Kleshas and Tanhas

Switching to WordPress

2011-10-31T18:36:00.002-04:00

Due to convenience, Kleshas and Tanhas will be moving to WordPress.
The URL is now http://kleshasandtanhas.wordpress.com/
Sorry for any of those who were following via the site, and not through the FACEBOOK Kleshas and Tanhas fan page.

Service as Duty? What the Hell?

2011-10-29T16:13:00.003-04:00

Wait. What? Service is a duty that we as human beings, social creatures, are supposed to perform? Get out of here! I want my Facebook! I worked hard in this capitalistic society. I ain’t giving nothing away to nobody that ain’t earned it. I don’t care if it’s my time, my prayers, or money. I sure as hell ain’t giving freebies away.

Immanuel Kant strings his metaphysics through Christianity’s New Testament teachings. “This virtue is greater when the benefactor’s means are limited and he is strong enough quietly to take on himself the hardship he spares the other; then he is really to be considered morally rich.”[1] This clearly originates from Mark’s Gospel of the widow’s offering.[2] From this mixture of metaphysics and theology, Western society is heavily predisposed towards a distanced relationship with others. Nevertheless, whether it is through daily interactions, service, or familial relationships. We have duties. To others.

Today. We have Jesus as God on earth doing the impossible; loving one another as I have loved you, turning the other cheek. Saints are those individuals that aim for that inverted, unworldly perfection.

Language is a powerful, manipulative tool in both the philosophical and theological arenas.[3] Language has created this everlasting Schism over good works as means for salvation, which is to suggest the profundity of the Saints is dulled. Still, somewhere along the way, we become caught up that we all can’t be Saints. Similarly, works as the pinnacle aspect to our very being, our purpose or goal in life, is somehow bogged down by this Schism. What we get today is some watered-down version of what coincidentally happens to be the Corporal Works of Mercy; done out of the sake of our…for our…

Our what? Our Christian-human nature? No. Christians cannot even agree on whether the implicit biblical language that stresses our human nature is to serve others through works or to be some sort of result from that very nature.

But wait. Oh, there happens to be this other half of the world called the East. And what is that one Jewel of three called in Buddhism? Dharma is it? Transliterated as duty? And there happens to be six qualities of it too! The first being: Svakkhato. “The Dharma is not a speculative philosophy, but is the Universal Law found through enlightenment and is preached precisely.” (Thanks Wikipedia!) Is this to say there is no gray area in what’s to be done in the Buddhist tradition?[4] There’s no astonishment in duty being part of our nature when it’s esteemed as the Universal Law.

Yet, I could sit here and draw parallels between Buddhism’s interpretation of dharma as well as Hinduism’s; the Tao Te Ching, Christianity’s Beatitudes-all of which are interchangeable for what is to be seen as life’s duty (or a guide for it.) It’s no mere coincidence that world religions share similarities on the emphasis of duty. What’s irksome, though, is philosophy’s-particularly Western philosophy as seen through Kant’s metaphysics-assertion to rationalize our duty when all along it’s within the very essence of our being. Not to take philosophy out of its historical context, as it seems to be so often in order to continue being dubbed meritorious in modern times, but the emotional relationship that the religions listed above (and others) foster existed long before metaphysics enabled the world to empirically understand human nature.

I don’t know why it is incredibly difficult for humans to grasp that our essence implies “relationship” as our distinguishing feature. (Distinguishing us from animals with that rationale we possess and so many philosophers like to draw out as profound.) Where does one human come from? The sexual relationship of two other human beings. And while hermits intentionally deny themselves to partake in that inherent, rudimentary distinguishing feature-that is to say the relationship-mass society lives either in harmony, disharmony, or an amalgamation of both. I heard that morality is the balance of the relationships shared in a community. Morals are the pillars that uphold society. This is to say morals are a measurement of the gravity of relationships (e.g., a stronger communal support for morals implies a more united community.) From our relationships derive our world; we either choose to establish and nurture our relationships or to cripple and damage them.

Therefore, morality, the same found within world religions, implicates we have a duty to others. We can call this service, we can call it love. Language of today suggests that what we now deem as charity, this mindless, almost worthless giving of financial aid, is of lesser value.[5] (Lesser when compared to social justice enacted through service.) Language of yesterday suggests that charity comes from the Latin word caritas, and as any Christian might get giddy over, caritas derives from Greek’s agape. What we know about agape in the Christian sense is that it’s defined as love of fellow man.[6]

Social justice. We can similarly use language to trace justice to iustus, which we can break down to ius, meaning law. What I really like about this etymology-dictionary site I am using as a point of reference is that it takes ius a step further to ious. “‘Sacred formula’…that originated in the religious cults.”[7] Here we are presented with several points I would like to emphasize. Some circles, particularly theocracies, enact certain morals as laws. Second, this etymology emphasizes the bridged gap between human nature and morality with religion. It is no mere coincidence that Kant intertwined beneficence with the widow and the coin.

Nonetheless, the misinterpretation of charity of today (I mentioned above,) is incorrectly separated from social justice. The misinterpretation itself is enough grounds to suggest that the truer sense of charity alone holds more value than the misconception of this sort of aimless giving. But the fact that social justice has roots in this concept of sanctity can be further driven by charity’s truer meaning of love of fellow man. Social justice is charity. Charity is social justice. Because human nature, emphasized by morals, is to foster a relationship with others, both charity and social justice combined are to be seen as an intrinsic duty.

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[1] Immanuel Kant, The Metaphysics of Morals. Mary Gregor, trans. (New York: Cambridge, 1991.)

[2] 41 Jesus sat down opposite the place where the offerings were put and watched the crowd putting their money into the temple treasury. Many rich people threw in large amounts. 42 But a poor widow came and put in two very small copper coins, worth only a fraction of a penny.43 Calling his disciples to him, Jesus said, “I tell you the truth, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. 44 They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had to live on.” (Mark 12:41-44.)

[3] If I might add, I personally find theological language more focalized and straightforward than philosophical jargon. Here’s why. Theology aims to explain nature in a way for believers to understand and follow. Philosophy is a constant dialogue that is questioning nature’s qualities. Both, however, evolve from inner circles of either faith or reason that propel their explanations forward. Theology’s objectivity differs from philosophy’s in that faith enables for a more accepting reception of evolution because it happens more rarely. Philosophy cannot be pinpointed by its believers and subscribers because it is often subject to change.

[4] Yet, there still are divisions in Buddhism.

[5] My classmates made this distinction when the words CHARITY and JUSTICE were written on the whiteboard. Charity became this seasonal tithing during the holiday season; lowered to a sense of tangible giving. Justice was therefore elevated to the only giving (of time) of value.

[6] http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?allowed_in_frame=0&search=charity&searchmode=none

[7] http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=just&allowed_in_frame=0

Ra-Ra for Ramen in the Rockies Day 1

2011-10-22T16:22:00.000-04:00

July 27, 2011

My last night in society ended perfectly after a spectacular day in Denver. Once the phone’s clock hit midnight, my luck came to a sudden end. I woke up abruptly like I had many times on the plane. I couldn’t really tell if I was fully awake or in a daze. But this morning, I remained awake thanks to my horrendous tummy ache. It still was nagging me for three days now.

Yesterday, we actually consumed the toxin-filled water from the Platte River. I was giving Will a demo on how to filter water with the Platypus Gravity Filter. This morning, at the crack of dawn, I realized the filtration had no impact on that filthy, flowing water. I only drank two or three sips because my stomach ached from thirst.

I’m unbelievably picky when it comes to water and its tastes. Typically, I have found taste is affected by temperature. The Platte River was lukewarm. So I gave up trying to drink poisonous water and faced being thirsty. When Will dozed off on this patio in Common Park by the river, I tried a second water fountain that also didn’t work. Pushed by thirst, I compromised my water standards. Yes, I filled the water bottle from a park bathroom sink that stank from the shit smeared all over the stall. The whole quest for water put me in a crappy mood.

Anyways, the river water didn’t have any immediate influence on my stomach pains. So by 1 a.m. the next day, I woke up to the sound of Katy Perry playing in my head. Fireworks and the thought of diarrhea infested my brain to the point where all I could do was doze off for a few minutes and wake up to the same verse in her songs. I hate playing mind games. I try so desperately to convince myself that my stomach’s hurt will exit my body by taking a number two rather than coming back up the top hatch.

By dawn, the pain had made its way low enough for me to be convinced I could rid myself of the pain by taking a number two. (I have a mental line drawn on my tummy that, when pain crosses below it, I wait patiently for my intestines to kick in.) When I had waited long enough for daylight to peep through the curtains, I braved the eight-step trip to the bathroom.

Platte River

Diarrhea didn’t resolve anything. In fact, it opened up more space in my belly for me to feel the pain lurch around even more. I called it quits after sitting patiently on the toilet for fifteen minutes as Lisa’s cat ponderously stared at me. (The kitten was kept in the bathroom so he would not disturb Will and me as we slept. Poor guy.)

So after locking the kitty back in his lair, I tried to fall asleep. Successful until Will’s obnoxious alarm went off, I had my eyes closed for about a complete hour. The alarm somehow restarted and worsened the pain. I mumbled to Will, asking for the garbage can, which was thankfully brought to me in the nick of time.

I dry heaved twice. Nothing came but an upward-yank feeling on my groin with each heave. I changed my position from a shoulder-holding-my-weight stance to a cross-legged yoga position. The Whole Foods paper bag, which served as a garbage can, was fitted between my legs as I heaved a third time. Finally something came up. The lights were off so I couldn’t tell what meal the chunks came from. My eyes were watering by the fourth heave. Subsequently, my nose began to drip; an uncontrollable side effect from putting contacts in daily and having my eyes run with the saline solution. I was ergo, unable to smell the typically nose piercing smell that puke emits.

This untimely fiasco forced me to forfeit my eggs and bacon that we excitedly bought the night before, anticipating our final meal in society. Will, along with Lisa’s dog, Colby, shared my serving as I drank a stomach-soothing tea prescribed by our hostess. It worked. But the reality of the day ahead loomed over me; hiking in the high altitude of the Rocky Mountains.

Once in Denver, we were on Lisa’s time. We eventually got to the trailhead after driving through the luxurious city of Boulder. Adorned by Colorado University’s red terracotta, Boulder was quite the launch pad for our adventure. Lisa brought Colby, the best-behaved Border collie I have met. He endured the windy 10,000 foot ascent next to me in the back seat. On any other day, my stomach would have been fine. But shortly after recuperating from this morning’s surprise, the poor thing (my stomach) was viciously attacked by altitude sickness. In addition to stomach mayhem, I became dizzy. But once inside the gates of Indian Peaks Backcountry, we pulled over for a much needed bathroom break.

The ride into the mountains made me feel like I was five years old. You can fight altitude sickness, so I am told, with water. Let me point out that my three piece dilemma that I face while trying to feel better. First off, my stomach was a mess and was not in the mood for any (liquid) medicine to take up space in its region in my body. Second, I played some more mind games and drank a water bottle flavored with a spoonful of pomegranate tea. Third, the combination of the two prior components made me pee for a minute and fifteen seconds straight once we finally got 18 year old Jacky-baby to a latrine. My, oh my how nice that latrine was (especially compared to some of the latrines back home in the Blue Ridge Parkway…)

Lisa offered me some alternative, hands-on remedy for my remaining, but subtle pains. Her practice was an interesting amalgamation of tapping different body parts that possessed high concentrates of energy. Apparently these areas had nerve endings that sent messages, like all other nerves, more effectively to my brain.

Lisa happens to be the managing editor for Integrative Medicine: A Clinician's Journal (as well as senior editor, two separate executive editor positions, and associate editor for four other periodicals.) She started tapping my Crown Chakra (which, interestingly enough, in this line of work, she did not refer to it is as such.) Still, she moved from tapping the center of my head to a second point located below my eye, next to where my nose meets the rest of my face; that little crevice there where sleep catches. There were an additional six places, one of which possessed a lot of energy in my instance; the collarbone. I repeated some lines while she tapped: “I fully accept and love my body, even though my tummy hurts me.” Lisa explained that using positive statements surpassed using negative ones (which, she elaborated, were initially used in this line of work before a modern shift to positive optimism.) The tapping of the nerve endings would stop my mind from thinking that my stomach was sick-or, at least, that was my understanding of her practice. On a scale of 1-10, my pain dropped from a six to a two after three separate rounds of tapping. Talk about mind games!

At the intersection of trails, looking back towards Boulder

Lisa and Colby came about a quarter to a half mile into the trail with Will and me. The late-July snow forbid her leather, work sandals to go no further. My same hiking tee shirt and zip off pants I used in the Virginia Appalachia fared just as well in this thick, avalanche-prone snow! The temperature must have been the always-perfect-72 degrees with a crisp breeze. Yet, the snow didn’t look like it was going anywhere any time soon.

We departed from Lisa and Colby after a few Alp-like background photographs were snapped. Will and I made our way to the intersection of Mt. Audubon trailhead and our path. Mt. Audubon somehow loomed over us in the northwest even though we started at the parking lot at roughly 10,000 feet. To say the height of these mountains was daunting would be to discredit their awe-inspiring presence; imminent and inescapable.

I fell immediately back into the same dull, divided mindset I had on the Appalachian Trail back home in Virginia. Up until we started a slight descent, I didn’t feel much at all. Because ascents have me looking at my feet, my physical and mental energies were channeled elsewhere. Out of nowhere came a wave full of emotions with the breeze. It touched my body, heart, and soul in one swift gust of God’s breath. I almost cried. Multiple aspects of my surroundings, feelings, future, and family formulated this abrupt mood swing.

Sawtooth Mountain

To explain, here’s the origin of the effects on my body. I was undergoing a delayed reaction to the altitude. When the fact of the matter of trekking at 10,000 feet hit my lungs, I felt an inverted high from the lightheadedness. On top of my bodily reaction was my heart’s. Switching from burning to aching in an instant as any young heart might, I missed my family. It was only the second day from home, or technically, the first full day. Even though I was hiking with my best friend and role model, I felt the distance between the rocky peak I was walking beneath and the rolling Blue Ridge at home. For the first time ever, I experienced a realer, more forceful sense of independence and solitude.

The vast mountains, not hills, stretched high into the clouds forcing me to feel almost abandoned; I could not physically have what my heart yearned, whereas home fenced everyone and everything within a reasonable distance. It’s undoubtedly indicative (as the feeling still weighs my heart even now as I write this) of my departure for college. With that concept identified, the distance grew even farther as its inevitable reality is now only 23 days away. In this quick sense of desperation, I listened to God’s voice in the over-used “Be not afraid, for I am with you” quote. Being this high in the sky, I am almost certain one of the archangels whispered the same words Gabriel whispered to Mary into my soul.

While my Senior Project on the AT was titled “Spirituality in the Mountains,” I must confess that the spirits here are incredibly different from the inhabitants of the Blue Ridge. Appalachia emanates an innate sense of ancient and tribal spirituality. The Rockies, from what I can tell from Day 1, maintain an intimidating, but strikingly beautiful, emotion-stirring animus, prana.

Different sects of Christianity describe a similar, but virtually nonexistent-in-today’s-world term of “fear and awe of the Lord.” And in the Rockies this first night, I immediately thought of some Augustinian, if not Aquinas’ reasoning paraphrased as “the Lord God created the heavens, and the earth, and the race of Man. Because God created us, we are inherently and consequently made with some sort of essence of God.”[1] I have no doubt that I feel God’s presence within His creation of both me and the mountains and to feel that clear unity shared between both of us was primordial.

These first-time-felt feelings left me as we continued descending. My body was running on a cup of tea as we eventually stopped to snack. The photos we’ve taken can say more than the thousands of words I’d struggle to find in order to describe the scenery here. We, or rather I alone, continued to struggle adjusting to the altitude while Will checked the map at the many stops my shallow breathing necessitated throughout the day.

The combination of both his and my wrongs had us thinking we were much further along than we really were. My fault was obvious; out of shape (or just poorly adjusting to the new climate.) His was the repeated checking of the map (which was directly my fault for having us stop frequently.) Still, the frequent map checking is a disease. Sometimes short-term, hikers face it when they start out on a trail for the first time. It’s a very cruel and unusual disease since we could cure it if we just put the map away….

So with both faults being committed incessantly and more frequently as we passed our predestine 12 o’clock finish, we stopped for a two-thirty Ramen lunch. We were caught in a cold drizzle. Very interesting to note: Will said the rains come consecutively at noon every day, but we lucked out and got it two and half hours later. It’s probably five-thirty as I finish writing this after two, if not three hours since we stopped here; two, if not three miles short of the lake Will initially planned for us to stop at for the day. There’s some river passing nearby, and we’re almost in the shadow of a couple mountains. The one huge comfort that consoles me is my book: The Game of Thrones! I look forward to reading it after I get out of this tent to pee! The rains left, came again, and now left us with puffy white clouds. Though, those seem to be leaving. The blue sky fills in the cracks between the puzzle-pieced clouds as the sun begins to set.

I lied. It’s actually 6:40! Gotta pee!

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[1] Now back among resources, I was able to do some “lite research” to figure out what I was trying to say. In the Catechism of the Catholic Church I found the same idea I was trying to convey in several areas. Firstly, “‘God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him, male and female he created them.’ (Genesis 1:27.) Man occupies a unique place in creation: he is “in the image of God”; in his own nature he unites the spiritual and material worlds; he is created “male and female”; God established him in his friendship.” (CCC, 355.) Secondly, “But this “intimate and vital bond of man to God” (Gaudium et Spes, 19, 1.) can be forgotten…”(CCC, 29.) That bond is described as such: “From the very circumstance of his origin man is already invited to converse with God. For man would not exist were he not created by Gods love and constantly preserved by it; and he cannot live fully according to truth unless he freely acknowledges that love and devotes himself to His Creator.” (GS 19, 1.)

Radio Interview Tonight

2011-10-19T17:01:00.000-04:00

Tonight I will be on Hawkward Silence Radio.

The show starts at 10 pm eastern time and can be listened to offline.

My interviewers will be taking calls! So please feel free to call in, but

know that the calls are NOT screened.

You can tune in HERE

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What Scares Me, Uganda and Africa

2011-10-13T15:02:00.000-04:00

*Photograph taken by Bryan Juliano

There’s just something about Africa that scares me. I’ve been fortunate enough to literally go to the other side of the world in Okinawa, Japan. Let me tell you that when we were not in Tokyo, the world was foreign to say the least. Our Western culture shares its similarities and differences with the Far East and I enjoyed my visit with family stationed there; I had the chance to see a little more than the average tourist! That was a trip in my past. One that I have in my future is to serve in some impoverished, third-world country in South America. I am drawn to my Catholic brothers and sisters that predominantly populate some of the nations below the equator.

Geoffrey Ochem*

But there remains this strong fear and maybe some awe for Africa. Whatever limited knowledge I can conjure up to rattle off for a class derived from an earlier class that briefly touched on Africa. Media has its scopes on Egypt and Libya, Yemen at times, and whatever interactions northern countries have with Europe. But I feel like in the instances of Egypt and Libya, their appearances in our limited news coverage only revolve around the “revolution of the Middle East” and its spread to the northern countries of Africa. (Even though Libya’s violence stems from a different root-bear with me!) Yemen; I heard about it in an Outside article which christened it the most dangerous tourist destination for Americans. And since my interest with European current events is spread thin from Greece to France with economic hardships, I occasionally hear about immigration problems from North Africa.

I also would like to add that my fear of Africa probably derives from yes, my ignorance above, as well as my European history classes and reading The Ear, the Eye, and the Arm by Nancy Farmer. If I can sum up European imperialism in the 19^th and 20^th centuries: they done screwed the African nations over big time. Maybe I feel some sort of regret? Not that I had any direct affiliation 150 years ago, but I suppose that is a factor. It could also be the disservice of certain history courses that revolved around Europe, the Americas, and Asia. (So that would be my fault; I chose the classes.) I read The Ear, the Eye, and the Arm in middle school. In essence, the plot revolved around a futuristic Zimbabwe. Within this Brave New World setting existed a tribe. And now that I have mentioned Brave New World, the same sort of abstraction-from-society theme lies in Huxley’s pages as well (and probably predates Farmer.) Yet, The Ear, the Eye, and the Arm painted a picture in my late childhood. There was a heavy contrast between polar opposites in the financial spectrum. And now, any media coverage on Africa fits this preceding mental image of Africa I have had ever since I was thirteen.

I still have this fear; maybe even more so after attending Front Line’s Invisible Children presentation. After the last seminar I attended on child violence in Philadelphia, it has begun to grind my gears. Though I have not taken some heroic proactive stance on the issue, I was drawn to tonight’s topic, now shifted to scary Africa. As I mentioned above, through the eyes of slanted media (in addition to my lacking motivation to look for a fuller variety of sources,) I have recently seen Africa in struggle and turmoil. By attending tonight, I felt like I was witnessing a car crash; I just could not look away. Yes, I was toying with my fear and facing it by showing up to a proactive meeting. But I also thought it was an opportunity to let a darker human form of fascination. Why would I be drawn to this horrendous reality of children enslaved to murder under warlords? And to clarify, when I say drawn, I mean like a moth to the light-not to be confused with some sort of sadistic-masochist attraction.

Let me try to explain myself. Once I heard in Tony, a documentary on an individual’s life in northern Uganda, the term night commuters, I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Because of the apparent civil war in Uganda between the Lord’s Resistance Army and Ugandan government that has been waged for the past two decades, children that are caught in the crossfire of inhumane violence (yes, there is a difference between humane and inhumane violence-I found that out tonight,) go into cities or larger populations to sleep. They go from their homes to avoid violence and enslavement every night.

As any 21^st century documentary might have, Tony depicted the truest of colors its namesake’s home. I can only say thank you to Front Line for not drawing out the horror inflicted by Joseph Convey’s LRA. What little coverage they used was enough. For me it was. But it obviously was not for Invisible Children. The documentary-style of Tony allowed for one of its producers and founders of Invisible Children, Laren Poole, to speak directly to the audience. In this address, he said something along the lines of: “Now you’ll hear from someone Uganda…” I did not actually think he meant it.

Geoffrey Ochem is twenty-four. His village was raided by the LRA when he was sixteen. He was pressed into service when he and two of his friends, Simon and Peter, witnessed the murder of a child soldier who was used as an example. Two months later, Geoffrey escaped from being rope-bound to ten other captive-soldiers in a firefight with Ugandan government forces. Tonight, six years later, he still does not know where Simon and Peter are. By the way, Geoffrey’s personality was shy in certain ways as well as firm. His English was choppy at times, but when he knew what he wanted to say, his point came across clearly; Uganda, his home, is ravished by irrepressible sectarian violence. What hit me hard was that he was seemingly more nervous about being in front of college students than emotional over his recollection of his past. His sincere laughs ended his answers to our questions adding a bit of light-heartedness to the grim reality put before us. That was most notable in my book; how he stood there, completely opening his heart to retell a few atrocities.

So, where’s the hope? Does this mean my fear of Africa is justified or increased? I’d say so. But wait, that was Invisible Children’s goal, wasn’t it? Maybe not to induce fear, but somewhere near it. Geoffrey finished courses at his university and is graduating with a B.A. in teaching. He plans on teaching secondary history and economics. For one, his story is the epitome of Invisible Children’s objective: promote education. Another underlying theme throughout Tony that was reiterated indirectly by Geoffrey’s own words is the harm American arrogance can cause. In Tony, Jolly Okot, the initial Ugandan contact for the Laren Poole and founders, stressed the incrimination caused by free stuff from America. Geoffrey, when asked by the audience what his initial impression of the States was, answered, “I did not plan on coming to the U.S.”

What I took away from both points was American resources and America itself is not this readily-made solution that is capable of being specifically cut for Uganda’s violence. Even when a bill proposed by Invisible Children’s Laren Poole reached and passed in Congress last year to capture/stop Joseph Convey, the fact that his violence is spreading past Uganda points to the limitation to America’s readiness to throw Uganda a bone after bureaucracy had its say.

As a final point of reflection, I think my fear increased. The reality of the violence in Uganda was brought to my doorstep. A member of Invisible Children, Nate, was murdered in the terrorist attack in Kampala during last year’s World Cup. Some proactive groups have videos that play off emotions to gain financial and vocal support. But I have never come away from a presentation more fearful than I had initially walked in with; thanks Invisible Children.

*Photograph taken by Bryan Juliano

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Hell No! I Ain't Gonna Do That

2011-10-11T17:36:00.001-04:00

AH HELL NO

I feel like the last entries on my experiences at Mercy Neighborhood Ministries have been abstract. At least, after today’s experience, I can now say that all my past reflections revolve around emotions. My emotions shared through my relationships with members at MNM appeared to be pinnacle of my experience in this ‘gig’ called service learning. Up until today, I thought I had reached this experience-this end of the line, you cannot go any further ideal. I felt comfortable and accepted in my new environment, I thought I was making somewhat of an impact on the people I was around, and I was likewise impacted by my experiences at service.

In writing, I feel like using the ultimate phrase “I thought I had seen everything” puts a cap on what you can follow up with your next essay. Hence, I hate to use it when I am writing several periodic essays, like service learning; unless, however, I can see the end of writing on that one topic (which I cannot with service learning.) I am making an exception today with that self-made rule.

The Technique

I thought I had seen everything at Mercy Neighborhood Ministries. Easing into my routine, I found pleasure from the growth of my relationships. For anyone who might see MNM or any type of time-with-others service as secondary to physical labor, you really have not had the pleasure of piecing puzzles together. I was really enjoying this Zen-like trance I could enter into when I was around Ms. Shirley as she told me about the rights and wrongs of society. Today she went on about this newspaper article from the Philadelphia Inquirer that I read to her. A seventy-two year old man shot his forty-two year old neighbor when the police did not arrive after he phoned in his complaint. Ms. Shirley did not like that one bit; consequently, I listened to all the wrongs the world experiences. Her least favorite crime was apparently robbery as she repeatedly mentioned how jewelry shops happen to be robbed when people need money.

But something happened today that I was not expecting. I was just starting to settle into my newly formed comfort bubble. It was massage day. I admit that the first thing that crossed my mind was, “Oh great, I really could use one for my sore shoulders,” as I imagined a massage-circle form; everyone was included. Nope. I could not have been any more wrong. As service learners, we somehow became part time masseuses. Gloves did not serve as a recompense for this odd, seemingly out of place activity.

My mind split over what happened next. Half of me thought this was incredibly weird, for lack of a better term, to just randomly start giving someone I knew for less than a month a massage. Massages are intimate. And after a certain age, when one reaches some level of maturity, you do not randomly line up for massages as teens do at summer camps and sleep overs. So I felt a little out of place for two reasons when it was sprung on us to get gloves and cocoa butter; the immediate intimacy and my precedent about massages.

The Product

My second, more grounded half thought that this was the epitome of service learning. Intimacy. My mind drifted to the cleansing of feet in Catholic tradition from John 13’s Gospel. “After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him.” (John 13: 5.) In the recent past, when I volunteered at Camp Holiday Trails back home in Virginia, I could easily draw biblical parallels to my service. Now, for some reason, I find it border-line hokey to draw out those parallels. Maybe it is the result of too many comparative religion courses that have opened my eyes to see that Christianity is not the sole mission-oriented faith. It could also be the consequence of returning to a heavily Catholic-dominated student population that helps facilitate the above misconception I have/had; I feel like I play devil’s advocate too often when I hear the Bible being thrown around like some textbook reference everyone knows.

Yet, as I rubbed the lotion into Ms. Gladys’ gnarled hands, I connected to something more than skin deep. I could see actual pain in her hands. And while the concepts of emotions and relationships are not tangible, (yet, both their objects are,) I found that physicality permeated the remaining distance between me as “servicer” and my “service.” The emotions create, nourish, and hinder the relationship which is then escalated to an incredibly intimate level. Even in the simplest act of a hand massage. Just to pull some non-Christian connections into this deeper form of service; I think of yoga’s notion within the word yoga: its literal definition is “yoking.” I see that two sets of emotions are yoked together through physical touch to form a deeper relationship. Similarly, isn’t the term islam transliterated as submission? Maybe it is a stretch to connect that with humility-both of which I needed in order to massage Ms. Gladys. Confucianism: deep respect for elders.

I do not know how, since I had gloves on, the scent of cocoa butter lingers as I type this. I admit again that I am still shaken up from the forced portion of me having to suddenly perform physical service. Nevertheless, it was a learning experience that I am continuing to think about each time I catch a waft of lotion.

How Horror Helps Facilitate Happiness

2011-10-08T19:54:00.000-04:00

Another Tuesday morning seemed to roll around. My schedule seems to be working itself out; I did not wake up incredibly fatigued as I have been the past early Tuesday mornings. In fact, I gave myself enough time to enjoy my Lucky Charms this morning without scarfing it down in my timed three minutes and fourteen seconds. It dawned on me that it was cloudy, yet again, and by the time we reached Mercy Neighborhood Ministries (MNM), the sun had peeped out. More residents of the immediate area were outside, maybe as a result of the beautiful weather. I could not tell. The drive was more enjoyable this go-around; the scenery was livelier in autumn and the community in north Philadelphia appeared to be appreciating it as much as I was.

The gang was finishing breakfast as we rolled up at nine o’clock. The receptionist greeted us as friendly as ever, and collectively, my service partners and I replied in a cheery manner. The familiarity of routine calmed any nerves that I previously had in my new environment. To say that I was comfortable alongside Paul, the grumpy trickster of the crowd, would be an understatement. I could sense when he wanted to call me out for looking at him. But I would not give him the satisfaction of making a wise-crack because I would look away before we would make eye contact.

Even as delectable as Paul sounds, he has an angry, disgruntled side. I personally find this characteristic of his to be a reality check; he is not an incompetent senior citizen whose senile persona leaves him with nothing to do but smile and crack jokes. If anything, Paul acts like an arrogant sixteen year old. He knows he is good company, yet he plays hard to get. Because he acts more unpredictably than not, I am consequently drawn to his rollercoaster-like attitude.

The same is to be said for Ms. Caroline and Ms. Shirley; both women lack this lackadaisical trait that so many residents at a nursing home had that I volunteered during the Philadelphia Service Immersion Program. My take on why there are many engaged, energetic members of the MNM is that they choose to attend the programs offered. There are no residents at MNM; everyone chooses to come. I also believe that one of life’s lessons is that one earns their keep from their hard work; you only get what you put in. Since the MNM members have led demanding, urban lifestyles, I think they understand that they would be wasting their own time if they did not participate in any of the day’s activities. Ergo, they are all working hard on their puzzles, praying in the prayer circle, and engaging one another in the most pleasant tones.

This past Tuesday, Ms. Barbara, the coordinator, was not present. Ms. KayKay was taking over for the time being. It was movie day. I was curious to see what we would end up watching, hoping that it was not going to be a black and white film with some actor I would not recognize. As I sat next to Ms. Caroline in the cafeteria, after she informed about the recall on cantaloupe that I was oblivious to, (thank you university for that tip,) she started listing the movies she brought. Within the list, there was nothing but thrillers and action packed movies; Diehard 2 seemed to be the most moderate. Oh, and there was of course Titanic, but when Paul overheard that was an option, he booed. Shocked at the movie choice of an elderly woman, I decided whatever the members chose would be completely fine with me!

Mr. Brooks was picked. The back of the movie box claimed that it was one of Kevin Costner’s finest films. It also gave a brief description of a plot in which a psychopathic killer cuts loose and enjoys killing for the excitement. “Hmmm,” was all that I could think. In the past, when I volunteered at summer camps for children, you obviously would not show an R-rated movie to a young audience. Subconsciously, I assumed the same rule would be applied in this instance with an older audience. But precedent depicted that this was not the first time the MNM members watched an action packed, potentially gory movie.

What I found throughout the twisting plot, the character development of Kevin Costner’s psychopathic killer, and the odd, dark sarcasm that repeatedly showed up as an underlying theme was that different things make different people happy. In the instance of most eighteen year olds, thrillers are enjoyable to watch, especially the ones with many twists and turns. When I realized that I was enjoying the movie, I could not help but wonder if the members on my left and right who were also sitting around the TV were enjoying this great film. They were. Some more than others, like Paul and Ms. Shirley. But to my surprise, as a whole, the group appeared to love the gore and excitement.

I found out that day that MNM truly catered to the likes of many of its members. With smaller numbers than most nursing homes, the group of members are more affiliated with the decision making process in what their daily activities are. I remember Ms. Barbara explaining to me on our service test-run how the members can choose to not participate in any of the activities and that the schedule can change in an instant if the general consensus shows that no one wants to participate in the upcoming activity. I personally think, with some reflection, that the power to still choose gives many of the MNM members happiness. While various activities will always please some participants more than others, I think their ability to make decisions empowers them. What I have found in the members’ comings and goings is the limitation on their decision making; many of them are bussed over to MNM for the day, and then taken back to their homes. As a college student, I find that very confining. Yet, when they choose to come to MNM, they are offered an array of activities for the day, and I feel deeply obligated to ensure that the activities I help with are the best they can be.

Even if it is a horror film in which only Paul, Mr. Cranky, is left to cackle insanely over the mutilation of various characters on the screen, I found that allowing for him to choose to watch the movie made all the difference. So every time blood splattered on the screen, I heard this maddening laugh in the back of the room, coming from a very entertained individual…

Why Does the Consumption of Alcohol Go Hand in Hand with the Degradation of Women?

2011-10-06T17:44:00.000-04:00

I bet this grabbed some peoples' attention...

An honest disclosure is certainly appropriate before debating the following advertisement; the beer being advertised is a non-alcoholic beer. That being said, the advertisement does not follow the average template most beer ads use. Typically, models in alcohol advertisements are not pregnant. In this instance, the combination of the nonalcoholic product and the model’s pregnancy should shift the viewer’s vantage point because it is nontraditional. There is a pressure the woman faces in which she, for health reasons, normally would not consume alcohol. However, this ad forces an alternative on the woman. It is as if the woman cannot escape social conventions that implicate she should either consume or serve alcohol, regardless of her circumstances. Mass media portrays beer and women as the ideal package. When placed together in advertisements, one always complements the other. When each item is separated, they hold completely different connotations.

What enables beer and women to be classified in one category? Pleasure, in the Epicurean sense, is the most desirable gratification for human beings. When is beer to be consumed? When individuals want to have an enjoyable time. Why are women typically shown serving beer? Because they add to the pleasure the beer already guarantees. Women, in this instance, promise sensuality. In this particular advertisement, before getting ahead of ourselves and stating that she is pregnant, the viewers are presented with a picturesque female. A sharp model’s face, breasts covered by gold, and long legs that compliment her hips. All of these qualities, as well as the slightly disheveled hair and piercing eyes, are welcoming. The model invites the viewer to partake in consumption. The consumption of first the alcohol, which is being handed out as an initial allure, is then followed by the consumption of what the woman has to offer.

One might ask, “What is the problem in that? Why is it wrong to consume what is being put forth so readily available?” The answer: mass advertising has given the consumer the false illusion that he has entire power over what he wants because his money somehow impacts the advertisers. And while many economists and business leaders might argue that power rests in the hands of the consumer, it does not in the instance shown above. The deception the ad holds is presented when the consumer consumes; he is not handed a beer from the woman above. The only promise that the advertisement keeps is the distribution of the actual product.

“Well, isn’t that the aim of the advertisement?” Absolutely. But the consumer is left without the promised sensuality from the woman standing in an inviting posture. Only the advertisers achieve what they want: profit. But at what expense, or rather, at whose expense do the advertisers benefit from? The consumer who purchased the product for its own sole purpose is not exploited. Not as much as the woman in the picture, one could say. The advertisers have taken full advantage of the woman’s physical qualities. The breasts that happen to be covered in a gold brassiere are not coincidentally placed next to the golden yellow beer.

Referring back to Freud, is it not the breasts that the infant desired so fervently? “Freud thought that the infant was transiently attached to the mother’s breast in the oral stage…”[1] Consequently, adults “exhibiting these features of personality are also given to ‘oral’ habits, like…overindulgence in alcohol.”[2] It is at the expenditure of the woman’s physical (and only physical) qualities that the advertisement would catch the consumer’s eyes. The photograph suggests that the beer goes great with a large breast nearby.

“How is that degrading?” The exposed woman’s body generally invites one category of consumers: men. Men (and women) will drink beer to achieve some level of pleasure: relaxation, slight intoxication, or drinking to forget. But the placement of the beer next to the breast implies that drinking the alcohol is as good as the golden breast. They complement one another as if they were equal. Sharing the singe trait of pleasure, a human being’s body is lowered to the level of alcohol. When separate, hopefully people would place higher value on dignity over a manmade depressant. But when they are put together in an ad, the viewer accepts the reduction of the woman to the level of the beer.

What beer advertisements create as a side effect more often than not is the zeroing in on women’s external qualities. Like many advertisements that use female actresses or models, the woman is always depicted as inferior. Between the viewer and the pregnant woman shown above, the woman is consequently lower than the viewer because she promises to hand over the almighty beer. It can be then be argued that the woman, therefore, possesses the power if she holds the product. Again, the advertisers give a false illusion. The beer is not for the woman to give. The woman in the Nova Schin ad is not actually giving the consumer the beer. The standstill woman is just an invitation for purchasing a beer. She does not directly benefit from giving it away. Ultimately, she has no say on who purchases “her” beer.

If the above arguments were not enough to suggest that the woman is being degraded through the exploitation of her external features, than what does her pregnancy imply? A quick reminder for this argument is that in this specific ad, Nova Schin is advertising a non-alcoholic beer. (Yet, it only takes a second example, like the Budweiser advertisement, to prove that alcoholic beer advertisements exploit women in the same manner.) Nevertheless, what the pregnant woman portrays more plainly is social pressure. Though the advertisement may or may not be for men; if the Nova Schin ad is targeted at women, it suggests that there is no reason to not drink under any circumstances, even during one’s pregnancy. Similarly, if the men who consume the product encounter a wife, girlfriend, or random woman that is pregnant, the external goods that women typically offer are depicted as available when there is simultaneously a non-alcoholic beer. This makes viewers uncomfortable because it is indecent and unnatural. Society does not typically place pregnant women alongside alcohol.

The blatant implications of both ads suggest the consumption of either the product first and then the female, or vice versa. The placement of the woman in the Budweiser ad suggests that one must get through her to reach the product where, as stated before, the Nova Schin has to be consumed as an initiation to reach the promised “goods.” In either instance, the woman is exploited through the exposure of her body for the false promise that consuming either product will bring instant pleasure, whether it is through the breasts or the beer.

[1] Storr, Anthony. Freud, A Very Short Introduction. 30. Oxford University Press, USA, 2001. Print. <http://books.google.com/books/feeds/volumes?q=978-0-19-285455-1>.

[2] (Storr, 31.)

Collective Efficacy: An Abstraction or a Real World Application?

2011-10-04T16:14:00.000-04:00

I hold a soft grudge against Ivy-League graduates; maybe not so much a grudge, but more of an incredibly high expectation. One of my good high school friends had the opportunity to attend a school at the level of above and beyond that many people so highly esteem. And, knowing how diligent of a student he was, I think that my high standard for Ivy grads is somewhat suitable. That being said, I find that some forms of higher education, me not to be excluded, can involuntarily distance a college student from the “real world.” Somehow, in my instance, my food just happens to be magically paid for when in fact there are quite a few sacrifices being made. My parent’s financial and moral support, the kitchen staff that seemingly lives in the back of the cafeteria, the university for overseeing that our tuition goes to the right places so we can we eat better. I say all of this because I, as a university student, like to immerse myself in what the “real world” dubs as the real world. What I mean by that is attending something along the lines of a seminar on youth violence in Philadelphia. I find that being informed on my surrounding community keeps me in touch with reality, which includes my thankfulness for being able to attend college. So to connect my points: acknowledging sacrifices, seeing the opportunity to hear about the “real world” from the real world, I feel like it’s my role to hear what people have to say. And then form my own opinion on it, of course.

Dr. Felton Earls sees himself as a witness. He says he wants to become an ally, a potential partner with Philadelphia. His soft spoken demeanor suggested he retains experience in his field; he has been to Tanzania. He possesses credible data from his studies and has many awards tagged to his name. He has even created a new term called collective efficacy.

While in Chicago, Dr. Earls measured the disorganization of 343 neighborhoods in the city limits. Collective efficacy was a scale that he established that used a universal rating system to determine how safe neighborhoods really were. His discoveries from investigating neighborhood responses to illegal activity broke social norms; Hispanic and middle class black neighborhoods apparently ranked very high on his scale. He also drew an interesting, yet not incredibly profound, correlation between death rates and low birth weight. I think it was unbelievable that collective efficacy was such an efficient means to measure this statistic; kudos to Dr. Earl. But I was at a loss when I started to think, “How could what we would already have been inferred without collective efficacy, now presented to us in data, be any more useful and applicable to the unsolved issue?”

Between 1995 and 1999, Dr. Earls worked in Tanzania during a severe outbreak of HIV/AIDS. While working among two and three thousand population pockets, Dr. Earl found that 10-14 year old age groups worked the most effectively in conveying how to prevent the spread of HIV, educate the community on the biology of the disease, as well as become what he keyed “active citizens.” (Here’s where I got somewhat hung up on his titles and awards.) In essence, yes, as the opening speaker at this seminar, his story gave evidence to what the audience, panel, and community wanted to hear: children are capable of being more than violent, uneducated beings.

But what I personally found misleading was the veiled hope that a biased data collection from a rare pocket of two to three thousand population groups in Tanzania (of all places) was somehow grounds to promote the idea that collective efficacy was to be applied to American cities. Still, I did not see the connection between the data collected in Chicago or Tanzania to the positive results that Dr. Earl sheepishly denied had any relationship to his “work.” In the instance of Chicago, shortly after the data from his collective efficacy came in, the homicide rate dropped. I do not know if I did not catch the relationship between the data and the aftereffects, but I personally do not recall in his retelling how the raw data brought about change. Similarly in the Tanzania example, even when he explained that he was educating the masses, I could not figure out how whatever data he drew from the limited population groups linked to his effectively educating teenagers. I think that the data enabled for him to see where more education on diseases was needed. Certainly. But could he have not looked at the HIV/AIDS count and have said the same thing?

I thought the panel to follow his opening remarks would fill the missing link between the raw data and the resulting application of that knowledge. What I listened to instead was the hardships reality imposes on theoretical concepts. The panel included many prominent figures, much to my Virginian-boy surprise. It was the first time I had ever been to a seminar where the Deputy Philadelphia Police Commissioner, Acting Superintendent of the School District of Philadelphia, Deputy Mayor of Philadelphia-and others-sat together and spoke plainly and pragmatically about the issue at hand.

What followed inevitably cut and dried the lofty concept of collective efficacy. While each member of the panel agreed with the idea of collecting data, it seemed pointless to use time and resources to establish what they had already known. Youths are in danger. Youths are the future. Youths need to be protected in order to secure a better future. Data was not needed in order to convince any member on the panel to act now. They already were. And in the instance of the Police Department of Philadelphia where community policing has begun, collective efficacy was too late, or rather, it was already applied.

I spoke with a woman I work under that also attended the seminar the next day. When Ms. Jill asked what my impression was, I said it was coordinated and informative. Especially since my hometown experiences violence on a much smaller scale, the seminar brought me up to speed on Philadelphia’s current events and issues. Nevertheless, I told my employer that at the end of the session, something did not sit right inside me. While there was a positive flow of energy, there were no calls to action or any commitment or proposal put forward to initiate action against youth violence. Ms. Jill informed me that while we were in the lecture, four kids were shot and two later died from their wounds.

At that point, my optimistic sentiment took a turn for the worse. I feel like my cynical point of view expressed in this review of the seminar was created as a result of that startling reality. While it was important to acknowledge accomplishments and hear new ideas, the luxury of stopping to study and analyze is just too slow and impractical in this instance.

Paul and Puzzles: What is it about Lucky Charms?

2011-09-29T12:19:00.002-04:00

Everyone must feel selfish after having breakfast. I cannot wake up before eight o'clock (thank you university-lifestyle) with a smile on my face. Nothing beats having to taste the remnants of last night's late night snack on the hard-to-reach part of your tongue. As sour as that flavor might be, I always feel even more bitter; hating that I have to wake up before eight one day out of the week.

Yet, when I finally dragged myself to the buzzing cafeteria, even after ignoring the over-looming reality that lots of other people are up at this hour, I found solace in a good bowl of Lucky Charms. As another rainbow marshmallow found my lips, I can't help but think: you selfish bastard! I wake up early to go to Service Learning. This isn't about me. Well, it is actually. The Jesuit slogan for community service states 'for and with others'; implying that someone has to be there in order for the preposition with to grammatically work. Service doesn't work if my body shows up and I'm not there there. Somehow the Lucky Charms fuel me with my passion that brought me to SJU to serve.

Again, like the last post suggested, I can't help but see my new home in west Philadelphia with a new set of eyes when I get behind the wheel of a Ford Focus. Traffic somehow snapped my college-oriented mind back to a real world setting. The radio has the similar effect when everyone has PCs or Macs to blare their own tunes off of; no one possesses a transistor radio, and no, the speakers that iPods plug into do not have FM or AM radio. They are strictly car -a symbol of autonomy- items. I chatted with my service partners that it was yet another gray day as we headed into north Philly.

We reached Mercy Neighborhood Ministries with five minutes to spare; I casually weaved in and out of traffic to avoid causing a bad first (second) impression. Something changed this second time we parked. I, for one, was not panicking over the MapQuest directions that were off by half a block. This allowed for a better look. What I found was that the lighting changed. It was not the actual light, for the sun was covered by a thick blanket of ominous clouds. It was more of PhotoShop effect in which someone must have toggled with the sepia and cyan tones. (Try it to catch my meaning!) I didn't feel foreign to my surroundings which could no longer be classified as "new."

On entering, we received the same cheerful 'good morning!' from the receptionist as last time. Our arrival time happened to be, and will continue being an awkward time between breakfast and the morning's first activity. There was a lot of shuffling of feet as we seemed to be "thrown to the wolves"; two individuals sat at different tables with a staff member. One of my fellow service members went to the lady on our right while by default I found myself entering a conversation between Paul and Kim.

"Hey Kiiimmm!" a voice croaked.

"What Paul?" returned a tired voice. It was only 9:05 and cloudy. Yet Kim was wearing sunglasses inside the building.

"Why are you wearing sunglasses already, Kim. There's no sun in here," Paul nagged; a grin hiding behind his pursed lips.

"I told you already. I'm taking medication for my ulcer."

I chimed in, "Ulcer, that ain't no fun." Kim proceeded to explain that her medications had to be taken once every hour (including the night) and a separate pain killer twice a day for the ulcer in/on her eye. Sheesh! Not only did Kim's sickness explain her preposterous idea of wearing sunglasses inside, but it also set an incredibly high standard for us three new service volunteers. If Kim could come to work under such miserable circumstances, there was no way I could ever come half-assed and not ready to participate in the activities.

I couldn't stop smiling as Paul wanted to pick a fight with Kim if she didn't make his coffee right and the way he yelled out after staff members as they came and went from the cafeteria. However old Paul was, he would not let my smiling and snickering go unnoticed.

"What's so funny? Stop following me with that big goofy smile!"

Shiva Linga (the black stone represents the godhead of Shiva,
also known as Nirguna Brahman-God in the abstract form.
Shares similarities with the Christian Holy Spirit.)
A further explanation can be found here.

We eventually found ourselves in the activities room. Other members sat around the TV as Ms. Barbara started to lead current events and gave the weather. The activity that followed hit a soft spiritual spot within me. In the middle of the circle was a plant with a tall vase of water. Libations. Ms. Barbara asked if anyone knew what libations were. The thought that came to my mind was a Hindu process of worship called Shiva Linga in which devotees pour liquids over a sacred rock.

While we individually poured a little water into the plant, we spoke a name of one of our deceased ancestors. This simple ritual was followed by the lighting of incense. Using a feather, Ms. Barbara wafted the smoke towards us. Cleansing, as I have learned from my participation in a Lakota sweat lodge earlier this summer, smoke has several uses in Native American practices. It was moving, to say the least, to be in Philadelphia and have a strong recollection of being in Virginia in a sweat lodge. Coincidentally, one of the aspects in sweating and in Lakota traditions is a respect for the elderly. Among the members at Mercy Neighborhood Ministries (MNM), I felt close to God in that quick instance.

The other woman we first encountered in the cafeteria was named Shirley. She picked me to be her "tutor." Ms. Barbara explained to us in our last visit what that title entails for the day. Shirley was illiterate until a year ago in which she learned the alphabet, spelling, and reading. Her tutor would continue helping her learn how to spell and read. I had no idea at what level she would be writing or reading, but when we began to write letters that would be sent to a former employee at MNM, I was blown away at her capacity to write as if she was literate from an early age. I could only think about how a commonly held belief today is that the brain is a sponge. And somewhere after a few years from birth, the sponge dries up and it becomes difficult to learn at the same quick rate as a developing child. Working with kids at summer camp throughout high school, I have no doubt seen that sponge effect work. It's incredible. Yet I was stunned to watch this woman write so simplistically. I was humbled.

But not humbled enough. Puzzles: one of the activities closely related to Bingo as one of the elderly's activities. Shirley wanted to work on her 300 piece Under the Sea puzzle which was vibrant with two octopi, a crab, and clown fish that she dubbed "Nemo." Talk about a lesson in patience. She worked twice as fast as I did putting pieces together at a rate I could never keep up with. I ripped through the box looking for matching colors. I thought that would help until I realized there were two octopi...I really didn't want to separate the two. I felt waves of stress crashing over me as the decisions of where to start looking to put pieces together, what went with what, and how dumb I must've looked to Shirley began to fill my head.

Time for us to go. 'Phew' was all I could think. Puzzle solving had me worked up. And before I knew it, goodbyes were exchanged, my service partners and I were back in the car, and I found myself in our own cafeteria eating another bowl of Lucky Charms for lunch, watching how the marshmallows connected as they floated on top of the milk. Like a puzzle...

What's With the Ineffective Wanted Signs?

2011-09-26T15:49:00.000-04:00

Many university campus security units must have campus alerts. A basic heads up and constant reminder for university students to be wary of their surroundings, I have been troubled by the content that is posted. While I cannot really put my finger on what is necessarily wrong, I feel that it is appropriate to discuss the effectiveness and side effects that derive from their frequent appearances.

A little informal background information of my current area would include that west Philadelphia has a predominantly black neighborhood (so I've heard,) we are NOT the south district of Philly that has experienced new curfews, and students are constantly reminded to travel in packs of at least two if not three.
Now, the last three campus wide alerts all report a crime against university students. The general format of the warnings start with a simple explanation of what happened, (maybe too simple because I have heard the same story retold with new facts added when people gossip over it.) My confusion or issue comes from the next segment of the alert; the description of the perpetrator/suspect. The third and final piece of the alert ends on a friendly reminder to avoid being alone.
While there is a simple issue over how much facts should be shared with members of the university, I would argue too little information, which in the last three cases prove to be evident, allows for false rumors to spread. The idea of how much information is to be shared obviously has lots of strings attached, such as the privacy of the victims.
But nevertheless, the privacy of the perpetrator/suspect is not. And of course it isn't. Typically, a wanted sign pops up after a crime is committed when the perpetrator is not found. A victim or a witness recalls as best they can the details of the perpetrator-now-made suspect.
This process is attempted in campus alerts, so I have found. While a sketch gives university members (faculty, students, staff) a rough, sometimes inaccurate portrayal of the suspect, it still gives the brain something to remember. I find that the problem arises from the campus alert, which uses words alone because the victims in the three recent instances cannot recall their attacker. This allows for all the university to use their oh-so-creative minds to formulate what the suspect looks like. What's the problem in that?
Well, for one, it is ineffective and self-demoting for campus security to only possess the means to give a half-hearted description of a criminal. It would also help for you to know that the last three crimes that ended up on campus alerts were committed by "black" people.
At this point, I am at a complete loss what to think. Is it racist to be identifying the criminals by their race? By no means is it when a complete description of the suspect is given. However, the only characteristic that is shared is the perpetrator's race. What's to be gained from the knowledge that one black male committed a crime in a predominantly black neighborhood? The last instance goes like this: "While the precise location of the assault remains unknown, it is believed that the assault occurred inside of what was perceived by the student reporting the assault to be a taxi-cab. The vehicle has been described as being either green and white or black and white." So are university students not suppose to enter taxi cabs with any color of the rainbow with a "black male, dark complexion with a raspy voice, no accent?"

Maybe I think in a teleological sense in which everything must have an end and a purpose. But really, with a description that vague, all the reader is left with is an incomplete description of a black cab driver. So maybe the message is stereotyping. Well, what does anyone take away from the campus alert then? Be wary of taxi drivers? "Also, please make a concerted effort to notice descriptors of vehicles, including taxi-cabs and details regarding the driver, when entering a vehicle."
I do see the value, the recompense, the equality in which the victim has a right to use the resources that are given. But when the positive effectiveness of his or her description is outweighed by the negative, is it not incriminating (to say the least) to just throw a description out there?
I can't decide what to think over this. Is it racist? I don't particularly think so. But what is it called then when the description gives no more evidence other than skin color? Maybe I am over-exaggerating the ineffectiveness of the recent campus alerts. But who is being kept safe by now knowing the last three crimes against university students were committed by one of the many black members of west Philadelphia?

Please share your thoughts and comments below as my opinion is far from being formulated.

Seeing the Underbelly of Philadelphia

2011-09-24T13:36:00.001-04:00

My nerves were shot Tuesday morning. I have been spoiled this far in my first year at college: waking up incredibly early at 8:40 for my nine o’clock class. Rising for a reason non-Jack-schedule oriented was something new; Tuesday morning also marked the start of my complete first month spent away from home in my environment. Monumental, Tuesday was the gateway from my newly nested home to the bare, gray world of North Philadelphia.

Service Learning was one of my highest reasons for coming to Saint Joseph's University. In order to continue a path of service for (and now with-as the Jesuits have put it) others, I have been anxious to begin. Having the luxury of choosing where in Philly I would go, there has been nothing but bright lights, the beautiful downtown area, and cheery SEPTA workers. Home back in Virginia was nothing like this except for the shared sense of nonchalance that came with my absent-minded consumerism on the weekends. I have to admit that the cool weather this past weekend set a pretty scene among the gridlock, but a cold front must have moved in as Tuesday saw nothing but rain.

I drove to Mercy Neighborhood Ministries. Consequently, my perspective of my new home and its surroundings drastically changed. In a car there is safety, comfort, and protection from our external world. All of these qualities could be seen in a positive light, but having not driven for a month, I had become quite comfortable walking to classes, to SEPTA, to eat, to survive. Now, the car gave me status, a leg up on any of my neighbors in the community that had to still walk. I subconsciously judged in the slightest of ways as our 35 mile per hour speed allowed for us to zoom by anyone else I would have had to look in the eye, say hello, or walk awkwardly by without even a nod. Cut off from my surroundings as I drove to engage with the community, I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.

My father pointed in the paper to the new curfew that was set six weeks ago in Philadelphia within our sun-filled family room. I knew that community service would enable me to go at the beast head on when I reached Philadelphia; single-handedly solve all the city’s issues through Jesuit tradition! But this past Tuesday sang a different tune; one of bleakness and a never ending depth. It must have been the clouds as we drove over the Delaware River, which in my mind, had been the line drawn between my home and the great unknown.

My two service partners, Graziella and Earl, sat in our gold Ford Focus as we snaked through elevated cemeteries. Eerie. I felt twice as far away from home, wherever that was now, as we passed garbage-strewn streets. Litter, shady sections of cities, and the hair standing on the back of my neck have all been past experiences. It irked me, nonetheless, when the realization hit me that I would be serving here.

I have done PACEM meals, I have worked with kids with chronic illnesses, and I have volunteered for the Special Olympics. None of the above had placed me into the direct area where my new community partners lived. Frustrated when the MapQuest directions ended with us a block away from our actual destination (without me knowing our proximity,) I panicked. Ask Graziella or Earl. I did not want to park and walk aimlessly in the hope of finding our endpoint.

Once inside, we had a second set of doors to go through. But there was a doorbell that rang at the front desk. Again, this was a small difference from something I am familiar with back home. As to the people inside, they had nothing but smiles. Strong smiles. There was no falsehood in their words, especially Ms. Barbara, who toured us around. Leaving, I could not decide whether the five and six year olds’ smiles out did the elderly’s, or vice versa, but both rekindled my passion to get involved.

But our thirty-six minute meet and greet had us back in the Focus sooner than we expected as I timed every little detail for our trip next Tuesday. I took note of where the young children would walk to school after coming to Mercy Neighborhood in the morning. I saw several people out and about. I wished that the immediate area had somehow cheered up as the sun came out, but I realized that dedication and diligence was more needed than wishful thinking.

I had the luxury of sitting co-pilot on the return trip. We passed many abandoned buildings. It seemed as if every other shop was boarded up. I recognized the SEPTA emblem at a bus stop. There is a connection between the community across the river and us university students, and it is more than the transportation system.

Lessons from Prison: Learning To Make the Hard Right

2011-09-20T11:50:00.003-04:00

Justin Paperny looked like a prestigious business man; the nice suit, the expensive watch that reflected one too many times into my eyes, and the composure of a sophisticated man. Yet there appeared anguish in his eyes that my almost-front row seat allowed me to catch. There, his past rested. I knew no more than that he was about to speak on white-collar crimes, a foreign concept to a humanities major. Nevertheless, his diction and speaking skills, both of which emanated his valued education, enabled me to follow his story.

Before getting straight to the point, which must be what any business man does I presume, Mr. Paperny gave a short disclosure. “I speak in absolutes. I have no intention in indicting you or your future of becoming what my past was. I have been told I do not come across as remorseful. By the end of this talk, if you share that opinion, then I should never be invited back to speak to you again.”

For the next fifty minutes, Mr. Paperny relived a business catastrophe in which he lost everything. As one might expect, his story started with his high post-graduation business expectations that led him down a path of quick money in return for compromising his ethics and morals. His tone suggested that he was still strong; resilient even after imprisonment. Still, I could see the pain and chaos that ensued shortly after his graduation.

While his crime basically entailed taking a simple six million dollar hedge fund to get back at his sly business partner, (who happened to be taking 75% of the commission while Paperny received the other twenty-five,) he promised his client the impossible. His switch from Merrill-Lynch to Bear-Stearns depicted his growing greed and constant dissatisfaction with being the “rookie.” While his initial salary at Merrill-Lynch, a meager $100,000 for his first six months out of University of Southern California, was not enough, Paperny looked to Bear-Stearns where he was bullied into taking only 25% of the shared commission by his senior-partner. “Kenny” was not aware of the new six million dollar transaction that Paperny alone would handle and receive the full commission and responsibility over.

The issue began when Bear-Sterns introduced a new policy shortly before Paperny received the six million dollar client, a former colleague at USC. Paperny recalls how he knew this business partner was shady even in college. The policy stated that no funds under $100,000 were acceptable for Bear-Stearns. When approached by this former colleague, Paperny was quickly made aware that many of the accounts and funds that he would be dealing with did not make this standard. Nevertheless, bribed by money and revenge against his senior partner Kenny, Paperny took the client.

Among other crimes that somehow or another played into the major decision Paperny made were listening to senior brokers lie to new clients asking how their company was doing in the past year. The percent of growth switched from 25% to 27% and Paperny sat and listened to these repeated lies. One thing led to another, and when the FBI came knocking at Paperny’s door, he lied about the events listed above, deepening his crime.

The interesting thing about Mr. Paperny was that when asked after his talk about whether or not there was a set number of clients he would take like the six million dollar one in order to get back at Kenny and the deficit created between the unevenly split commission, he said there was. He calculated five years of taking hedge funds and brokers without Kenny’s knowledge. However, even as human as his calculation made him out to be (instead of some heartless machine,) he was not any more above the law and was unable to make it five complete years with his illegal activities.

He also spoke about his upbringing. “There was no inclination from my childhood that I was to become a criminal. Ask me how my childhood was…Perfect.” I immediately thought how he contradicted every study, every belief that suggests the childhood is the most important developmental period in one’s life. He also disproved that living successfully implied that he was living a fulfilled life. Another life lesson he explicitly stated was he knew when he was in the wrong. He knew when he crossed the line, and anyone with an education should easily be able to determine what is right and wrong, especially in the business world.

Furthermore, he put it to the whole audience that when faced any decisions, business or some other field of work, to always make the hard right. “I know that no one in this room will end up in prison like I did. But only some of you will be strong enough to make the right decision.” He painted a picture that was all too familiar to him; one in which a group of high-ranking bosses, business partners, and colleagues sat and discussed unethical decisions. Noting that it is not difficult to stand up and do what is right, he still challenged us when we graduate to make the hard right and save ourselves the prison time in which he learned to do just that.

Starting Back Up

2011-09-05T22:56:00.001-04:00

Well, after a long absence from blogging due to my extended post-highschool summer, I am back to work as a full time student. One of the nice things about being a student (as opposed to being a lowly member of the work force) is the academic exposure to literature. Possibly due to my lack of literature maturity, I have a great appreciation for professors and teachers alike that take students by the hand and lead us through various literary materials; plays, manuscripts, stories, novels, bibles-you name it, it sure beats reading The Freshman Survival Guide to College as a deep read! In addition to using my spiritual and philosophical classes as launch pads for blog posts, I had some really interesting and life changing experiences through out the summer. Hiking was a reoccurring theme that establish a large part of my identity before I embarked for my new life at college. I also had the wonderful opportunity to be the low man on the totem pole at a restaurant and work my way up to being a waiter-(a juicy topic filled with many a spiritual lesson.) Among the hectic and ever-so quick goodbyes before my grand departure, I did find the time to partake in a sweat lodge which had a profound impact on my personal faith. To say the least, there is much for me to write and reflect further upon as my academic year expands. Hopefully, I will be able to churn out some essays and, most-definitely, responses to other bloggers that I should be following a little more closely! Eventually some in-depth reflections will come out as well!

Power Outage In A Rest Stop Bathroom

2011-02-11T13:27:00.000-05:00

Luckily, there was a rest-stop on the Maryland-Virginia border. There was no way I was making it all the way to D.C. without stopping to relieve my bladder. No way. I fumbled to hit the turning signal as I got off on the exit ramp. It was a grey day, so it was worth travelling today. The smell of fast food and gasoline hit me as I crossed the crowded parking lot.

Inside, warm, stuffy air hit my face as I entered through the doors that had sticky handles. I passed a Hispanic family, then an African American family; such a diverse rest-stop being that the nation’s capital was less 20 miles away.

There was a line for the bathroom. Of course there was, and I became impatient as I was delayed longer than I anticipated. I pulled my cell-phone out to pass the time. No service. Curious as to why such a crowded area would lack 4G, I looked around as if the answer was in the air. The man in front of me had peculiar clothes. Wrapped in black and white robes, I couldn’t help but think that using a urinal would prove to be difficult.

The line moved forward. However, the man in front of me didn’t shuffle a few steps further. Attempting to hold back my impatience, I casually tapped the man’s shoulder. His neck straightened out, and I happened to realize I interrupted some sort of meditation as I obtusely pointed out that the line moved a couple of inches. I blushed as embarrassment rushed over me. I apologized, “Sorry, I just have to go real bad.” I felt childish saying this, but no shame. The man’s face quickly brightened as he realized I was embarrassed.

“It’s no problem,” said the man who must’ve been no older than twenty-five. “I’ve been waiting for about five minutes already.” The light-hearted feeling I had just gained from his kind facial expression quickly left.

“Five whole minutes?” I whined.

“Apparently there is some sort of electrical problem at this rest-stop. They’ve rigged a makeshift toilet while the plumbing is out.” He grinned. Possibly at the absurdity of the situation, but I couldn’t tell as I was growing more impatient by the second. “Just let go,” he said.

“Excuse me?” I replied, not sure what he was referring to.

“Just let go.” He added a wink to his referral. Huh. I looked at my cell-phone to check the time, realizing I wouldn’t get home in time to catch The Office reruns that TBS has every Tuesday. “The receptions bad because of the power outage,” he informed me. “Do you have somewhere important to be?” he inquired. I sheepishly admitted no, understanding that TV wouldn’t have any significance to this holy man. Curious, I had to ask what he was wearing. I had nothing else to do as the line slowly shuffled forward. “I’m a roshi.”

“A what?”

“A roshi. I’m a Zen Buddhist master, sort of like a priest, if you will.”

“Oh, so like some yin-yang sort of deal, right?” I said, thinking I’d impress him with lack of ignorance for other cultures.

“No not quite the same thing,” he smiled. Again, I felt childish but without shame. The man, clearly younger than me, had this strong affect and I couldn’t understand why. His eyes looked welcoming as I turned over in mind whether or not to dive into a religious conversation here in the bathroom line. I noticed I had let go of my impatience as the line shuffled forward. We were almost by the tiled entrance of the bathroom.

“Okay, well, how would you summarize your faith? In one sentence or less. Because Christians can say, like, that Jesus died on the Cross and rose from the dead. What’s your religion got like that?”

“Equanimity,” he simply replied. I recognized a Latin word within that definition.

Fishing back into my high school Latin knowledge, now gone, I spat out, “Equal-hearted-ness?”

“Almost. It’s literally ‘equal-mind-ness. Close, though,” he reassured me as he smiled again.

“Ah, well what does that mean?”

“To put it simply, it implies an “equalness” towards every day events; letting go of needless attachment.” I was somewhat baffled by this definition. Hmm. Just then, a worker of sorts walked out of the bathroom.

“Excuse me gentlemen. If I could have your attention please: this restroom is closed for the day. I’m sorry for making you wait for nothing. As you have probably found out, there is an electrical power outage, and it is difficult to pinpoint the exact spot that will fix this problem. Again, I am sorry.” A large, collective groan emerged from the line of unrelieved men. My companion just nodded and shot me a grin. The line was led by the worker to the backside of the facilities. Outside, there were plenty of trees and the plumber, or maybe he was an electrician, pointed the crowd that way. Slightly disgruntled, but aware of this new idea of “equanimity,” I strolled alongside this roshi to the trees. The crowd of men dispersed, some headed for the trees, but the majority continued to shake their heads in disbelief of such an inconvenience.

I heard chuckling up ahead. Perturbed by the laughter, I thought, what could be so funny right now? I looked at my line-partner and his smile reappeared. I was flat out confused. We reached the source of the laughter by the trees. My roshi friend went towards the figure that had laughed. Tapping on his shoulder, my friend embraced the older man as he turned around. Still needing to relieve myself, and very confused at what was going on, I approached the two men.

“Kind sir-“ the roshi began. I cut him off, “Sam. Sam Rogers.”

“Sam Rogers,” he started, “this is Chun Tzu Lee.” I awkwardly shook hands with the gentleman, noticing that his back was slightly bent, maybe as to bow.

“Funny how we have to come out here to relieve ourselves,” Mr. Lee said with a hint of sarcasm. “I can’t believe they’re forcing an old man to the wilderness when all he wanted was to use a bathroom!” I couldn’t see how he thought himself to be old. His skin retained a noticeably model-esque tan that made him appear as if had justreturned from the beach. There wasn’t an age mark to be found on his face.

As we made our way back from the trees, the two men stopped at an old Nissan Altima. The roshi, whose name I still did not know, opened the driver side’s door and pulled out a satchel. “Come join us for lunch,” he invited. Hesitant, I thought of home and my TV show. But I soon realized how bizarre this rest stop had been: wait in line for one toilet, meet a Zen Buddhist, go to the bathroom outside, and meet a friend of the Buddhist. Wishing to learn something about either of them, I agreed to some lunch.

Inside, it was emptier than it was ten minutes ago. The power outage left the food court helpless and the bathrooms empty. Luckily there were some burgers and fries to be found at McDonald’s. I offered to pay. The roshi’s friend didn’t hesitate to let me do so while the Buddhist himself had to be coaxed. We sat down at a window seat. The roshi pulled out a few pieces of literature from his satchel. I asked the older man if he was a Zen Buddhist too.

Lao Tzu

“No,” he replied. “I am a chun tzu.” I chewed mindfully on my burger.

“Oh,” I said shortly. The roshi smiled at him, and then at me. “And how does that differ from a roshi?” I inquired. Everyone sipped from their soda straws simultaneously. With the older man in no rush to explain, the roshi began to talk.

“Well, first of all, as I told you, I am a Zen Buddhist. Chun Tzu Lee is a chun tzu. A gentleman of sorts. He’s Confucian.” Confused again, I was puzzled by the fact Buddhism and Confucianism were two separate religions. I had always believed them to be fairly similar. Well actually, I just knew they were Asian religions, and that was it.

“Would you explain your religion to me a little bit more?”

“Certainly. Zen Buddhism differs from a Tibetan Buddhism. We focus on meditation. It’s a method of emptying in order to refine our attention. We believe that ‘the mind has other ways of working than its normal, rational way, Zen is convinced.’” (Smith, 89.)

“So this meditation doesn’t come so easily does it?” I pondered aloud.

“I wouldn’t say so,” said Mr. Lee with a soft laugh.

“Well, there’s a type of meditation called zazen. This literally is a seated type of meditation. Monks will ‘sit for hours on end in the lotus posture they inherited from India.’ They hope to ‘awaken the Buddha-mind that will reshape their daily lives.’” (Smith, 88.)

“Well, do Zen Buddhist’s use any holy texts?”

“Mmm, not always. We like to focus on sanzen, or a type of consultation with our masters to discuss meditation. In these meetings, we discuss koans, or problems. They’re kind of like word problems…For example, what is the sound of one hand clapping?” I couldn’t think of anything. Wasn’t that a Simpson’s episode? Hm. He wouldn’t find that amusing. Um…

Without cutting my train of thought, he said, “Don’t worry. Monks repeatedly visit twice a day with their masters to figure out their koans. They make an initial breakthrough called satori. It can take several years for them to figure it out.”

I slurped the remnants of my soda through the bendy straw. I couldn’t help but feel extremely overwhelmed with the knowledge that was placed before me. I offered to get Mr. Lee and the roshi more soda. And as I returned to the table, I realized that a quick conversation had taken place.

“Mr. Rogers,” the chen tzu started, “Roshi Thomason wishes for me to tell you a little bit about my religion.”

That was the roshi’s name! “Oh please do!” I said as I sat back down.

“Well as you may or may not know, Confucius lived in the sixth century B.C. ‘Agonizing over the inhumanity of his day [that is, during the Chou Dynasty], Confucius looked in an altogether different direction for a cure. He became obsessed with tradition and its power to civilize.’ (Smith, 107.) And as you can imagine, a system of ethics were established to create peace and stability.” The chen tzu sipped some more of his soda, “While I could go into specifics, the ethics are founded on four main ideals. So remember both the four Zen Buddhist points that Roshi Thomason told you as well as mine,” he said with a smile.

“The second idea is chen tzu, like roshi, it is an esteemed title given to superiors. A chen tzu is a gentleman of sorts. He is to be treated with respect. You have instinctively done this for me, and I am pleased to tell you that you’d make a good Confucius practitioner because you respect your elders.” I blushed a little to the comment.

“That is part of the third concept, propriety, which encompasses filial piety. There isn’t much to say here other than that you embody this well. The fourth idea is called te. It’s the power of moral example. (Clark, Class Notes.)You also displayed this well with a firm handshake. It also looks like a ruler who rules by example, not by law.”

“Huh, so there are four concepts in Confucianism too?”

“Mhm. Oh, wait, excuse me! There are five!”

“Oh? And what is the fifth ideal?” I was ready to get going now.

“You’ll have to get in touch with us for that! We’ll just have to leave you with a cliffhanger. Give us your email, I have a class to teach tomorrow and have to be settled in tonight,” said the chen tzu.

“Likewise I also have to be back and my zendo, my church, for tomorrow!” said the roshi. Our conversation was abruptly cut short. I wasn’t disappointed, though. And somehow I knew I would keep in touch with them, and still possibly learn a thing or two from these two men.

On the car ride home, I couldn’t help but ponder over what I had just encountered. And pulling into my driveway, I pressed my garage door button. It was late now, and I was in a crummy mood from coming home so late. When the door didn’t open, a feeling of impatience rushed over me. But rather than giving into the emotion, I thought equanimity.

Bending Over...To Plug In Part 2

2011-02-03T19:53:00.000-05:00

As I had mentioned in the first post, the second requirement that a power outlet required me to do was "pick up the power chord after it had fallen off the table."

There are two aspects that I picked up on while reflecting on this act. The first was my duty to pick up the power chord. Sucked into the vortex of desperately needing to plug in the laptop, I found myself frantically getting down on hand and knee to pick up the stupid male part of the chord. Did technology actually just make me stoop? I thought technology was to my benefit, not the technology benefiting from me. And this first aspect quickly ties back into my first point in Part 1, separating ourselves from technology to focus on our path.

The second aspect was completely different, and maybe not as much of a stretch as the first aspect. Too often are we confronted with second chances that we refuse to take due to pride. I think of some of Siggy Freud's ego defense mechanisms which ultimately allow for our mind to delay, lie, hinder, cover, or mar our reaction to trauma. Two of the more commonly known mechanisms are rationalization and denial (of reality.) The first, as many of us already seem to know, is a way of finding excuses to justify either a traumatic experience done unto us, or that which we have done. Simply put, it's lying (: Denial is what we know denial as: rejecting reality. These are just two examples of how we refuse to just pick up where we have left off. We've either strayed too far, lost sight of, or got tired with what our current route has been thus far. And while religions do a fantastic job at giving you the step by step process how to get back en route to an ultimate goal (i.e. faith,) one most understand it is self-generated. So back to the computer charger on the ground, I myself had to get the plug from the ground. The dog wasn't going to get it, nor was the charger going to find its way back up the table. (And yes, I know how simple of an action this was, but that's the point: getting back on track, starting with the small things so that we are able to recharge our computers [a different analogy with the computer AGAIN!])

Bending Over...To Plug In

2011-02-02T22:47:00.000-05:00

I couldn't help but feel pathetic as I failed to plug in this laptop's power chord into a wall outlet. Tucked behind the futon I now sit on, that outlet was hard to get to...it required me to 1) put the laptop and its chord down, 2) pick up the power chord after it fell off the table, and 3) struggle desperately to connect the male part of the plug to the outlet. Why is this worth mentioning? I personally thought that there's a generic life lesson to be learned from these three points. I admit that it seems like I constantly look for these life lessons in any and every instance. And thus far, I haven't found any negative effect from searching (and then relating.)

Jokes on you

First lesson: putting the laptop and its chord down. That is, put technology down. I found that it was necessary to put down what my arms were carrying in order to find something small. This could be translated into many things in order to be a life lesson. Putting down, or rather, emptying ourselves in order to be capable of being filled up. Just this past Sunday, I heard in new definition for humility within the homily. "Humility" did not entail being the doormat of the world, rather, it was the concept of emptying one's self in order to be able to fully receive Jesus. (I did say I thought in generic, all encompassing mode:) So is Jesus interchangeable with other religious concepts? No, absolutely not. However, this redefined humility is a shared belief among other faiths. Maybe not under the term "humility," but still, the idea remains. Because Taoism is centered around "the way," I thought that this faith could be used as a point of reference in order to make a more generic life lesson out of "putting down the laptop." Taoism, I have found, also favors emptiness. I'd go as far as to say that less is more in Taoism because the constant state of emptying seems to be a threaded theme throughout the Tao Te Ching, the holy book of Taoism. "It is empty yet not depleted." (TTC 5:6.) Because Taoism gives us another point of view on this idea of emptying, whether it be for the sake of embodying Christ or being able to follow the way ever more closely, I can now make a more generic life lesson, or rather, a more general reflection.
Tying back into my first point of putting down the technology and its baggage it brings. I'd make the argument that technology is the fore frontal distraction/occupation of most people's time. Whether it be for better or worse, technology occupies the average schmo's time.You can't swing a dead cat without hitting a 40-50 year old guy staring down at his iPhone4. So an immediate benefit of putting down the technology would be that grown men wouldn't walk into people. Throw in loss of social skills terminated (as soon as the cultural emphasis on technology as the only means of communication has subsided.) But on a more life lesson level, what is to be gained from putting down the technology from time to time is a gain in dignity. I feel cheap to know that a screen has me so invested that I can't seem to function without it. The computer will run with or without us. Yea, sure, we need to turn it on, but once that sucker's up and running, we are sitting there, cranking out the power by pedaling. We, however, seem to be at the mercy of the computer/tv/cellphone. And like I pointed out, yes, there are all the social stats and communication reasons for us to stop using technology as a life source, but still, we could make significant progress along the path without our heads down, staring at the cellphone, or our eyes glazed, glued to the television, or our ears muffed by headphones.

to be continued

Getting Back Into the Mix

2011-02-02T17:45:00.000-05:00

Spittle bugs

I have taken an extended break from this blogging business. Part of the reason for such a delay in coming back is due to the courses I'm taking. I had a lot thrown at me from two of my biggest influences: Comparative Religions and a philosophy class. And there was a lot of concrete, generic information being thrown at me from the philosophical arena while I was learning some mind blowing Eastern Asia religions (Zen Buddhism, Confucianism, and Taoism.) While I am digesting and reflecting what I have learned, I am able to produce some sort of reflection that can generally draw a line that connects some broadly shared concepts.
The driving factor to actually hop back into blogging came just about a half an hour ago while I lay with my drool on my chin, sitting in a dentist chair. I usually enjoy getting my teeth cleaned, but this was the first time I encountered some mental and physical dilemmas. The obvious physical issue was the drooling. I felt a little demoralized as I sat, incapable of controlling my dribble. I couldn't really find the right amount of stretch my jaw needed to have to please my hygienist. So instead of frequently interrupting her work in order to wipe my spittle, I turned inward. Ah, the great indoors of the mind. And I must admit, rather than practice a new meditation technique (which I tend to do when I have a free second,) I thought of ze blog. So there is no actual religious or philosophical affiliation in this specific post, but I do want to encourage my growing audience to comment. The reason I make such a request is that in signing back in, I have realized in a few of the comments, how quick I am to press publish, and then later discover, or be told that I have made a mistake. (I am referring to my Qigong mistype.) So my perfect dreamworld would be if I was questioned on definitions, references, and parallels that I loosely draw between philosophy and religion.
I hope to have a few reflections on Aristotle mixed in with the Asian religions I have really enjoyed thus far. I particularly liked the contrasts between Confucianism and Taoism, both of which (with Buddhism) play as significant influences in Chinese (among others) culture.
Read on,
Pass on the URL,
Thanks,
Jack-Michael

New Method to Achieve Zen-like State

2011-01-05T21:34:00.000-05:00

In Zen meditation, the objective is to clear the mind and end its monkey-mind nature. So commonly do our minds drop into a state in which we are at the mercy of self-propagated illusions; monkey-mind. Our minds quickly shift from thought to thought. What is the harm of monkey-mind? An immediate problem is a decrease in attention span. This can be simply viewed as how long one can keep focus on one individual thought or object. My explanation can be proved by a simple test: close your eyes and focus on one color. Quickly, our minds flood with common associations that we have each individually made during our lives. Uncontrollably, we lose our focus on our chosen color.

Zen Buddhism has established an ancient meditation method that resolves this problem that we encounter frequently in a matter of seconds. Multiple aspects of posture, breathing, and relaxation are used to achieve a seemingly impossible task: silencing our minds. It’s also crucial to point out that Zen Buddhists do not restrict their meditation to a set ritual. However, the prescribed method does indeed have a variety of benefits and is thus encouraged. The danger of falling into a repetitive “tradition” is losing what Shunryu Suzuki, zen roshi, calls beginner’s mind. Beginner’s mind can be seen as the first time one encounters the divine, an epiphany, or rather a rare state in which we are enveloped in pure innocence. As soon as we retrace our footsteps to achieve beginner’s mind for a second time, we are no longer able to grasp the same intensity of innocence. Thus repetition and tradition can both be seen as hazardous to meditation methods, even prayer in our Western religions. Suzuki states that we must come ready to meditate with a beginner’s mind.

I casually plotted out when my mind was jostled the most, and for me, this seemed to be when I was alone, or blotting out people around me. I found that looking inwardly was somewhat dangerous to do with limited experience in meditating because as soon as I tried to be still in my mind, I realized how loud and rambunctious my thoughts really were. My alternative method begins here: instead of facing my monkey-mindedness as a Zen Buddhist might, I thought, “Let’s attack the monkey in my mind when he’s not expecting it.” A devious but detrimental plan. I flipped the zen technique, if it can be said to be treating the monkey mind head on, to a more passive aggressive plot. When would my monkey-mind be unavailable, I thought. When would my thoughts be lulled asleep? [I write this as a narrative, but it so happened that I stumbled across this following method rather than planned it out.]

I played an excessive amount of video games over winter break, which really brought nothing but headaches and strained eyes. However, my mind felt fried, like unhealthily deep-fried french fries. With this feeling, I felt foggy, which can also be translated as dull-minded. My brain wasn’t working hard, or much at all after playing video games. After suffering these side effects, I found that the monkey mind was temporarily eliminated. [This isn’t to say that video games lead to some soft-core state of zen.]

It was what I began to do in this glazed state that reflected zen’s ideals. It’s very easy to fall into a negative mood when our minds half-asleep after staring into screens. I usually mumble or try to avoid talking which comes off as rude or obnoxious. Not very zen-like. But having cheated my monkey-mind for a few minutes, I found that the first thought that came into my head had to be a positive one. Buddhism does not try to shut the brain off or shut off our senses from reality. Rather, its goal is to have the mind cleared but still function on a very high, focused, and trained level that embodies equanimity. So in order to have done anything in the relative neighborhood of zen, I had to process through my deep-fried state in a way in which that I would fashion equal mindedness with my few decisions I had to make getting ready to go to sleep. With my gaming partner in crime still awake with me at these early hours of the morning, this was not easy. In fact, I failed every time I tried to act positively out of this state of exhaustion. I believed this was in part to the day having ended, and there was no apparent reason to act with equanimity.

So instead of trying to act positively after playing video games, I thought of a more natural, healthier method of reaching this fo-clear mind. As a reaction to staying up late, I woke up later. Unfortunately, this pattern was crudely disrupted when I was forced to wake up at the cruel hour of five a.m. in order to drive to Maine for Christmas. But again, I found a state in which my monkey-mind was shelved. And in this instance, the day was very young, and there were many benefits from being equal-minded at this hour. For example, getting on the road after packing was simplified with a positive attitude rather than a groggy, sappy one.

Having barely awakened when I embarked on my journey [as a passenger,] I was looking

at a thirteen hour drive. What better to do than meditate. In this specific instance, I had thought of the idea before doing it rather than finding myself in the midst of doing some techniques that surround zen’s method for meditating. Getting into the lotus position as best as I could with a seatbelt strapped across my stomach, I succeeded surprisingly well, I must say, at this early hour in staying focused on my breathing. My monkey-mind did not have the chance to wreak havoc on my fresh mind. I sat, eyes closed [non-zen technique] and inevitably fell asleep. The intriguing part was when I woke up, my mind was still blank, and I was able to control my initial thoughts very well. I found this to be a huge success because I was able to avoid monkey-mind’s invasion. And while this is quite obviously not a full on zen experience, I would highly recommend trying to use this model in order to take advantage of small slots of time we overlook or allow monkey-mindedness flood. Rather than meeting the monkey-mind head on, I thought that maybe beating the monkey-mind to “unadulterated areas” of my mind would possibly give me some confidence in order to face a very steep challenge.

Multiplicity vs. Polytheism

2010-12-18T10:38:00.000-05:00

One of the common things we tend to do today is interchange multiplicity with polytheism. Especially when dealing with Hinduism, we tend to think of the 330 billion deities as a form of polytheism. However, upon taking a course on Hinduism, I learned a new term that explains for a vast array of deities ranging from male to female, elephant-headed to six headed, and destroyer to preserver: multiplicity. Dictionary.com does a fairly decent job at defining the term; the state of being multiple. How does this vary from polytheism? How does this apply to Christianity?

Kali

A wide approach to address Hinduism's use of the term multiplicity is to look at the Six Aspects of Our World. In short they are: We live in 1) A multiple world that includes galaxies, tiers, and cylces, 2) a moral world in which karma is inexorable, 3) a middling world that will never replace paradise as the spirit's destination, 4) a world in which maya exists, 5) a gymnasium for developing spiritual capacities i.e. "a vale for soul-making", and finally 6) a world in which lila, the play of the divine in its cosmic dance, exists. (Huston Smith, Illustrated World's Religions.) The immediate reason for displaying these six aspects is to point out that the fundamental message of Hinduism's perception of our world, while it was founded in the East well before Abram and Sarai were renamed as Abraham and Sarah, holds many of Christianity's similar perceptions. But simply put by Professor Jeaneane Fowler of the University of Wales College: “The relationship between the many manifest deities and the unmanifest Brahman is rather like that between the sun and its rays. We cannot experience the sun itself but we can experience its rays and the qualities, which those rays have." Brahman would be the equivalent of the Trinity complete, all Three in One would compose Brahman. However, broken down into three parts, equivalent to the Trinity's Three Persons, Brahma is the deity associated as Creator, Vishnu as Preserver, and Shiva as Destroyer. I would personally argue that within these three deities, the remaining 330 billion (minus three) deities originate. How is that possible? And why isn't this referred to as polytheism?

Devi

The term avatar explains how the number of deities is capable of jumping to a whopping 330 billion. Vishnu alone has ten avatars in which the Eighth Avatar is Krishna (from which Krishnaism branches off from,) and the Ninth Avatar is commonly believed to be the Buddha. With each deity springs up a female consort, wife, or counterpart that ultimately pertains to an aspect or characteristic of the primal deity. Why do these deities exist? Certain aspects are portrayed through a womanly figure rather than a male deity. This can't be argued because how should a male deity embody maternal characterstics that figures like Durga, who I consider to be a midway point between Kali and Parvati in certain aspects. While those three names are indeed inclusive of three separate persons, they all fall under Devi, the ultimate goddess mother, loosely identified with being the female counterpart of Brahma.

Trinity

But immediately, I feel like my train of thought has been lost while trying to correlate the similarities between gods and goddesses. Hindu art especially helps to depict the aspects among deities. To use Kali, Durga, and Parvati again, Kali is always depicted as the embodiment of "tough maternal love" in which she chops off the heads of ignorance from her devotees. Durga is a more balanced figure that is powerful and stern at times, but is not associated with violence, but does not have a soft side like Parvati. Parvati retains qualities that which a newborn child would be treated with instead of bloody acts like Kali. While Durga falls somewhere in between, these three goddesses depict just a few aspects that which Brahman retains.

I find this similar to Christianity embracing their God as omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent. Brahma, the Creator deity consequently is omnipotent. Vishnu, omniscient, and Shiva as omnipresent because where does death not reach? This isn't to ignore the differences between 330 billion versus 3. However, both 330 billion and 3 boil into one. The means by which each religion explains how this is possible relates through multiplicity, rather than polytheism because many gods would deny the fact that each deity or person (of the Trinity) is not absorbed by Brahman or the Trinity, that each god is a separate outlier. Catholicism is quick to define the Trinity as the Christian Mystery: "In the Symbol of the faith the Church confesses the mystery of the Holy Trinity and of the plan of God's "good pleasure" for all creation: the Father accomplishes the "mystery of his will" by giving his beloved Son and his Holy Spirit for the salvation of the world and for the glory of his name." (CCC 1066, Ephesians 1:9.) This echoes Hinduism's simple structure of Creator, Preserver, and Destroyer. What both religions share is what fills the spaces in between.

I hope to get a Part 2 for this...Please comment on anything that isn't clear or if it seems like I'm smashing two religions crudely together.

Complacency

2010-12-16T10:02:00.000-05:00

I have finally found the all-encompassing word that describes the Western thought that America embodies. I repeatedly refer to this "theme" in the majority of my posts. And the word has finally popped into my head. Rudimentary in our society, complacency is this very evil that blinds our faiths and morals. My previous post, and many others discuss and argue how morals are short-lived when we fall for hedonism, gluttony, and excess comfort.
A perfect Hindu term for this illusoriness is maya. (Please read the short story to understand the full meaning of this post.) Summarized, there are several stories within stories. Three, if including the larger context of the Legend of Narada within the Hindu texts of the Puranas. The protagonist of this story is none other than Narada, who has been journeying with Lord Krishna, a Christ-like reincarnation of Vishnu. The story is dizzying, especially since Western thought's story line follows the outline of past, present, future, rather than disrupting the excess weight of time. How short-lived and ephemeral do Narada's pleasures and family seem. Ultimately, Krishna remains at his resting spot, waiting for Narada to turn. This emphasizes the incomparable downplay of our venerated, worshiped deities and their lack of need for our acts of worship or praise.
Instead, we find ourselves caught up in the time spent in our own illusions.

Rather than return to what is ultimately real, we find pleasure and comfort in distractions. And our Western society has done a tremendous job on having the accessibility to any type of excess of pleasure at any individual's fingertips. There is much to be said about the harms that derive from a culture that promotes consumerism. But the crucial point to come away with is that though we may find ourselves stooping into the world of illusoriness, our faith in our chosen ishta, one's chosen ideal of God, allows for us to pull ourselves back out of what is not ultimately real. Again, what is not real is what is ephemeral, temporal, and nine out ten times tangible. If it's a man made object that's mass produced, it's typically going to be a potential distraction, not an immediate one. It is the individual, us, who turn something that doesn't necessarily have to be a distraction into illusion. This directly corresponds with Moses' reading of the Ten Commandments: "You shall not make for yourself an idol in the form of anything in heaven above or on the earth beneath or in the waters below." (Exodus 20:4.) Similarly in Narada's test put forth by Krishna, Moses relieves the people by saying "“Do not be afraid. God has come to test you, so that the fear of God will be with you to keep you from sinning.” (Exodus 20:20.) Between these two traditional stories we find that God wants us to choose what is ultimately real over the illusion. Anything other decision puts us further from our God, and it becomes difficult in discerning what is ultimately real and what is inevitably holy.

Postnatal Abortions=Infanticide=Homicide

2010-12-14T18:59:00.000-05:00

Giovanni Battista's The Madonna and Child in Glory with Cherubs

Upon reading this post, I couldn't help but have my own response. I would like to point out the argument of how the sex culture of America is the factor to look at in any of these instances (abortions, infanticide, and homicide.) Anyone would be a fool to ignore that an American teenage girl has been given the green light by society to have sex. Several of these "green lights" are seen in condom commercials making it on TV, the tendencies and promotions of sex as an inevitable act of pleasure in SexEd classes in schools, and our culture that says yes to everything and anything an individual wants i.e. greed. I personally find that any movement for postnatal abortions ignores the fact that a woman is seen only for her sex. And if any argument should be made about the woman in the instance of an abortion, it shouldn't be about if its a choice, her choice, or any choice is to be made at all, but rather that the woman has been subdued by a paternalistic society. This shouldn't be shocking because based on the reality, who has the abortion? Males are never held accountable for their actions in these instances because they never have been held to such a standard since it was absurd to have sexual relations with a woman out of wedlock. While this argument could go straight to the argument over marriage is the only place for sex, I find that one has to look no further than our local communities. I find it horrific that PlannedParenthood or any clinics that ultimately end in decimation (rather, death,) should be considered or esteemed so highly as bright and cheery resources for a woman. It's considerably flip flopped in that the woman is "free" after submitting to have sex and given the ability to erase any trace of responsibility or submission. In this Culture of Death that we promote, it is seemingly mechanical for the woman to make the hardest decision with what to do after sex. I find that something as destructive and evil as postnatal abortions is just a glimpse of how far our (world) culture is willing to go in order that our immediate, hedonistic pleasures; the highest of these being sex.

Qigong, A First Time Experience

2010-12-13T16:32:00.001-05:00

This past weekend, I spent a good hour and a half participating in Qigong session. As to what I was actually partaking in, I am not 100% sure. I was, of course, informed shortly before the session began what we would be doing, but I admit I was too focused on stretching and warming up- not sure how physically demanding this course would be. I write this because I've done several Hatha yoga sessions before, and I thought it could be of some value to compare this new martial arts class to my experiences in the Hindu realm of physical meditation.
Immediately, I detected that breaking a sweat was inevitable; Qigong was physically demanding. Where yoga has one moving to get into positions that one eventually holds for a period of time, Qigong was a continuation of fluid movements. These movements were broken into the Eight Treasures, all of which had very interesting names which we were to meditate on (if we could simultaneously) while trying to follow the instructor. My favorite Treasure pertained to the Tiger energy. Again, compared to yoga, I found that some of the same balancing and flexibility techniques were shared, but Qggong was very demanding in holding one half (in the Tiger "set" it was the legs stuck in a pose) while the upper body went through a circuit of movements in sets of either three or nine. I think that Hatha yoga allowed for me personally to meditate instantaneously once I was able to get into a pose, but Qigong was consistently demanding for my mind to be focused on trying to get into a rhythm. I feel that my recent inactive lifestyle was really jump started by the combination of all Eight Treasures.

Sorry for the vagueness, it was hard to retain all the details of the names of the Treasures I was doing, and similarly, I didn't have much of grasp on the history of Qigong. However, I would recommend it for anyone who is interested in yoga already or one who would like to start some form of martial arts. This exercise, though, was not seemingly as "violent" taekwondo or any other martial arts. I'm still curious to learn about its history and why it's placed under the category of martial arts. It did, however, have a strong physical affect on my body. I was thoroughly exhausted when I finished. The extensive stretching in each Treasure was very unique and apparently healthy. "Realigning the channels" was the goal of Qigong; a shared Hindu/Buddhist, Eastern Asian practice.

Fascinating.

Crito, A Peter-Disciple of Socrates Part 2

2010-12-08T12:18:00.000-05:00

It's no coincidence that we find shared characteristics between a philosopher's disciple and a messiah's apostle. While both masters endured physical pain, specifically the Agony in the Garden and the Death (suicide) of Socrates by poison, we find two disciples that act rashly on human impulse. Peter reacted violently when Jesus was arrested: "Then the men stepped forward, seized Jesus and arrested him. With that, one of Jesus’ companions reached for his sword, drew it out and struck the servant of the high priest, cutting off his ear." (Matthew 26:50-51.) We similarly find Crito pleading for Socrates to use his finances to escape from prison: "Simmias the Theban, has brought a sum of money for this very purpose; and Cebes and many others are willing to spend their money too. I say, therefore, do not on that account hesitate about making your escape..." (Crito.) Through both students' seemingly impulsive responses, we use hindsight to prove their humanity and therefore, their actions embody actions that any human being is bound to make. However, through this process in which we justify both disciples' humanity, we tend to overlook how their actions are selfish. I don't mean to deride either of their characters but it is important to signify each of their wrongs, especially the ones that their teachers have highlighted. After His Transfiguration, Jesus "gave them orders not to tell anyone what they had seen until the Son of Man had risen from the dead. They kept the matter to themselves..." (Mark 9:9-10.)My interpretation of this, in addition to Christ's fulfillment of revealing Himself to Man, is that there is an initial limitation to what Jesus was able to share with Peter, (James, and John.) Eventually, however, Jesus gave Peter the "keys of the gates of Heaven," but before this significant turning point in his life's journey as an apostle, Peter was incapable of taking on the full revelation of the "mystery of Christ." (Matthew 16:19, Colossians 4:3.)
This inability that the human disciple embodies is seen ever more clearly in Crito's personality. Failing to live Socrates' teaching, Crito was only capable of regurgitating the words of his teacher, rather than devotedly converting his lifestyle to that of Socrates' doctrine. Consequently, Crito was only able to retain a minimal quantity of teaching and was not allowing his soul to undergo the dramatic changes that Socrates had intended for his followers. Spearheading Socrates' expectations for Crito is existentialism. In essence, Socrates believed in democracy. Condemned by democratic means accounted for in Plato's Apology, Socrates lives unchanged through his incarceration. Crito depicts Socrates in prison: "I wanted you to be out of pain. I have always thought you happy in the calmness of your temperament; but never did I see the like of the easy, cheerful way in which you bear this calamity." By doing so, he signifies living in the "now."

Crito, A Peter-Disciple of Socrates

2010-12-07T12:35:00.005-05:00

One of the main underlying themes of Crito is the importance of how avoid conforming to social norms. The short dialogue between Socrates and Crito takes place in prison. Crito enters upon Socrates as he sleeps, and when he wakes, Crito comments on how he retained a serene face during his dream, representing that his imprisonment was having minimal affects on his attitude. The city of Athens awaits the arrival of a ship from Delos, and on its arrival, Socrates is to be put to death. Crito tells Socrates the ship has yet to come to Athens, and in return, Socrates retells his dream. In it, a woman speaks to Socrates saying, “O Socrates, the third day hence to fertile Phthia shalt thou go.” Believing that either the ship’s arrival or the woman’s prophecy was bound to come true shortly, Crito presses Socrates to make a decision whether or not to escape from jail. Having the financial means to do so, Crito believes that Socrates should escape his unjust imprisonment in order to keep teaching the apparently large multitude of believers that did not argue against his incarceration. Crito also depicts the weakness in Socrates’ plan of becoming a martyr for his cause; by leaving this world, Socrates would be abandoning his children as orphans. The conservation quickly switches to Socrates reviewing his teachings on society and the evil it contains. By doing so, Socrates depicts the importance of seeking wisdom from a teacher, not from persons, especially those who stress the importance of the body over reason.

I can’t help but immediately think of Christ and his disciple Peter when reading the dialogue between Crito and Socrates. The gist of Socrates’ conversation with Crito is a confirmation of his teachings and their application to their current state: incarceration. Too quickly does Crito panic and search for the immediate, self-preserving resolution to Socrates’ imprisonment. I find this paralleled in Mark’s account of Jesus rebuking Peter: “[Jesus] then began to teach them that the Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders, chief priests and teachers of the law, and that he must be killed and after three days rise again. He spoke plainly about this, and Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him.” (Mark 8:31-33.) Both Socrates’ and Jesus’ responses to their disciples’ reactions to their self-sacrifices are “You do not have in mind the things of God, but the things of men.” (ibid.)

Another large parallel I’ve drawn between both men is the denial of accepting society’s definition of their personality. Repeatedly, both Jesus and Socrates deny their true identities, or at least how society wishes to identify them as; initially, outcastes. Socrates tells Crito: “My friend, we must not consider what the many say of us, but what he, the one man who has understanding of the just and unjust will say, and what the truth will say. (We will not be defined by society.) Therefore you begin in error when you suggest we should consider the opinion of the many about the just and unjust, the good and evil, the honorable and dishonorable, (anything less than the truly enlightened “man,” Buddha, Christ will inevitably be prone to faults and thus failure) but what if someone says, “But the many can kill us.” Crito responds that the many, or rather the multitude of society wishes to kill him. Socrates responds: “Still I believe our old argument is unshaken. I would like to know whether I may say the same of another proposition-that not life, but a good life, is to be chiefly valued?” I would argue that this strongly resembles Jesus’ short dialogue with Pilate in which He is questioned: “So Pilate asked Jesus, ‘Are you the king of the Jews?’ ‘Yes, it is as you say,’ Jesus replied…On hearing this, Pilate asked if the man was a Galilean.” (Luke 23: 3-6.) While the length may not be the same, the content mirrors one another. Throughout the Four Synoptic Gospels, Jesus does not full reveal himself as the Christ until certain points like his encounter with the Samaritan woman at the well: Then Jesus declared, "I who speak to you am he." (John 4:26.) Similarly, Socrates holds out with his revelation of him being the “gadfly of Athens,” until he is on trial.