Learning to Fly

Refuge From The Storm

2011-06-19T05:21:00.000-07:00

"Until enlightenment, I go for refuge to the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha..."

In Buddhism, "taking refuge" is a foundational concept. We recite these lines repeatedly - often throughout the day. But what do they mean?

Today, I got a great lesson in refuge from my dog. She's afraid of storms, and with any hint of thunder, she launches at me like flypaper, sticking with a persistence that is impressive. If I get up and go to the restroom, she is on my heels, and sitting under my feet. If I am sitting on the couch, her preferred position is on my lap. She will, with much encouragement, settle for immediately next to me, or wrapped around my shoulders like a winter scarf. She is relentless.

She is convinced, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I have the power to protect her from the storms. In her mind, a tornado could come roaring through our house, and as long as she is with me, she will live through it. (To be fair, the photo here is of another pup who shares similar faith in me.)

Of course, their faith is misplaced. If our home were destroyed, I would not be immune to the dangers faced by the other beings in it. Upon tornado warnings, we all trundle to the basement, hiding in the bathroom tub like those clowns you see in the car at the circus. (HOW many will fit in that tiny space?)

But, it got me thinking - that to which we hold when things are difficult, that to which we retreat - that is our refuge. When times are easy, the words may be easy "I go for refuge...". But what do we do when times are hard? To whom and what do we turn? Do we drink until we're numb and take refuge in the bottle? Do we cling to our loved ones and place our sole refuge in them (who are just as unable to "protect" us from harm as I an unable to protect my dogs)? Do we crawl into bed and refuse to emerge for hours and sometimes days or weeks?

Or, do we go to the Dharma, the Sangha, the Buddha? Do we ask ourselves what applies to prevent our minds from being mired in the afflictive emotions that rise during difficult times? Do we call or write a teacher or friend who is from our Dharma Center and discuss the conundrum we're saddled with? Do we practice actively in our lives, applying the study and work we do when things are rosier? Do we stay present through the difficulties, fully and completely in the moment?

In times of happiness and times of sorrow, and even times in-between, that to which we consistently turn is our refuge. A constructively critical self-assessment of what/who we take refuge in can really aid us in our practice.

What do you take refuge in?

You Are Less Than Human

2011-06-18T03:13:00.000-07:00

It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity.
--Albert Einstein

I had a conversation yesterday with a good friend about the direction our country and our world are headed in. We discussed technology and the part it plays in the acceleration and direction of said world. The conversation gave voice to some concerns that have been growing in my mind and, when combined with a spiritual perspective, concerns I find troubling from a social/societal standpoint.

As a technology worker, I spend the better part of my working (and much too much of my non-working) life online. I sometimes wonder at the point of pushing pixels around all day, although I have seen great things come of and from the internet. I watch a lot of the nature and tone of the conversations that take place, and see that technology is definitely a catalyst. But, to what effect?

On the internet, it is easy to flock with those who are "flocking" in the same direction we are. On the internet, it is easy to reinforce our stereotypes (even of ourselves). On the internet, it is easy to take that "other-ization" that comes so easily in our minds and lives, and amplify it until it drowns out everything and everyone who isn't rocking to the same tune we are.

On the internet, it is easy to treat anyone who disagrees with us as less than human...
Less than worthy...
Less than us.

"HOW could THEY think THAT...?"
"HOW could THEY believe THAT...?"
"WHO do THEY think THEY are...?"

And implied in all of this is:

"I am right, and I would never do...(fill in the blank)"
"I know more than they do, and I am superior to them because...(fill in the blank)"
"I can't stand them and I have the right to feel superior because...(fill in the blank)"

In the process, we reinforce and reify our "I" until it is a solid chunk of granite, anchoring and weighing down every thought, feeling, and experience we have. We build granite walls and box ourselves in with them.

When we meditate and work with bodhicitta, that work helps break down that separation between us and others. The wall of "identity", that concrete, permanent 'I' that we have worked so long to build, is deconstructed brick by brick (and sometimes particle by particle). Our heart opens, like a lotus emerging from the mud, reaching toward the sun and fresh air.

And then we take our lotus online...

The internet is what we make of it. We can use the technology-facilitated communication to widen or narrow the gulf and separation. The key, I think, is being mindful in communication.

I'll leave with a few verses from Shantideva's Bodhicaryavatara:

...
114. Just as the hands and the like are cherished because they are members of the body, why are the embodied beings not cherished in the same way, for they are the members of the world?
...
117. Therefore, just as you protect yourself from even minor disparagement, cultivate a spirit of protection and a spirit of compassion toward the world.

Baby, It's Windy Outside

2011-06-17T06:30:00.000-07:00

What if, every single time we felt a stiff wind, we just "went with it" and allowed ourselves to jump into a colossal face plant? What if, when we felt a breeze, we started running in its direction, regardless of where we were initially headed?

It wouldn't make much sense, we'd look like fools, and we'd have a difficult time getting anywhere:
BOOM. Splat. Oh, look at her running by - must be a stiff breeze. Pure silliness?

Negative mental states and emotions are just like the wind in this example. Sometimes they're strong and carry more force, sometimes subtle. But, they're always impermanent. They always go. How fast they 'go' depends a lot of the time upon how hard we attach to them. If I get angry over something, and I "stew in my anger" (have you ever visualized yourself sitting in a pot of anger, cooking?), the anger will stay and color everything I do. One of my teachers calls it "wearing anger glasses" - everything we see and come into contact with is then colored by that emotion.

While we would never act outwardly in the way mentioned in the first paragraph, we do this all the time with our minds.

Have you ever done a face plant? Smarts, doesn't it? One step down and then BOOM. But the colossality (is that a word?) of that kind of fall is nothing compared to some of the after effects of anger.

I think maybe when we really do dive into the emotional turmoil of our minds - when we become completely absorbed in negative emotions - steeped or stewed in them - the effect (upon us and those around us) is just as extreme, and often just as painful. Like ice-skating with friends and holding hands, when one falls, pretty soon everyone is on the ground. Bruises heal and bones knit pretty quickly. Relationships and friendships take time - and may never heal completely.

When these negative emotions come up, they are often difficult to let go. It's like herding cats - you get a few going in the direction you need, and one sprints off after who knows what. But it's not an impossible task... with practice. And practice. And practice.

Here's to fruitful practice for us all.

How to Ride a Roller Coaster (When You Can't Get Off)

2011-06-16T05:24:00.000-07:00

A long, long time ago, I ran into a situation the likes of which I had never experienced. I cried. I pleaded (to the empty air). I complained - at length - about everything I didn't like, everyone who had a hand in it, and railed against the injustice of it all. And then, it hit me. I was on a roller coaster a thousand feet in the air, wind screaming past me, getting ready to hit that drop we all secretly thought might just end in death when we were children.

And there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

There was no panic lever.

I couldn't "stop the ride".

I could not change a single thing about the external circumstances I was facing. The only thing I could do was change my own thinking about them.

It is a foundational lesson that has repeated itself over and over personally, in the lives of friends, family, co-workers, and (just about) every other person I've come into contact with. When these situations come up, now (ok, usually) I remember that experience, and the fact that sometimes we cannot control or affect the outcome. We can only how we deal with it in our own minds.

I think often of this quote from His Holiness the XIV Dalai Lama:
"If a problem is fixable, if a situation is such that you can do something about it, then there is no need to worry.
If it's not fixable, then there is no help in worrying.
There is no benefit in worrying whatsoever."

I still seldom throw my hands in the air and squee into the plunge of the roller coaster of life when it gets to those huge downward drops.
But at least now, I'm able to open my eyes and loosen my grip on the safety bar...
a little.

Swimming Lessons on Saka Dawa

2011-06-15T08:17:00.000-07:00

The self-centered ego is such a powerful - and limiting - thing. The world is so much smaller when we frame things in context of "I, me, my, mine". Those labels, and the resultant views ("I don't like her because she did ------ to ME", "He took MY ----- and didn't ask", etc), box us and other people into these preconceived roles where the echoes of attachment and desire bounce off of each other until we're in the middle of this monumental cacophony, and we can barely function for all of the "noise". It induces tremendous suffering - both in our lives, and in the lives of others.

Learning to let go of that context is so difficult. And yet, it is so simple. It's a bit like learning to swim. When we're learning to swim, we hold onto the edge of the pool, the bottom of the pool, someone else who can swim (our teachers), etc, like our lives depend upon it/them. Most of the time, they do. The edge/bottom is solid, as are our teachers - they allow us to hold, and explore a 'little' of the water. But we will never know the feeling of drifting with the flow of the water, of being surrounded and uplifted by its current or tide, and the freedom that comes from relaxing enough to just float on the surface and experience the peace of being "part" of the flow, without letting go. We can, by just holding on with a few fingers, even fool ourselves into thinking we've immersed ourselves in it. But, to gain the full experience, there comes a point where we must let go.

I'm not saying that letting go of the ego is as easy of letting go of the side of the pool and learning to swim. But, if you think back, there was, for many of us, a lot of fear involved in that letting go. There was a lot of practice before taking our first feeble swipes at treading water, then retreating back to the safety of the edge (or our teachers). But, it was pure elation when we finally did it. That fear, it seems to me, is very similar to self-grasping. It's a self-protective mechanism that virtually immobilizes us.

The trick is to learn how to navigate the waters (experiencing and operating without the self-centered ego) - to learn the flow and feel, to practice (and practice, and practice). But at some point, which for many of us (this writer included) may be eons and lifetimes away, we will have to let go.

Post-Retreat Reflections

2011-06-13T13:04:00.000-07:00

I spent the weekend with a group of people who focus a lot of time and energy on cultivating compassion, trying to shed their egos, and thinking about how to benefit other people. I witnessed many, many quiet acts of selflessness, both there with them, and when I returned home.

My wife (who thinks I'm a bit daft for some of the actvities I engage in), after having a superbly yucky week, STILL took the time from her weekend of handling EVERYTHING (all 5 dogs and people stopping by who are used to me being 'there' when they want/need) to go through the mound (ok, MOUNTAIN) of mail and paperwork on the counter, organize it, clean the garage, and the laundry closet. This was after taking one pup to the vet on Saturday, walking all 5 dogs each day (which takes 2+ hours, because she has to walk them in 2 groups), grocery shopping for the week, etc, etc - most of which she never even mentioned. She did all of this so that I could go work on cultivating more compassion, shedding my ego, and cultivating the desire to ease suffering in others. Heh heh... lesson #1...

Lesson #2 came along about the middle of the second day when my throat started getting dry, and then later again the following morning. We were reciting some texts (it takes a while), and I'm not used to talking a lot because I work at home. We hadn't had any water, and I was parched...it was going to be a long day. By the following morning, I was literally fantasizing about ice water: like how beautiful it was and how nice it would be to gulp it down...from a clear, tall glass. I showed up this morning, and then I looked up at my teacher. And realized. He had been reciting the whole weekend. For HOURS and HOURS every day. While we could drop out and concentrate in certain parts, he was leading, and so could not. And, he had to speak loudly and clearly...in a language that is not his native tongue. Never complaining, he even answered our questions at lunch the first day - his food still on his plate for most of the time because we had so many, while we shoveled into our mouths, trying to eat well before fasting.

This morning when we broke our fast, we ate breakfast together. Again, our patient teacher sat with his meal in front of him, not even able to take a bite for the first 15 minutes because of the volley of "who, what, why, and how" we were firing at him. All the while, he smiled, answered, encouraged more questions - never even looking at his food. He could have previously eaten a huge breakfast for all of the interest he showed in what was in front of him. But he hadn't - he hadn't eaten for about 43 hours. Again, while we were shoveling fruit and oatmeal like it was the meal of "the gods" (and it sure tasted good...), he was more interested in if we "got it". When I left, about 45 minutes later, most of the food was still on his plate, and he was answering questions and engaging in discussion with great enthusiasm. Lesson #3.

On my way home, I stopped to buy a "treat" for lunch later. As I was leaving, a man walked toward my car. He was talking to himself about something that was beyond my ability to understand - most likely because it was in his own private language. He was filthy - and I mean down to the bone filthy. He was wearing probably at least 3 layers of clothes - long johns (I think), then jeans, then baggy shorts over the jeans, with the same pattern repeated up top. He was so thin, I think he might have weighed 110lbs soaking wet (with all those clothes on). I prepared myself for the inevitable..."ma'am, can you...?". It never came. He instead headed straight for the trash can, and with a skill that comes from years of such practice, pulled out the only clean piece of paper in the entire thing. With the receipt in-hand, he then walked over to where a tire had mashed something that was barely food before it was discarded and flattened, and scraped the remains onto the receipt with all the reverence of a priest who had spilled the communion offering. I just KNEW what he was going to do next. Yep - he wrapped up and popped into his pocket for a later culinary delight. He went back to said garbage can to see if he could rustle up some liquid to wash it down, found a good bit, and then walked on his merry way. I stopped him and got a closer view, shared a few words, etc, and then we parted ways.

Lesson #4 - This ghost of a man... hollow eyes, the most base life one can experience, no hope of anything beyond the pain and suffering of day-to-day - he was an outward manifestation of how most of us live our lives on the inside. And, the majority of us turn our eyes away when we see this outward appearance with the same vigor with which we nurture it internally. We think nothing of eating the spoiled crap off the streets that has who knows what kind of bacteria, germs, waste, etc - but in the form of what we consume and foster with, and in, our minds. We are all, in some way, hungry ghosts, mentally drifting through this existence, trying to gulp down salt water in the form of so many distractions, thinking it will quench our thirst.

I learned so many things this weekend... most are intensely personal and not shared here, but I wanted to at least share these few.

Your kindness is a treasure. I am so grateful...it is beyond my ability to express.

Awakening

2011-05-27T13:06:00.000-07:00

Lifetimes spent
Lamenting -
“I never had”,
Possibilities never realized.
Caught up in desires,
Driven by ego’s imaginings.
All the while,
In front of me
Mothers, fathers,
Sisters, brothers,
Friends, enemies, strangers -
All my children.
And my fathers, mothers,
My friends, my brothers.
Billions, generations -
All my relations.
Under delusion,
I lost time,
Wasted, wanting,
Missing the connection
Amaranthine thread
Blind, I was -
Not just to the thread,
But the tapestry.
Wholly beautiful.

(copyright 2011)

Peace

2011-05-13T13:56:00.000-07:00

Peace

The seed sown
in arid soil,
which sprouts and grows.
Roots spread,
Releasing fertility
Into the earth.
The seedling grows,
And little tended,
Bears ripened fruit.
The fruit falls and,
Finding now fertile soil
Grows tall and strong -
A shelter for all who pass.
And in finding shelter,
They are inspired
To sow the seed
In their own arid ground.

I will speak,
I will sow,
I will nourish,
It will grow,
It will spread,
We will know.

(copyright 2007)

Her Faith

2011-04-07T22:00:00.000-07:00

her faith,
not sleeve-worn
was threadbare
from use -
aged with time and trials
like her tender, frail face.
patterns of her life,
trailed across both -
etching detail
some subtle,
some not so.
her faith -
once a cloak she bore
sometimes struggling
under its weight.
and heat.
now a drifting feather
on the breeze -
a filmy, translucent veil -
so beautiful in the sunlight,
like her tender, frail face.

(Copyright 2007)

Joy

2010-06-13T13:57:00.000-07:00

Joy

Creeping, creeping up on me
Waiting in the light to spring
The little imp, mischievous sprite
Dancing, waiting in the light,
Hoping that I'll turn around,
Jumping, jumping up and down,
Bubbling over with her glee
Until she finally springs on me.

(Copyright 2007)

Little Bean

2010-04-28T15:05:00.001-07:00

And here's a poem i wrote last month for a friend who found out last week she and her partner are pregnant after trying for quite a while:

---------------------------------------------------------

Little bean,

i wonder what awaits you.

There in love's embrace,

You grow.

And with you, the future-

Spiraling out,

Changing lives,

Like ripples on water.

Hope lies in your heartbeat,

Joy lies in your awakening.

Your mothers' eyes are shining

With visions of what may come.

In this life,

May compassion guide your path.

May love cushion your steps.

May wisdom be your constant companion.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Mother's Day

2010-04-28T14:46:00.001-07:00

In honor of Mother's Day coming up here in the US, i wanted to share some things i've written lately about motherhood, children, babies, etc.

In my neighborhood - it seems as if all one must do to become pregnant around here is drink the water. Seriously - i think there are maybe 20 babies who have been born within four blocks of my home over the past 18 months, and i can think of at least seven more due this year.

Talking with one neighbor recently who was faced with having to enter an establishment where the servers were very scantily clad, while she was at her eighth month of pregnancy, i shared this:

-------------------------------------------------------------

In my spiritual practice, part of the meditation we do is cultivating gratitude for our mother.

i've thought a lot about ALL of what a mother does - especially when they really love their child - to care for a child throughout their lifetime (but especially at the beginning). And, as much as i can think, i still don't know the half of it. It is one of the most unselfish, compassionate, loving things you can do in this world, and a truly special role.
In some traditions, they say that when you mother one being, it is as if you are mothering the whole universe - as if you are carrying every being in the universe inside you, nurturing every being in the universe. By nurturing your child, the path they tread, which is interconnected with every other being in the universe in some way, will be kinder, fuller, more compassionate. In that way, you are literally sending love and compassion out into the world that may last, be passed on, and amplify for generations.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Thank You, Squirrel

2010-03-31T11:03:00.000-07:00

Dharma lessons come from many unexpected places, people, and things in life. Many of mine frequently are sourced from my dogs (of which there are five, which means their teachings are frequent and plentiful). Today started with one from them about impermanence, with the help of a tiny friend.

It was a quiet morning for me. I was sitting peacefully, listening to a Dharma talk online (LamRim Radio channel on iTunes), and working on my computer when I heard my dogs scurrying around on the patio. One of their favorite past times is tormenting squirrels travelling across the top of my privacy fence from the front yard to the back yard. Normally, the sequence goes as so:

Squirrel looks around thoroughly for dogs from behind the driveway gate.
Squirrel cautiously steps out past the driveway gate onto the fence along the side of my patio.
Squirrel and dogs spot each other at the same time.
Dogs leap up from the deck and run headlong down the stairs, and at the fence.
Squirrel realizes the peril and runs like hell for the tree at the back of the fence.
Dogs leap and "just" miss the squirrel's tail as it safely vaults into the comforting branches of the tree.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

This is frequently accompanied by the chorus of me saying:

"go squirrel. go squirrel! GO SQUIRREL!! GO SQUIRREL!!!!"

with increasing frequency and volume until the little critter makes it to safety. I am positive that my neighbors figured out long ago that I have lost at least one of my marbles.

This morning, as I ran out to see if the squirrel made it, I found the dogs running from the corner, across the patio, and under the deck. The furry creature had fallen, and was desperately trying to escape the elated pups as they were equally desperately trying to catch her.

The dogs won. As I made it through the deck, stairs, and patio in record time (might as well have flown - I seriously have no recollection of it), my largest furchild got ahold of the squirrel's tail and grabbed the little gal by the middle. I got him to drop her just in time for one of the smaller ones to jump in and deliver what was surely the deadly blow. Scooping the squirrel up (still breathing and obviously dying), I wrapped her in a towel and assessed the damage. It was too late. I held her until she died.

Her eyes glazed to the sound of chanted mantras. Her her breathing slowed, then stopped. Blood leaked from her mouth, and I knew she was gone. I held her for a little longer, still chanting, and then headed out back to bury her.

I chanted as I dug, crying for the little squirrel. I thought about her life and her death, and the point where the two met.

Then it hit me.

Karma is surely an amazing thing. Here this squirrel was, at this time and place, dying not under the wheels of a car, nor in torment by a feline counterpart, but cradled in the hands of a fumbling, fledgling, but committed, Buddhist. Her last breaths, her last moments, were allowed to pass peacefully to the chanting of mantras. I finished the hole, chanting "Om Mani Padme Hum", and held her tiny body in my hands (ok, in a towel in my hands). I lit incense and prayed for her to be reborn in the human realm, and placed her in the hole. I asked her to please find her way to a human rebirth as I chanted, and if she wanted, one where we would meet again. I think maybe we will.

I looked at the shadow of a butterfly behind me as I finished, and thought about how truly ephemeral everything is. In the blink of an eye, it all changes. Nothing is constant, solid, what it seems to be. The squirrel's life ended. The butterfly's life will end. As, someday, will mine.

How to Build a "Bomb"

2007-10-27T13:44:00.000-07:00

I wrote this when considering the conditions and fate of the inmates at Guantanamo - and what their release (if it ever happens) may mean for the rest of the world.

How to Build a "Bomb"

Taken
From a field,
Hoe in hand.
I worked,
Rarely praying.
There was no time.
But I prayed for life
For sons
For hope of education,
Food, shelter, and happiness,
For my children
And their children.
In a dark room now,
There is only time
For prayer
And questions.
and pain.
Before
Work, family, God, sleep.
Now,
Pain.
I know nothing.
Tell me anything
I will confess it.
I pray,
I pray for sun,
I pray for hope,
I pray
For revenge.

Unholy War

2007-08-24T23:47:00.000-07:00

A meditation on war - and the young men on both sides of the guns brought this out...

Unholy War

His finger curled
Tightly, ready, steady,
Though his whole body shook.
Thoughts of school
Games, girls, and gatherings
Shadows in his distant past.
His eyes squinted,
Ardent and angry
Believing what he's told.
About the enemy, the infidel
In his sights.
He heard the call
The 3rd of five
"Allah u Akbar".
And suddenly
With a relieved sigh
Both were granted a reprieve.
The soldier and the boy-
Each are both
Fighting a war
That can never be holy.

Her Children

2007-08-23T19:51:00.000-07:00

On Father's Day (coming up) - an oder to "step"-fathers...

Her Children

Her children
Sometime nuisances,
Looking up at him
Like baby birds waiting
For the worm to drop.
Her children
Hyperactive and energetic
All play and no think,
They dig holes in his yard
Where his garden used to be.
Her children,
Constantly asking questions
Why is it blue? How does it grow?
He struggles to find answers
And feeds them mac and cheese
To quiet them down.
Her children,
Taken quietly under his wing,
Folded into his life
Intentionally
When they weren't looking.
He moves his garden elsewhere
And buries bones in the holes they dig
For them to find and speculate about.
He works many hours so they can have
Sports and music and art
And dances and parties with friends,
Where they make messes at his house.
Her children,
He has shown them everything a father
Is supposed to be.
To his children.
His children.

Good Boy

2007-08-23T17:50:00.000-07:00

Good Boy

Snoozing, eyes closed,
Muzzle slightly open-
You drift in a sea of dreams.
The proverbial southern hound,
You make a sport of lounging
On lazy summer afternoons.
I whisper softly in your ear-
"Good boy".
Your tail wags- even while you dream.

African Lament

2007-08-22T21:54:00.000-07:00

We are all dependently arising...

African Lament

Africa, oh Africa
your fertile soils turned to dust
by the sins of fathers
visited on sons by other fathers,
and doubly on mothers, sisters, and daughters.
Western hearts are grieving.
Western voices crying out -
we must do something, we must help.
But where do your guns come from?
your bombs? Your militia funds?
The sleeping giant - we drug you more
Keep you on an IV drip.
And you slumber in a nightmare
Oh when, when will you wake?

Blood

2007-08-22T19:53:00.000-07:00

Another meditation on the war...

Blood

Rich, red and thick
Coursing and pulsing
Full of life, pumping
Dripping, squirting,
Onto fields of shining golden sand,
Making viscous red puddles,
Spread like fertilizer
For the blackness below.
Barren fields where no life,
No crops, no joy at the harvest
No hope grows.
There is a reason that blood is red,
And oil is black.