Tension

Driving in the car today, my daughter piped up from the back, "It's a beautiful day today, isn't it?" And I wasn't quite sure if she was serious. She hasn't yet mastered the art or subtlety of sarcasm, hyperbole, or facetiousness; thus, she tends to be a pretty sincere communicator. So I sort of already knew the answer but still asked, "You really think it's pretty today?"

"Yes," she said emphatically. "There are so many colors and trees. I like the houses and all the flowers. They look so pretty." And, for the umpteenth time since her birth my very own little Buddha offered a new nugget of wisdom in her usual disarming way.

All I had seen was the rain; all I had felt was the rush of squeezing in yet another chore before naptime and worrying about the lack of water or juice for the longish ride home. My worldview consisted of the cold, the grey, the damp, the rush, the stressed out, the mud and wet and messysplatteredsplashyhurrying.

It was not until she described her view that I saw the bright yellow buds lining the road and the multicolored tulips standing at attention to eagerly drink up the day's light spring shower. I noticed how all the grass had turned bright green and how beautiful the stately red brick of neighborhood historic homes looked when contrasted against the slate blue sky.

Sometimes it is easy to forget how much control I have over my experience. How one small adjustment in my thinking or perception can significantly alter my entire worldview... rippling through emotions, physical sensations, and all manner of head-locked living to create a new space from which to see the world.

Unfortunately, as soon as I put her down for her nap, I went right back into my stressed-out, travel-readying, pre-worrying mindset. And just as I began typing this entry, I noted a choking weight of tension across my shoulders and neck... and a nasty little twinge in the center of my back.

Lost as easily as it was gained. There's a lesson right there.

Thich Nhat Hanh, one of my favorite Buddhists, said: "People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don't even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child—our own two eyes. All is a miracle."

Tension is the result of ignoring those miracles. It's akin to burying our heads in the dirt and letting elements of beauty, hope, comfort, or inspiration - abundant and ever-present in multiple areas of our lives - remain consciously unnoticed. And it is a miracle to remember to be present and open to such amazement and awe... to see the yellow buds of trees instead of the oppressive cold of rain.

Possessing that sort of mindset - the one that finds happiness and refuses to cultivate worry - is a form of enlightenment. When we see it in young children, I think we are more apt to call it innocence. But it's no less miraculous stamped with a different label; it's still Buddha-nature just the same.

May you notice something beautiful today. May your tension leave as easily as it entered.

Disaster

Being in the middle of a natural disaster can feel not only frightening, but also paradoxical. I think, particularly in Western culture, there is a tendency to view nature as benign and loving; however, nature can also be highly dangerous, unpredictable, and seemingly cruel.

I say seemingly because ascribing human emotion to natural phenomena seems somewhat counterproductive. Maybe it's helpful to have someone or something to lash out against... fight can be a form of survival, and sometimes manufacturing a fight can provide the catalyst we need for decisive response. But, ultimately, the motives of the natural world cannot truly be divined and most likely have nothing to do with us on an individual or ego-based level.

But disasters do sometimes feel cruel, or unfair. Natural disasters, like any crisis, are what psychologists or counselors would call an unanticipated (or unexpected) adverse event. We didn't plan for it, didn't see it coming, and don't want it in our lives. It creates stress, engenders fear, and may shake our resolve because it challenges the religious, spiritual, or other meaning we have made of our lives.

Our safety and stability are questioned; the truth of our lack of control is brought into stark and startling focus. And often, in the midst of so much emotional, physical, and mental difficulty... we are left to question everything we knew before the crisis occurred.

I have been through only one natural disaster in my life, and it was rather minor compared to the many disasters experienced by so many others. We lost power, but it was restored in less than a week. There were downed trees, blocked roadways, flooded areas, and exposed power lines everywhere, but our house was untouched and still inhabitable. We had no cooking gas, but we had running water, plenty of ice, and access to grocery stores and restaurants scrambling to stay open and provide resources. There were few deaths or injuries, and everyone in the region rallied together to provide assistance, food, shelter, friendship, and compassion in the aftermath of the storm.

It is difficult to fully comprehend the devastation those in Haiti are now facing. The images and stories being shared via international news agencies provides an opportunity to show compassion and provide assistance in whatever way we are able, while also taking stock of our blessings and practicing gratitude.

To suggest the earthquake is anything other than a natural disaster - an unanticipated adverse event that took place in the natural course of life - seems to me both unjustified and inhumane. It's akin to seeing someone suffering before you and choosing to increase their pain rather than seeking to relieve it. In essence, "kicking someone while they're down" - both cowardly and malevolent.

Perhaps you have already found ways to offer assistance. Perhaps you are already holding those affected in your prayers and meditations. Should you be seeking information on how to help, CNN has an excellent site with multiple links.

If you feel uncomfortable sending money, perhaps you can consider others ways to show compassion and be a source of assistance, comfort, or peace. I encourage you to reach out, to empathize, and to consider the words of Thich Nhat Hahn: "Compassion is a verb."

May you ease the suffering of others as you are able. May you practice gratitude, compassion, and love with mindful awareness.

Social Justice

"Meditation is not to escape from society, but to come back to ourselves and see what is going on. Once there is seeing, there must be acting. With mindfulness, we know what to do and what not to do to help." ~Thich Nhat Hanh

I never intended to address political issues in this blog. I'm not yet sure how my spiritual pursuit and personhood intersect with political action and social beliefs; however, I do seem to be drawn to philosophies and routes wherein some form of political discourse and social action are embraced as means to social justice.

In thinking about our current political quandaries and the several things causing upset today, I am struck by the inherent dishonesty, or at least inauthenticity, of some of the major decisions being made by those in power, which will eventually and inevitably impact the lives of so many who do not hold power.

When you add in issues of privilege and the very real existence of social, economic, and political inequality, the issues being discussed ad infinitum take on an entirely different tone. They are thrown into the arena of social justice, human rights, and the existence or nonexistence of interpersonal responsibility to one another: What is just? What is inalienable? What is moral?

Power and privilege, and their inherent effect on social constructs, economic opportunities and systems of reward, and the availability of genuine resources seem (to me) to be rather undeniable. Yet, every time I get into a major political argument, the belief of the existence of power and privilege seem to be at the heart of the issue. You see it, or you don't; you believe it exists, or you don't. And your worldview - and ability to shift your focus to someone else's set of circumstances - is tied to that belief.

In the context of the healthcare debate, ongoing financial overhaul, and decisions regarding foreign policy... I feel like I've seen a lot of hypocrisy and manipulation lately. And, being one of the many people who will soon enough be effected in very tangible, economic, and emotional ways in the aftermath of all the decision-making... it's somewhat disheartening and frustrating to think the absence of truth will influence my fate.

Too emotional, I know. Which is why I try to stay away from this kind of discourse. But I struggle in the context of an evolving Zen practice and Buddhist mindset to find a place of balance between outrage and action; peace and resolve; despair and perseverance.

What is our obligation to one another in seeing no one suffers needlessly? What promise must we make to not only those we love and care for intimately, but those in our ever-expanding contexts? Does my responsibility to right action end with me, my family, my friends, my city, my country...?

I am beginning to realize if I choose to commit myself to Buddhism not only as a form of study but a way of life (and this could be said of a full and honest commitment to nearly any religious or spiritual path), I am making a promise to everyone.

You. Your mom. Your kid. Your friend. Your co-workers. Your leaders. Your extended family. Your mechanic. Your 5th grade math teacher. Everyone in your past, everyone in your future. Everyone.

That feels big today. I feel sad today. Tired. Defeated. And though I've written my senators and signed petitions and shared information in an effort to stay active - to fight for things I believe in because I trust they benefit everyone - it still feels like standing on shore with a bucket in the wake of a tsunami.

May you honor your truth today and commit to right action.

The Buddha Within

After many, many months of persistent prodding from my husband, I finally read The War of Art by Steven Pressfield. Very good book, by the way. Something I would recommend to anyone who feels there is a creative calling they are not following in some way.

Pressfield, in this book, speaks a lot about resistance and the ways in which we deny, derail, or disregard our inner natures... which he links with our true talents, our soul's purpose, and a higher calling.

This was particularly relevant for me - especially in this time of my life - because I am feeling a bit wayward and lately spend copious amounts of time trying to figure out what I should be doing with my life. This could be said, however, for the last 10 years or so of my life. Maybe longer. So that's rather important. That lost-ness. What I should be doing.

The "should" is the tricky part there, because - I believe - it connects more to the concerns and insecurities of my ego... a part of my psyche probably not best suited to making life-altering decisions or serving as a guide toward my higher purpose and authentic self.

But the ego likes to step in and insist on playing that role. Often. At least, mine does. Maybe yours does too. Maybe you have learned to ignore the little voice that strives so hard to sound bigger and more important than it really is... like a small child so used to being ignored she thrusts out her chin and shouts at the sky in an effort to be heard.

Anyway... ego aside, I really like what Pressfield says about the concept of purpose, our higher selves, and the authentic expression of our talents (which he believes are God-given... a point I am unlikely to argue). He argues to stifle your creative energies and talents is to deny the world the gift of what you have to offer. No one can do what you do. No one else has your voice, your eye, your mind, your soul... and so what you produce will invariably be unique and (dare I say it) perfect within the interconnected and intricate space of life because you are the only one who can do what you do.

It connected perfectly with something I had read a few days earlier in a book I bought for our daughter: A Pebble for Your Pocket by Thich Nhat Hahn. We randomly selected a story the other day and it just so happened to be about what Hahn names "the inner Buddha." He's talking about the non-ego self, the one that is connected to all things, all life, and is the most authentic and true expression of you that can be.

So... my focus and mindfulness exercise for the rest of this week (and perhaps beyond!) is to try and clear away the pushy, validation-seeking voice of my ego and to see if I can hear my true soul's call. Who am I - really - without the bells, whistles, fears, insecurities, past, future, etc.? What do I want to be doing? How am I preventing myself from my truest form of expression?

That last may be the most important. I am a woman of ideas. Always have grand plans and great schemes and beautiful dreams; but I rarely actually follow up on them... move them from the imagined to the tangible. It is, I feel, equal parts fear of failure and fear of success. It's my way of roadblocking myself. (Perhaps this sounds familiar...?)

So. No more roadblocks. Movement in the face of fear and work in the midst of inertia. I will not stop moving. Even if I don't know where I'm headed. It's still better to keep walking toward the light you have faith is real than to sit down and let the self-made darkness consume you.

Walk into your light. Listen to your truest voice. Don't be afraid.