Jesus is in my latte.

I chuckle. My friend arrives.

We admire the coffee artist's

temporary exhibit.

My heart, filled with concerns,

dozens for today,

a hundred for tomorrow,

smiles and melts.

Maybe that's all we need to know about Jesus.

The way he looks at us,

The way we hear his voice,

The way he touches us,

makes us melt, open and smile.

The barista's name is Daniel,

literally, "God is my judge."

In the Bible, Daniel is a shrewd

yet beloved interpreter of dreams,

whom even a hungry lion refuses to judge.

Why is my life so heavy

with a never ending list

of potential catastrophes,

a lion's den of worries,

any of which, if they came to pass,

would obviously

and without end

be my fault?

This gregarious, latte Jesus laughs through

my angst, silly projections and unconscious fears

of being judged. Whatever God is…Judge?

Unknowable Essence? Wishful Thinking?...

The face of Jesus brings the entire Notion

down to earth and

lightens it up.

I take a sip and watch Jesus

transfigure into Gandalf.

Soon my miraculous visitation is

just an amorphous, toasty beverage

that warms my entire being,

a gift no less divine.

Perhaps God is

nothing more than an

artsy barista, who whisks

each of us into an

ephemeral froth of

divine playfulness,

whom discerning connoisseurs

sip with glee.

Transformation: Becoming Who We Already Are

This past weekend my friend Hannah visited us. We had a lovely time eating good food, catching up, telling and retelling stories. We also explored the Haight Ashbury neighborhood in San Francisco. It's the start of an old joke: "An Irish Catholic sister and a gay minister walk into a hippie neighborhood…" On Sunday, we attended Seventh Avenue Presbyterian Church and enjoyed a wonderful homily on transfiguration/transformation. Afterward we discussed how this transformation thing works. Is it something we do? Is it something that is done to us? To what degree can we move it along, if at all? And, what exactly do we mean by transformation anyway?

So here are a few thoughts on transformation:

• Transform = trans (across or beyond) + form (to shape or change). To transform is to move beyond our personas, travel across self-imposed barriers, and morph into a fuller manifestation of our innate truth. In other words, we become a purer essence of who we already are.
• Most self-improvement modestly improves a fixed self without risking any transformation. It is short-lived tinkering.
• On the other hand, if we continue relating to life as we always have, we will continue to reap more of the same.
• Life has a way of transforming us, but it usually takes great pain to pry us free from our smug, spiritually-lazy attachment to our habitual ways of being.
• Can we choose transformation without trauma? Yes. And No. We can choose it, but we cannot will it to happen, at least not the kind of inside/out transfiguration we crave.
• Transformation starts with a choice. We desire to change and commit ourselves to growing up as best we can, though we know not how. That simple decision is the key step that starts the process.
• That desire then stokes a fiery intention: "I live my life by fear no more." "I choose gratitude here and now." "I pause to check in with my own wisdom." "I surrender perfection and welcome what is."    This is our "YES" to life.
• We also say "NO" to all that conflicts with our intention, including our addictions to control, safety and making a good appearance. Usually this requires some sort of regular practice: a hobby in which we lose all sense of time, nature, meditation, art, music…the kind of activity in which you find yourself by losing yourself.
• So far, this only makes us available for transformation, and yet this is as much as we can do. Then something mysterious happens. Our Wise Inner Self (a.k.a. Life/God/The Universe) meets us at the point of our willingness. The fierce intention to become more/better/truer is our part, the rest is done on levels beyond words, deeper than conscious mind, and more inter-connected that we imagine. Transformation is an alchemy in which our surrendered willingness activates sacred Energies and latent Potential on our behalf.
• The process is not predictable, quick nor linear, but it is progressive, genuine and surprising.
• One day we realize that, though still imperfect, we are nonetheless changed. And having arrived, we see that the transformation we sought was within us all along.

These are my reflections. What is your experience?

P.S. If you or someone you know is in need of a ceremony (wedding, memorial service, etc.), please see my new Ceremonies page.

Masquerade

Above is a photo I took yesterday of a curious sign of life on our dormant Full Moon Maple Tree. Below is a haiku inspired by the photo. Please share a haiku that comes to you as you view the photo. (A traditional haiku is 3 lines: 5 syllables, 7 syllables and 5 syllables.) Below the haiku, is another view of the greenery on the maple tree.

A mobile leaf greens

Its way up a barren twig:

Glorious masquerade.

P.S. If you or someone you know are in need of a ceremony (wedding, memorial service, etc.), please see my new Ceremonies page.