love among strangers

The other day, around mid-morning, four people emerged from a room where a man had died an hour earlier. I walked over to offer my condolences; not with those words but to bear witness, to be with them at their moment of loss. We embraced in turns, saying little. Simply holding each other, gently, looking into tear-filled eyes, conveying a silent understanding that You have lost someone you love; I too have lost; it’s part of our human condition to love and have to let go.

Trailing the group of three women was a tall man, the deceased’s brother, carrying a potted plant to take away. We had seen each other in the hallway during the last two days, but said little beyond nods and smiles. He looked stunned. I fell into step with him as the group moved towards the elevator. His eyes found mine through a stream of tears, a bear of a man. Without hesitation my left had found a place on his chest, my right on his back, embracing his heart space. Two bodies inches apart: two men in their sixties who barely knew each other, in a moment of intimacy. Your brother has died, I whispered, naming the cause of his distress. I love him, he sobbed, balancing the potted plant.

Love is absolutely vital to our human life, writes John O’Donohue. For love alone can awaken what is divine in you. In love, you grow and come home to your self. When you love and let your self be loved, you come home to the hearth of your own spirit. You are warm and sheltered. You are completely at one in the house of your own longing and belonging. … Love begins with paying attention to others, with an act of gracious self-forgetting. This is the condition in which we grow. 

source: O’Donohue, J. (1997). Anam cara: a book of Celtic wisdom. Harper Perennial, p. 7.

shed the robe of words

Mowlana Jalaluddin Rumi says:

Those who don’t drink dawn
like a cup of spring water
or take sunset like supper

Those who don’t want to change
Let them sleep.

This Love
is beyond the study of theology
that old and trickery and hypocrisy

If you want to improve your mind that way
Sleep on.

I’ve given up on my brain
I’ve torn the cloth to shreds
and thrown it away.

If you’re not completely naked
wrap your beautiful robe of words around you

       and sleep.

746 posts later

By month’s end I’ll have been the keeper of this blog for two years. Average “daily visits” (readers’ clicks) from have gone from 18 to 69 to 126 for a total of 51,826 as of this morning. It’s been a labour of service to publicly enter the many dharma gates that present themselves — especially when I was unsure of where they’d lead. Some mornings I have no conscious clue as to what to write. I sit quietly for a while, then let the words flow from my fingertips. It often takes me an hour of tinkering to compose 250 words; other times thoughts fall into place much more quickly. I usually go back two or three times during the day to re-read and re-write. Someone said that the writer is also the first reader. Thus I learn things I didn’t realize when I first put thoughts into words.

I typically connect my writing to that of another author (see bibliography tab above). This is an attempt to place my ramblings in a larger context, to see how they hold up against another’s insights, how my experience relates to the universal experience of living consciously. And that, ultimately, is what this blogging is about: to connect with readers, to share bits of my world with the intention to inspire, challenge, inform, and amuse. I delight in your return comments and look forward to more.

I’m grateful to you all for keeping me from becoming complacent … for encouraging me to expose and articulate what it means to walk on the path of awakening.

archetypes

A few words of clarification on C.G. Jung’s concepts referred to in yesterday’s post. When speaking of feminine and masculine in the archetypal sense, it’s not about biological sex of women and men nor the construct of gender. Instead, as Bonnie McCarson explains,

part of the process of individuation is becoming aware of the opposites, the polarities within oneself. Within everyone there are masculine and feminine aspects, archetypal qualities that are opposites. These qualities or aspects are also reflected in our culture.

In individuation we work toward balance and integration, both within ourselves and our society. But before we can move toward balance and integration, we must first recognize the opposites and become aware of their place within us (and society).

repose en paix

 Two more Canadians soldiers died in Afghanistan on Monday: 38-year-old Master Cpl. Patrice Audet and 25-year-old Cpl. Martin Joannette. Three other Canadian soldiers were injured.

May they rest in peace.
May their passing be a blessing for their families and comrades.

p.s. The CBC News story did not include the customary photos of the fallen soldiers nor did it mention the usual press release from the PM’s office claiming that their deaths helped make the world a better place. Perhaps everyone is getting tired of this deadly charade.

fear of the feminine

This continues yesterday’s post on re-uniting the inner masculine and the feminine – beyond male and female, beyond sexual attraction, beyond longing for birth mother. Towards the end of his life C.G. Jung said, “Woman is a very, very strong being, magical. That’s why I am afraid of women.” To which Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee adds this:

If we are to make a creative relationship with the inner feminine we must acknowledge that fear. In myths a virgin … is often held captive. In  previous ages the hero’s quest involved slaying the dragon. Man needed to free himself from his instinctual drives and fearsome power of the Great Mother. Only then could he find his … individual feminine self.

… A man who remains … imprisoned always looks for a mother figure — for him all women are identified with the mother. In this state there can be no individual creative relationship with the unconscious. In order to realize his own individual relationship to the inner and outer feminine, he must free the virgin, his own pure feminine self.

source: Vaughan-Lee, L. (2003). Catching the thread: sufism, dreamwork, and Jungian psychology. Inverness, CA: The Golden Sufi Center, pp.124-125.

Charles-Philippe Michaud (mort)

Master Cpl. Charles-Philippe Michaud
was injured on June 23 and died in Quebec City on Saturday. He leaves behind his wife, parents, and brother. A routine press release revealed Prime Minister Harper’s twisted logic: “We stand by our troops … to bring Afghans a better future and make Canadians safer.” Michaud’s death brings to 122 the number of Canadian soldiers who have been killed in the Afghan “mission” since it began in 2002.

 Repose en paix.

source: CBC News

united in love

I’ve been drawn to feminine energy for as long as I can remember. For the longest time this meant being attracted to women: their looks, touch, and company. At times it felt as if I was looking to reconnect with my mother who died shortly after I turned three. All along, I knew that there was something deeper at work, something I now see as an archetypal re-union of mysterious dimensions. 

Ten years ago, nearing the end of basic training at a Zen monastery, I asked a senior monk about women teachers. Till then, my authority figures in the secular and teachers in the spiritual realm had been men. The monastery itself had a distinct masculine air about it (although women trained there as well). Unexplained rules, impersonal instructions, long hours of work and meditation, being shouted at, obscure replies to simple questions, emphasis on detachment and submission, sleep deprivation, primitive living quarters, formal meals eaten in a hurry, the absence of physical touch and expressions of human kindness … in short, an authority-driven, shut-up-and-do-what-you’re-told atmosphere that went against everything I valued as a teacher and all that I longed for as a creature. To me, they were the epitome of macho energy and, as thus defined, lacked the wholeness I hungered for.

And yet, and yet … something had begun to ferment within, something which I was unable to articulate. Yet when asked where I planned to go “from here,” I inquired about woman teachers. To my surprise, this initial Zen training, with its bizarre rituals, obscure language, and seeming lack of heart, propelled me onto a spiritual path. Two years later, while living at a Zen monastery headed by a woman and a man, one of them asked that I read a book by a modern-day Sufi mystic.

The spiritual journey … has a masculine and feminine nature. The masculine aspect of the path is to seek a goal, to seek union with God or Absolute Truth. The masculine dynamic gives us the focus and perseverance we need to make this journey, to travel beyond this outer world of illusion to the inner reality that lies within the heart. For the masculine, Truth, or God, is not here in the world around us, but in the beyond.

However, for the feminine [God] is always present. The feminine embraces the deepest secret of creation in which the Creator and His world are eternally united in love. The feminine knows that God is because she carries the mystery of life within her; she can give birth to life. The feminine knows that life cannot exist without this sacred substance, without this essence. (p.82)

… Within the heart everything is one: the masculine and feminine are united in love. The wayfarer needs to live both aspects, to turn away from the world of illusion and yet also embrace the wholeness of life. (p.88)

source: Vaughan-Lee, L. (2000). Love is a fire: the sufi’s mystical journey home. Inverness, CA: The Golden Sufi Center. oil painting: www.lemyreart.com 

who loves ya, baby?

While working with a sacro cranial massage therapist to address the soft-tissue trauma resulting from my recent bicycle accident, I’ve once more become aware of the separation between mind and body. That is, whatever I consider as “me” resides in what I’ll call my mind (a.k.a. brain, thoughts, imagination). My body is something else altogether: it’s there, something to schlep around, a precarious construction of skin and bones and arteries and nerves, etc. Over the years this sense of separateness has grown to the point that “I don’t like” my physical me, that I prefer not to feel (or own) certain parts of me. 

Digging a little deeper, I meet that old nemesis, the Inner Critic. They say that it’s merely a voice,  but a powerful one! It informs me in its uppity ways of my shortcomings, ineptitude, lack of grace, etc. I rarely question its opinions. And certainly don’t stand up to, instead taking its pronouncements as fact. Take for instance the change in my body shape. Over the last ten years I’ve gained weight and added inches to my waist line. Looking at myself in a mirror (or a passing store window) is no longer a pleasant experience. Aarrgghhh! says the Critic, you’re overweight, old, unattractive. I roll over and agree–even suck in my belly when meeting someone female, but not when seeing a male. What’s with that?

The interesting things is that when I think of people I admire, the last thing I’m concerned with is their body shape. If, for instance, you’d ask me to describe Ram Dass (who I admire deeply), I’d mention direct eye contact, white fluffy hair, a big heart, lack of pretence, easily shows his emotions, huge smile, takes his time to answer questions, admits when he doesn’t know. Those are some of the qualities I admire in him … and wish to posses myself. It never even occurs to me to criticise Ram Dass for his body, the lines in his face, the shake of his hands, the stuttering caused by a stroke.

In short: I tend to judge my own worth on appearance and that of others on their humanity. Digging deeper yet, I confess that I don’t “care” for myself the way I aim to care for others. Others deserve my caring attention “as they are,” while I’m flawed and “need work” to fix what’s wrong.

Sounds familiar?

cpl. nicholas bulger (mort)

CBC News: Cpl. Nicholas Bulger, 30, was killed Friday in Afghanistan, leaving behind his wife Rebeka, their two daughters, his mother, brothers and sister. From his desk in Calgary,  Canada’s chief of defence staff said the country had lost “one of our valiant soldiers.” In a statement, PM Harper expressed “profound regret,” adding that “hard-won progress is being made in Afghanistan.” What comfort will such shop-worn press releases bring to Nicholas Burger’s family and friends? May his passing be a blessing to them.

gently into this day

There’s a café on the corner where I often go for scone-with-marmalade and Americano before the office people come for their morning break and the yoga moms convene their klatsch. Sometimes I bring garden flowers to brighten the counter, at others I borrow an old New Yorker to read at home. I enjoy being a regular; could easily take all my meals and read all my books in neighbourhood eateries. But why am I telling you this?

This afternoon, when I stopped by to say Hello, all movement seemed to freeze as the three people working (the one at the grill, the one working the espresso machine, and the one doing everything in between) stood laughing, clapping, and telling me how happy they were to see me.

Just before that I’d gone into Chinatown to replace the canvas slip-ons (”Kung fu for Gentleman”) which I wear when sliding from room to room at work. The martial arts outfitter I used to go to was closed and so I fell in with the stream of tourists until I found a shop crammed with bamboo back scratchers and other Made-in-China trinkets. Once we were done fussing with sizes and proper fit, the shopkeeper pressed a foreign-looking coin in my hand ”for good luck,” then reached across the cash register to hug me. Not something one expects in Chinatown.

A little later, walking past a low-cost housing complex with its restaurant and second-hand store, I read about free activities on the bulletin board. On the spur of the moment I entered the building to see how I might offer a weekly meditation class.

A string of random acts on my day-off, each evidence of human kindness. Simple occurrences with nothing special on the surface. But underneath, a reminder of our interconnectedness. Everything’s right there …

O longing mind,
Dwell within the depth
Of your own pure nature.
Do not seek your home elsewhere …
Your naked awareness alone, O mind,
Is the inexhaustible abundance
For which you long so desperately.

~ Sri Ramakrishna (1836-1886)

the great vow

In Zen (and in other branches of Mahayana Buddhism) there’s a vow known as the Bodhisattva vow. It undergirds all Buddhist practice and—without my conscious awareness—informed my own vow-taking nine years ago (see Tuesday’s post). With this vow, recited daily at monasteries, practice centres, and before settling on our meditation cushion, we renew our intention to help save all sentient beings … for as long as we live and in lives to come.

There are many wordings (due to nuances in translation); the one used at Great Vow Zen Monastery goes like this:

Beings are numberless, I vow to free them.
Delusions are inexhaustible, I vow to end them.
Dharma gates are boundless, I vow to enter them.
The Buddha way is unsurpassable, I vow to embody it.

The Bodhisattva vow is reflected in the book-length collection of verses by the 8th-century Indian scholar Shantideva. Undeterred by its flowery language and the seeming impossibility of its aims, I frequently turn to the following verses to guide my spiritual/hospice practice:

May I be a guard for those who are protectorless,
A guide for those who journey on the road;
For those who wish to go across the water,
May I be a boat, a raft, a bridge.

May I be an isle for those who yearn for landfall,
And a lamp for those who long for light;
For those who need a resting place, a bed,
For all who need a servant, may I be a slave.

According to Buddhist legend, a bodhisattva was trying to reach all the people of the world. As two hands were not enough, she/he was given 1,000 of them. Many statues and this dance form depict the many hands. In some countries, the bodhisattva is shown as a woman, in others as a man, called Chenrezig in Tibet, Avalokitesvara in India, Guan Yin in China, and Kannon or Kanzeon in Japan.

karl malden

Born Mladen Sekulovicin in 1912 and married to the same woman for 70 years, Mr. Malden died today at age 97. I never saw him in “On the waterfront” or “A streetcar named desire” (which earned him an Oscar™). My first memory is of him as the thief with a briefcase full of room keys in “Hotel.” I often cited the character’s trickery while teaching at a hotel school in the 70s. To me, Karl Malden was one of Hollywood’s least glamorous actors: his low-key demeanour and broken-nose looks projected a sense of decency. I bow in admiration.

photo: REUTERS

can’t get no satisfaction

It is said that there are only two tragedies in life:
not getting what one wants, and getting it.

~Bhante Henepola Gunaratana (2001).
Eight mindful steps to happiness. Boston: Wisdom Press.

speaking (of) vows

I occasionally mention the vow “to be of service” which I made on December 31, 2000. This simple promise was not imposed on me but naturally arrived at my heart’s door during rohatsu, a weeklong silent Zen retreat. This vow has informed my everyday decisions ever since: each time I serve, it is re-charged.

Anyone can make and live by vows. You don’t have to be a monk or work in a hospice. Norman Fischer writes:

There are many ways to life a life of vowing. I have known people who live their vow through art or work or service, others do it simply by remaining for a long time in a particular place that they have come to know well and to love. Perhaps most movingly, I have also known people for whom the need to overcome great suffering–personal tragedies like abuse or loss, social forces like sexism, racism, or homophobia, a physical or mental illness, the long tragic course of addition–has been a vital and courageous path of vowing.

source: Fischer, N. (2003). Taking our places: the Buddhist path of truly growing up. HarperSanFrancisco, p. 127.