This is the Q & A from the Talk I gave in Nashville on Morality & Ethics. The content of the Q & A expanded it, getting into the nitty-gritty of it all. I thought it deserved its own title.
Opportunity for dana: www.paypal.me/dharmapathways
This is the Q & A from the Talk I gave in Nashville on Morality & Ethics. The content of the Q & A expanded it, getting into the nitty-gritty of it all. I thought it deserved its own title.
Opportunity for dana: www.paypal.me/dharmapathways
This is a talk I gave to the sangha in Nashville and is about the placement of the Trainings in our lives.
Opportunity for dana: www.paypal.me/dharmapathways
Dear Friends on the Path, and to Those Who Aren’t But Are Reading This Anyways,
It is mid-November here at Rose Apple in Vermont. There is a thin layer of snow blanketing the landscape outside my windows. It is slowly melting. Not quite winter, not quite fall. For some unknown reason, I appreciate and enjoy winters here. I grew up and spent most of my life in Southern California and lived a few years in Tucson. These are places people go to get away from the snowy winters. That is the reason that catapulted my family’s migration from our hometown, Chicago. So where did this affinity for snow, winter, and coldness come from? Perhaps it comes from a past life. Perhaps it speaks to my northern European roots. Perhaps I just like snowy winters. No, this isn’t something I contemplate much – I am happy just to go with it.
This year has been a very special year for me. Some of you may already know, but I decided it was time to take some time away from the monastery life this past March. It’s a way to get to know Phap Vu a little more. I don’t want to go into great details, I’ll save that for my “best-selling autobiography.” It has been, an enriching time for me: Coming into contact with the difficult, the perplexing, the wondrous, and the OK-ness of it all. Quite often one would think that the only way to get to know ourselves better is to go into full retreat mode. I think that lone, quiet, retreats are beneficial, but is it the only way to get to know oneself. I don’t think so. I most definitely learn a lot about myself in day to day life as well. Life in the monastery has shown me this. How do we know what our path is if we don’t journey on? In my sabbatical, I have tried to incorporate both, retreat and engagement have served me well. A few days ago I returned from the last of my travels for this year and am getting ready to embrace the snow, the winter, and the contemplative spirit that it invokes. Time for my retreat.
As I said, it has been a special year for me especially due to my travels and visits with various sanghas. Earlier this year, my first journey of the year, I went to spend some time in London and Scotland. This was in June. I have been to England and Scotland, several times but I’ve never been to London before. Airport layovers don’t count here. I was in London to attend something called the Mindful Living Show, held in the center of London. I had never heard of this before. When I first read the email I thought, “Was this some kind of theatrical performance?” Out of ignorance and into the knowing – no. Actually, it was a type of convention-exhibition-symposium kind of event. The event was about all the aspects of mindfulness offered through the secular realm. Because it was a mindful event, the local OI members thought it would be appropriate to have a booth with Thay’s books and representatives of our tradition. Walking around, I soon discovered that I was the only monk there. The reason I was at the event was to give a talk on mindfulness one day and a guided meditation the next day. Both went well and everyone seemed to be engaged in what I was offering. I have to say, it was the first time I received a resounding applause for a guided meditation. It was a bit surreal in an enjoyable kind of way.
From London, I took a train to Edinburgh. My destination was Wiston Lodge, located near Biggar, several miles, I mean kilometers, southwest of Edinburgh. I have been to both Edinburgh and Wiston Lodge several times before and have gotten to know some of the sangha members over the past few years. Wiston Lodge is an old hunting lodge transformed into a facility similar to a YMCA. It also doubles as a retreat center. Hence my presence. What makes Wiston Lodge, or I should say, the folks at Wiston Lodge so special is that they focus on at-risk kids. A wonderful environment for kids to discover the wonderment of life. While I was in Scotland I facilitated Mindful Lunchtime, which is in the heart of Edinburgh, near the castle. What a great concept. Anyone can take a break and enjoy a mindful lunch practice – in the heart of a city.
After the UK, from late June to mid-July I was in the Boston area visiting the various sanghas. Again, like in the UK, some folks in Boston I have gotten to know over the years. Most there, however, I was meeting for the first time. I visited about seven sanghas or so while I was there. I also gave a public talk in Newton. Typically, I would join the regular activities of the weekly sangha gatherings. I am happy to follow along and enjoy being part of the experience. More often than not, because there is a monastic in the midst, a Q & A would manifest. Usually, I would receive the questions but I also ask questions as well – who said I had to do all the answering in this life. There were also luncheons and dinners and just sitting around talking. Love it.
From Boston, I went down to the Washington D.C. area and was there from mid-June to early August. Actually, I wasn’t in Washington D.C. except for a few tourist excursions. I tried to get into the new African American Museum. It’s so popular that you need advanced tickets to get in. Advanced meaning months. Next time, perhaps. I actually stayed in Silver Spring which is a few stops off the metro from Washington D.C. Terrific place. Kind of urban, kind of suburb with a strong Ethiopian community. This is a real plus for myself because I enjoy Ethiopian food. In any event, there is a multitude of sanghas that span the Baltimore-Washington D.C. area. Again, there are some folks there I have gotten to know over the years but most I didn’t know.
While I was there in the BWDC area I attended a plethora of sangha events. I attended a tea to celebrate Scott Schang’s receiving the Lamp Transmission. You’re in it now Scott. I also attended a 14 mindfulness training recitation. This was the first time I recited the Trainings with an all Lay group. I also taught at a Day of Mindfulness and a mahasangha gathering in Baltimore and, oh yes, I went to prison. No, really, I went to prison – as a guest. Tim Mccormick facilitates a prison sangha and he asked me if I would join him one day. I said, yes, of course. It was a terrific experience and I am looking forward to going back. There was also a visit to the Sackler Gallery to see an exhibit on Buddhism. This was a sangha event and we had a good size group and had to break up into two or three groups for a guided tour. Our tour guide did a pretty good job and seemed to know her stuff although she seemed very nervous for some reason.
This past October I spent the good part of the month in Connecticut. I was at Bruce Nichol’s house, another new Dharma Teacher. I’ve known Bruce some time but I’ve never been to his neck of the woods before. Here my visit took on a new aspect. In addition to joining the sangha gatherings, I began to do private consultations. This is an aspect of my monastic life that I have consistently felt a sense of fulfillment. Dharma talks and Q & As are beneficial but there is nothing like a one on one, connecting on another level. Sometimes they are about something simple and straightforward, like how to practice. Sometimes they are about deep-seated pain and suffering. It’s not that I have the answers to one’s life-problems and challenges, I don’t. Rather, how can I help them find their own answers? How can I help them have their a-ha moment? This is the role of practice – their practice, my practice.
My final leg of my journey this year took me to Nashville earlier this month for about a week-long visit. This was my first time experiencing Nashville and the sangha there. I didn’t know anyone there except for Rhonda who I had only met briefly. The story goes, Rhonda was at the mahasangha gathering in Baltimore, the one I had participated in. She was in Baltimore, her hometown, visiting her family. I don’t recall seeing her there but it was a large group and there were a good number of people there that I don’t recall. In any event, I’m at the airport to head back to Rose Apple getting a cup of coffee when Rhonda came up to me to say hi. We began talking and the next thing you know she asked me if I would come to Nashville. I said yes. Not much of a compelling story but there it is and there I was.
And, here I am. I have to say that this year certainly has been one of the highlights of my monastic life. Yes, it has been a wonderful journey this year in which I was invited into so many sanghas and so many homes. So much to discover, many people to meet and get to know. Offering support while myself being supported. This is the reciprocal relationship that’s not a reciprocal relationship. A reciprocal relationship is based on two when in fact we are all in this together, one big stream. No giving and no taking, just the sense and the actuality of being beyond our borders.
Settling in for a winter’s retreat,
texts, tea, and cushion.
The snow falls and the cold wind howls,
yet, there is enough warmth to share.
Hello dear readers,
If you haven’t noticed it has been a while since I posted. For the past several weeks I have been visiting Sanghas in the Boston area as well as the Washington D.C. – Baltimore area. It has been nothing less than phenomenal from beginning to end to beyond. Throughout the whole time, I felt so supported and I hope that everyone felt supported by me. The reciprical nature of the relationship between the monastic and the lay community has often been talked about. I don’t think I ever experienced that relationship so deep and concrete, so directly, as I had during the trip. Thank you all who helped make the journey possible.
On to the blogging –
This piece I came across on the Order of Interbeing website homepage, dated June 13, 2017. It was written by Matt Williams from the Lakeside Buddha Sangha in Chicago, the city of my very birthplace, Thank you, thank you, thank you, my cone-hat off to you with deep gratitude for your insight – and skilfulness in approaching a tender but much-needed topic. Buddhist, even monks, are allowed to delve into the political discussion regarding the issues of our times. Do I think we should separate children from their parents and cage them up just because the parents want a better life for them? I think there are better ways, a more humane approach to the issues of immigration. Morality is a very important factor of the path, personal and societal.
During the Obama administration (sigh), I had the opportunity to go to the White House for the first-ever Buddhist-White House gathering. One of the most impactful statements made by the administration’s representatives was that they hear from the Christian communities, they hear from the Jewish and Muslim communities. What they didn’t hear were the voices from the Buddhist communities. Some things to contemplate.
Because of its emotionally charged nature, it is difficult to engage in political speech in a mindful, compassionate way. I often ask myself, How do I remain compassionate when criticizing others? Can we criticize others without disparaging or demonizing them, especially when we speak of them perpetuating injustices and other forms of harm to others? On a number of occasions, in sangha and on retreats and days of mindfulness, I have talked with other practitioners about these difficulties. On the one hand, some have told me that they deal with these challenges by simply not speaking of such contentious topics at all. While this may be appropriate for some people at some points in their practice, if none of us speak to these issues–to say nothing of working actively around them–changes for the better will not occur. On the other hand, I have talked to some practitioners who I felt were seeking for a Buddhist rationalization for speech that is not just angry but laced with ill-will by, for instance, making a distinction between anger and outrage, with the former to be avoided but the latter to be embraced as a mindful, positive reaction.
Here, I would like to reflect on my own attempts to find a middle way between these extremes. For me, the practice of looking deeply and then incorporating the insights gained from looking deeply into my own political speech has been very helpful.
This challenge has been central to my personal practice by virtue of my profession–I teach sociology and global studies at the college level, which means I am continually speaking about and facilitating conversations on major social issues with classrooms of students I cannot assume share my views on these issues. But it is not always easy to see what the path towards mindful, compassionate speech is in such contexts. For instance, the consensus among sociologists who study racism and sexism is that these forms of discrimination remain pervasive and institutionalized–the only debate is around just how bad these things remain, how difficult these problems will be to overcome and the best means to do so. So how do I respectfully engage with students who believe these things are largely a matter of the past and are resistant to considering that these problems still persist? Again, there is a good deal of evidence that conservative welfare reforms are driven–sometimes intentionally, sometimes subconsciously–in part by racist, sexist and classist stereotypes. But how do I talk about these things without demonizing conservatives? Or, even if I’m not doing so in my own head, speak about these issues in a way that doesn’t make conservative students nonetheless feel like I am?
Thay teaches us that an essential element of cultivating our compassion is looking deeply—trying to gain insight and understanding into the causes and conditions shaping people’s actions. Once we gain this understanding, it is easier to develop a sense of compassion for people whose actions we find repellant. In Western Buddhism, when we engage in the practice of looking deeply, we have a tendency to focus on people’s individual mental formations–their psychology. This is consistent with the individualism of Western culture, but sits uncomfortably with Thay’s emphasis on examining the interbeing of all phenomena. I want to suggest that trying to understand the social causes and conditions of people’s behavior, and not just the psychological ones, will allow us to look even more deeply, understanding people not in isolation but in the ways we are all socially interconnected with each other.
Some of the resistance to engaging in such a social analysis may be that, while Buddhism has a rich tradition of psychological analysis, it is much weaker when it comes to social analysis. Because Buddhism itself has few such resources, to develop a rich understanding of how social causes and conditions shape our behavior, we have to turn outside of Buddhism to Western traditions of critical social theory (anarchism, feminism, Marxism, post-structuralism, etc.). In some cases, approaches that rely primarily on Buddhist psychological analysis seem to be the result of a lack of familiarity with critical social theory, but in other cases, this narrow approach seems to be rooted in the idea that Buddhism must have all the resources necessary to engage in such an analysis. But Buddhism has borrowed from other traditions like Hinduism, Daoism and Confucianism throughout its history and, in the first three of the Fourteen Mindfulness Trainings, Thay urges us not to set Buddhist beliefs up on a pedestal as an idol, but to be open to different sources of insight.
Part of my inspiration on how to approach these questions comes from Thay’s poem “Please Call Me By My True Names,” where he attempts, among other things, to understand the pirates who attacked, raped and killed boat people. He looks at the grinding poverty the pirates grew up in and acknowledges that if he grew up in such conditions, it is possible he might have become such a pirate as well.
Another, non-Buddhist source of inspiration for me that has been the book More Power Than We Know (1975) by David Dellinger, one of the main leaders of the US New Left of the 1960s and who described himself as a revolutionary pacifist. He was one of the Chicago 8, a disparate group of left-wing activists charged by the US government with inciting the riots at the 1968 Democratic National Convention in Chicago. (A Congressional investigation later concluded the riot was largely instigated by the police.) More Power Than We Know describes, among other things, the trial of the Chicago 8, in which the judge, Julius Hoffman, openly sided with the government’s efforts to frame the defendants and send them to prison. I was struck when I read this book by the way Dellinger always remained respectful of others like Judge Hoffman who were openly hostile to him and the principles he stood for. Dellinger maintained his compassionate and non-judgmental attitude by always trying to understand what social forces had molded Hoffman and other members of the elite to act the way they did and believe what they did. (I have actually known two people who knew Dellinger personally when he was politically active–one was a close friend of Dellinger’s, the other new him more casually. Both said that he was like this in person as well, for which reason he was one of the few people all the factions on the US left of the 1960s trusted.) In this, his approach was very similar to Thay in “Call Me By My True Names.” While Thay looks down at those who are oppressed and how such oppression can lead one to harm others, Dellinger looked up at those in power and how having power can also lead one to harm others. It is not actually unusual for progressives to do the former, at least at a superficial level, but it is unusual for us to do the latter, cultivating compassion for the oppressor as well as the oppressed.
There are a number of tools I have developed over the years in the classroom, at protests and elsewhere, things I zero in on when engaging in the process of deep looking at social causes and conditions, in order to better understand why people take the actions they do that harm others.
One important aspect of this is to be aware of how other people make sense of things differently than we do, that is to try to look deeply into their culture or worldview, the system of meaning through which we make sense of the world and decide how to act. Many elements of our worldview we take for granted without being consciously aware of them, seeing them as “common sense” (a word that sets off alarm bells for any good social scientist). But people who have radically different worldviews than ours make radically different assumptions about how reality works. This means that beliefs and actions that can seem crazy or vindictively cruel to us make sense to the people who hold these beliefs and act on them. We need to be willing to step out of our worldview and to try to make sense of how other people’s actions make sense to them. For instance, if you are a Christian fundamentalist and start from the assumption that the Bible is the literal word of God and that God’s destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah for their sexual practices was an actual, historical event, then fearing that legalizing gay marriage will bring catastrophe to the country is perfectly rational. We need not agree with such beliefs, but we need to understand why they make sense on their own terms to those who believe them. When we do this, we can develop more compassion for those who act on these beliefs in ways that harm others, such as trying to restrict the rights of or even demonizing LGBT people–even as we act to stop them from doing such harm.
Related to this are issues of confirmation bias and stereotyping. Psychologists have documented what they call confirmation bias–we tend to take in information that fits with our existing worldview and filter out information that doesn’t, dismissing it as implausible, an exception to the norm, or the like. (And some evidence shows that liberals are just as prone to doing this as conservatives–it’s easy to see when those we disagree with filter out information that supports our point of view, but harder to see when we or people of similar beliefs are doing it ourselves.) One way this manifests is in how we stereotype various groups of people. Our stereotypes are shaped by our worldview and our confirmation biases reinforce them. Contrary to popular belief, meeting people from groups we are prejudiced does not normally reduce the degree to which we stereotype them. Indeed, our stereotypes may even be reinforced as our confirmation bias leads us to focus only on those aspects of what they say and do that fit with what we already believe–and to dismiss anything that clashes with our biases as an anomaly. Thus, part of looking deeply into someone else’s worldview is understanding how deeply resilient that worldview can be to those who believe it, however obviously flawed it may seem to us. And these can help us understand why people discriminate against others–because what they see is not a full person, but something filtered through their preconceptions. And the fact that we all do this should make us a little more humble in our criticisms of others for stereotyping (though hopefully our mindfulness practice makes it easier for us to see past our preconceptions–but we should not fool ourselves that are immune).
Another important thing to be aware of is the ways in which our place in the larger social structure can limit our perspective and our choices. In terms of perspective, we tend to think of things in terms of our own reference group, which usually consists of people that are like us. Thus, a CEO of a company is likely to consider things from the perspective of other members of the economic and political elite, but is unlikely to take into account the perspective of others, even people he or she may encounter every day, such as his or her administrative assistant. And progressive activists will tend to take into account the perspective of other progressive activists, but not those of the economic and political elite. This is what President Trump was doing when he advocated repealing financial regulations because they did not allow business friends of his to get loans they wanted. While perhaps more blatant than usual, almost all of us do this to some extent. It becomes particularly dangerous when the people doing this are in positions of power and are incapable of–or don’t bother to–put themselves in the shoes of others affected by their decisions. Thus they will focus on the benefits to other people like them, while remaining unaware to harm it may cause more vulnerable parts of the population. They may also hold beliefs that reinforce this narrow perspective, such as the belief that what is good for business is ultimately good for society as a whole. One of the goals of our practice is to increasingly be able to put ourselves in the shoes of those unlike us, ultimately encompassing all sentient beings.
Our place in the social structure can limit not only our perspectives but our choices. It is easy to see this in the case of people lower down in the social hierarchy. Someone who is poor and has little education is unlikely to have many choices about how they make their livelihood, perhaps working in a weapons-factory because they cannot find another job. But people in power often find that, while they may have access to more resources and more options, social structures nonetheless make it easier to make some decisions than others. Take, for instance, your typical factory-owner in the apparel industry. Chances are, they have little choice but to run the factory as a sweatshop if they wish to stay in business. In the apparel industry, the major firms own few or no factories of their own. All the money is to be made in marketing and retail, so they outsource the less profitable manufacturing to contractors, some of which are large, transnational operations themselves, but most of which are smaller in scale, with the owners often possessing only one or two factories. To get the contracts to produce the apparel for the major firms, these contractors are in a bidding war with each other, where they must promise to be able to maintain a certain level of quality and meet certain timetables, while keeping costs are low as possible. This means, if they want those contracts and to stay in business, they have to cut costs on the backs of their workers, meaning they must run their factories as sweatshops.
One could certainly imagine a sweatshop owner with a troubled conscience getting out of the business–but if they left, others would replace them. The problem is not a few bad apples abusing their power, but one of how the social structure is organized–the very inequalities in power themselves. Because the problem is systemic, it is not something that can be changed by individuals making different choices in isolation. This is not to say that the system cannot be changed–but it would require people working collectively at the global level to develop a new set of rules and organizing principles for the industry–something that both the lead firms and sweatshop owners have refused to do. While we can fault them morally for not supporting such changes, looking at the pressures they are under to make certain decisions and not others, combined with understanding how their place in the social structure narrows their perspective, can help us develop compassion for them. And speaking about these issues in terms of structural problems can get away from language that focuses on morally condemning them, which can all too easily fall into demonizing them.
In practicing mindful political speech based on these principles, teaching sociology and global studies has been very good practice for me. I am supportive of gay marriage, but I have on more than one occasion pushed a classroom full of students, all of whom could not understand why someone would oppose gay marriage, to try to develop such understanding. I would encourage to get them to move beyond ideas such as “they’re crazy” to see why some groups of people might find gay marriage threatening. And, because I am urging them to do so, I must do so myself.
One thing that helped push me to take this approach myself was the realization that I needed to be mindful in my own speech because I never know who I have in my classroom and who my own words might hurt. In one class, I explained to my students some of the problems with the World Economic Forum (WEF), a non-profit organization that holds annual conferences at which the world’s political, business, and philanthropic elite meet to network and informally, off the record discuss what social policies they want to pursue–something that gives this group great power and influence. As I walked around the class after the lecture, stopping to listen to and engage with the small discussion groups, one young woman simply said to me, in a somewhat distressed tone, “But my mother works for the World Economic Forum.” This really pushed me to find a way to critique the WEF that was not disparaging, but mindful and compassionate, something that would help her understand the criticisms without making her feel like she was betraying her mother. I explained to her that the problem was not necessarily the motives of those at the WEF–that many of them might be well intentioned, but that they represented a very narrow range of social groups, material interests, values, and life experiences. They might be trying to solve social problems, but their ability to do so was hobbled by their own limited perceptions. I don’t know what impact this conversation had on the student, but trying to mindfully choose the most compassionate, understanding wording has a big impact on me.
As I have practiced such mindful speech in the classroom, I find it begins to extend into other areas of my life. When I am readings the news and begin to become outraged by what I read, I am more likely to pause and breath, and then to mindfully try to understand why the people I am outraged by are doing what they are doing and thereby begin to feel some compassion for them. This is not to say that I always manage to practice mindful speech, especially when I am angry. After the most recent election, I found myself using very harsh speech for those I blamed for the election of Trump–not only those who voted for him, but also liberals and leaders of the Democratic Party who I saw as engaging in a style of politics that had also laid the foundation for Trump’s election. After some time, I realized what I was doing and stopped myself, looking for more mindful ways to express the concerns I had about the political strategy of many liberals and progressives. There are also cases where it is simply hard to find ways to articulate a particular point that does not sound like it is demonizing those I speak of. As I mention above, I still wrestle with how to make the case that the rollback of the welfare system in the US is rooted, at least in part, in racist, sexist and classist attitudes without sounding disparaging of those who support such policies. In such cases, I continue to reflect on what it is I want to say and how else I might say it to make the compassion I am trying to cultivate for those I criticize more manifest in my words. As with everything else in the practice, this involves an on-going process of experimentation.
Truly Holding Peace
Lakeside Buddha Sangha
Chicago IL, USA
As many may know my sabbatical journey has taken me to Boston, or more exacting the greater Boston area. I arrived here on the 28th of June. Since then I have been going around to the various sanghas and sitting groups. So far I have been to eight or nine groups and I gave a talk at the Boston Center for Contemplative Practice in Newton. The topic was Cultivating the Boundless Field, a theme I have been exploring (sorry, no recording). I also have had some downtime to do some tourist stuff. My first excursion was walking the Freedom Trail in downtown Boston. It is a marked path through the city that takes one to various historical sites. I posted a bit of it on my facebook page, which are photos of early tombstones which I find fascinating. The carvings on the stone show that they didn’t shy away from the idea and reality of death.
The other day I had another free day in my schedule so I thought I would go to the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. I have been to many museums over the course of my life and I have to say that this museum is pretty fantastic. A must go for those who vibe with museums. Taking the T, I arrived early, before the museum opened so I hung out on the lawn. I have to say, any museum that has colorful Adirondack lawn chairs sitting around the grounds under the shade of the trees gets an automatic two thumbs up from me.
A SENSE OF PERMANENCE
The museum building was built in 1907 and is made out of typical carved block granite one would expect from such an institution. The style is, of course, Neoclassical with its ancient Greek elements: There is the triangular pediment sitting upon the four Ionic columns, this makes up the front entrance. The entire building has this massive sense to it, like it isn’t going anyplace soon, and this is the idea. Neoclassical architecture is about the monumental, the enduring, the everlasting, the sense that it is a permanent fixture on the landscape. This is why it has been so popular for government buildings, to remind us that the institutions housed there will be there throughout time, which could be good and could be bad, or sometimes oh so bad. Hitler relished the Neoclassical. For the museum, however, I think it is a good thing.
Not only does the building have this essence of perceived permanence but so does its basic mission – to gather and preserve artwork and craftwork. Basically, it is the museum’s mission to basically stop the aging process of the collection of work, which this museum has about 450,000 pieces to attend to. Why do this? So that the works will be there throughout time. So that future generations can witness and experience the collection of what humanity has expressed over centuries.
As I walk and meander through the galleries and halls of the museum, knowing what the mission of the museum is I certainly touch the sense of permanence. This certainly rings true when I view the historical, such as the Renaissance or Colonial American, as well as, the pieces from ancient Egypt, Central American, and China, just to name a few. All the works of art of the past collected are here before me on this very day at this present moment. The sense of permanence also rings forth even with the modernists of the early twentieth century, such as Pollock, Picasso, Moore, and countless others. This period also happens to be my favorite. No so far back but certainly before my time. This sense of permanence as I experience it also provides me with a sense of time and place of my own being. Experience the works of the past in the contemporary and knowing the museum staff is working for the future and if I come back in, say, fifteen years it will all be here.
This sense of permanence, as wonderful as it can possibly be, is a sense. Just a sense. For what is everlasting and eternally enduring? I cannot think of a thing. Even the tallest mountain was the ocean’s floor at one time and it still is in motion. The world and the sun both have shelf-lives and we, of course, will one day pass. Impermanence, as I witness it, seems to work in scales. Even though we can say the earth is impermanent it certainly has a very long life compared to the life-span of the Homo sapien, for example. The life-span of the species Homo sapien certainly has a longer life than my own life (I give myself an optimistic seventy-five years based on family genetics and modern medicine). The Monarch Butterfly lives two to six weeks. Momentary mental formations – faster than a snap.
This illusionary sense of permanence seems to also offer a sense of continuity. Looking inward I find this sense of self I experience, a manifestation of the sense of permanence. It was “me” who was born, “me” who grew up and it is “me” who is now writing these words and it is “me” who will get old and eventually die. It’s, you know, me, but a changing “me,” like a flowing river. The river is there before us in all its changing form. What is that saying: “you cannot bath in the same river twice,” or something like that – continuity and change, the sense of permanence and the realities of impermanence.
This too is the story of the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. It certainly has that sense of permanence and continuity but it too is subject to the laws of impermanence. I can speak to fading paintings, crumbling artifacts of the past, the wearing down of the museum’s granite walls but I want to go in another direction. Impermanence is about flow, about change and this is also the mission of the Museum – to offer these exhibits in order to expose us to new vistas about our humanity. It is about education and awareness which is about a change, a widening in one’s perspective, one’s view. This is a change, an alteration, in the conscious flow, going from one place to another, and to another, and so on: Impermanence in the midst of a sense of permanence.
As I continued to walk through the museum I certainly was not alone. There were a multitude of people doing what I was doing, each one having their own experience of impermanence in the midst of a sense of permanence, and having their own reactions. One of the more heartfelt moments is when I came upon a gallery with a group of school kids sitting in collapsible chairs. They all had large sketching pads in their laps and pencils in hand. I’m assuming their assignment was to pick an object and draw it. I came across them in the Mesoamerican collection, which makes sense because it is rich in forms. They were probably middle-graders and they were all really getting into it. I subtly, and with much-attempted stealth, peaked at their work, so I know. What a wonderful opportunity for them. Impermanence in the midst of a sense of permanence, change, and continuity: The flow of life.
It’s that time of the year where the LGBTI communities around the world come together in colorful unison and get their parade on.
Before I go further, a bit of history: The Pride parades have their origin in the Stonewall riot on June 28, 1969. The Stonewall Inn was (it closed shortly after the riots) a gay bar, a local hook-up place where those who were not heterosexual could drink and dance the night away. It was also a place that was a long standing target of harassment by the New York City Police. I should say harassment, raids, and arrests.
On June 28, 1969 the police made one too many raids and the locals had had enough, hence the riot. Not only did the riot push back at the police harassment but it ushered in the Gay Liberation movement.
One day short of a year in Chicago, June 27, 1970, a group organized a protest march. The date was selected to not just to protest the treatment and inequalities that LGBTI community suffered but to commemorate the Stonewall riot as well. The protest march grew and turned into a full on parade. That same day but a little later (that’s why Chicago got top billing – it was the earliest) other cities such as New York, San Francisco, Los Angeles had events of their own. Since then the Pride parades and events have become world-wide. There is so much more to the story and worth it’s exploring, but for us it’s time to move on.
So, here I am at Rose Apple in South Woodstock. South Woodstock is a very small hamlet, a population of about 500. The downtown area is made up of a quaint B & B, an auto repair shop, the small County Store, an old schoolhouse, a church and some houses and outlaying farms. If it wasn’t for the sharp curve in the road one could blink and miss it. Our next largest town is Woodstock, which has a population of about 3,000. As one could imagine there is not much in the way of Pride events – actually none. It’s not that the population is made up of rural conservatives, I’m sure there are some, but I think it is more about shear demographics and the older population here. As I drove through Woodstock, a rather gentrified place, there was an small anti-immigration policy protest, maybe sixty people or so, with some not so encouraging words about our president. At first I thought it was some type of garden party until I saw the signs – very civil.
In any event, I decided to commemorate the event by streaming a movie, and a bowl of popcorn of course. The movie I watched was Love, Simon, which was released in March of this year by 20th Century Fox. Love, Simon, in movie classification is a come of age – coming out of the closet – dramedy – teen romance kind of film, and it is remarkable.
I call it “remarkable” from the perspective of knowing a bit about LGBTI portrayals in film history. There is no great tragic life story, no persecution, no self-loathing, bitterness, cat claws, and so on in this movie. No, it is a simple coming of age story in which the main character just happens to be gay. It is as if LGBTI melted with mainstream pop culture. When I was watching the movie I couldn’t help thinking of The Breakfast Club (1985) and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (1986), and the plot line is typical Hollywood – boy meets boy, boy looses boy, boy gets boy back. We’ve come a long way.
Simon Spier is a high school senior who happens to be gay. He has known it for years and seems to be ok with it. The big dilemma, at least one of them, in the film is not his own acceptance of who he is but rather the emotional intricacies of coming out, letting those around him that he’s not heterosexual. At the same time Simon falls in love with a classmate online but converse through non de plum, they don’t know each others real name.
Now here’s the thing: Despite the loving and accepting idyllic parents, and the idyllic friends who will always be there, and even the idyllic high school, as far as high schools can go, Simon still struggles with announcing who he really is, what he is about. There is much in the film I could not relate to, my life situation was hardly idyllic, however, my family and friends were supportive when I came out. Like Simon it was my own internal blocks, or in buddhist speak, my own fetters that hindered my freedom.
In the movie Simon takes us beyond the gay-straight thing and speaks to something more universal, something he stumbled upon through his experience. In his coming out post in the school blog, as well as to his love interest, Simon writes “…I was just scared. At first I though it was a gay thing but then I realized no matter what announcing who you are to the world is pretty terrifying cause what if the world doesn’t like you….” So here we are back to that damned 100 foot Zen pole. Just being who you are regardless of what that is is a challenging thing. I find the difficulty in life is not only “announcing” who you are and what you are about but staying on track as well, not getting swayed this way or that way but being constantly there, to your true nature, who you really are.
One last thing – this reminds me of another journey: I go around and give Dharma talks in all sorts of situations. Getting up in front of the room or hall was never easy for me. As a child I was very shy and in school I was terrified to stand up and present whatever I was supposed to present. As I got a little older I decided to get beyond this and over the course of time I discovered a “secret” to public speaking, at least my secret. Why did I not like getting up in front of people to speak? I think it was that I was afraid of looking foolish. How did I overcome my shyness and fear? By realizing that I am indeed foolish and that it is perfectly fine to be “foolish.”
Happy Pride 2018! – cpv
You know you are in Edinburgh when you attend Mindful Lunchtime at St. Mark’s Unitarian Church. Every Tuesday for about the past ten to fifteen years urban dwellers of Edinburgh (Edinburghers) have had the opportunity to stop and enjoy a bit of mindful practice during lunchtime. The weekly event is a collaboration of the Wild Geese Sangha in the tradition of Plum Village and the Unitarian Congregation of Edinburgh, and of course the lunchtime practice is open for anyone who is interested.
Knowing that I was going to be in the area, Jon Bagust, the creator and facilitator of Mindful Lunchtime, asked if I would be willing to facilitate a session. I had facilitated once before a few years ago at the invitation of Jon and knew what a terrific event it is – how could I refuse.
Between 12:30 and 2:00 every Tuesday the doors of St. Mark’s is open for a schedule of mid-day practice. One just needs to bring their lunch and their mindfulness. The Lunchtime event begins with sitting mediation and walking meditation from 12:30 to 1:15. At 1:15 to 1:40 there is eating meditation in silence. After the meal at 1:40 to 2:00 there is another session of sitting meditation. What makes this schedule so accessible to the urbanites of Edinburgh is, I believe, two things; first, it is in the heart of Edinburgh; second, you don’t have to attend the whole thing. The Mindful Lunchtime schedule is set up so that anyone can join in at any of the practices. If you can’t make the sitting, fine, join in for the meal. If you can’t stay after the meal, great, enjoy the rest of your day.
I think that Mindful Lunchtime must be one of the great secrets of our time because I am really surprised that this idea and expression of the practice hasn’t spread to other urban areas. In any event, the idea and the mindful energy of Mindful Lunch is there for you to eat up – bon appetite!
Also – I gave a public talk at St. Mark’s the next evening, Wednesday, June 6th. You can find it on the Dharma Talks Page.