last post

New Year’s Eve. As children we were allowed to stay up till midnight on Silvesterabend to hear church bells from all over town ring-in the new year. (”Silvester” because in 1691 Pope Innocent XII declared the first day of January as the feast day of St. Silvester.) Adults anticipated midnight with confetti, streamers, and sparkling wine while the kids might get their first taste of someone’s Glühwein (mulled red wine with cinnamon and cloves) or a sip of another’s Silvesterbowle (white wine punch).  

With fancy foods still a novelty after years of post-war rationing, foot-long Frankfurter sausages and potato salad were a close-to-midnight treat. Before being sent to bed, some of us would participate in Bleigiessen which involved a piece of lead in a teaspoon, held over a candle and, when the metal had turned to liquid, poured into a bowl of cold water. Much fun was had ascribing lucky meaning to the resulting bits and pieces as one might looking at a Rorschach inkblot test. One year we had a visit from a chimney sweep carrying a piglet. Not sure why the little swine (to bring luck, most likely) but we were instructed to touch the sweep’s black coat to get soot on our hands for additional good luck.

In recent years I’ve been making up my own midnight ritual. Starting at about 10 pm, I’ll reflect on things I’d like to let go of (such as nasty habits, painful memories, and unwholesome behaviours J), write them on bits of paper to be burned later. I then sit in meditation for an hour or so (with a neighbour this year), aiming to calm the mind and be present with each moment as if it were the last. Close to midnight, I’ll light a small bonfire (or a hibachi if it rains) and burn the papers, one by one. Soon afterwards I’ll begin ringing a brass bell–slowly and deliberately 108 times. With each ring I’ll say the name and imagine a person in my life, dead or alive, holding them “in the light” for a moment of thanksgiving (and apologies if needed). To keep track of things I’ll be using the 4-foot long mala (a 108-bead “rosary”) which I brought back from Thailand last week.

The use of 108 is not unique to Buddhism; it is said to derive from the earlier Aryan religion of India, where 108 was tied to the lunar calendar. The number’s significance may even stretch back to ancient Sumer, where 108-plus-252 was a numerical combination associated with the goddess Inanna’s gift to humanity. Be that as it may, I find this solemn ritual calming and emptying. With each ring of the bell and person remembered, along with attention paid to rise and fall of my abdomen, I’m reminded of the impermanence of everything. 

I’d like to take this opportunity to offer 108 bows of gratitude to you for visiting this blog (which has averaged 15 hits/day), thus encouraging my vow to be of service. May you all be free from fear and calamities. May you be happy and healthy. May all beings be at ease.

peace be upon you

My interest in inter-face dialogue lead me to a news story from Malaysia about political correctness (PC) and religious expression. I was reminded of the ban on Christmas trees from public schools and buildings (our own British Columbia Legislature, for instance), the sanitizing of Christmas cards to read Seasons Greetings, and the ongoing controversy surrounding hijabs (headscarves) worn by Muslim girls and women.

Even my little world of volunteering in a hospital palliative care unit has felt the heavy hand of PC censorship. Senior staff have told me to stop telling co-workers about this blog as “someone complained of being sent to a Buddhist website.” The hospital has one chaplain and one chapel, both clearly Christian. The District has a policy of honouring all religious and spiritual practices; its website offers twelve prayers from several faith traditions, including two Buddhist blessings.

The following excerpts come from “Similarities in faiths not unusual” by Wong Chun Wai, posted at OneStarOnline on December 30, 2007:

“The Malaysian government has prohibited the word Allah to be used by non-Muslims. The Deputy Internal Security Minister …was quoted as saying that ‘only Muslims can use Allah, it’s a Muslim word, you see. The word Allah as published by the Catholics, it’s not right.’

“Anyone travelling across the Middle East can tell you that tourists would be greeted with Assalamualaikum, even among Christian Arabs, but Malaysians are told that it is for use exclusively among Muslims. Even the Arabs are perplexed by this. ’Peace be upon you’ is such a beautiful and meaningful greeting, and we wish for it to be used by Malaysians of all races. It is also such a positive introduction to the world of Islam, where followers wish others well. The Arabs prefer salam, as with the Malays here, while the Jews use shalom. There is no religious context in such greetings.    

“Christians in Egypt, Lebanon, Iraq, Indonesia and many parts of Africa with huge Muslim communities have used the word with no problems. In fact, the Church of Nativity where Jesus was born is located at the Palestinian side and Muslim leaders have no problems attending the church mass annually, as part of the respect accorded to the church.  … A Muslim holds the keys to the Church of Nativity because of the factional fight between church groups.

“There is something positive [in all] this controversy – it’s good to learn and appreciate each other’s religions. As individuals, we are all constantly seeking out God in our personal journey …. Let us do so with our eyes, our minds and our hearts open.“ 

jizo ceremony on february 3rd

With my Zen teacher’s encouragement, I’m planning another Jizo memorial ceremony for Sunday, February 3rd at 11 am. It’ll take place in the woods near my house on Galiano Island where eight jizo statues stand silent vigil under huge cedars and firs. This will be a memorial service for anyone who’s died in the last year (or at any time, really).  

Jizo Bodhisattva is a much beloved figure in Japan, Korea, and China and is  becoming increasingly well known in the West. In Buddhist cosmology Jizo is seen as protector of anyone in transition, especially children (who have died), travelers, and women, as well as those working with a life problem or physical affliction.

Several patron saints in the Catholic tradition are Jizo equivalents, e.g., St. Christopher or Julian the Hospitaller for travellers and people in distress; Brigid of Ireland for infants; Margaret of Scotland  for deceased children; Teresa of Avila for parents, mothers, fathers who have died; and Gertrude of Nivelles for the recently dead. 

The ceremony will be done in silence, involves sewing a red garment to be placed on one of the statues, a simple chant service where the names of the dead are called out and incense is lit in remembrance. The whole thing is free of charge, lasts an hour, and is open to anyone regardless of religious or spiritual orientation. To respect confidentiality, photos are only allowed after the ceremony and mere spectators will not be admitted. Anyone may visit the memorial garden at any time in the future.

For more information or to inquire confidentially, please contact Peter by e-mail at renner-at-gulfislands.com.

at a threshold

A few months ago, in the middle of the devastating experience of losing a beloved (see tab “grieving”), my therapist-guide and I came upon a gate. On the one side utter darkness, the place where my heart resided then. On the other side of the gate, a vast landscape stretched in all directions, as wide as the eyes could see, and beyond. There I stood, for the longest time, my left hand resting on top of the gate (the kind you’d find at the entrance to a garden, no higher than 3-4 feet). My body was half turned to the dark side, my head the other way, eyes looking straight ahead, attracted to the light, longing to proceed but hesitating to expose the fragile ego. I (we) remained standing at the threshold for a quite a while (for three weeks as I remember), repeatedly testing the possibilities of moving through the opening, mindful not to rush, not to frighten the fragile heart.

In The Sacred and the Profane, Mircea Eliade tells us, “The threshold is the limit, the boundary, the frontier that distinguishes and opposes two worlds–and at the same time is the paradoxical place where those worlds communicate, where passages from the profane to the sacred world become possible.”

Angeles Arrien, a cultural anthropologist and one of my teachers in the Metta program, writes, “Because we live in a society that has lost many traditional initiation rituals, we have lost the ability to recognize the signs that foreshadow transition–the modern term for initiation. We may realize that we are going though a transition, or that we are changing. But because we are unfamiliar with initiatory rites, we do not perceive that we stand at the gate. We do not comprehend that we need to open it and do the required … integrative work” (The second half of life: gates of wisdom, 2007, p.7).

The day you were born
a ladder was set up to help you
escape from this world.
–Rumi

Again, I invite you to read and re-read these quotes … and once more … deliberately and aloud. What do you hear? What do you see? What sensations arise in your body? What would you say is the work that lies ahead? If there is/were a gate, what would look like? Describe it; sketch it with pen or coloured felt pens. Where are you in relation to that gate, where do you stand, where are your feet and where your hands? What feelings arise as you contemplate this gate and what it ‘contains’ ,,, and what it foreshadows?

 Look for this gate for related topics in previous posts

your true belovedness

Do you ever make (or think about making) New Year’s resolutions? It seems natural to reflect on life’s path as one stretch ends and another begins. My wish for you is that you’ll take a few moments each day–undisturbed, in a quiet place, for yourself alone–to reflect on where you are in your life’s journey right now. That, by itself, is a worthy and necessary act: instead of rushing into yet another plan, to stand still and see what is.

If you’re game, please read each day’s offering (starting with yesterday’s post ”door number one”) and let it sink in. Read it once, read it twice. Read it aloud as poetry is meant to be read. Listen to your own voice saying the words. When the Inner Critic pipes up (as it will, that’s its purpose) gently acknowledge its presence and ask for time-out (which you are entitled to any time you wish). Exhale and read with your mind and your heart. Listen also with your body as it expands and retracts around certain words and images.

Some texts will speak to you immediately, others will seem inappropriate to your view of things. Regardless, allow words and their meaning to penetrate your armour, to find their own way in. That’s all you need to do. You do not have to “make sense” of everything right away. Here’s then is today’s reading:

Henri Nouwen writes: “You keep listening to those who seem to reject you. But they never speak about you. They speak about their own limitations. They confess their poverty in the face of your needs and desires. They simply ask for your compassion. They do not say that you’re bad, ugly, or despicable. They say only that you are asking for something they cannot give and that they need to get some distance from you to survive emotionally. The sadness is that you perceive their necessary withdrawal as a rejection of you instead of as a call to return home and discover there your true belovedness” Nouwen, H.J.M (1997). The inner voice of love: a journey through anguish to freedom, p.12.

adieu to café culture?

“… une mesure de renforcement de l’interdiction de fumer dans les lieux affectés … dans les débits permanents de boissons à consommer sur place, hôtels, restaurants, débits de tabac, casinos …”

In short, effective January 1, 2008, smoking will be forbidden in all French hotels, restaurants, discos, and cafés (outdoor seating exempt). Any smoker caught flouting the ban faces a 450€ ($662) fine, while those who turn a blind eye to smokers on their premises can be fined up to 750€.

“All my customers smoke, all my employees smoke. What are we going to do?” laments Olivier Colombe, 43, owner of Parisian cafés Le Panier and Le Faitout (in Herald Tribune). Poor dears!

Just imagine, riding the Metro from, say Gare du Nord to Saint-Germain-des-Prés, writing memoirs in ‘your’ café, awaiting romance dans un petit bistro … all without risking lung cancer and hair fumigation? What will they think of next, those crazy French people? Waiters acknowledging your presence, cabbies offering to help with luggage, dogs not shitting on side-walks? Mon dieu!

why zoos?

According to media reports, a Siberian tiger named Tatiana has killed a teenager and maimed two others at the San Francisco Zoo.

Lemme see: first we capture (or raise in captivity) an essentially wild animal, display her in an artifical and confined environment, and when she does what instincts tell her to (that is, hunt for food), we shoot her dead, wring our hands, argue about the height of the wall (was it, as the zoo’s director assured the press, 5.40 metres high instead of the 4.90 “recommended by the accrediting agency” or, as he later confessed, a mere 3.80?), and blame anyone (e.g., those darn inspectors) but ourselves for sloppy management, never mind addressing the question of zoos’ existance in the first place. 

Please click on Comment for one reader’s thoughtful rationale for modern-day zoos.

Homer: [after shooting all the buffaloes] Oh, Connie was right. I’ve extinguished a whole species. What have I done … what have I done? Bart: Dad, look there are two left. Homer: [shoots them both] … Oh, what have I done … what have I done?

door number one

Each day from now into the New Year, I plan to post a quote or poem for reflection and encouragement. Please join me in letting these words find their way to where our deepest desires reside.

Either you will
Go through this door
Or you will not go through.

If you go through
There is always the risk
Of remembering your name.

Things look at you doubly
And you must look back
And let them happen.

If you do not go through
It is possible
To live worthily
To maintain your attitudes
To hold your position
To die bravely

But much will blind you
Much will evade you,
At what cost who knows?

The door itself
Makes no promises.
It is only a door.

–Adrienne Rich

I thank John Jeffery for inspiring me to make this offering. A fellow-graduate of the Metta Institute, John leads wilderness retreats for end-of-life caregivers and individuals with illness. 

9 hours in china

By the time you read this i’ll have spent Christmas Day in Beijing. I knew that I’d have this stopover, also that without a visa I wouldn’t be allowed to formally enter the country but remain “in transit” somewhere inside the airport. My first impressions at the airport: many people in uniform, all sorts, the army the most colourful with their gold braids and red tabs. Everything else monocromatic, masses of people in dark clothes with black hair: a dramatic contrast to the sights of Thailand. The air a mixture of fog and smog, temperature well below zero degrees C; everyone bundled-up with hoods, hats, and scarves — and there was me in my white monastic cotton outfit, tanned physique, and feeble orange-and-red silk scarf to keep the cold out. People stared and pointed unabashedly at my naked Birkenstock feet and I soon made it into a game as people shuffled by: meet stares with my own, gesture at my feet, and grin broadly. Invariably this would lead to exchanges of big smiles and occasional outbursts of laughter.

Took a one-hour airport bus ($2.20) to my friends’ apartment building and was struck by the huge HUGE buildings under constructions. The country’s gearing up for the 2010 Olympics. How did I get “in” without a visa? Not sure at first how I’d even get past the various checkpoints: everyone and their dog seemed to want me to fill in a form and, after a suitable wait in line, stamp it with vigour. Had flashbacks to my one trip into the GDR, the German Democratic Republic [sic], better known as East-Germany. After about an hour of this form-filling and stamping I noticed that when I said “transit” while approaching a desk staffed by at least 3 people in different uniforms, all in their 20’s and very polite without smiling too much, every 5th speaking some English) … well “transit” became the magic word and I was waived on … and suddenly found myself outside the big sliding doors, having entered China without a visa. Try it sometime!

I eventually caught up with Roxanne, a dear friend from UBC days who’s been living in China for several years setting up a training and consulting business for the hotel industry. Her two grown children were there (one in from Manila), also her husband who runs the Vancouver end of the business. Together we went on a whirl-wind sightseeing tour, including stops at the Tibetan Temple (with posted images of China’s own version of the Dalai Lama’s successor), the mile-long line-up outside the Chairman’s tomb in sub-zero temperature, the Forbidden City (closed for renovations), and huge (at least one square km?) Tiananmen Square (the site of the massacre 18 years ago). All a bit spooky, including the impromptu search of our bags and persons amidst all the hubbub of the Square. We decided against taking pictures of the uniforms searching our belongings. 

and now the news

Bangkok: The up-side off having a King is that on the occasion of his 80th birthday he has pardoned many prisoners, including a former health minister convicted of fraud and a gynecologist who killed his wife and flushed her body parts down the toilet.

Kathmandu: Meanwhile the major communist parties in Nepal have agreed to abolish the world’s last Hindu monarchy. No word on how the royals feel about their job loss (but  I wouldn’t be surprised to see them comfortably resettled in a smart hotel not far from their Swiss bank). The current king came to the throne in 2001 after a palace massacre in which the crown prince was accused of gunning down the king’s older brother and much of the royal family before killing himself.

Brunai: Authorities there whipped 68 foreign workers for illegally settling (i.e. overstaying their visa) in the oil-rich sultanate while working in low-paying jobs as domestics and labourers. Many of the guilty-ones are illiterate and certainly unfamiliar with rules and regs governing the work for which they were brought there by crafty agents.

Raipur: A 25-year old Hindu priest near this Indian city killed himself with the promise he would come back to life after two days, police said. The man poisoned himself  in front of a small crowd at a temple. Police have registered a suicide but have been unable to take the body for an autopsy as the man’s followers have insisted on holding the body at the temple to see what would happen.

Wellington: A gang of apparently drunken Santas invaded a New Zealand cinema complex on the weekend–frightening customers, damaging property, and swearing, the cinema’s manager told authorities. The Santas are believed to have been university students out for a good time.

source: Bangkok Post, December 25, 2007

coming out

I left the monastery yesterday afternoon, after a formal ”leaving ceremony” during which my teacher-monk encouraged me to take my refreshed mindfulness practice back into the world. “No difference, monastery, outside” he reminded me. There may be more to say on my silent retreat at Wat Doi Suthep: for now I can say that it filled my heart and body and mind (all one, of course) with a sense of calm, joy, and timelessness.

Even the news from my home on Galiano Island that a water-pipe had burst (while friends’ relatives had come to stay for the holidays) leaves me equanimous (spelling?). 

Two restaurant names seen in passing: ”WILL WAIT” and “MODERN PIG + FISH.”

jingo ben

That’s how it’s pronounced by the Thai people, more or less. It’s weird walking down the sunny street as another day begins, having people call out Melly Klissmess. Big smiles everywhere, as always. And a reminder in the paper of a 10-day ban on the sale of alcoholic beverages over the festive days. I send you you and the ones you love (and the ones you wish you could) … warm wishes for a Merry Christmas. 

get thee to a nunn’ry

Well, almost (Hamlet, 3,1). I’ll be out of circulation for the next few days while on silent retreat at the International Buddhism Center at Wat Phradhatu Doi Suthep Rajavoravihara near the northern city of Chiang Mai.

May you be happy. 

is nothing sacred?

Defrauding the Faithful reads the editorial in the Bangkok Post of December 19th. As yet another way to earn merit (for the next life), Thai Buddhists frequently purchase amulets to be worn on neck chains. Turns out that commercials in major paper advertising the latest 999baht (ca $30) claim that these religious paraphernalia were authorized by the King, that they’ll carry an image of the royal crown, and that flowers given by His Majesty were included in the materials to produce them. Not true, says Thanpuying Putrie Viravaidya, deputy principal private secretary to His Majesty the King in a formal complaint to the Religious Affairs Department. 

The amulets are reported to be selling well and the Department of Special Investigation is now tackling the problem. The ”rampant commercialisation of religious icons has opened up plenty of opportunities for fraud. Any monk or temple could conceivably produce an amulet made of some sacred object and then sell it at exorbitant prices” reports the Post. A clear set of rules and clean administration by the Sangha Council is called for to ensure that ‘amulets are not produced solely for commercial gain but for religious merit.”

a path less travelled

I began walking a spiritual path–consciously that is–by seeking membership in established path-walker communities: first Franciscan monks, then Zen monastics; by taking jukai (Buddhist lay ordination) and taking up the pilgrim’s staff to walk hundreds of kilometres along the camino towards Santiago de Compostela in Spain. And, more recently, by undergoing a year’s training in end-of-life care with the Metta Institute of San Francisco. 

And now my path is branching away from the mainstream.  I’m no longer in need of an external scaffold, finding myself walking alone. But not a-lone, as in lost and lonesome, but guided by an inner teacher. And yet I feel anchored in a large community of spiritual seekers, keep in touch with my teachers and monastic friends; tomorrow I’ll be entering a Thai monastery for a few days’ silent meditation. A wonderful sense of coming-into-my-own.

But am I letting others down–especially co-workers and patients at the hospice where I’ve been volunteering for the last three years and which I’m considering leaving?

Enter the late Henry Nouwen (himself a lifelong seeker, modern-day mystic, catholic priest, and professor of theology at Yale and Harvard): ”Your way of being present to your community may require time of absence, prayer, writing, travel, or solitude. … When it is part of your vocation [calling] to offer your people a vision that will nurture them and allow them to keep moving forward, it is crucial that you give yourself the time and space to let that vision mature in you and become an integral part of your being. Your community needs you, but maybe not as a constant presence  … [it] may need your creative absence” (The inner voice of love, 1996, p.56-57).