~~~

First, an explanation perhaps. Why months have gone by without a word. A post in October but penned in August. A flurry of opinions I’d sat on for months before that, released into the world with trepidation and with consequences. Life hasn’t really been the same.

How’s your practice? Some might ask. Quite rich, in fact. But different. Relationship. Layers of mystery peeling and revealing a hollow core. Looking for that which must be articulated in order to propel myself into the world of form. Learning the dance. Listening to so many stories, so many lives dwindling–dangling on the edge of oblivion. My own narrative surges and stumbles, shapeless now, receding only to form again. That familiar armor arising, the sting of abandon, of unworthiness, of not belonging, of wanting to fix, of not knowing but wanting to.

I have been writing. Reflecting. For months, I was trying to tell the most important story of all. How can I make them see that this is all I can do? This is what I was born to do, right now? Studying high school algebra and geometry, arithmetic. To prove I am able? Able to do what exactly? How can I show you what this work is about? What my life is about? Tell me yours, your meaning, your heart. I want to listen.

I felt so far away. Floating. Legs dangling, feet heavy and wanting so much to dig themselves into the ground. And then, somehow there was a touch down, and those feet started to grow roots.

It started with several different opportunities to do clinical pastoral education this summer and then an offer of admission to a PhD program in practical theology. All of the sudden, this big career change I have been trying to figure out through the life of this blog started to take shape.

This space originated from a liminal period, a time of stark endings and beginnings. It served its purpose well. Now, as I face the ending of this incredible period of exploration and personal freedom, I see how much a theme transition has actually been in my life. Not that it isn’t in other people’s lives, of course, but more than some people perhaps, I have been in seemingly constant transition for at least the past 14 years. Just as I begin to get comfortable with a job or a home, boom! It changes. A pattern of living that has had both good and bad intentions. I’m moving into it and away from it at the same time just now.

The tagline of this blog: “Exploring living by dying to every moment,” reflects just how much I’ve consciously brought this aspect of present moment transformation, dying and being reborn, into my spiritual practice. Although I know it’s just an idea and has little to do with what is actually happening right now, the fact that I’m about to commit to a place and a career for a minimum of four years is absolutely terrifying.

My writing here has always been stream-of-consciousness, and now I am entering the world of academia where I will not be writing in such a deeply personal way. I welcome that change, but I also mourn the loss of the other. It may be inappropriate to be grieving already, who knows, perhaps I will find time to continue to write in a therapeutic manner as well. But I will definitely be repurposing myself in the service of scholarship. Somehow or other, I will also find a way to continue to find space to be quiet and investigate inwardly, as that is one of the aspects that made me an attractive candidate for the program and which I know is an invaluable asset in chaplaincy and in relationship in general.

I am so grateful to my family, teachers, peers, and one beloved friend in particular who have supported me over these past few months. How incredibly formative and beautiful these life connections and these particular meetings of minds and hearts are. And how, like a flower, they bloom and then fade, fall and emerge again. (There are shoots coming up in the garden already, early March in Connecticut!)

The liminal. Movement. That is all there is. Nothing stays the same but nothingness, space itself.

Read More

I was particularly struck by Ajahn Thanasanti’s words in this conversation with Gina Sharpe because of my own strong desire to be inclusive, which is then reflected in a corresponding aversion to any sense of exclusion and perhaps paradoxically, if unchecked, results in the same! Sadly, I sense a lot of “clubby” behavior, particularly online.

As personalities, we have preferences to be sure. We are going to be more compatible with some than others. We may want to follow back, we may not. That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about unskillful behavior which derives its strength from making others feel wrong, or less of whatever it is that we’re identifying with. And it’s surprising to see in communities of people that have ostensibly dedicated themselves to practicing right thought, right speech, right action–that is, a path of awakening.

While I am not trying to call any particular individuals or organizations out, I also know it’s not helpful to speak entirely in general terms. I therefore offer some public conversations which are reflective of some of these exclusive tendencies. A particularly worrying example to me was an attempt at (racially-charged) humor, which went south fast, in a certain online spiritual magazine. Then there was a jump-to-the-defense response (see the comments) to criticism of the cost and lack of diversity associated with a conference in July. From many different folks, there were cries of elitism (edit: new link brought to my attention; again, check out the comments) and lack of transparency in response to the Maha Teacher’s Council in June (which I was blissfully ignorant of while hanging offline in Nova Scotia). And recently I’ve also seen some discussions, for example, around a “Buddhist chattering class”, where concerns about intention and authenticity are not always handled in the most respectful way.

An article (and presumably, the accompanying retreat) in the Fall 2011 Tricycle by Rita Gross explores how deeply ingrained is the behavior which separates: traditionalists vs. progressives, old-timers vs. next generation, practitioners vs. academics, bodhisattva vs. arahant ideals, and really you-name-it sectarianism in a religiously diverse world. Can we take a look at this and what role we play in bolstering these fearful tendencies of exclusion?

We can create all kinds of problems in this way, can’t we? ‘I’m a Theravada Buddhist; therefore I can’t learn from those Tibetan Buddhists or those Zen Buddhists.’ It’s very easy for us to become sectarian in this way because, if something is different from what we’re used to, we suspect it of not being as good as or as pure as what we’ve devoted ourselves to…But I think the problem is not so much in ‘shopping’ as in attaching to a teacher or tradition to the point where you have to exclude all others. That makes for a sect, a sectarian mind, with which people cannot recognise wisdom or learn from anything unless it’s in the exact words and conventions that they are used to. That keeps us very limited, narrow and frightened. People become afraid to listen to another teacher because it might cause doubt to arise in their minds, or they might feel that they are not being a loyal student of their particular tradition. The Buddhist Path is to develop wisdom, and loyalty and devotion help in that. But if they are ends in themselves, then they are obstacles.

‘Wisdom’ in this sense means using wisdom in our practice of meditation. How do we do that? How do we use wisdom? By recognising our own particular forms of pride, conceit, and the attachments we have to our views and opinions, to the material world, to the tradition and the teacher, and to the friends we have. Now this doesn’t mean that we think we shouldn’t attach, or that we should get rid of all these. That’s not wise either, because wisdom is the ability to observe attachment and understand it and let go – rather than attach to ideas that we shouldn’t be attached to anything.–Ajahn Sumedho

I’m heavy on the links and the quotes today, but I suppose I figure they speak for themselves. I’ve just read How Can I Help? Stories and Reflections on Service. It was a tender and poignant book about learning how to be in the world in service, in a way which honors our fundamental unity. In it, a story of a member of the National Guard is recounted (my emphasis). I think it’s instructive.

We were standing at attention, just a bunch of ordinary guys called up for this situation: a major demonstration in Washington against the war in Vietnam. Our job was to protect the Pentagon, which was a ludicrous idea to most of us—about as ludicrous but not as funny as this group of people over to a side who were doing this magical ritual in which they were going to levitate the Pentagon. They had chants and dances and they were into it and having a great time. I liked it. One guy actually yelled, “I saw it rise, I swear.” It was hard not to laugh, even feel a part of it. I was rooting for it to rise too—why not? But I couldn’t really be a part of it, at least at that moment. And it wasn’t any easier because of how the rest of the demonstrators were treating us.

Anyhow, this girl approached me and placed this flower in my rifle. She didn’t even look me in the eye. I might have been anyone. Then she stepped back, and everyone applauded and congratulated her, and she looked pretty pleased with herself. And they had this “Make Love, Not War” poster, but it didn’t feel like love to me. It was like I wasn’t even there. But of course I was. Turned out there was a picture to prove it. Right on the front page of the paper, with me standing there looking like a stiff and her all angelic. The Associated Press got hold of it and it went out all over the world. I felt used. Thing is, I’d been coming around to feeling the war was wrong. But that experience just pushed me back. There was nothing among those people in front of me that felt like they were inviting me in. If anything, quite the contrary.

So I stayed kind of noncommittal for a while afterwards. A year or so later, I went down to Fort Benning to visit two Army friends who were getting ready to ship out to Vietnam. We hung out at this coffeehouse near the base. Very interesting place. New records, magazines, nice feeling, you could smoke a little out back, and just relax and talk among soldiers away from the base. I found out it was run by some antiwar activists, who had been setting them up at bases all around the country. Very simple idea. Just right. I talked to the guy who ran this one. He said, “Well, these guys are going to be doing the fighting…”

So there was an atmosphere of frank talk among the soldiers. And I heard how most of them really questioned the war, how low morale was out there, how guys were basically ducking and staying low. One guy said, “You know where the real peace movement is? In the foxholes. The guys who are just keeping alive and not diving into this whole mess. That’s what’s going to end this war.” And it’s true. It’s still an unwritten story about Vietnam. That night, at that coffeehouse, was the moment I really decided to become active against the war.

If you want to communicate with someone, if you want to hear and to be heard, you certainly don’t want to make the other person feel invisible. People ask why our communities aren’t more diverse. While I think the answer to that is complex and varied, the most obvious one is that we don’t welcome diversity or, even worse, we deny that racism and sexism and all the rest of it is something we need to take a look at in all their gross and subtle manifestations. It’s not surprising that so many of the examples I chose in the beginning of this post have to do with either 1) race, 2) fees/access, or 3) power/transparency/authenticity. They are obviously related.

I don’t have much more to say about this at the moment other than that I hope to take a look at my own tendencies toward wanting to belong (the pleasure principle is in effect here too) and to how that in turn fosters separateness. As I continue to use social media to connect with others, I would like to make a concerted effort to use it to dialogue with not only those who are my “natural” allies, but also those who may have a different vernacular, or a different background, or a different way of seeing the world. Though some may question my words here or think that raising these issues is divisive and fundamentally dualistic, I assure you that my intention is 1) to recognize the relative truth of these human behaviors, thereby hopefully avoiding my own spiritual bypassing; and 2) to commit to use technology for arguably its best function: to unify.

And I think that’s it for the ditthi (opinion) pieces for a while…Thanks for listening.

—

Further thoughts

Read Alan Senauke On Race and Buddhism at the Angry Asian Buddhist blog.

Listen to Diverse World, Diverse Sangha, a conversation with Gina Sharpe, Larry Yang and IMS Executive Director Bog Agoglia

Read Emptiness is Blackness by Brannu at Cosmic Echo in addition to his rich comments on my last post here and here

Consider Reflections: Ajahn Sucitto | Spiritual Friendship, Part 1 quoted previously, for a more positive view on belonging.

Celebrate Coming Home: A Mindfulness Retreat for LGBTIQ Communities and the annual People of Color retreats at IMS and Vallecitos Mountain Ranch and elsewhere.

Know about Urban Refuge: A virtual sangha for practitioners of color, allies, and all others interested in promoting racial and cultural diversity in Western Buddhism.

A few months back, I wrote about a difficult period. A friend had just relapsed and was hospitalized twice. It seemed hopeless. I was afraid he had not yet hit rock bottom. I thought that he might die. At the time, I didn’t even think about it. I got a call. I knew where he was. I got in the car and drove. He was in detox and heavily drugged. I didn’t pretend that I was going to have any influence, I just offered my love and presence. I hit a wall. I thought: I’m not ready for this, I don’t know how to handle this, I can’t take care of myself so that I can be the best friend I can be here. After five+ months of the same friend in active recovery, voluntarily committing to semi-weekly phone conversations with me, these are clearly thoughts proven untrue.

As I was writing that post, I started to go off on a tangent, recognizing my tendency to feel inadequate. To feel not good enough. I realized it wasn’t the time to write it, but I’ve been holding onto it. And while, again, this enters into dangerous territory where opinions and beliefs and egos may come to play, I’ve done enough alluding to this frustration on the sidelines, in personal correspondence, and I think it’s time to put it out there for a broader audience to reflect on and discuss. Basically, I need to get it off my chest.

In particular, I think about my theory of why there are far more men spiritual teachers than women, and I believe it’s our respective conditioning, and the fact that I will always consider myself first a student (i.e., not wise enough)*. And I think many women are similar in that respect. They don’t perceive themselves, much less promote themselves as teachers as much as students. I may be going out on a limb here, but I don’t think it’s so outrageous to assume that this is partially due to the basic biological fact that we receive sexually, that we do not assert. In moments of thinking that, I feel so limited by concept and conditioning, by my sexual organs–almost angry at my womanhood. And yet, I know, that is also what makes me capable of being a nurturer, a caregiver, a rainy-day friend. Probably more so the contemplative practice is the cause of that, but this is where the female conditioning is a plus on many levels–having led me to the path, and made me interested in my emotional life and that of others. Still, the frustration is palpable, as social networks and the free-flow of information reflect the same old biases and habits of human organization, authority and so on. And in general, there’s so much more masculine energy than feminine in these pursuits. I don’t mean male and female here. More like the difference between someone who writes from an academic perspective, or with a professional veneer (whether fees are involved in the offering or not), versus someone who makes themselves vulnerable and shows their weaknesses. It feels imbalanced. It feels exclusive.

A spiritual magazine I know of suggests that 2/3 of its readership are women. And my experience on retreat is that nearly 2/3 of the yogis are women. This is the case both here and in Burma. In my own little sangha at home, we are almost exclusively female. When the men do show up, the whole energy changes–even in silence. And although my teacher here was deeply influenced by two women teachers and incorporates this in his own teaching, it always feels strange to be doing kinhin, to be giving deference to, and to be shepherded by one man. How many classical teachers, how many contemporary teachers, how many people that have a guiding role in your practice are female? It’s frankly, disempowering to be so under-represented by teachers when so many practitioners are women. I wonder what the hell it feels like to be a person of color, where as one friend put it, you always have to go through a white man to get anything. To buy a car, to get a mortgage, to get your education, and so on. Not to mention religious imagery. Oy vey.

Meanwhile there’s so much sectarianism within Buddhism. Perhaps people who follow this blog because they consider me “Buddhist” are turned off by my discussions of nonduality, or people who consider this a contemplative blog are turned off by my more opinion-oriented pieces. We are all attracted to sameness, and I’m just as guilty–it’s just that I tend to feel drawn to wisdom seekers who are non-dogmatic and non-dualistic regardless of culture, religion, gender, and so on. These superficial differences are what make us unique, and yet they are also a part of all of our makeup. We can only begin to truly understand unity when we recognize and affirm difference, when we learn to communicate in ways that are inclusive and cross-cultural. This kind of dialogue is crucial to the evolution of our collective consciousness–our spiritual and emotional development as the human race.

What can you do to help support the development of communities that are culturally diverse and representative? To cultivate the feminine, the masculine, in your self? To encourage the development of serious students into valuable teachers, women and men alike? Who are your teachers? In daily life, what is your best teacher? What makes that possible?

Please do think about it.

In closing, I’d like to offer two different views on the “not enough” syndrome. One which leads to someone going ahead and teaching, and one which leads to someone opting not to. I relate more to the latter, but I also applaud the courage of the former and am hugely grateful that she is bringing the fruits of her practice to a group that may otherwise not have any access. I respect that it takes time to season and develop as a student, as a teacher, as a phenomenal human being. But I also think we need to stretch ourselves so that we can be all three all the time.

Do you ever think that you’re not good enough? I respectfully suggest you question that assumption.

Acceptance is a big thing. When any of us dig down through all the layers of trying to get it right and wondering what others think about us, it’s likely that we’ll stick at a level of the murky but familiar self-judgement: ‘Not good enough.’ Have you ever wondered what it would take to be ‘good enough?’ Would it arise through having more of this quality, or less of that? Or is it a matter of trying harder? However, the likelihood is that all that doubt and struggle is going to hamper one’s performance or cramp one’s heart – so that the end result is more ‘not good enough.’ So it’s just downright pragmatic to begin with self-acceptance: ‘At this time, this sense of being me feels like this.’ There’s clarity and calm in that. Right now we can’t be any other way, but we’ll certainly operate at an optimum and run a lot smoother if clarity and calm replace that nagging ‘not good enough.’

–Ajahn Sucitto

—

*If you dispute this assertion, just take a look at the 100 most spiritually influential people (I have no idea how they come up with this), or the guests interviewed on say Buddhist Geeks (they actually have a separate category for “female voices”). There are certainly women represented, but they are usually not of the same caliber, or aren’t even teachers per se, and one wonders if they weren’t just selected for their gender as opposed to their wisdom.

—

An important note: I would like to thank the totally inspiring Miriam Louisa for her contributions to and efforts to support a community of wide awake women.

—

See:

Is It Cold in Here? | Cocktail Party Physics, Scientific American (another context–but similar subtle discrimination)

Reflections: Ajahn Sucitto | Spiritual Friendship, Part 1 (source of the “not good enough” quote)

Practice by Barry Briggs at Ox Herding, on the ultimate of ultimate “not enoughs”

Related post:

Some Challenges of Living a Contemplative Life Today

I initially understood these words from the Hsin hsin ming in an absolute manner. No preferences period. Not surprising since just generally, something I’ve struggled with as both a child and an adult is the image of being one who has strong opinions. Not generally a good image, right? It’s tricky to be sure, to learn how to communicate our views in a way that is respectful, in which we might actually have some influence or at least be heard, and it’s a lifetime practice to learn how to be most skillful in sharing them. So what does it mean, further along in the poem, that nothing is excluded?

It may be the personality trait that I have least liked about myself. In fact, I remember saying to my family before I went off on a one-way ticket to Yangon for retreat that I wasn’t planning to come back until I’d softened those edges, until maybe I was no longer “opinionated”. I went thinking if I could just rehabilitate long enough, maybe I could get rid of any preferences. It’s sad that this wrong view was part of what motivated me to do intensive practice. But, hey, whatever it takes–and generally it’s suffering of some sort or another. Often (if not always) self-inflicted as a result of believing one’s thoughts. Of course, after spending a long time investigating those opinions and the workings of the mind and heart that inform them–most importantly the causal relationships therein, I regard them much more gently. And, by no stretch of the imagination have they disappeared, nor would I want them to.

An example of how clearly being attached to ones preferences can bring suffering to light–something as small as being served ice cream (a gift) and suddenly rejecting the one that’s being handed me, as I eye the flavor I really want–all non-verbally. And then the sting of guilt over having a preference and utter remorse for expressing it. Perhaps more important is recognizing things as they are, not resisting. In the first moment it meant durian ice cream but the next included preference for taro, and the one after that guilt and so on. When does the cycle end? Where do we unhook from our suffering?

As perfectly socially acceptable and expected as it may be, it occurs to me that I still very much believe that it’s somehow unseemly to express opinions in a public way. For this reason, I’ve often stuck to more personal topics in this forum. Now this is not the way to get tons of subscribers, clearly. And given that, I never anticipated collecting the dedicated readers that I have over the years. Even with the pressures of social graph indicators like Klout, and the rush to become Google+ famous, over the past month of reflecting on my writing it’s clear that I ultimately write for myself and will continue to do so. In fact, must. It’s impossible to please everyone, particularly because my audience is rather diverse. I haven’t felt terribly inspired, but what I have felt passionate to write about recently are in areas where I hold strong opinions. Emotional topics. These are the ones where the one part of my brain says “scream and yell to the stars!” and the other part of my brain says “DANGER…abort mission!” before I can possibly publish the words and so, they just sit in the draft folder forever. I am deeply conditioned to not want to express opinions. To not want to be contentious. To only want to share ideas with friendly and compatible people. And this is a disadvantage. The only way through is in. I have to ask and explore exactly what are my fears, what are the things that make me bristle, where are my boundaries? I want very much to learn how to speak different languages, different cultural vernaculars, different religious frameworks. I want to bridge seeming divides, not create stronger fortresses. Meanwhile, attachment to nonattachment is still attachment.

So, in the interest of that strongest of intentions: open dialogue, I am going to allow myself to publish on some topics (which are wholly not new as I have addressed them before, so what’s the big deal?) that make me a little uneasy. To those of my readers who would prefer not to read opinions, please stay tuned. As of September 9, I will have begun a yearlong training in contemplative caregiving with Zen Care. I am very excited and know that it will generate a lot of food for thought as I will be approaching my hospice and other caregiving in new and challenging ways. I suspect there will be much to share.

To all, should you choose–first and foremost acknowledging our preferences lovingly–please accept the opinions with the poems and the practice notes and reflections as part of this moving and shifting body-mind as it is now. I appreciate so much your participation in this unfolding.

~~~

The Mind of Absolute Trust by Seng-ts’an (Stephen Mitchell translation)

The great way isn’t difficult
for those who are unattached to their preferences.
Let go of longing and aversion,
and everything will be perfectly clear.
When you cling to a hairbreadth of distinction,
heaven and earth are set apart.
If you want to realize the truth,
don’t be for or against.
The struggle between good and evil
is the primal disease of the mind.
Not grasping the deeper meaning,
you just trouble your mind’s serenity.
As vast as infinite space,
it is perfect and lacks nothing.
But because you select and reject,
you can’t perceive its true nature.
Don’t get entangled in the world;
don’t lose yourself in emptiness.
Be at peace in the oneness of things,
and all errors will disappear by themselves.

If you don’t live the Tao,
you fall into assertion or denial.
Asserting that the world is real,
you are blind to its deeper reality;
denying that the world is real,
you are blind to the selflessness of all things.
The more you think about these matters,
the farther you are from the truth.
Step aside from all thinking,
and there is nowhere you can’t go.
Returning to the root, you find the meaning;
chasing appearances, you lose their source.
At the moment of profound insight,
you transcend both appearance and emptiness.
Don’t keep searching for the truth;
just let go of your opinions.

For the mind in harmony with the Tao,
all selfishness disappears.
With not even a trace of self-doubt,
you can trust the universe completely.
All at once you are free,
with nothing left to hold on to.
All is empty, brilliant,
perfect in its own being.
In the world of things as they are,
there is no self, no non self.
If you want to describe its essence,
the best you can say is “Not-two.”
In this “Not-two” nothing is separate,
and nothing in the world is excluded.
The enlightened of all times and places
have entered into this truth.
In it there is no gain or loss;
one instant is ten thousand years.
There is no here, no there;
infinity is right before your eyes.

The tiny is as large as the vast
when objective boundaries have vanished;
the vast is as small as the tiny
when you don’t have external limits.
Being is an aspect of non-being;
non-being is no different from being.
Until you understand this truth,
you won’t see anything clearly.
One is all; all
are one. When you realize this,
what reason for holiness or wisdom?
The mind of absolute trust
is beyond all thought, all striving,
is perfectly at peace, for in it
there is no yesterday, no today, no tomorrow.

~~~

See Also

Hsin hsin ming translation by Zen Master Hae Kwang

Koan Practice: The Great Way is Not Difficult If You Just Don’t Pick and Choose by John Tarrant (Shambhala Sun, Nov 2004, originally published in the book “Bring Me the Rhinoceros”)

Avoiding Disaster, a dharma talk by Koshin Paley Ellison