Buddhist monks with guns

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Of possible interest to Buddhist readers:

The co-editor of a new book on the history of Buddhist violence and warfare explains how the notion of a purely mystical and otherworldly Buddhism—promoted by some of the great interpreters of the tradition—denies its adherents’ humanity.

Monks with Guns: Discovering Buddhist Violence.
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down time in down times

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On the radio, a psychologist from California phoned in to join the economic conversation and said that her business and the business of her colleagues was down 30-40%.

It wasn't hard to imagine why, but it seemed a pity that at a time when people might feel an added incentive to find a little perspective...

Well, the bankers and brokers are getting theirs.
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calamity

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Remembering the movie, "Zen Noir," a quirky film that wasn't quite as good as it wanted to be and yet had some wonderful bits, made me think of the calamities that strike in people's lives.

Wracking, seething, no-fucking-way-out-of-it calamities. A death, a disease, a loss, a drug disaster, a divorce ... it's just indescribably H-U-G-E! Every cell burns.

And still, as the movie pointed out, the orange is sweet.

PS. One of the best lines in the movie comes from a lay nun who, when asked what it means to be a "lay nun," replies approximately, "It means someone who takes her vows very seriously but can still get laid."
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how things work

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In memoir-writing class last week, Grumpy was outlining the book he was writing. It had to do with religion and he had a quite complex foundation that began in the furthest reaches of space, the nano-composition of the earth, electrons, light, darkness and a lot of other foundational aspects describing ... uhhh ... well, I guess he was describing how things, in the widest sense, worked. He didn't use the word "God," but he did refer to the force or energy or intention of it all as "he."

Grumpy was careful and caring in his presentation. There was nothing unpleasant about it -- no Tupperware salesmanship or insistence -- he was just doing his best to state what he thought was true, or maybe what he hoped would be true.

Swami Vivekananda, the Vedanta Hindu, once invited students of his works into a similar way of thinking. Each effect had a cause, he suggested, and each cause was the result of some effect. There were no exceptions ... so he invited students in their minds to think and think and think backwards -- of what cause was this or any other moment an effect; of what effect was this cause born ... back and back and back and back and back and back ... until ... until ... until...

Until what? Until some ultimate "beginning" were established? Until Grumpy's book were published? Until some one true meaning were unearthed? Until some peaceful and assured 'home' were found? Until ... until what, precisely?

The search for meaning and explanation has its uses. Such a search tends to make any (wo)man more thoughtful, humble and, perhaps, kind. It widens what may be narrowed views. It has an up-side.

But it has a down-side as well because the search for meaning can take on a life and importance of its own, as if the search for meaning were intrinsically a good and healthy and perhaps virtuous endeavor. It can become a nesting place for people who imagine there is wisdom in it. The search for a beginning and an end hoists the discovery of the beginning and the end by its own petard.

For example, it doesn't bother me a bit if, in the search for explanation and meaning, someone comes up with the word "God" or "Allah" or "enlightenment" or any other moniker. What does strike me as unfortunate is the willingness to rest on such laurels. If, in the search for meaning and explanation, if, in the search for some 'X' factor, the seeker merely substitutes a warming but unrealized 'Y,' and refuses to go any further ... how could this assure any peace or solution? If someone says "God," then the question becomes, "Who is God?" And if books or litany provide the answer, well, have books or litany ever managed to satisfactorily explain in the past? At best there is some tentative peace, but is anyone looking for 'tentative' in their search for meaning an explanation? Isn't there always another book and another and another? Isn't there always another thought and another and another? If the answer doesn't answer, how could it be the answer? Is "peace in the heart" really peace in the heart?

I guess the best that can be said for questing after meaning and explanation is that it may nourish a willingness to take responsibility and to pay attention ... and to never, ever, give up and loll around in socially-acceptable explanations.

I'm not sure how often such questing ever musters such courage and patience.

I guess the love of war and bloodshed and the fear of peace in the heart is too keen.
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wrestling with "Buddhism"

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Because I 'teach'(sort of) or 'facilitate' (ick!) a memoir writing class at the senior center here, and because the center has a small newspaper, and because I was asked, I submitted a small piece (below) for consideration today.

It was no big deal and I have no idea if it will dovetail with the newspaper's needs, but what I found interesting in the process was how difficult it was for me to keep something that might be called "Buddhism" out of the equation. I squirmed and fidgeted and rewrote and finally gave up.

I would have preferred to keep "Buddhism" out of it because I wanted the ideas to be easier to swallow. I didn't want to leave the reader choking on some "-ism" they might know something about but then were slowed down by ... maybe someone who hated all but their chosen 'religion,' or maybe someone unsure of the implications of crediting a message that came from this particular ("Buddhist") sender.

I did get my daughter to read it to get some sense if things had gone off the airy-fairy tracks. "It's fine, pop," she said. But she's my daughter and I don't know if she'd tell me the gagging truth ... and still I was not at ease.

With so many years of having an interest in Buddhism, I suppose it is natural that it should tint and taint my scenery, but somehow it was important to me not to let it get in anyone else's way. And I just plain couldn't help it. I was stuck with the farm, just as anyone else might be stuck with some habit farm.

There was a small, bright jet of irritation that came up with the recognition: "Don't try to pin that crap on me!" the irritation snorted. But of course it was too late: The crap was already pinned on me. By trying to escape or write around or dodge the facts, the facts simply took a firmer grip.

So finally I had to give up and give in. I pasted the short piece into an email and shipped it off. And as soon as it was gone, I felt a lot better. No more "Buddhist" shenanigans for the moment.

Nothing like expending extra energy trying to sidestep the plain facts!
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*******************************************************************************

Since I can't figure out how to make a link out of it and save some space, this is what I wrote:

Buses that Run Over Us

One summer day in 1959, I was talking to an old-timer at a lumbering camp in Oregon. The day before, a young Caterpillar operator had been killed when the Cat he was driving up a steep incline rolled over and crushed him.

The old timer had seen it all before. Logging camps were full of dangers – from falling trees to dynamite to the light-speed hiss of a braided steel drag line that separated while pulling an enormous log and was capable of cutting a man in two. This death was sad, but it was also nothing new in his eyes.

“Beginners,” the old timer said evenly, “are wise enough to be careful. It’s the ones who think they know something who get careless and get killed. Old timers like me are too lazy to do anything but be careful.”

Even at 19, I could recognize that he was saying something true, something that hit the nail on the head. Who hasn’t met the know-it-alls, the ones who can say with conviction, “I understand” and yet whose actions advertise little more than ignorance? This was a statement with experience and practice behind it.

In Zen Buddhism, there is a saying: “Understanding is knowing to get out of the way of an on-coming bus. Practice is for the bus you didn’t see coming.”

And life is full of buses we didn’t see coming.

So the question becomes, whether there is any interest in Buddhism or not, what practice is appropriate and useful when facing a tomorrow that cannot be known … and sometimes serves up some nasty – or even delicious – surprises. Saying we understand, believing we understand and pretending we understand is not really enough. Talking the talk is easy. But how about walking the walk? Is there a mind that is at ease with the buses we didn’t see coming, with the Caterpillars that roll over on us? Is there a way (as the Boy Scouts might say) to “be prepared” for what no one can be fully prepared for – the future?

A mind that lives in the present is a mind at ease. And one way to be at ease, one exercise that helps to train a mind wandering in the past or future, is to take a little time each day to be quiet. In Zen practice (my preferred exercise), many students sit down, erect the spine, shut up and focus the mind on their exhalations, counting each exhalation from one to ten and then begin again. For maybe for ten or fifteen minutes. Every day. Such an exercise encourages the mind to stop wandering and start living in the present.

Such a practice takes patience and persistence, but the advantage is that a mind that lives in the present is a mind that cannot be shaken. Buses come and buses go, but the present cannot be escaped. Being at ease in the present is a nice gift to give yourself.

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the need to know

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In the world of spies, there is something called "the need to know." The idea, as I get it, is that the fewer people who know certain sensitive information, the less likely it is that someone will spill the beans or misuse what they have little or no capacity to use well.

Sometimes I think there is an internal world of "the need to know." Unlocking secrets is a favored pastime, a way to be in ever-widening circles of control in our lives. Ignorance is not bliss, but knowledge isn't bliss either.

I thought of this just now because I was trying to remember what day of the week it was. I couldn't immediately tell and had to do some calculations in order to nail it down. But then it occurred to me, did I really have the need to know?

Well, yes. I did need to know in order to keep whatever promises I might have made or in order not to inconvenience others, but otherwise ...? Does it matter if it's Monday? Would it change much if it were Tuesday?

Perhaps it's retirement or simple aging that will do this to you -- relinquishing what was once a pretty serious "need to know." And others may dither and prattle about keeping a handle on things ... and I certainly wouldn't elevate the idea of being stupid.

But there is a lightening of the load -- just not-knowing stuff, not cementing the world around you, not recreating what has no need of re-creation. Is Monday any the more Monday because I call it "Monday?" Isn't there more room for what actually happens -- to actually know -- when you don't know? Isn't it lighter, less crowded, and less uncertain? When you know things, there is always the high-probability chance that there is something you don't know, that you've left something out, and that there will be a surprise around the corner. But when you don't know, everything is a surprise ... fresh as a daisy ... just as it honestly is.

Just noodling about the "need to know" habit.

And yeah, I've got it straightened out ... today is called Monday.
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yearning

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Yearning is kind of interesting: If you yearn for anything, then the yearning fills you up. Something is missing and you bust your buns trying to attain it ... from a new car to a new relationship to more money to a peaceful life. Heart-felt yearning puts a fire under your butt.

But what happens to the yearning when the goal is achieved -- when you actually have the new car in which to drive from here to there? Suddenly all that focus and all that gnashing of teeth and all that sense that something was missing is gone: Things are just sort of ordinary, even boring.

And in that boredom, what happens? Doesn't some new yearning spring up ... maybe a yearning not to be bored, not to be stuck in these ordinary surroundings? It's a hamster wheel ... yearning, attainment, yearning, attainment, yearning, attainment ... around and around and around. It's no wonder people need eight hours of sleep at night: Yearning is an energetic business.

It's not a bad thing, this yearning. It does, after all, inspire action, and action is informative. But it can also leave those willing to examine the hamster wheel feeling a bit foolish ... exhausted and a bit foolish: How do I get out of this chickenshit outfit?

I think it's worth examining. Not analyzing or criticizing, just examining. What are things like when the yearning is absent? Can you yearn while you're asleep or sneezing or laughing or running or ... come to that ... breathing? Where does that all-important yearning go when it's not ruling the roost? What happens to the hamster wheel when the hamster doesn't run around in it? Is yearning a prerequisite to living or is it, more probably, just a possibility? And if it is just a possibility, does it need to be exercised or is it a choice?

Just something to examine, I would think.
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an OK Buddha

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Maybe it's the same for everyone -- an OK Buddha but only a fair Buddhist.

It's just the perfection of perfection and imperfection.

A matter of enjoyment.

A moment of laughter.
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smelling the past

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I was just peeling some carrots for dinner when all of a sudden the smell of the carrots lifted up off the cutting board and ... voila! I was back in a root cellar next to the barn at a school I went to when I was young.

Beets and carrots and potatoes and apples lined the shelves cut into the dirt walls. I suppose the whole thing was about 12x12 feet and perhaps 10 feet deep. It had a straightforward deliciousness. No frills. Just nourishment. It was the kind of place that made me want to say "Mother Earth" without cringing. Homey. Healthy without the unpleasant aspects that doctors and other adults could bring to such a word.

It was honest, somehow.

Real.

Just like the carrots.
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is praise exempt?

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I posted this on Zen Forum International, but I have hunch it won't find an audience and the idea strikes me as serious, however badly presented ... blame is shunned by the wary but praise in spiritual life is given a free ride as if it were unquestionably of unquestionable value and unassailable status. Why ... and should it be?

I wonder why we do not exercise the same caution when praising what we consider wise that we do when blaming what is foolish.

For example, Buddhists burned up the internet recently after 'newscaster' Brit Hume suggested that pro golfer Tiger Woods would be well advised to turn away from an alleged interest in Buddhism and seek forgiveness and redemption in Christianity. The comment was made after Tiger Woods' inability to keep his pecker in his pants surfaced. On the internet, Buddhists were pissed off between the lines but mostly restrained in their comments.

But mention Gautama or Buddhism or any of the great teachers or teachings, and suddenly the same Buddhist restraint is frequently nowhere in sight.

Is praise to be prized or excused in ways that blame is not?

Does 'right speech' refer only to the times when any of us might like to read someone the riot act?

Naturally it feels good to praise what we like or admire, but is Buddhism nothing more than a feel-good occupation?

Just noodling as usual.
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hubba-hubba Zen center

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I just finished skimming down a blogger web site dedicated to a Zen center in Maryland. It was bright and chipper and had much of what you would expect by way of Zen commentary and invitation. Come...on...down! And who could fault it? Not me.

But to the extent that I have any hopes for internet spiritual life and the nudges I would prefer to give ... well, despite the fact that I have a web site and a zendo where people are welcome to come and sit, still I would prefer that any writing/promos I do encourage people to think about their own lives in their own ways. I use the word "I" as much as anything so that people can either sympathize or see what a total nitwit I can be ... for their purposes.

I don't suppose there's much difference in what I do and chirpy Zen center promos, but it feels different in my head. Not better or worse, just different. No one needs my foolishness in order to get out of bed in the morning ... but on the other hand, maybe that foolishness will suggest a way not to trip over their own shoelaces.

Just noodling here. Different strokes for different folks. I am lucky, at the moment, not to need the money ... though, of course, if it's burning a hole in anyone's pocket, I'd be happy to provide an address. :)
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the honeypot

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There are spiritual traditions in which the weaknesses and sins of the follower are more or less a fulcrum for that tradition and its continuation.

But, more than sin, weakness and mistake, I think I fear the accumulation of virtue and merit and power ... a terrible honeypot.

Sin and weakness and mistake can be revised, but who will be wise enough to correct merit and virtue and goodness?
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stalling

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Stalling.

Sundays are the day when, for the past 12 years or so, I have gone out to the zendo to do some zazen ... sit a little, sniff the incense a little, focus a little, listen to the sound of the gong a little.

But the zendo is poorly insulated. It is poorly insulated because I was careless when I built it. So now, in the cold, the zendo is cold and the small electric radiator doesn't do much to cut the chill.

And the older I get, the colder it gets.

If I keep typing, then I don't have to get myself together and enter the cold.

Stalling....
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Judeo-Christian rubbish

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Received in email:

We are all familiar with the claim that the United States was founded on "Judeo-Christian" principles.

I supopose this is true, if you are talking about slavery, genocide (vs. Native Americans), and subordination of women. All have deep Judeo-Christian roots and were instrumental in the development of the USA.

However, it is not true if you are talking about democracy, philosophy, geometry, the stage drama, the field of history, the alphabet, concrete, and the architecture found in so many of our government buildings, museums and universities (e.g., the Capitol, Supreme Court, University of Virginia, Metropolitan Museum of Art, etc). These were all developed in pagan Greece and Rome centurires before Christianity displaced the deities of Mount Olympus.

It is not true if you consider the powerful influence of pagan Roman Law on Western jurisprudence, including that of the USA, to this very day.

It is not true if you consider the existence of a body called the Senate, which does not come from the Bible but from pagan Rome, which borrowed the idea from the pagan Etruscans.

It is not true if you consider that in the early years of the USA, it was common to immortalize prominent men like Washington with Roman style busts replete with laurels.

It is not true if you consider the immense influence of non-Christian Enlightenment thinkers such as Locke, Montesquieu, Paine, Hume and Diderot on many of the Founders, especially Jefferson, Franklin and Madison.

It is not true if you consider that complete absence of democratic governments in Europe in the 1,500 years that elapsed between the establishment of Christianity as the official religon of the Roman Empire and the drafting of the Declaration of Independence.

It is not true if you consider that Great Britain, the nation we fought for eight long years to achieve independence, rightly considered its monarchical and aristocratic form of government to be based on bliblical principles.

It is not true if you consider the harsh criticism of Christianity and the "Holy Bible" by so many of the Founders, including the author of the Declaration of Independence and "The Father of the Constitution".

It is not true when you consider that that The Treaty of Tripoli, signed in 1797 by John Adams and passed unanimously by the Senate, explicity states that the government of the United States "is in no sense founded on the Christian religion".

It is not true if you consider that there were no references to a deity on our national currency until the 20th Century.

It is not true if you consider that the harshest critics of the Founding Fathers and the constitutional government they created were not atheists, but prominent members of the Christian clergy, who rightly pointed out that the foundation of our national government was "unChristian" and provided no privileged place for the Protestant churches.

It is not true if you consider that when the Constitution of the Confederate States of America was drafted in 1861, the Southern delegates placed "God" in their preamble to contrast it with the "godless" U.S. Constitution. That godly preamble was immediately followed by the clauses protecting the holy institution of slavery in pertuity.

The roots of our country are Greco-Roman and European Enlightenment. What we have achieved in in spite of "Judeo-Christian" civilization, and not because of it.

Let's not be afraid to point this out.

-- Dennis Middlebrooks
FANNY (Freethinking Activist Non-Believing New Yorkers
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memoirs

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Sitting in the dentist's office waiting to get a tooth pulled yesterday, I read that memoirs were the most popular strain of books these days. I have no idea whether that is true or not.

But I wonder to what extent our difficult economic times might inspire such a thing.

Maybe when we don't know or are displeased by where we are, we resort to where we imagine we have been ... and therefore might be.

The same might be said for good economic times, I suppose: When you don't know where you are -- or even when you imagine you do -- you look elsewhere ... and thus are blinded to where you are.
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the world of others

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Reading an internet query from a Buddhist man with a Christian wife, I felt the liberal whiner's drivel rising up like heartburn: "Couldn't we all just get along?" Of course we couldn't (or could), but it sure is tiring saying so.

What is tiring, of course, is just my own desire to help, to lend a hand, to explain in ways that would make it possible for my whiner's vision of 'getting along' to bear fruit. Altruism -- so often slathered with feel-good words like 'compassion' or 'kindness' -- really is a mug's game.

The Latin root "alter" (as in "altruism") means "other." And there is no talking anyone else out of their "others." The belief is just too strong, the defense mechanisms too strong, the delight too strong, the love and hate too strong ... other. Sometimes I think I'd rather hear some nitwit play the 'nigger' card or the 'kike' card or the 'fag' card or the 'spic' card ... than I would hear anyone play the 'other' card.

None of this is as airy-fairy or theoretical as it sounds when the husband is Buddhist and the wife is Christian (not some salivating fundy, but just an average, walking-around Christian as I understood it) ... and there are three children involved. Each might have the best intentions as regards the surrounding others, but here is an in-your-face friction or difficulty that calls out to be smoothed and soothed.

I guess the best anyone can do when confronted by any sort of belief is to agree ... even when I don't agree at all. "You're right" is the only option that stands a chance of settling things. A Christian ... you're right. A Buddhist ... you're right. Putting up vast and compelling counter-arguments only hardens the arteries. So, with an occasional sense of exhaustion, I practice saying, "You're right."
I'm not always very good at it.

Mother Theresa, if I get it correctly, questioned her devotion to God late in life. She had traveled so long and so far on God's highway that, from afar, it struck me as natural she would review and reconsider her fondly-cherished persuasions. She had been right, but she had the courage not to get bogged down in being right, not to nest, not to stop short. Now that, for my money, is the mark of someone who really loves God ... summoning the patience and courage not...to...stop. Altruism was not enough ... what was enough?

Taking whatever anyone might hold near and dear and encouraging a thorough -- thorough, not just virtue-strewn or intellectual or emotional -- investigation ... isn't this the only option? It's the only one I can see that makes much sense, that stands a chance of unlocking the manacles of cozy or convenient belief.

Yes, what you believe is right.

The only question is whether anyone has the determination and courage to be right, to get to the root of the 'other,' and to stop piling up merit badges awarded by 'others.'

Sometimes I can see (if true) why Lao-Tzu was cranky as a wet cat when he left town.
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sunshine

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Do not clutch your spiritual adventure
around your shoulders
like some warming shawl.

But stand instead naked on some
warm and empty beach
and let the wind play through your hair.
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just your thoughts, dear

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Thinking, I think, is a little like bowel movements: There's no end to the shit.

And like bowel movements, thinking can elicit all sorts of reactions, from eeeeewwww to ahhhhh.

But bowel movements are a natural function of the human framework, much like breathing. They are just what happens, irrespective of the pros and cons anyone might saddle them with.

And thinking is much the same: It's a human function that only after the fact excites applause or catcalls.

Those who interest themselves in so-called spiritual endeavor often have the good sense to examine their thinking. And sometimes that examination can lead to the notion that thinking is somehow unreliable or naughty or misleading ... a real eeeewww that stands as a barrier to a peaceful life.

But such a point of view is excessively fearful and only serves to add fuel to the flames of uncertainty. While it is true that examining the function of thinking is a good idea for anyone seeking a peaceful life, still, the whole business is better seen from the old Christian perspective: Christians sometimes misquote their bible and say, "Money is the root of all evil." But the correct quote is "The love of money is the root of all evil." It is the attachment to thinking that causes the problems, not the thinking itself. As the bumper sticker suggests, "Don't believe everything you think."

A little girl once asked her mother a question anyone might find useful: "Mom," she said, "what are these voices I keep hearing in my head?" And the mother replied, "Those are just your thoughts, dear." "Oh," said the little girl. And she went about her business.

The fact that thoughts may be a pure torrent, a tsunami of diarrhea, does not mean there is something wrong or unhealthy or unclean about them any more than it means there is something intrinsically good or elevated or laudable. They're just your thoughts, dear.

Like bowel movements, they occur and pass away and the only job for a sensible person is to examine them with a little patience as a means of putting any attachment to them in its place.

Does anyone who took a satisfying shit this morning spend the rest of the day marveling and elevating and philosophizing about the event? Wouldn't we call a person who did this nuts?

Pooping is just one of the things we do.

Thinking is one of the things we do.

Doing is one of the things we do.

It's kind of neat, no matter how much 'profound meaning' anyone might prattle about.
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the rug

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My wife told me that a religious service will be held Saturday for her boss' daughter who died at 18 in a snowboarding accident. A friend writes that his aging mother -- who is suffering from dementia -- swings between her usual sweetness and calling him a fucking asshole. An internet chum writes that he went off to the same Zen monastery I flunked out of (and expressed my doubts about to him) and left disappointed two weeks later.

Everywhere, in one form or another and to one degree or another, the rug is pulled out from under us. The rug of expectation, the rug of love, the rug of education, the rug of health, the rug of wealth, the rug of family, the rug of employment, the rug of control, the rug of certainty ...

Not that having our equilibrium shattered or re-seen is always an unpleasant thing, but it is the bad news that gets our attention.

Given the concrete mountain of evidence showing that the rug invariably gets pulled out from under us, it does make you wonder in what way we needed to be standing on that rug in the first place.

On the one hand, who wouldn't like to have a flying carpet in life?

But on the other, who but an ignoramus would believe that a flying carpet was more than a delightful fairy tale?
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hard-wired for spiritual adventure?

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Someone will probably know but I don't: Has there ever been a society or social system in history that did not contain a religious or spiritual element ... some god, some bigger-than-man something-or-other, some codified explanation for the various aspects of life that defy explanation?

Somehow I find it hard to believe there is or was such a gathering, but I just plain don't know.

Human beings have minds with which to think, and minds seek explanations and meanings. So, when the inexplicability of, say, dreams or death, asserts itself, some sort of explanation is in order. That explanation may be very 'scientific' or totally oooooeeeeeooo, but the desire for an explanation and understanding propels the scene.

Maybe human beings are just hard-wired for spiritual adventure.

Or maybe all of this speculation begs the question -- as I think it deserves to be begged -- of what, precisely is 'spiritual.'
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reading books

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Reading a Zen Forum International thread just now reminded me of a time when I imagined myself to be quite an ecumenical fellow. I read Hinduism, Sufism, Taoism, Confucianism, Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Jainism, Buddhism ... and a variety of self-help-y off-shoots that showed up alongside the more serious volumes in the 'spirituality' section of bookstores.

The books piled up on the bookshelves of my house and I suppose I really did learn something ... though I doubt if it was what I imagined I was learning.

Remembering this put me in mind of one of my all-time favorite poems. It comes from Zen student and poet Ray Ronci and contains naughty words, but it has sap and sass and is one small anthem in my mind when it comes to spiritual life and the gushing encomiums that books can lavish on such an endeavor. It calls out to the bad boy in me and simultaneously expresses wonderfully my honest seriousness when it comes to spiritual life. It just makes me smile with delight ... every time:

HOMAGE TO MY FATHER

My father said:
Fuck Father Farrell,
what does he know, that old bastard!

Study all the religions. Learn Italian.
See Venizia, Firenze, talk
to all kinds of people
and never, never think you know more
than someone else! Unless,
unless they're full of shit.

And if they are, tell them;
and if they still don't get it, fuck it,
there's nothing you can do about it.

Learn how to bake bread.
If you can make pasta and bake bread
you can always feed your family,
you can always get a job.

Keep your house clean
and don't worry what anyone else does.
Cut your grass,
prune your fruit trees
or they'll die on you.

Don't drink too much
but don't always be sober --
it makes you nervous.

A couple glasses of wine,
some anisette now and then,
a cigar never hurt nobody.

Nervous people always got an ache here,
an ache there, they get sick,
they die --

Look at Father Farrell:
he'll be dead in a year.

Fuck him!

for those of a certain age

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Received in email: Ode to Forgetfulness
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move your money

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The following was sent to me in email and sounded like a pretty sensible idea for U.S. residents ... assuming they have any money to move:

MOVE YOUR MONEY
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actualization

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I am thinking again of Ikkyu, a person who trained diligently as a Zen Buddhist and later burst forth and was revered as an ordinary man....

Ikkyu who said, "I am not a Buddha. I am just an ordinary fellow who understands things."

How wonderful it is to have high aspirations and to work hard to actualize them.

But having actualized them, who would bother to call them high aspirations?

Isn't it the same for everyone?

Just Buddhas?
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what if...?

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Strange to think:

Those who fail to ask "what if?" are rightly accused of being idiots -- lacking in critical thinking and kindness.

But those who do ask "what if?" can likewise be accused of idiocy since the facts are staring them in the face.

If this is true, I guess the best I can say for myself is, "I am an idiot."

And ...

Don't be an idiot!
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empty-handed

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On a TV documentary last night, a former Marine was wracked by memories of battle. Post-traumatic Stress Syndrome. His situation had a name, but the name didn't cure anything. He awoke in the night, still on the battlefield. His children looked at him with longing and uncertainty and fear. His wife's face was chiseled with the inescapability of the circumstances in which she found herself.

The whole family was attractive and personable and struggling to re-find what was nourishing and happy, struggling to regain their footing, struggling to be freed from this ... this ... horror. The horror was highlighted by the attractive courage each family member displayed in little and large ways: If you smile hard enough, maybe the smile will come true. If you act as if you can do and portray yourself as can-do ... well, then maybe the can't-do will be vanquished.

And yet, as he drove his car in one scene, Bluetooth headset firmly in place, the former Marine admitted he wasn't ready to ask for help, to get counseling, to take medicine. Somehow that would be too hard, too much, too defeating ... and he wasn't sure what it would take to get him to seek that help. No one asked him if the love of his family wasn't a worthy impetus, if his wife's face didn't make things clear.

Not yet. Not yet.

For the TV viewer, it was a quick and easy psychological read: All of this battle-tested man's training, his very core, was to be self-sufficient, to be in control in horrific conditions, to be can-do and capable of maintaining a can-do frame of mind ... past the mutilated comrades, above the screaming children, beyond the devastation all around. And yet what was capable and strong was under an assault for which he had no capability or defense. This enemy was within. He couldn't shoot it or call in an air strike or laugh after having survived another day in hellish conditions.

An easy read for the onlooker.

Not yet, not yet.

The dramatic and horrifying plight of this former Marine was worthy of inclusion in a TV documentary. But the message struck me as compelling within anyone's life, even if those lives never made it to documentary status.

We are trained in a hundred-hundred ways -- how to see, hear, think, act -- and yet at some point that training fails to cover the bases that life lays out. What was competence and control and satisfaction invariably turns to incompetence lack of control and dissatisfaction. Sometimes we just find ourselves in circumstances that leave us floundering, and try as we may, the old rules and training just don't cut it. Perhaps we become like a person in a foreign land, speaking our own language louder and louder in an effort to be understood. And yet in this land, our language, our lifelong training, does not compute. However much we insist, however loud or precisely we talk, the circumstances stare back at us with the blank look of someone who does not understand our language.

It takes courage to learn this new language. It takes courage for a Marine to surrender his training. It takes courage for a Buddhist to give up his Buddhism. It takes courage to embrace what cannot be escaped. Courage and patience.

Maybe the courage and patience that anyone might bring to bear won't get on a TV show. But that doesn't make it any less courageous. As the old saying goes, "Your life is so difficult that it has never been tried before."

Over and over again, the need to surrender, the need to pay attention, the need to give up old training formats asserts itself. Somehow we have to learn that our hands are empty no matter how hard we hold on ... and be at peace: Empty-handed is not so bad. Empty-handed means we can do what we like with our two good hands. How could anyone tie their shoes while holding a book? How could anyone think a new thought without relinquishing the one that preceded it? How could anyone get to London without leaving New York?

Over and over again our empty hands do the work at hand.

And it is enough.
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an arrest

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News outlets are reporting today that a 25-year-old man, Anthony P. Baye, has been arrested in connection with 11 fires that struck this small city Sunday a week ago. Baye was to be arraigned today on two counts of murder and various arson charges. Two people died in one of the fires.

A lot of fear and a lot of sorrow followed in the wake of those fires and those deaths. Northampton is a pink and somewhat complacent community ... not a place wracked by uncertainty or untimely death. Not Iraq. Not Afghanistan. Not all the other places. Northampton 'mourns' volubly for other places. It is not used to being the subject or object of mourning.

And now, on top of the tragedy of death and uncertainty, there is the new tragedy: Twenty-five years old and apparently having made a mistake that cannot be undone or excused or escaped. Was he drunk or drugged or mentally unstable or angry at his girlfriend or looking for attention or ...? None of it matters. Done is done.

I imagine we've all been there ... looking back in smug delight or furious regret.

What a tragedy.
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what is impossible

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From the pulpit, I once heard a Vedanta swami say that if anyone were to travel to a faraway planet at the speed of light, still, when s/he arrived, the atman would have arrived first and be there waiting.

Depending on the school of thought, the atman can be, roughly, the soul of all things or the soul of the individual. Naturally, if you look it up and enter into the philosophical refinements attributed to the atman, you will never have time to get to the supermarket, let alone a faraway planet.

But what twinkles in my mind this morning is the pure impossibility of capturing or attaining or out-flanking or subjugating or even adoring that which might be called the direction or goal of spiritual endeavor. No wit, emotion, effort, philosophy, religion, hope, belief, fear, virtue, peeling prayer or groveling accolade will bring what is beyond-close any closer.

Wits and wags and others with keen minds may scoff and snicker that anyone would set out on a journey whose destination was unattainable. But wits and wags and others with keen minds have a way of dismissively overlooking the uncertainties and sorrows that such travelers may experience in their lives. And they seldom stop to wonder if the art and manipulation of what is possible truly eases their own hearts and minds. When all other options seem to pale or fail, sometimes the impossible is all that is left.

But desperation is not enough. Tears are not enough. Feeling small in the face of what may seem large is not enough. Longing for or praising what is beneficent is not enough. The impossible does not accede to what is merely possible. It is impossible, after all ... so what is it?

And in order to answer that question, the traveler is forced back on his or her own possibilities ... all of them. Each in turn requires attention and effort. Endless attention and effort. In a land where there is no peace, how can anyone find peace? It's impossible! In order to actualize the impossible, only a firm but caring attention to the possible is possible.

And sometimes it's a piss-cutter! Not for sissies, that's for sure. And not for wits and wags and others with keen minds. This is marrow-deep work, the kind of work that requires every ounce of energy ... even in the face of snickering or tears.

Thought, word and deed. Body, mouth and thought. Every possibility examined without shirking or shrinking back. This is not someone else's problem, someone else's journey, someone else's peace. This is Jesus walking into the desert ... alone. And praising Jesus is no better than a fart in a windstorm when it comes to walking, when it comes to being alone, when it comes to an actualized and impossible peace.

Possibility after possibility, day after day, week after week, light-year after light-year ... it's impossible stuff. Each possibility is slowly recognized as merely possible and not at all the impossible which beats us all to some faraway planet and beckons because there is no other option.

Slowly, the possibilities themselves become impossible ... impeccably impossible, unattainable, ungraspable and wispy as woodsmoke. Sure, there are concrete circumstances (get out of the way of the bus, stupid!), but the mind that sees the possibilities is no longer so swayed and convinced and defined by them. The neediness diminishes and diminishes and diminishes. It's no longer so special ... what the hell, it's just the impossible.

Impossible tears, impossible work, impossible laughter ... but there is weeping and working and laughing, right? How far away does anyone have to go in order to arrive at "now?" This is not just some self-help, smarmy, bullshit question. Literally, how many light years away is this breath, this smile, this kiss? Isn't this what invariably awaits on any faraway planet, in any heart-wringing plea, in any ornate and delicious philosophy or religion?

How far do you have to travel in order to get here?

And of course the answer is sometimes, "Pretty damned far!"

OK, so take a step.

How about them impossible apples?
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Facebook 'friends'

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Today, as in the past, I received one of those emails saying that someone wanted to be my 'friend' on the internet meeting place, Facebook. The invitation forced me to look, as I rarely do, at Facebook. A bunch of 'invitations' seemed to have stacked up. So I went through them, reading what I could of each person's profile. They all seemed pretty skimpy.

But what struck me was an 'invitation' from a couple of Buddhist-leaning people, one of them apparently a roshi. I looked up their postings and as far as I can figure out, the further up the Buddhist ladder anyone goes, the more remote they become.

How in heavens name am I supposed to become 'friends' with someone who won't tell me anything about themselves? And why the hell would they want me for a 'friend' in the first place? Is it for publicity purposes? To tack up another Buddhist scalp outside their tipis? As an addition to a mailing list for future events, books, appearances? None of this sounds very 'friendly' to me. It sounds like biz ... the kind of biz in which I am expected to applaud, but don't get paid.

I went through the invitations and declined the ones I had thought I might enjoy most ... other Buddhists. I have little or no sympathy for the remoteness some might excuse on account of the number of crazies out there: If you can't handle the crazies, get out of the kitchen ... or, in this case, Facebook. Or, if you insist on angling for accolades, don't ask me to call you my friend.
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get thee behind me, Buddhism!

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'News' commentator Brit Hume has suggested that pro golfer Tiger Woods would be well advised to turn away from Buddhism and seek forgiveness for his fuck-up-a-firestorm ways in Christianity.

Since a majority of Hume's audience is likely to be Christian-oriented and equally likely to be poorly-informed about Buddhism, I imagine he will be unscathed by any suggestion that he reflect on his own ignorance or that he review the damage he has done to Christianity by making such a suggestion: Ignorant assholes do no good for any faith and yet each faith is largely constructed for ignorant assholes.

Buddhists, if I get it correctly, are tugging their humble forelocks in an effort to remain serene and yet kick Hume's butt. Good! Let them simmer: It'll do them good to think that one through.
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