Elvis - on Being a Fool

Elvis said it best: "Now and then, there's a fool such as I."

I'd like to be a fool.

What I mean is that sometimes the best position is that of a fool -- one who has no answers.  A fool might even already have the answers; he or she just hasn't articulated it -- to themselves or to the world.

May I be a fool today.

Worth Quoting

Being is the great explainer.

- Henry David Thoreau

Suffering and Sustenance

Today, any suffering I create for myself

is an illusion

because it lives

astride the reality that Love is present

in and around me in the universe.

It is in every cell

of every

thing,

even in my breath.

I will know it

by

feel and smell and taste and whispers

in the wind.

It is rich, this love,

this spring,

this ceaseless miracle,

this bubbling well of sustenance.

Can I cup my hands

and offer

a drink?

Affirming...versus...Asking for Well Being

This post is a reflection on the meditative practice of Metta...the Buddhist-based practice of discovering and affirming the essential goodness of ourselves and others.

This tool is designed to help us soften our hearts to compassion for ourselves...and others.

For many, it is a particularly helpful method of dealing with difficult people, remembering that, despite the current situation, these people are basically good...and they desire to be happy -- just as we do.

The practice consists of meditating on a series of traditional phrases:

• 
  
  May I be safe
  
  
• 
  
  May I have peace of mind
  
  
• 
  
  May I have physical well-being
  
  
• 
  
  May I have ease of well-being.

Many people who practice Metta often have trouble with the words "May I."

For me, the conflict arose when my meditation teacher instructed us that, when we say these words in this practice, we should remember to affirm our right to safety, peace of mind, physical and overall ease of well-being.

We are not asking for these things. How, I asked myself, could I get my mind around the dichotomy of meditating on these affirmatively...while using words that evoke a request, as in a prayer. In fact, my struggle with this is deeper than using words that don't seem to fit the occassion.

It has a lot to do with feeling deserving of these states of being.

But that's a whole 10 sessions on the therapist's couch. Rather, I want to share here a realization that I recently had -- which I think helps me understand Metta better (that rhymes). I hope this helps others who may be struggling with affirming...asking...being aware.

This is a letter that I sent to my meditation teacher on March 19, 2006. Please forgive my irreverant humor.

---

Dear Carole, I had a revelation…an “A-ha!” moment last night at Mass that I’d like to share with you.

After meditating with the Host at communion, I heard the priest say: “The Lord be With You.”

Now, that’s a phrase I’ve heard by rote since I was in short pants and Jack Kennedy was sleeping with hookers in the Lincoln bedroom. This time, however, the meaning of it hit me in a powerful, new way.

I suddenly realized that ‘the Lord be With You’ is an affirmation…not a request. The Lord is with us always, and if there’s any request at all in that phrase…it’s not to the Lord…it’s an implied request for us to wake up & recognize that the Lord is with us.

It’s like Metta’s “May I be safe.” We’re not asking for it…we’re already safe, and we have the capacity to know this essential truth. We’re just reminding ourselves of that inherent safety…and perhaps more importantly, our ability to wake up and know that we’re safe.

Carole, this has reaffirmed by belief that it is beautiful to learn about all our brothers’ & sisters’ spiritual traditions.

The truths of Buddhism, Christianity, Judaism, Hinduism, Islam, any tradition that draws us closer to the Spirit…are like so many flickers of gold in the divine stream. If we do the work and pan for those glimmering bits of wisdom and insight, we become rich…enlightened.

Thanks for your priceless guidance!

Christopher Reeve's Widow Dies at Age 44

Perhaps today Dana & Christopher Reeves are running together, hand-in-hand, through a celestial blue surf.

The Space Between Breaths

During meditation yesterday, as I was focusing on my breath, I became aware of a message.

It was a kind of 'knowing': 'Pay attention to the space between the breaths, too.'

So I began to become aware of that space, how my lungs feel as they get ready to fill up again...the slight pang of compression that comes before I actually draw in the new air.

That space...that second in which the body takes a break from breathing...is very interesting. It is also uncomfortable.

As I practiced over and over again, I became aware that this space, this uncomfortability, is part of the process. It is to be noticed...even appreciated...along with the joyful reassurance of full, satisfied lungs.

I think that this was a good message for me to hear...and to know.

The uncomfortable parts of life are part of the process, my process. The stuff you can't figure out or that causes you pain and suffering--they are tied into the fun, peaceful times.

Sad or happy, mad or at peace...these are just states of body and mind. They don't define me.

And, if I choose to...or if I'm disciplined enough...I can recognize that...and accept the pluses and minuses together--as just experiences, simply experiences.

One by one, they will arise and fall away...but I'll still be here.

Sometimes it's so hard for me to just be.

It's like I've got this war going on inside of my head, a series of debates.

It happens when something makes me sad or angry, and the internal conversation typically sounds like this: "Oh, that's not right...I shouldn't have thought that!" Or, "Don't be so judgemental of him/her."

I get so tired sometimes because I don't want to figure everything out...and yet...I feel like I have this need to do that. And then there are situations in life, encounters with friends or family--or personal issues that I deal with daily--that I haven't got any power over. But I'm still left with these feelings of helplessness or anger or judgement -- a sense that something is wrong, like a murky cloud that hugs the earth...obstructing my view.

I don't like feeling this way.

I'm throwing my hands up. I surrender.

• May I have compassion for my feelings.
• May I feel God's spirit telling me that it's okay.
• May I just be.
• May everybody, everywhere know that it's okay to just be.

Steady

Steady.

I need to remind myself to be aware of each moment as it comes. I want to put my trust out there to relieve myself of the burden of suffering. I can do that by breathing, and knowing only that breath...for just that short moment. And yet, I can extend this joy by breathing and knowing...breathing and knowing...over and over again.

And I want to take refuge in Jesus. I have this image of Him and me looking across a green pasture. It is bordered on one side by a wall of old stone, dug up from the soil by generations of worriers before me, farmers. Behind us is a narrow dirt road, lined on each side by sugar maple trees - flaming in their red and orange autumn clothes. The odd birch tree that stands among them adds a mix of green.

There is a pleasant sound of leaves flickering in the slightest stir of air.

And the sun is warming, reaching deep down to my bones.

We sit there, He and I. We have our arms around each other's shoulder, like two childhood buddies who have not let adulthood shame them. And we look across the field to the mountains beyond.

Hawks criss-cross the sky, and there is the scent of fresh cut hay.

All we need to do is rest. The silence is our dialogue.

No thinking. Just being.

All is well.

This is enough for Him…

And all I ever want.

Hate

I added a link about hate today.

It's a website created to remember the survivors of the Holocaust, the Nazi campaign to eliminate the Jews of Europe and Russia. They also killed Gypsies, the handicapped, homosexuals and others they deemed undesirable and unfit to breathe.

Since I first learned about the Holocaust in high school, I still can't believe that this happened in plain sight, out in the open for the world to see.

And I used to think that this kind of thing could never happen again, but, really, when you look at world history, it is a repeating cycle of one group killing another.

The culprit: the delusion that we are different...because of religion...or skin color...or nationality...or sexuality. Suffering from this delusion, we then create a superior...and an inferior.
The antidote: love, and if you can't love, awareness...that everyone is an individual - not a race or a group.

I have seen tons of holocaust pictures. I've seen movies of bulldozers moving bodies into mass graves. I've seen pictures of frightened, dazed people...torn from their beds at night...and herded into cattle rail cars for a trip to the death camps. I even visited a concentration camp, Dachau, in Germany.

And at the U.S. Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C., I saw an exhibit of thousands of shoes stripped from people, as they arrived in those camps and were methodically turned from individuals to numbers.

This stuff is never easy to look at. But at some point, maybe because of the sheer scale of the horror, the brain shuts off. To protect yourself, you become numb, steeled.

But then there's this photo -- above. It makes me shudder every time I look at it.

This woman tries to cover her child as a German SS officer aims his gun at them. There is no logic in her action. In the photo, off to the left, other rifles have just felled more victims. She can't think that her child will escape death.

No, at work here is just the pure instinct of a mother trying to protect her baby.

This picture is the best argument for love not hate.

Don't want to let February pass without a small tribute to a pioneer and legend of classic Rock-n-Roll: Buddy Holly.

Buddy died in the first hours of a bone cold, snowy February 3, 1959, along with stars Ritchie Valenz ("Donna") and the Big Bopper ("Chantilly Lace") in a small plane taking off from their gig in Clear Lake, Iowa. They were headed for their next stop on the infamous Winter Dance Party tour of the American Midwest.

This photo was taken from a backstage angle that night.

I wasn't even alive when he was making hits. Still, during a 50s revival in the 70s, I 'discovered' him.

I like Holly because of his wonderful "Rock-a-Billy" sound, that unique mixture of American country music and rock. He's one of the best in that genre, right up there with folks like the Everly Brothers and Gene Vincent.

Check out the link to the right, where there are a lot of good Holly tunes. I recommend clicking on Jukebox #6 to listen to "Think it Over."http://www.dapatchy.com/oldies/

Right before his death, he was venturing more into writing and producing. Indeed, the music he recorded himself in his NY apartment, and which he left behind, showed remarkable creativity -- advanced for that time period. The Beatles, the ubergroup of the 60s, who I think represent one of the mileposts in the progression of R&R, said that they were highly influenced by the sound of Holly.

Anyway, thanks for the music, Bud. If I get to 'heaven,' you're on the list of people I want to meet. After Jesus, of course.

Snow Day

Today, my world is white.  There’s close to two feet of snow on the ground now, and it’s still coming down – fast, driven sideways by the wind.

From the window, my view is obscured by drifts, but I can see that the world has shut down.  

No cars in the street…only the muffled sound of children making the most of this fresh coating of imagination.  With it, they’ll make castles and forts and pretend to fight long ago battles – but with snowballs not bullets.

I’m happy, warm…inside.  My morning newspaper was delivered in the wee hours sometime. It’s buried somewhere on my front path.

Who cares? I’ll read my book, the one I got for Christmas that I’ve been meaning to pick up and start.

I’m happy that the world has stopped, if just for a day. A forced period of rest, quiet.

I wish people everywhere could have a snow day.

The 60s, Part I: Memories of an American Catholic Boy

Seems the fog in my mind thickens as I log each new year, but these things I can still see:

• Lots of “shoo-be-doo-be-doo” songs on the radio (no Beatles yet)


• on the menu at the barber shop: crew cuts…or…an “Ivy League”


• Dad’s white sox and loafers...and strong, hairy arms


• Aunts biting (yes, aunts…not ants) the fat on my cheeks (they were driven by love…which I didn’t understand then…but do now)


• The Hi-fi belting out The Tokens’ doowop classic “The Lion Sleeps Tonight”


• Me singing along: “a whim-a-way…a whim a way”


• Woolworth’s photo booth


• Jack & Jackie


• The milkman, who, while we all slept, left us milk (all kinds of colors, too) and juice, cookies and other goodies. Kids on the block used the metal milk boxes outside their front doors to store baseball gloves (never baseball cards or the gum that came with the cards)


• A man who came with his very own floor-wax machine—sometimes he gave us rides on it while he polished our floors


• A man who sharpened things for a living. He drove a truck down the neighborhood streets, gonging his bell for people to bring out their knives


• Sunday morning: waking up to the smell of bacon and finding pressed outfits, shined shoes, bowties, socks -- all ready for church


• Mom's white gloves & a hat with fake, blue flowers on top
• Sunday afternoon: The smell of whiskey and cigarettes...the aroma that came with kissing Aunt Gert & Uncle Dennis

Some stuff happening that I wasn’t aware of:

• the brink of nuclear destruction…Castro/Cuba/Kruschev…the Berlin Wall


• Americans suffering indignities -- barred from sitting at a café lunch counter, voting, attending school with white kids
• the Ku Klux Klan
• the Boston Strangler

The 60s, P II: Memories of an American Catholic Boy

• Matchbox racing cars and trucks for 99 cents


• 45 RPMs for 45 cents


• JFK shot
• Sunday night: homework checked


• More Sunday night: a roast beef dinner, then Disney and Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom on television, and then bed…no exceptions


• That sick feeling in your stomach knowing you had to go to school the next day and you might get smacked in the head by Sister Ferocious, RSM


• Desserts: Duncan Hines cakes, Jello, boxed eclairs


• Earning 25 cents from Auntie Ann for vacuuming up the stairs (I still have that quarter)


• S&H stamps...but also food stamps


• In school, the nuns asking which one of us would abandon Christ if Communists with machine guns burst into the school room and demanded that all Christians stand up in order to be executed


• RFK shot, MLK shot,


• Riots, protests


• Worrying that the North Vietnamese were going to bomb our town


• Worrying that the Chinese laundryman was really a Communist and that he would snatch me and smuggle me back to China


• Tears streaming down my face from the cold wind, as my sled plunged through the snow on 'suicide hill’


• Peeing in my snow suit because my hands were frozen, and I couldn’t open the fly buttons


• Watching men walk on the moon on our TV


• Taking the public bus, at age nine, alone, to babysit for my Aunt who lived on downtown Main Street


• Getting government cheese…and eating it


• Eight-hour trips to visit Granny and Gramps in the country, along winding small roads, six kids rammed into a two-door fastback Chevy Impala, the 8-track of “Roger Williams” playing over and over again


• Hung on our refrigerator door, newspaper pictures of kids from faraway lands like Bangladesh with bellies bloated from malnutrition, pictures that were supposed to make me finish my dinner


• Grandma's amber-colored "medicine," which, curiously, she took in a high-ball glass, mixed with ice cubes


• The statue of Virgin Mary at my childhood parish, St. Kevin's Church. On the way home from school, I stopped in to church and stared at her for one whole hour. She winked at me: a miracle. Despite my devotion, my Mom hit me with a wooden spoon when I got home because I'd been AWOL.

Prayer from an American

Lord, eternal spirit, voice in my soul,
I’m not likely to slow down long enough today to take much notice…
of what’s going on…
inside of me…
or with my friends or family…
and certainly not the guy I pass on the street.

You see, I’m busy working; it’s what I like to do.
And, I’m also driving in my car…
and talking on my cell phone…
And when I get home, I need to put in some time on my computer,
and I know I’ll have my head phones on listening to music, too…
and then I’ll do some shopping,
go to the gym…
grab a bite…
and probably watch TV…before hitting the sack.

I’ve been accused of being brash, pushy...but it’s really because I want to get things done – and fast – not because I’m a bad person. So, please don’t think I’m horrible when I ask this, Lord, but here goes:

Considering how much I’ve got on my plate, would you mind speaking louder when you talk to me?

Usually, I can only hear you (and I’ve got to say, it’s not very often) very late at night, while I’m trying to sleep…or sometimes even when I am dreaming…
or when I am in church…
in short, all those times that I’m supposed to be quiet – and everybody else is, too.

But, hey, I want to keep in touch because, well, because I love you. You mean more to me than anything. I really mean that, although I'd be lying if I said I didn't like my house, and my car, too.

Basically, when the chips are down, you're the one to go to for help and comfort. I'm no dummy; this I know.

And I believe that you want me to help people everywhere, not because I'm supposed to, but because it'll help me become a better person. You want me to be as compassionate as I possibly can – because you, my creator, are compassionate.

So, Lord, if you don't crank up the volume on those whispers, I won't remember to do all that stuff.

Wait. Did you just say something to me?

- Don Munro

One of the things that keeps me sane around Christmas is the image of Christ as an infant.

I sometimes fantasize about what it would be like to be a time traveler and go back for 15 minutes on the night of His birth, and sneak into the manger, besides the donkeys and lambs…just to stand by and look at him.

In the stable, with Mary & Joseph looking on, all the sacrifices, the tragedy and the pain to befall Christ as an adult…have yet to come.

For now, they are resting…they’re in transition…but enjoying the peace.

The simple joy of beholding the peace and goodness of the newborn Jesus…on that hushed night...turns into the focal point of my faith.

I won't worry about where I'm going, or what the future will bring. I will allow myself to instead rest in the peace of the moment of the manger – the air still and heavy with the Spirit of God. I'll even pick Him up and cradle Him in my arms.

I'm going to stay for as long as I like…no need to rush ahead.

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.