Christmas Meditation

The snow drops soundlessly on the hard earth...already a blanket of white.

It sounds like silence on silence.

It is so quiet, that we sit up and take notice of something else...a certain newness.

We strain to listen...but we can't hear.

Yet we can feel it. The air is heavy with it. And it can be felt in our hearts.

Something has changed. On this night, the world has become different.

A child has been born who will teach us the secret to peace: how to look into the souls of others and see ourselves.

And for that, there will be a terrible price.

But for now, the world is quiet...hushed under this buffer of white.

Let the child sleep...and enjoy these moments of peace.

Let us all sleep.

Dark Tunnel

Recently, a missionary priest, from the Passionist Order, came to our parish.

He stayed for five days, and on almost every evening of the service, our church was packed solid -- standing room only.

He said that, in the 25 years he'd been visiting parishes across America and in many countries of the world, he'd never seen such a response.

I think this priest will witness larger crowds wherever he goes. At least I hope so.

There is something haunting America. We're hungry for closeness with God, with spirit - some kind of substance.
It's like we're in a dark tunnel, and we're looking for the light.

We want enrichment -- something besides a larger home or more electronic toys or a nicer car.

This war in Iraq, the slaughter each day...our rampant commercialism and consumerism...our unhappiness -- these are all behaviors of people who are asleep.

What power we would have...if only we were a force for pure kindness in the world.  I hope we wake up soon and come out of ourselves.  (  

Boy, Everything Sure is Impermanent!

Got to hand it to the Buddhists, the enlightened ones, anyway!

They know the score when it comes to awareness of the impermanence of all things.

Many learned Buddhist authors that I've read are fond of saying: "All is an illusion." And my take on this is that our perception of all things, e.g. an apple, our feelings, are constantly changing. So the realities of both the apple and feelings are never fixed.

A bit tough at first for me to get my hands around -- given I live in America, where we seem to suffer the illusion that all things, including nature, can be 'fixed' or 'made better' and that they should then stay that way.

It's a cultural thing. Please forgive us.

But the older I get, I'm becoming more aware that things just don't stay fixed. In fact, change is the only thing that seems permanent.

Funny lesson: I like to wash my windows a lot - at least once each season. Love clean windows and the special quality of light that comes into my home.

As November's chilly temperatures locked in place, I got to work cleaning the inside and outside of the windows. It was tough work, and it pretty much took me the whole day to do the entire house.

The next day dawned sunny and bright, and I had about 6 or 7 hours to enjoy streak-free light before a sudden rain storm rolled by. It was only five or so minutes, but just enough to leave water spots on the outside of the windows in the front of the house. The job was ruined.

So how did I handle this? Next day, I redid the outside of windows - but just in the front of the house.

The following day, a new lesson: Workmen from the county water authority pulled up directly in front of my house, and began digging up the street to replace a main. It was a windy day, the dust was blowing everywhere; looked like a scene from "Lawrence of Arabia."

Then, guess what? Another short interval of rain.

My satisfaction with myself, and my desire to have this permanent state of shininess and perfection was in shambles.

After a bit of consternation -- I had to finally laugh. Truly, nothing is permanent, and the weather...the rain, wind, indeed, the earth's dust...changing each and every day, is a wonderful teacher.

Can I accept this reality -- brought home to me via the window-cleaning episode?

Working on it!

Fear is death

When I think about fear, it seems like a kind of death, an everyday death that we put ourselves through.

If I fall into the trance of fear, and the #1 trance for me, I know this by now, is fear over letting others in and revealing all of myself.

I've learned that that could bring rejection -- or at least I've talked myself into believing that.

So, an 'everyday death' for me means cutting myself off from others, and myself.

It feels cold and there are no options. No light.

Life, on the other hand, means letting that light in...and accepting myself (both at peace and in turmoil...regardless of how I feel at the moment). It means accepting others, too, just the way they are.

Recently, I had a revelation about fear...and death...and something that's always been a stumbling block of sorts for me.

It's like this: I have to confess, I've always had a bit of trouble understanding the whole rationale for Jesus' presence here on earth. I've been taught that he died for our sins; to open the gates of heaven.

I guess that's always been hard for me to understand. It's such a big concept, and rather fanciful at that. Maybe I need to follow a more tangible thought process.

Well, I think I've found it.

Try this one on for size:

Maybe Christ showed us how to die to ourselves -- that is, let go of our fears and let God take them on...to completely wrench our hearts from fear and open them far enough so that we can accept and trust God. His way.

Perhaps He wanted to teach us how to die to the self (our learned fears, prejuidices) and accept and trust God, the spirit, the universe -- whatever.

Death on the cross is the ultimate trust in God. Death is the ultimate fear...and he confronted that, and accepted it...and overcame it...to gain everlasting life.

And maybe, when we shed fear, we gain everlasting life. We catch a glimpse of that life with God...through compassion for ourselves and others. Our connection with the divine.

I'll have to think about this for a while.

Being a Child

Went to a public talk a few weeks ago, to hear Sakyong Mipham (a noted Buddhist teacher & spiritual director) speak at the Society for Ethical Culture in NYC.

He said that someone once taught him that some old Buddhist monks seem to get younger as they advance in age.

My take on it is that their meditation practices and "right" actions (in the Buddhist sense), lead them to such a state of enlightenment and compassion for others, that they become very innocent. They are no longer ruled by their fear. They know that all things in life arise and fall away. And, they can accept all as it is -- people, pain, challenges, joy, happiness.

Actually, when you think of it, this state is more like a kind of pure wisdom, a sophistication and knowledge of the world and the mind and the way it works. And it’s an understanding that these things, the world, the mind, are merely tools for us to use…and we are not to be used by them.

I think the earth would heave a sigh of relief if we could all somehow arrive at one-tenth of that state of enlightenment...to be more accepting -- of ourselves and others.

I know that I feel relieved and free when I can accept myself, my thoughts, my desires, my failings...and fears.

But it occurred to me, as I sat and listened to this Buddhist monk, that Christ told us the same thing...and it's really one of the greatest things he said. And I love this about him...probably above all else:

One day, as he was teaching, he was asked to bless some children that the people had brought before him. His apostles tried to push them away.

But Jesus knelt down to see the faces of the little ones, and maybe he opened his arms and smiled broadly (this is purely my imagination), and he said: "Suffer the little children, for such is the kingdom of heaven."

In other words, he said: Let them come to me, and let me love them and be in their presence, and enjoy the things they say and do. They're pure of heart. They trust everybody and accept things for what they are -- not what they should be. And when they're afraid, they are worthy of compassion, the compassion of their Father. They know they are protected. And they trust the Father.

I think that, to be enlightened, is like being in the kingdom of heaven. And to be enlightened is to have this childlike acceptance of oneself and of others…and to trust in the wisdom of God.

Did Jesus Think He was a Success?

I've heard people say that, in the "world's" eyes, Jesus was a failure. I guess 'world' in this sense means those who focus on money and career first, then family...spirit next...or maybe spirit never.

After all, Jesus tried to get people to come out of themselves to see the beauty of sharing life with others.

But he got too scary for the people in charge, because what he was suggesting they do would have required tremendous sacrifice. Probably the most feared thing to lose: the self.

And then there was trouble when crowds began to follow him, and people brought their sick or their children to him to be blessed. So, they tried to challenge his teachings, and when they couldn't do that, they killed him.

In the end, I think Jesus probably even had a few moments of anguish, he, too, thinking that he was a failure. Hanging there on the cross, flanked by two criminals dying the same way, maybe he thought: What was it all for? Did I imagine I was His son?

And, as his mother, standing with him, looked up and watched, perhaps she, too, had a few moments of doubt. Did she think: Is this the reward I get for bearing His son, this pain in my heart? My baby. How sweetly we sang together. How I loved his little fingers, and the sound of his laughter.

So, by all those standards...his life and death, and those few moments in which they doubted and wished for more life, I guess he seemed a failure.

But there's another standard by which the world should measure his success. And that is the measure of compassion.

This great treasure he carried in his heart, and gave it freely to all he met.

And, despite the moment or two of doubt he may have had on the cross, I think Jesus knew that he was leaving us with this wealth.

Even on the road to death, he inspired compassion.

A woman, watching him carry his cross to the place where he would die, took pity on him. Perhaps she, too, was a mother, and thought: This is someone's son.

As he stumbled and fell under the cross' weight, she came to his side, and, as he looked up at her, she took a cloth and wiped his face. It was the only comfort she could give.

Success!

What is a Catholic?

Lately, I've been wondering: what does it mean to be a Catholic? Am I a Catholic?

Yes. If the definition means being baptized, receiving most of the sacraments, going to church regularly and receiving communion. Yes, if it means believing that the host is Christ present - not just a symbol. Yes, I believe.

But I must ask myself if I still belong -- based on what I'm hearing these days at Sunday mass, and from the church leadership in America and in Rome.

There are too many statements that seem, well, almost facist.

I paraphrase:

• "Muslims, Jews, Buddhists may have admirable beliefs and practices...but Christianity, and specifically, Catholicism, is the way to salvation...because Christ himself said that 'the only way to the Father is through me.' "
• "If you do not baptize your baby, Christ will not recognize him/her in heaven."

And there are other bad things happening. For example, we're reading in newspapers now that an edict from Rome is coming that will bar homosexual priests from taking vows to serve God.

No more men who hear the voice of Christ in their hearts and souls -- just because they are attracted, sexually and emotionally, to other men.

No more homosexual men, even those, who like their heterosexual brothers, vow celibacy.

And because there's to be no more homosexual men as priests, seminary entrants will now be asked about their feelings for other men. And, if they are honest (because we're told it's a sin to lie to a priest), they will be told they are not worthy.

I think the church is doing this to try to stop child molestation. But homosexuality is a separate issue from pedophilia. If you prefer men to women, that does not mean you prefer children to adults.

This is the latest in a long list of 'NOs' from my church.

No women as priests, too.

No touching.

No birth control.

No eating meat on Friday. Actually, you can eat meat now; somebody high-up said so.

I know what I'm not. I am not a Catholic who believes in these things, and who thinks that Christ, through divine inspiration and the Holy Spirit, is directing all this.

But I know what I am. I am a Christian, who believes that Jesus lived among us to teach us a new way. The way of love. The way of kindess and compassion...charity til it hurts...that God loves us all...no matter what.

Oh, and don't judge; leave that to God. And just accept...the moment...the situation...the person...and know that there's enough for all. All the time.

And He said we should be happy knowing that God loves us, and not to worry.

Maybe Jesus was God's son for the Jews. And maybe Mohammed was God's son for Arabs. And maybe Buddha was God's son for Asians. And on and on -- for every culture and every group, I suspect there was someone divinely enlightened...and with a very special relationship to God.

So, maybe God has all these sons (and I bet there's some women in there too that we never heard about). And He sent them all to live among us -- during different eras and among different cultures -- to spread the word that there is more to us than just eating, and copulating and dying.

Throughout history, His sons and daughters are constantly making introductions: People, this is God. He loves you. He wants you to get to know Him.

Just a theory.

So maybe we, no matter what religion we profess, shouldn't be so all fired up about the supremacy of our own particular brand of faith. Because, in the end, we don't know what's on God's mind...or how He operates. Do we?

Another theory: maybe Jesus was a homosexual.

Do we know? No. Would it matter? Not to me.

So maybe we shouldn't be so quick to deny the gifts of others -- based on whether they're attracted to a square jaw and big shoulders...or soft lips and a full bust.

You know, Jesus had a special message for religious leaders of His day, the Pharisees, who conditioned God's love, and made the people suffer under the weight of obligations and restrictions. Something like this:

And woe to any one of you who leads these innocent ones astray. It would be better for you to tie a millstone around your neck, and cast yourself into the sea.

Everything the man said two-thousand odd years ago packs the same punch today.

And, just like then, we're still not listening.

A thought about resistance

Recently, I had a thought about resistance -- to what is.

Resistance has its rewards - as when you're lifting weights. It builds strength. And certainly, in the face of evil or wrongdoing, resistance often helps bring about change and the overcoming of that evil. I'm think of Jesus and Gandhi and Martin Luther King and and their tradition of non-violent resistance.

But I think that, emotionally, resistance is the cause of much pain. My friend and I were speaking about this recently, and it struck us that our suffering is often colored by resistance and a fixed notion of what ought to be.

Let's say you're gardening, and you've spent most of the morning in beautiful sunshine. Suddenly, in the middle of your work, it begins to thunder and a hard rain starts to fall -- no mere shower, but the kind of weather you need to take cover from.

So how do we react to the storm?

My habitual thought process goes something like this:

I have two whole flats of flowers that I still need to plant, and, even if this rain stops in 10-15 minutes, I will be late for lunch that I've planned with friends -- and, suddenly, all that I had planned to accomplish for the rest of the day must now be postponed for another time.

The rain is plainly an inconvenience. I become angry and frustrated.

But what if I were to accept the rain...simply take it for what it is? And I'm not talking about even arriving at the higher state of acceptance & thanks for the drink of water it brings to the earth...but just pure acceptance with no judgement.

Further, what if I am able to change my notion of what ought to be, in this case, that I should be able to accomplish all my tasks in the alloted time I had initially given myself? False deadlines; naive scheduling.

What if I am able, then, to create another reality for myself? It may be as simple as this:

The rain has begun; it seems time for me to put the rest of the plantings off.

No judgement about the rain. No assumption that the rain should only come after I have completely finished putting the impatience (ironic?) in the soil.

I can first have sympathy for my disappointment...and even feel a sense of pity for this reaction that has welled up in me. But I think that I can try to gently say goodbye to this resistance and drop my notion of what ought to be. Chances are it will not rain forever; the sun will shine again.

This is the recipe for happiness in gardening...and in life, I believe.

Uncertainty

May all those suffering from fear...fear of what may happen...what is happening...what is uncertain in their moment or life situation....

may they know and take comfort in the awareness that certainty is an illusion.

If certainty is an illusion...and all my efforts to be certain...to attain a state of knowing which way something will turn out...or to be guaranteed that what I feel or discover will always be to my liking...if all those things are illusions,

then may I know that it is fruitless to seek certainty...

and may I rest and take comfort in uncertainty...

ever-changing moments.

Some Kind of Heaven

Generosity. What a great word.

It's like compassion with a smile on its face. When we're generous, it's really a very upbeat statement of faith...because there's no worry about insufficiency. There's an understanding that there's enough for all -- and then some.

I think being generous is what we do when we feel blessed and our cup runs over. When it happens naturally...and it is not forced out of some kind of sense of obligation...we may be unaware of how significant the act is...but that's when it's most powerful.

Here's a story of generosity I'd like to share.

Sixty years ago...WW II ended...and the concentration camps of Europe were liberated by the Russians and the English and the Americans.

Tom Lantos was imprisoned in one of those camps, a slave labor camp in Hungary. Tom was a Jew. He was there merely because of the way he worshipped God.

He was 16 when he was placed there, and somehow he managed to survive...skin and bones...hanging onto life...existing on death rations...waiting for deliverance.

After the war, he was awarded a scholarship to a college in Seattle in the U.S.

In a recent television documentary featuring stories of survivors, Tom described one of the defining moments when he knew that he'd left the Holocaust behind. Something like this:

When he arrived at school in Seattle, and it was time to eat, he got on line at the cafeteria, and was handed a tray. Then, the boy who lived on tears and hunger in the slave labor camp, shuffled down the chow line, as cafeteria workers piled great mounds of food on his plate...potatoes, meat, vegetables.

At the end of the line were two great baskets, one filled with oranges, the other with bananas. He remembered his upbringing and imagined that his mother might guide him to take one piece of fruit -- either the banana or the orange.

Unsure what to do, he asked a worker standing by the baskets: "Sir, shall I take a banana or an orange?"

And then the American cafeteria guy replied, "Man you can take all the bananas and all the oranges you want!"

Tom thought to himself..."I knew then that I was in some kind of heaven."

That Tom is today Tom Lantos, venerable California Congressman.

May I be generous, and happy being generous! May you be generous, and may it fill you with happiness.

'Peggy-Sue' and Introspection

Here's something that struck me:

I thought that a seeming contradiction exists between the music I like and my quest for inner silence!

I enjoy lots of different types of music. But my first love is the rock-a-billy sound, early rock, like the Everly Brothers, Buddy Holly, Johnny Burnette. I guess its appeal is its primal beat...that special mix of country and R&B.

I mean, can you possibly resist that combination? Whenever I hear that unique formula--and it's a recipe that I think has made American music universally loved--I've just got to dance, even if it's a chair jig. Oh, I said 'jig'...maybe there's some Celtic "love of music" gene that was switched on at birth. Ha ha.

But it's curious how I could be so emotionally introspective, and yet get such an involuntary jump-start, from way down deep. How do the two jibe?

Maybe I like this kind of music because it doesn't require me to think. Rather, my real self reacts, the part of me that doesn't question what I enjoy or am attracted to. I make no judgements. When I can make space for being...not thinking...joy happens.

And, I think that my response to music is intimately connected with the quest for self knowledge and introspection. When you make room for stillness and being, rather than thinking and analysis, you flourish.

When I can respond to the Now...the present moment...my inner peace grows and strengthens.

The Not so Great State

The not-so-comfortable is good.

It's that place I find myself in a good part of the time -- not extremely happy...not extremely depressed...just so so.

Maybe I'm a little restless, a little groundless.

This is a good place, because if I can stay in this state in comfort, without seeking to escape, I can learn to be more at ease with myself. I don't have to escape these feelings. They're just as much a part of my human existence as is being happy.

And if I can be more at ease with myself, I can be more compassionate with others.

Comfort and Danger

My grandmother will be 96 years on Thursday, and tonight we had a small party for her.

My brothers and sister who live nearby came. And their children were there, too.

We sang 'Happy Birthday' by candelight, and I watched as she looked at all the faces surrounding the table.

I had the distinct sense she was taking it all in to store somewhere. Perhaps she was taking a mental picture. And I knew that perhaps my brothers and sisters were doing the same...storing up a memory for when she is gone.

But I have another memory of Granny that I often think about.

I had to be about five, maybe six years old. I was asleep one night in Vermont, and she came in the room to get in her bed. I woke up and watched her get ready. Then she climbed in to sleep.

Just then a storm rose up, and thunder shook the room with great loud claps. And the quick flashes of lightning made it seem that danger was coming and something terrible would soon happen.

I got out of bed and asked if I could sleep with her, and, as she let me in, she asked what was the matter. She calmed me, saying that storms were nothing to fear. She said that we were safe, inside and warm.

Then she drew me up on the bed, and we knelt looking out the window above it, up into the sky, watching eagerly for the next strikes.

I think we watched the darkness above a nearby hill for a little while, looking for lightning strikes and then listening for the thunder. It was good to watch the danger, to feel it from a safe place.

Pain Brings Wisdom

"In our sleep, pain which cannot forget, falls drop by drop upon the heart until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God." - Aeschylus

Compassion Heals

I'm reading a book now by Pema Chodron called "The Places That Scare You."

My meditation teacher turned me on to it. When she first told our meditation group about it, I thought: "Yipes, even the title is scary. Do I really want to read that?"

Anyway, it's really all about embracing the hurt, the fear, the depression or anxiety from which we tend to run. Chodron's not saying we should revel in feeling depressed or anxious, but rather to accept it as part of our human experience, just as we accept happiness, joy, peace. Her point is that when you learn to accept and be with these emotions or difficulties...they become less immense, less daunting to our experience.

Early on in her book she talks about a Buddhist concept called bodhichitta, which is defined as our innate ability to recognize pain in others and feel compassion. Bodhichitta wells up from within. It is God within, if you will, and it enables the hardest of hearts to connect--on at least some level--with others.

I recognize this. I feel bodhichitta especially when I see other people doing divine things, some little charity -- like the time we were at a barbecue in a park, and I saw my mother pile on a plate of food for a homeless man. I feel it, too, when I'm around children and I'm just surrounded by their innocence.

I also thought of something I recently saw that touched my heart deeply and brought out a whole room full of bodhichitta. I was spending the weekend away in the country with a friend and her two children. The youngest is a four-year-old girl -- a precious angel and very affectionate and sensitive.

One night, we were playing a board game on my porch. Outside, it was thundering, and the house actually shook with each strike. It was pretty wild out, and I had two old oil lamps lit because I knew it was just a matter of time that the power would fail.

We took a break from the game to peer out the window at the bursts of lightning that stretched across the black sky. Each time a long finger of lightning struck it would momentarily reveal the shape of the far off mountain tops and valleys below. We were awe-filled.

Suddenly, out of the blue, the little girl put her hand on the chimney of the lamp. It was of course very hot, but not being used to the workings of such antiques, she was unaware that it would be hot.

What happened next made me want to cry -- the humanity of it. She recoiled from the touch, and yelled "owwww." Then she stretched out her two arms and said, as if to hold us back from rushing to her side, "I'm okay...don't worry!" But no sooner did she get out the last syllable of that short sentence when she buried her head in the chair and sobbed.

We all jumped from our seats to comfort her, and we carried her in the house and ran her hand under cold water and put ice on it. She was indeed fine, and she didn't need medical attention. Nor did the burn cause blisters.

I think what brought out my bodhichitta, aside from feeling compassion for her pain, was her attempt at placating us initially. Perhaps she was afraid she'd be scolded for touching something she wasn't supposed to. Or, perhaps she just didn't want us to worry about her or make a big fuss. Maybe she was embarrased. But, as the pain became too great for her to hide, she acknowledged it and cried out for her mother.

The range of emotion she displayed in three seconds brought me to tears.

And if I can have bodhichitta for this little girl, can I have it for myself?

Loving is Remembrance

What do we remember about who we are? Once, in God's mind and heart and breath...even in his sweat...we were God, too.

Now...today... we are little bits of God spread out over the universe...living in shells that breathe, eat and think.

I believe that when we love, we are actually remembering. Compassion is what we learned then...and what comes leaking through now.

Look, have you ever had the experience of judging someone who you think has done something bad, perhaps something that is totally repulsive to you...to your morality? You are convinced of the way you feel about this...and there is no budging. You are right.

Then, by some accident (or perhaps it's not an accident), you learn another little bit of information about the person; maybe it's a story about some suffering they themselves endured...maybe as a child.

Something unexpected happens; something surprising. Suddenly you feel compassion for them. You make room in your heart for sorrow for the perpetrator, as well as for the victim.

Aren't you shocked by what wells up inside you -- this remembrance of compassion? I know I am sometimes. And doesn't that complicate your thinking.

Maybe this sudden appearance of compassion...of love...is a remembrance of when we were in union with the Creator.

And the remembrance is a reminder that we are still part of him and he of us.

Unconditional love

When I try to remember who I am...who I was...part of the Creator...in Eden...in the universe...filled with His divinity...and no thinking...just being,
I wonder what the love was like.
Then I think of how I held sleeping baby Robert in my arms...his little body held close to my chest...face at rest...fistful of heart beating...causing my ribs to tingle...
His breathing was deep behind still eyes and closed, heavy lids...safe...trusting. I remember the wave of love I felt...rushing past and over...completeness.
God's love. But just a little.

A Warrior

Today, I made up my mind to be brave -- to be a warrior.

What happened was this: I heard a story about a relative who made an anti-semetic comment. She's a cousin. And I heard that when she was told that one of her acquaintances--who is Jewish--had a baby, my cousin asked: "What did they name her?"

Sarah-Jane was the baby's name.

"Not bad for a Jew," said my cousin.

At that moment, when I heard that comment, I decided to become a warrior against stupidity. Maybe 'stupidity' is the wrong word. It's 'ignorance' I want to stand up to, really.

I have suffered through too many jokes or negative comments about blacks, gays, jews, polish, irish. It's been going on too long for my personal comfort -- beginning with dumb stuff I heard as a child.

And I know a little bit about that hurt. When I was a kid, I was mercilessly teased because I had a soft, tender voice. Take your pick...they called me everything: fag, sissy, girl, queer. It hurt...deep.

Now, when I hear a kid speak like that, my heart breaks because I know what their school day is like.

As an adult, while this kind of garbage may not be coming out of my mouth, I am complicit every time I silently smile or change the subject quickly without addressing what was said.

Why can't I say, "Boy, is that an ignorant comment!" Or, how about: "How would you feel if someone said something like that about you?"

I can't because I'm afraid. Afraid I'll be rejected, left out, criticized. That's the plain, awful truth.

But you know what, is it such a risk being rejected by people like that?

But do I really want to play Big Brother (ala 1984, not the TV show) and be in charge of monitoring others? No.

But if I do this right I won't have to worry about other people. Rather, I want to decide how I want to live my life. Do I want to hang around people who say negative, stereotypical...and damn it, hurtful, things about others? No.

And while I'm busy making those important decisions, hopefully I'll get better at being aware of the content of my own thinking.

I'm no angel. Maybe I'm not verbal, but I sure can be cereberally ignorant. Every time I make a judgement about somebody before I've sat down with them and listened to what they have to say, I'm guilty, too.

So much to work on

"Judge and ye shall be judged"...

"Who am I to judge"...

"Grant that I may not judge another man until I have walked a mile in his moccasins"...

Judgement -- of something or someone. Sometimes it's necessary...but I think that usually it isn't.

Even though I've been taught the above platitudes since I was in short pants and buster browns, I've grown into adulthood with the bad habit of judging something as I'm experiencing it -- or worse, even before I experience it. I think that ultimately it restricts me...keeps me from experiencing life...people...situations.

Maybe judgement stems from fear...maybe from a sense of deficiency in myself rather than a perception of something negative I see in others. So, the problem is in me, not outside me.

I don't know if I'll ever figure out why I do this.

But what I'd like to try and do is keep from judging as much as possible -- to experience things...simply to live them. No perception. Maybe it's like the mediative technique of being present with your breath. The focus is on feeling the breath in whatever state it is in...not manipulating it or expecting something of it.

Imagine a day from the time I rise til the hour I sleep again -- with no judgement.

I've read that this will help me be more at peace and more in the present. I hope so.

Could this be what Jesus was practicing when he sat down with tax collectors and theives and prostitutes -- to the dismay of many of the religious authorities of the time?

Who we really are

Did you ever sense that there was more to you than just your concept of who you are, the sum total of your likes, dislikes, opinions, judgements, feelings and moods -- all the things we know and learn about ourselves. It's who we think we are, no?

If you want, you can refer to this as the "me."

I believe that there's more...there's the "I," and it's a deep presence within us that doesn't think -- but knows. It's been there always, and--long after we die in our flesh and blood shells--it'll live on in the universe.

I believe it's God, although my definition of God is changing. I used to perceive God in human form, and, while I still find myself using terms like "Him" when I talk about God, more and more I have trouble picturing a human form in my head. Now I sense God...I feel God...and I think of God as an etheral spirit-eternal residing temporarily in my body.

God is always present...and he (there I go again) is limited only in my capacity to experience God in each and every moment.

Here's a quote from Eckhart Tolle's Stillness Speaks, from a chapter on "Who You Truly Are." I think it perfectly encapsulates this concept...and explains the difference between "me" and "I":

"...The truth is: you don't have a life, you are life. The one life...the one consciousness that pervades the entire universe and takes temporary form to experience itself as a stone or a blade of grass, as an animal, a person, a star or a galaxy."

And later in the chapter, speaking of things we see, like a tree, and being aware of the tree as a result of seeing it, Tolle relates something that's really extraordinary:

"...The truth is you are not somebody who is aware of the tree, the thought, feeling or experience. You are the awareness or consciousness in and by which those things appear.

"As you go about your life, can you be aware of yourself as the awareness in which the entire content of your life unfolds?"