Last week a rainbow arced over San Francisco as we saw happiness arise in our hearts and minds when the Supreme Court made legal affirmation of equal rights to marriage throughout the country. For some it was the formalizing of what had always felt to be a normal and natural right, and for so many others there was the huge cathartic experience that at last equality under the law pertained to them. I felt tears rise to the surface as I imagined people's relief and joy at attaining this "inalienable" right, and I felt proud of the country for just a little while, this place so weighed down by the cruel legacy of racism, prejudice, and excessive reliance on firearms. I was so relieved to feel this happiness for my fellow human beings.
Lately it has been hard for me to feel any pride in being an American, though my brain tries to assure me that we live in a land of great opportunity. I do my practice, I sit in meditation, and send lovingkindness to all beings, and yet there are times when I feel I'm caught in a web of unkindness and ignorance, and I can't see the way out of it. When our fellow humans are shot down in churches, when black churches are burned to the ground in the South, when black males are targeted by law enforcement, when gays and lesbians are subjected to hate crimes and humiliation, I see a landscape, indeed a whole world that is hostile and hateful, with little courage manifested in the face of this darkness.
The Supreme Court ruling stated last week that those who are of any sexual orientation have the right to be married because they belong to our American society that was born out of principles of equality. And yet many more fights for gender equality will be necessary before gays and lesbians can count themselves on equal footing with the white establishment. As a result of Martin Luther King's tireless work in the late sixties, various laws were passed assuring basic civil rights to the African American population long shunned and denigrated. But we have come to see that despite the good intentions of such legislation, we live in a racist culture where various members of the population whose skin is dark are considered inferior and expendable. And lately we have see an inordinate amount of hatred unleashed on African American men, not to mention the continuing campaign of the conservative Republicans in Washington to defeat and humiliate our black President. A veil of deception has fallen over much of this agenda. There is no ownership of the hatred, and because there is no ownership it can metastasize and continue to spread ill will. And all this in a country that was founded on the individual person's right to "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."
How do we hold all this with equanimity? How do we hold the pain of the world, whether it be elephants being slaughtered in massive numbers in Africa, women kidnapped and raped in Nigeria, the homeless dying on our city streets, and the be-heading of regular people by terrorists. Is it enough to meditate and try to spread lovingkindness, to write your own dark truths as best you can, to practice gratitude and generosity in all ways, to feed wild birds, practice speaking a foreign language, or be a model of righteousness for our grandchildren? I would like to think so. The Dalai Lama said that all change starts with the individual, and that the creation of peace starts with finding it in yourself. I believe him. And yet … I feel so small sometimes, so separated from the community of civil, kind, hardworking human beings. The disconnection is scary, sort of like the darkness I wrote about last time. In the darkness we can't see or feel our relatedness and we float fee, and sometimes we're scared. A good friend shared this insight with me last evening over dinner: this primal fear of the dark is in fact our fear of death. This is normal, she reminded me. Most of us want to hold on to our precious lives for some time to come, to not "go gently into that dark night," even though it looks way better when you say you are prepared to die. There's something so tenacious about this human life, and I think we all share a deep wish to be in communion with this imperfect process of being human, knowing as we do that the journey into death is a solitary one.
When I'm going with this, I don't exactly know. I do know these things: everything shifts and changes and we are called upon to be with that, that we are social creatures who want to be in community with one another, to be supported and attended to, that as mortals we are beset with occasional fears that our journey will soon end, that we possess hearts capable of great love and even joy for our fellow humans, and that this joy is infinitely precious… I see these truths and know that our way isn't easy. But, here we are, after all, and it does make sense to show up for our lives.
And for the burning and the mayhem … and for rainbows of justice that occasionally spread across the sky...
My Elephant Friends
Amboseli elephants
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
Sunday, June 21, 2015
Fear and Loathing in the Dark of Night
As a child I was scared of the dark. In some of the bedrooms that I inhabited growing up, I had a night light on the wall that glowed in the darkness so I could get my bearings, and when that wasn't possible, I would always open the door a crack to let light from the rooms beyond reach me. There have been times when I have had to adjust to lying there in total darkness, and believe me, it has been very difficult. There was a time in Bhutan when the village we were staying over in lost all its power just as we were eating our dinner. Makeshift flashlights were produced and I soon navigated my way to my room, but I remember feeling a sense of dread that soon I would lie down in bed and disappear in the darkness. It was blacker than black outside in Punakha, tucked away in the towering Himalayas, and I suddenly felt fear where it had not existed before. There is also isolation that comes in the dark... I felt farther away from my homeland and my people than I had ever felt, and I lay in bed and longed for night to pass quickly. Recently on retreat at Spirit Rock, I lay in my little bed in my very quiet room in the darkness and unfortunately recalled a time long ago where terror, a fear of dying in my sleep, took me over. This old memory began to possess me, for no clear reason. I tried deep breathing and "noting" the fear, I used all that I had in my toolkit then for coping with fear, and it didn't work. My body seemed to vibrate with anxiety. I even imagined staying awake until it became light, when I was sure the fear would drift away...
I have been thinking a lot since then about fear and where it comes from. Is this debilitating fear of mine rooted in childhood trauma, perhaps? And if so, must I find that, understand it, see it for what it is in order to become free of it? This is entirely possible. Like so many others, I had a childhood of instability and essential loneliness. Ignored by my alcoholic mother most of the time, I created a cocoon of other-ness in self defense. My opinions, my feelings were rarely attended to, and so I pulled into myself. And became used to loneliness, and the weird irrational feelings that come with it.
There is another possible root to this irrational fear that visits. It is part of my response to the darkness of the world we live in. I confess I spend a great deal of time reading the news and thinking about what is going on, and in the last several years my heart has felt more and more beat up, and there has been more and more anger at the greed, hatred, and ignorance of those who take guns into their hands and murder others. Along with the hurt and the anger comes the horrible feeling of helplessness. A classroom of children assaulted and young lives snuffed out, people in a movie theater, just living their lives, gunned down by a madman, so many black men attacked in many of our cities because they are black, and now a congregation of black people in an historic sanctuary in Charleston shot down by a frightening young man with racist intentions.... The fabric of our country's high moral, egalitarian values is now shredded to bits, as lawmakers in Washington sit in trepidation of the NRA and our supposed right to bear arms. There aren't words to describe this state of helplessness and anger and deep despair. So, I (we) sit with this horrible, sick feeling that our world doesn't work anymore, that we are all lost without anchors because no one seems to have the guts to stand up for victims of terrorism and violence here at home. And it is a dark place we sit in. And it is scarier than any of my nighttime dances with fear.
Where are we going as a country? How are those who are disadvantaged, poor, hurt, sick and dying, invisible ... how are those people going to be cared for? When will the system recover its conscience and courage, and fulfill the vision of this being a government "of the people, by the people, and for the people"?
I worry for my precious grandchildren and the world they are becoming adults in, but then I guess that's the prerogative of all elders. I remember my own grandmother expressing her distress at the way our world was becoming more violent and chaotic and cruel, and that was over thirty years ago. So the wheel of my life is turning, and it is my turn to stand at the edge and look out into the great sprawling, uncertainty that death offers, and feel fear in my heart for the landscape my beloved family have to travel.
The Buddhist teachings tell us fear is just a feeling that comes and then passes, like all sensations, thoughts, and phenomena. Yes, I understand. I saw that when night ended and it became light, and the fear of being dead moved on. My job apparently is to hold this fear as best I can when it appears, and to try to love my fragile self in the process. We are all vulnerable, and we also know there are those who are exceedingly more vulnerable than we are. We humans have a shared frailty and uncertainty and we must feel it and speak about it, and somehow we must endure through the dark times. Gandhi once said of India's relationship to the British something like, "we will not fight, but we will wear them down with our capacity to suffer." I'm thinking that we must suffer through this inexplicable and violent time without giving up, even as we are visited by the dark fears, the sleepless nights, and outburst of rage and tears.
I guess I will continue my practice of making sure there is some light shining in the darkness when I am trying to sleep...
I have been thinking a lot since then about fear and where it comes from. Is this debilitating fear of mine rooted in childhood trauma, perhaps? And if so, must I find that, understand it, see it for what it is in order to become free of it? This is entirely possible. Like so many others, I had a childhood of instability and essential loneliness. Ignored by my alcoholic mother most of the time, I created a cocoon of other-ness in self defense. My opinions, my feelings were rarely attended to, and so I pulled into myself. And became used to loneliness, and the weird irrational feelings that come with it.
There is another possible root to this irrational fear that visits. It is part of my response to the darkness of the world we live in. I confess I spend a great deal of time reading the news and thinking about what is going on, and in the last several years my heart has felt more and more beat up, and there has been more and more anger at the greed, hatred, and ignorance of those who take guns into their hands and murder others. Along with the hurt and the anger comes the horrible feeling of helplessness. A classroom of children assaulted and young lives snuffed out, people in a movie theater, just living their lives, gunned down by a madman, so many black men attacked in many of our cities because they are black, and now a congregation of black people in an historic sanctuary in Charleston shot down by a frightening young man with racist intentions.... The fabric of our country's high moral, egalitarian values is now shredded to bits, as lawmakers in Washington sit in trepidation of the NRA and our supposed right to bear arms. There aren't words to describe this state of helplessness and anger and deep despair. So, I (we) sit with this horrible, sick feeling that our world doesn't work anymore, that we are all lost without anchors because no one seems to have the guts to stand up for victims of terrorism and violence here at home. And it is a dark place we sit in. And it is scarier than any of my nighttime dances with fear.
Where are we going as a country? How are those who are disadvantaged, poor, hurt, sick and dying, invisible ... how are those people going to be cared for? When will the system recover its conscience and courage, and fulfill the vision of this being a government "of the people, by the people, and for the people"?
I worry for my precious grandchildren and the world they are becoming adults in, but then I guess that's the prerogative of all elders. I remember my own grandmother expressing her distress at the way our world was becoming more violent and chaotic and cruel, and that was over thirty years ago. So the wheel of my life is turning, and it is my turn to stand at the edge and look out into the great sprawling, uncertainty that death offers, and feel fear in my heart for the landscape my beloved family have to travel.
The Buddhist teachings tell us fear is just a feeling that comes and then passes, like all sensations, thoughts, and phenomena. Yes, I understand. I saw that when night ended and it became light, and the fear of being dead moved on. My job apparently is to hold this fear as best I can when it appears, and to try to love my fragile self in the process. We are all vulnerable, and we also know there are those who are exceedingly more vulnerable than we are. We humans have a shared frailty and uncertainty and we must feel it and speak about it, and somehow we must endure through the dark times. Gandhi once said of India's relationship to the British something like, "we will not fight, but we will wear them down with our capacity to suffer." I'm thinking that we must suffer through this inexplicable and violent time without giving up, even as we are visited by the dark fears, the sleepless nights, and outburst of rage and tears.
I guess I will continue my practice of making sure there is some light shining in the darkness when I am trying to sleep...
Monday, June 15, 2015
What Matters
I have just returned from a week at Spirit Rock Meditation Center in the dry golden hills of Marin where I sat in silence with 50 fellow meditators, all "elders," as we considered aging, dying and awakening. For some a daunting topic, yes, but for those of us who have slipped past the half century mark, not at all irrelevant. During these days of retreat there were expansive moments of stillness with only the wild turkeys in the distance cheering us on (or so it felt), an ever changing climate from grey and foggy to bright and steamy, the turbulent workings of our hardworking brains, thoughtful inquiry into what is real in our lives now that we're old, and ultimately a lot of love and compassion born out of the community, our shared experience of both diminishing capacities and accumulated wisdom, as well as the need to participate fully in our lives.
What matters to me now? We talked about this together last week quite mindfully of course, closing our eyes occasionally to dig deeper. The road ahead of us is shortening day by day, and we take that to heart. Each day carries weight now because we see more clearly that our journey could end at any moment. So ... what does matter? How will we give ourselves to this life from here on?
Beyond the obvious - which for me is family, my sweet community of human beings that I've seen grow from the beginning and who feel like bedrock for me - there is an array of things that matter, spreading out in front of me like a colorful mosaic. I'm going to let these things tumble out now and see what I want to say about them: Music - the making of it on my grandmother's piano from the age of eight and the listening to it in concert halls, churches, and in the privacy of my living room, Art - the creative expressions I have worked at ever since I was a child making objects out of clay, followed by the years I poured out words on paper in endless journals trying to make sense of my life, and later when I pieced unusual beads together into necklaces in order to tell a story and finally called myself an artist, and finally the return in this final chapter to my first love: words, and the promise of a completed book. Service, working for the benefit of others - now there's something that matters; this attraction took different forms and finally brought me to Zen Hospice Project and the great learning at the bedside of those were were dying... and there is Generosity, driven by my grandmother's words to me as a child about the moral responsibility of the well-to-do in life that always lived in my mind, taught me to give whenever possible to those who were in need ... And of course, there is Speaking the truth, born out of a young life surrounded by those who cloaked reality and buried dark secrets, that speaking of the truth leading me ultimately to landing on the Buddhist path where I could feel at home seeing what is real and true, understanding suffering and freedom from suffering. Animals matter to me: those four legged furry beings and winged creatures who witness us, who display their beauty, humor, and intelligence, and remind us that we are all brothers and sisters. The pages of the Books I have read matter a great deal to me, from the time I was a young girl and escaped into literature to find my place, to understand other worlds and be thrilled by the beauty of language; for an only child who grew up before television and electronics, books fed my mind and heart. Friendship and community come to mind as well... the sharing of our loves and our ideas, telling our stories again and again, laughing when we're on the verge of crying, and crying when we need to, safely ... inhabiting that safe place of like minded human beings. Contemplation and practice ... that spacious landscape where I have been able to find real peace, self love, the truth, and the preciousness of life itself.
These things that "matter" have been with me for a long time, they have helped form my character. I first experienced beauty (art, music) when I was a child of six or seven, which was about the same time I began learning about how we were connected (and responsible) to those around us because I listened carefully to my grandmother. I don't know exactly when I saw that telling the truth was exciting beyond measure ... I was too busy trying to get people to listen most of the time! I do know I always felt related to all the cats that we had, that they were highly intelligent animals with a distinct need to be witnessed. And when I first saw the elephants in Africa I felt in an instant that we had a connection, human to animal... In my seventy years there have been a few friends who have felt like partners in this life adventure (one of them from the age of three!), women who witness, speak the truth, and are capable of holding love in their hearts throughout this perilous ride ... It seems to me that it isn't until we get to be "of a certain age" that we allow ourselves to pause to appreciate the things that matter. Once we affirm it, we can do no less than continue living our lives according to these values, paying careful attention each day to what we love. There is only now, of course - no past and no future. No time to waste.
I love this subject, and invite anyone reading this to join in the conversation with me. It is a way we can remember who we are. What matters to you?
What matters to me now? We talked about this together last week quite mindfully of course, closing our eyes occasionally to dig deeper. The road ahead of us is shortening day by day, and we take that to heart. Each day carries weight now because we see more clearly that our journey could end at any moment. So ... what does matter? How will we give ourselves to this life from here on?
Beyond the obvious - which for me is family, my sweet community of human beings that I've seen grow from the beginning and who feel like bedrock for me - there is an array of things that matter, spreading out in front of me like a colorful mosaic. I'm going to let these things tumble out now and see what I want to say about them: Music - the making of it on my grandmother's piano from the age of eight and the listening to it in concert halls, churches, and in the privacy of my living room, Art - the creative expressions I have worked at ever since I was a child making objects out of clay, followed by the years I poured out words on paper in endless journals trying to make sense of my life, and later when I pieced unusual beads together into necklaces in order to tell a story and finally called myself an artist, and finally the return in this final chapter to my first love: words, and the promise of a completed book. Service, working for the benefit of others - now there's something that matters; this attraction took different forms and finally brought me to Zen Hospice Project and the great learning at the bedside of those were were dying... and there is Generosity, driven by my grandmother's words to me as a child about the moral responsibility of the well-to-do in life that always lived in my mind, taught me to give whenever possible to those who were in need ... And of course, there is Speaking the truth, born out of a young life surrounded by those who cloaked reality and buried dark secrets, that speaking of the truth leading me ultimately to landing on the Buddhist path where I could feel at home seeing what is real and true, understanding suffering and freedom from suffering. Animals matter to me: those four legged furry beings and winged creatures who witness us, who display their beauty, humor, and intelligence, and remind us that we are all brothers and sisters. The pages of the Books I have read matter a great deal to me, from the time I was a young girl and escaped into literature to find my place, to understand other worlds and be thrilled by the beauty of language; for an only child who grew up before television and electronics, books fed my mind and heart. Friendship and community come to mind as well... the sharing of our loves and our ideas, telling our stories again and again, laughing when we're on the verge of crying, and crying when we need to, safely ... inhabiting that safe place of like minded human beings. Contemplation and practice ... that spacious landscape where I have been able to find real peace, self love, the truth, and the preciousness of life itself.
These things that "matter" have been with me for a long time, they have helped form my character. I first experienced beauty (art, music) when I was a child of six or seven, which was about the same time I began learning about how we were connected (and responsible) to those around us because I listened carefully to my grandmother. I don't know exactly when I saw that telling the truth was exciting beyond measure ... I was too busy trying to get people to listen most of the time! I do know I always felt related to all the cats that we had, that they were highly intelligent animals with a distinct need to be witnessed. And when I first saw the elephants in Africa I felt in an instant that we had a connection, human to animal... In my seventy years there have been a few friends who have felt like partners in this life adventure (one of them from the age of three!), women who witness, speak the truth, and are capable of holding love in their hearts throughout this perilous ride ... It seems to me that it isn't until we get to be "of a certain age" that we allow ourselves to pause to appreciate the things that matter. Once we affirm it, we can do no less than continue living our lives according to these values, paying careful attention each day to what we love. There is only now, of course - no past and no future. No time to waste.
I love this subject, and invite anyone reading this to join in the conversation with me. It is a way we can remember who we are. What matters to you?
Sunday, June 7, 2015
A Beautiful Horse Race and some Tears
Yesterday at my granddaughter's birthday party I watched the Belmont Stakes along with every other member of the family eager to be witness to racing history. Oddly enough, no one in our family pays much attention to racing during the "season,' and it is only when the push comes to shove that we all sit there breathlessly waiting to see if this one mortal animal called American Pharaoh could capture the first Triple Crown since 1978. Well, this sleek mellow looking brown horse did the job as he pulled away effortlessly from the pack of contenders in the home stretch. Glasses were raised, there were rounds of cheering, and adrenaline flowed through ... and then tears came to my eyes.
Why the tears? First off, I am a sucker for happy story endings when it comes to animals. My eyes dribbled tears when I watched the movie "Seabiscuit," and back in the olden days when we all watched Lassie, of course we teared up, our hearts warming and settling because once again Lassie was going to be o.k. Many of us turn animals into heroes, it seems, investing them with romantic stories that we make up because of course they can't speak their own experience; these tales show us that overcoming hardship, bad luck, and even cruelty is possible. And when the animals rise up and prevail they carry us with them to a place where the world feels like a kind and good place... We need that, of course. When we have pets, we weave narratives in our heads about what they're thinking, imagining, and feeling, and then we behave accordingly -- or at least I do! Cats are hard to do this with because they are so bloody inscrutable; they don't really wish to be understood. Dogs are pretty transparent and available, but still ... still I don't think we really know what they're feeling.
Horses are a different deal, I think. The horse is a mythical and elegant animal who parades, then streaks across our landscape as if he (or she) was destined for greatness. When we saw American Pharaoh race to the finish yesterday it was as though he was fulfilling his entire purpose in life in that very moment. It was a giant and grand moment, never to be experienced again... even more magnificent than the orgasmic finale of the best Beethoven symphony. And when you find yourself in that split second of vibrating joy, why wouldn't you cry just a little?
I cried also because I thought of my mother yesterday. She would have raised her glass and shrieked with pleasure along with everyone else at the young horse's victory. She loved horse racing, and used to host Kentucky Derby parties in her grand apartment in Pacific Heights. In her inner fantasy world where she became an F. Scott Fitzgerald flapper, a famous bohemian artist, or just an exquisite grand dame sipping her Scotch and telling funny stories, she was also perhaps the well heeled owner of a few stunning thoroughbreds whom she adored. She grew up in Long Island around people who made money from horses and became prideful in the process; she knew that life well and was attracted to it. Was it the excitement of possessing a beautiful animal who performed superhuman feats and made you lots of money? Was it the adoration that could come with glory? I am not sure. It may just have been that it was a world where everyone dressed well, was surrounded by beauty, and always had plenty to drink...
Tomorrow I head off for a silent meditation retreat where the topic for reflection will be aging and death, and my mother is already lodged in my mind in readiness. She seems to show up when I need to learn more about impermanence and compassion, such as the time in Cambodia after a long day of visiting the Killing Fields when I had a dream that brought us together. She died in 1991, but in many ways she still rests in my heart in present time, waiting for the right time to show up again. All those thoughts I used to have about her death "freeing" me from our fractious and painful relationship are like so many stormy bad weather clouds that toss us this way and that and then move on. I'm glad for this impermanence of feeling, because really and truly I don't think I ever wanted to get rid of her... I have this funny feeling that our conversation is far from finished.
Why the tears? First off, I am a sucker for happy story endings when it comes to animals. My eyes dribbled tears when I watched the movie "Seabiscuit," and back in the olden days when we all watched Lassie, of course we teared up, our hearts warming and settling because once again Lassie was going to be o.k. Many of us turn animals into heroes, it seems, investing them with romantic stories that we make up because of course they can't speak their own experience; these tales show us that overcoming hardship, bad luck, and even cruelty is possible. And when the animals rise up and prevail they carry us with them to a place where the world feels like a kind and good place... We need that, of course. When we have pets, we weave narratives in our heads about what they're thinking, imagining, and feeling, and then we behave accordingly -- or at least I do! Cats are hard to do this with because they are so bloody inscrutable; they don't really wish to be understood. Dogs are pretty transparent and available, but still ... still I don't think we really know what they're feeling.
Horses are a different deal, I think. The horse is a mythical and elegant animal who parades, then streaks across our landscape as if he (or she) was destined for greatness. When we saw American Pharaoh race to the finish yesterday it was as though he was fulfilling his entire purpose in life in that very moment. It was a giant and grand moment, never to be experienced again... even more magnificent than the orgasmic finale of the best Beethoven symphony. And when you find yourself in that split second of vibrating joy, why wouldn't you cry just a little?
I cried also because I thought of my mother yesterday. She would have raised her glass and shrieked with pleasure along with everyone else at the young horse's victory. She loved horse racing, and used to host Kentucky Derby parties in her grand apartment in Pacific Heights. In her inner fantasy world where she became an F. Scott Fitzgerald flapper, a famous bohemian artist, or just an exquisite grand dame sipping her Scotch and telling funny stories, she was also perhaps the well heeled owner of a few stunning thoroughbreds whom she adored. She grew up in Long Island around people who made money from horses and became prideful in the process; she knew that life well and was attracted to it. Was it the excitement of possessing a beautiful animal who performed superhuman feats and made you lots of money? Was it the adoration that could come with glory? I am not sure. It may just have been that it was a world where everyone dressed well, was surrounded by beauty, and always had plenty to drink...
Tomorrow I head off for a silent meditation retreat where the topic for reflection will be aging and death, and my mother is already lodged in my mind in readiness. She seems to show up when I need to learn more about impermanence and compassion, such as the time in Cambodia after a long day of visiting the Killing Fields when I had a dream that brought us together. She died in 1991, but in many ways she still rests in my heart in present time, waiting for the right time to show up again. All those thoughts I used to have about her death "freeing" me from our fractious and painful relationship are like so many stormy bad weather clouds that toss us this way and that and then move on. I'm glad for this impermanence of feeling, because really and truly I don't think I ever wanted to get rid of her... I have this funny feeling that our conversation is far from finished.
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