Bret

God is a sea turtle

2009-01-27T06:21:15Z

Oh Creator!

Surely this is heaven.
I can’t imagine anything more wondrous.
Lord, why, in trying to find you, do we put up unnecessary walls?
Let us leave the temple and find you in the midst of nature.
We will smell you out and taste you with our tongue,
even whilst our senses lie still.
For this is true prayer,
with the real chance
of hearing your response
in the echo of our soul.
Forgive me Lord
if I don’t see you in the bread and wine that come in those silvery dishes.
I see you, no, not just what you have made, but you,
completely and magnificently,
in the snow-capped Rockies that I seek solace from throughout my day.
When I visited the tropical island of Culebra this break
I was visiting you God, my best pal.
I rode a mechanical bird,
but I would have walked ten thousand miles for such a view of you:
floating green masses on seas of blue.
I loved you in each grain of sand,
crashing wave,
palm tree shadow,
sparkle of moonlight.
I loved you in the sea turtle
I followed to the depths of the ocean.
When I saw you at Niagra Falls a few years ago,
in those three rainbows that always think its raining,
I added my tears of joy to the abundant moisture.
When I saw you in the bald eagle
that settled on the old spruce tree in Alaska,
I giggled uncontrollably and shouted with glee.
Lord, let us worship you
by showing our gratitude and appreciation,
our deep love and passion,
for this home that you have provided us.
Let us take communion
by feeling the dirt that is your body
and the river that is your blood.
May you coarse through our minds and hearts,
cleansing us.
And let us stop throwing our garbage at you Lord.
May we stop killing you in our quest to find comfort and pleasure.
We must know deep down
that real pleasure,
real comfort,
is to nestle in the womb
of your divine mother nature.

Amen.

Very Good, Very Good, YAY! - a treatise on Laughter Yoga

2009-01-27T05:54:27Z

If you want to sing out, sing out.

And if you want to be free, be free.

Cause there’s a million ways to be,

You know that there are.

And if you want to be high, be high.

And if you want to be low, be low.

Cause there’s a million ways to go.

You know that there are.

- Cat Stevens

See, this is my opinion: we all start out knowing magic. We are born with whirlwinds, forest fires, and comets inside us. We are born able to sing to birds and read the clouds and see our destiny in grains of sand. But then we get the magic educated right out of our souls. We get it churched out, spanked out, washed out, and combed out. We get put on the straight and narrow and told to be responsible. Told to act our age. Told to grow up, for God's sake. And you know why we were told that? Because the people doing the telling were afraid of our wildness and youth, and because the magic we knew made them ashamed and sad of what they'd allowed to wither in themselves.

Maybe crazy is what they call anybody who's got magic in them after they're no longer a child.

- from Boy’s Life by Robert R. McCammon

In 1995, Dr. Madan Kataria, a family physician from Mumbai, India, decided to write an article called “Laughter – the best medicine” for his monthly health magazine. His research led him to discover the overwhelming body of scientific literature that described the proven benefits of laughter on the human mind and body.

In particular he was very impressed by Norman Cousins’ book, Anatomy of an Illness, and the research undertaken by Dr. Lee Berk from Loma Linda University. Dr. Berk is among the few to confirm through medical science that happiness is, indeed, good for you. He once said, “My goodness, if you were to take all the biochemical benefits of laughter and bottle them all up in a pill, you would need FDA approval.”

Dr. Kataria, profoundly inspired – and being a man of action rather than an academic – immediately decided to field-test the impact of laughter on himself and others. At 7 a.m. the next morning he went to his local, public park and somehow managed to motivate four people to start a “Laughter Club” with him. Within a few days, this small group had grown to over fifty participants.

In the beginning, everybody stood in a circle while one person would come to the center and crack a joke or tell a humorous anecdote. Everyone had a blast and left with an extra bounce in their step. After about two weeks, however, the stock of good jokes ran out. One day two women were offended by the jokes they were hearing and complained. It became clear that an alternative to jokes had to be found if the laughter club was to survive.

Dr. Kataria assured his group that the laughter club would continue, and told them to “Come back tomorrow when I will present breakthrough technology for laughing without jokes.” That night, he reread the scientific research on laughter and found the answer he was looking for: the human mind doesn’t know how to make a distinction between fake and genuine laughter – either way it produces happy chemistry. Hence, the concept of laughing for no reason was born. His wife, Madhuri, brought in her experience as a yoga teacher, and suggested adding deep yogic breathing to the laughter routine.

The resulting “Laughter Yoga” technique, once hatched, soon took flight. What started with just five people in 1995 has grown into a worldwide movement of over 7,000 clubs in more than 70 countries.

***

My introduction to laughter yoga was profoundly memorable, and a serendipitous shock to my system. It happened during my second year of undergraduate study at East Carolina University. A few other students and I were gathered in our religion professor’s living room, learning about meditation and pranayama and other spiritual practices. At the end of the evening, our teacher took off his academic hat, and his eyes grew subtly mirthful and mischievous. He told us that a few years ago, all the great sages, gurus, saints, and spiritual masters from every tradition had held a grand gathering to decide what the most powerful spiritual practice of all time was.

“After much deliberation, they all came to a consensus that what we are about to do is it – the most powerful spiritual practice in the history of the universe. In fact, it’s so powerful, that if you do it for more than 15 minutes your head might literally explode.”

Calvin Mercer, my favorite professor and good friend, proceeded to tell us that we were to laugh for fifteen minutes. He then sat back, fully mirthful and mischievous now, and watched the group’s mixture of incredulity and wonder.

“Wait, we’re just going to laugh? That’s it?”

He nodded.

“What are we going to laugh about?”

“Oh, I didn’t say anything had to be funny. We’re just going to laugh.”

Some people got skeptical; some people got squirmy. Others, like me, got excited. “Calvin, you had me at haha,” I told him years later. He’d laid some seriously silly bait. I took a bite, loved the taste, and have been hooked ever since.

***

Like most everyone, I was born a natural laugher and lover of life, but as I grew older, and the rigors of life bore down on me, I lost some vigor. One particular episode deflated my bounciness in one fell swoop. A week into my sophomore year of high-school my best and only friend, Brian Moore, ran away from home. He didn’t tell nary a soul about it, not even me, his best bud. Suddenly, as if an anvil were dropping out of the sky, I was in a panic. My whole cozy world of Bret and Brian crumbled, and I was left without any footing, on rocky ground. Suffice it say: I was stunned.

My joy, my laughter, my happiness – Brian Moore – was gone. I thought the only way I would regain my sense of well-being was if he came back. So I holed myself up in my room. I became numb, apathetic, and pathetic. I remember lying on my bed in the fetal position and scrutinizing the details of the wall across from me for hours on end. Having always taken his presence for granted, and equipped with no firewall or protection against the beast known as attachment, which I was confronting for the first time, I sunk into a deep and dark depression that lasted nearly two years.

My Mom certainly didn’t help matters. When she saw the lifeless shell of a young Bret drooping around the house, feeling sorry for himself, she would don her “Mrs. No Nonsense” cap and yell, “Bret, get happy!” Of course, she speaking from an uninformed and far too simplistic perspective, and was probably quoting Dr. Phil, her only source of psychological information. Still, those words, said with a different intonation, said with a little insight and wisdom in the background, have completely changed my life. My Mom – she may not have known it – but she was on to something.

There are countless examples in my family of how we tend to define happiness as something existing outside of ourselves. My Grandma, Cherri Collins, or “Mema Jean” as everyone calls her, recently lost her husband, Mervin Collins, or “Pa” as he’s known to all of Dayton, TX. Of course, everyone in the family lost Pa and we’ve all been trying to fill the void. Mema though, has unfortunately succumbed to depression. And she is addicted to TV. Mema gets up in the morning, settles into her trusty recliner, and watches Matlock, Murder She Wrote, the Andy Griffith Show, and Family Feud during the day, followed by a nightcap movie on the Hallmark channel. It’s almost endearing because it’s Mema.

Over the past year and a half I have watched Mama’s Family replace Mema’s family. I have watched her sink further into that recliner as she gains weight, and sink further into the darkness of a life waiting impatiently for death, where no spark or magic dare enter. Just as I had labeled Brian Moore as the source of my happiness, Mema believes her happiness lies in the dead form known as Pa…who lies buried in the ground. She never leaves the house; she hardly cooks; she has given up, as I did when Brian left. Her body is here, but her spirit has flown the coop. I often wonder if she will die soon of a broken heart. I wouldn’t doubt if a red fern were to grow up between Mema and Pa’s gravestones.

***

After undergrad at ECU I spent an entire summer at “Yogaville,” an ashram (or existentialist theme park as I like to call it) in central Virginia whose creed is: “Truth is one, Paths are many.” Here I found the source of Calvin’s laughter yoga knowledge – (Calvin had spent time at the ‘shram and in fact was the one who recommended it to me) – in a man named Bharata Wingham. Bharata led structured sessions of Laughter Yoga on Fridays. I guess, in a way, Laughter Yoga on Fridays at Yogaville was the equivalent of “tropical shirt” or “blue-jean” day at an office, a time to relax and let loose a bit.

It was at Yogaville, in Bharata’s classes, that I began to really foresee Laughter Yoga being an important part of my life’s calling. I had found my niche, the practice that made me tick, and the one I wanted to share with others. It fit me like a glove. Laughter Yoga was able to take the best parts of my jovial and charismatic personality and utilize them as spiritual tools for positive social change. Left untamed and uncultivated, my humor and goofiness can sometimes backfire and get me into trouble; put to good use they are amazing assets. I saw the purity and innocence inherent in Laughter Yoga and knew that it would steer me down my most idealistic path. It would embody me and I it. I knew, at the very least, that I wouldn’t wind up like Howard Stern.

At first, Laughter Yoga was just good fun. Of course, it still is, and always will be, primarily, good fun. But as that summer, and then future summers at Yogaville, dragged on, I began to dive deeper, to add insight and philosophical depth to my practice. I would analyze and process every aspect of a laughter yoga class to understand how and why, exactly, it worked. For instance, at the start of most laughter yoga classes, the leader facilitates laughter introductions. Each person is required to do the following three things: say their name, then laugh; tell where they live, then laugh; and give their current job title, then laugh. Everyone joins in during the laughter.

Over time, I started to understand how this simple exercise was breaking the chains of my conditioned mind. Laughter was making me less self-conscious; by laughing as I introduced myself, I could take myself less seriously. It kept me from getting too puffed up, and removed the competitive dynamic that sometimes exists during introductions. Laughter set me free from the labels, titles, and designations that previously served to define me; now, suddenly, these descriptors were very little whammies, not big whammies, and didn’t have much to do with who I really am. I witnessed how laughter helps create a safe environment and works as an icebreaker to break down societal barriers and connect people in an authentic way, right away.

Bharata always talked about happiness in terms of where it comes from. He would ask us to imagine an ice-cream cone (or something that made us happy), and then ponder the question: is it the ice-cream that really makes me happy, or am I giving my happiness to the ice-cream? He would have us bring to mind a person that we really cherished, to feel the joy and pleasure that spread throughout our bodies when we thought about this person; then, continuing to stay present to the happy sensations, he would tell us to let go of the image we were holding in our minds, to separate the feelings from the person. Like laughter yoga, this exercise was simple yet profoundly illuminating. It allowed me to feel in my body the truth of a conceptual and idealistic theory, one that everyone says they believe, but hardly anyone actually believes: happiness exists solely inside of me, not anywhere else. I can choose the things in my life that I will project my happiness upon. I can choose to be happy.

I started choosing happiness by choosing laughter. I laughed a hearty “NO!” to the things that used to get me down. Laughter should be used as a coping mechanism for stress, though it seems to only be used as an outlet for the emotion produced by humor or happiness. I began to feel like I and my fellow laughter friends were on to something groundbreaking, that we had tapped into something special. Do we laugh because we are happy, or are we happy because we laugh? Both of these are true actually, so why do we only exercise the former? Like Einstein’s ability to use a higher percentage of his brain than any human who had come before him, I felt like I had found a new passageway into the heart of humanity.

***

As we age, it is necessary and essential that we begin to retrain our brains to use Dr. Kataria’s “breakthrough technology for laughing without jokes.” I think I know why. When you develop a mindset that says, “In order to laugh, I need something to make me laugh,” it is the equivalent of saying “I need drugs to be happy.” It’s the belief that what we have inside us, what we’ve come equipped with, is not good enough. When people take drugs they develop a tolerance, until it takes more and more of the drug each time to produce the same “high” feeling. Taking drugs is a lot like our experience of life in general.

When we are babies, everything is exciting – we can be mesmerized by a shiny button for hours. By the time we are ten, that shiny button does nothing to us. Still, we can look up in the sky on Christmas Eve, see something with lights streaking through the air, and know without any reservations that it is Santa’s sleigh and reindeer, on its magical journey to deliver presents to good girls and boys. Just a few years later we know that Santa doesn’t exist and it’s just an airplane in the sky. Oh, and by then airplanes aren’t that fascinating anymore either.

It takes more and more to get us to laugh. Think about it. Three year olds laugh all the time, but they don’t understand jokes; wit and sarcasm and irony aren’t part of their mental capacity. So why do they laugh so much? I think they laugh from a place of raw joy. We too should be able to laugh at everything, not just blatantly funny things. Laughter that springs from the blessing of being alive, from realizing how absurdly and inherently funny life is, to know that we didn’t have to be here but somehow we are – this strikes me as the most organic, high-quality laughter one could ever experience. I call it insight laughter, when you shake off sullenness with the simple appreciation that death is lurking always and it’s just imprudent to stay unhappy. I recall taking bad mood-motivated hikes while I was living in Alaska. Nearly, always, while walking in the midst of such incredible beauty, I would become overwhelmed with silly giggles, until I was screaming into the wind, my voice echoing off the mountains. This is laughter that heals.

***

Right before this semester began I decided that I wanted to be a certified Laughter Yoga teacher. I couldn’t afford the plane trip to Yogaville where Bharata was conducting a seminar, so I found where the nearest drivable course was being offered, twelve hours away, in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. The absurdity of driving twelve hours to the middle of Iowa to become laughter yoga certified was simply too much for my silly soul to bear, and meshed perfectly with the absurd essence of Laughter Yoga – laughing for no earthly reason. I just had to do it.

Once there, I encountered a group of spirited and open-minded Christians – my kind of Christians – and their fearless and funny leader, Laughing Laura Gentry. Laura is a Lutheran minister and Director of the Iowa School of Laughter Yoga. During her college years she was healed of an ulcer by laughing with friends. At that point she made a life decision to become a laugher. She has trained under Dr. Kataria, and since becoming a certified laughter yoga teacher she has trained over sixty laughter yoga leaders and been on a laughter speaking circuit, offering levity to medical conventions, church gatherings, support groups, wellness events and more. She has written a number of articles and a chapter of a new book on Laughter Yoga. She produced a Laughter Yoga film for kids, a Laughter Yoga workout CD for commuters, and an album of laughter songs. Laughter Yoga International awarded her recently with the title of “Laughter Ambassador” for her creative contributions to World Laughter.

I learned new things about Laughter Yoga from her that I can share with others, like the grand concept of “reverse paranoia”: believing that everyone is out there secretly plotting to love and support me. But more importantly, she served as a great role model, perfectly exemplifying the love, humor, and joy that an effective laughter yoga teacher should embody – and I saw that a part of her would come out in me when I taught laughter yoga, just as coaches are forever influenced by the coaches they play for and study under. I gained confidence that I could start my own laughter yoga business someday because here was somebody on a similar vocational path as me who had done just that.

Since the seminar Laura and I have remained good email buddies. The interview below is an email exchange I had with Laura over the course of this semester. She is an excellent writer, and by conducting the interview in this format I feel I ended up with the best expression of her thoughts. If some of the questions seem leading, well, it is because they are. Since I am an insider on the Laughter Yoga scene, I’ve experienced my own insights and they naturally influence the types of questions I formulate. I want to know, “hey, are you experiencing the same thing I am; can you confirm that my insights are insightful?” This bias isn’t necessarily a good or bad thing, just something that the reader should be aware of. An outsider could probably garner broader information, but an insider can penetrate and hone in on more particularities.

After getting back from my certification course in Iowa, I started the official Naropa Laughter Yoga Club. It has been more successful than I could have ever imagined. We have a regular group – and still get an occasional newcomer/visitor – that meets once a week for an hour. We started with structure and script, but have recently taken it to a whole new level, upping the zany antics and adding an outreach element of creative improvisation. We have story-time, where someone tells a fairly bland story, perhaps about the time that the cake didn’t rise because of a missing ingredient, and everyone hears it with laughing ears, and laughs along as if it were the funniest tale ever told. We have “Tinbo” the rubber chicken who finds a new reason to cross the road each week. We have random readings from the book of Revelations. We recently had a laughter warrior’s exam in honor of the end of the semester, where silly questions and answers were spoken in gibberish. Suffice it to say, everyone had their answer accepted.

As I mentioned, we’ve added some social experimentation to spread the laughter and happiness beyond our little group. The other day we dressed up in funny outfits, donned balloon hats and marker mustaches, and paraded in a laughter conga line around campus, giving laughter blessings to unsuspecting individuals quietly eating their lunch. We even went so far as to infiltrate the computer lab while everyone was in a mad rush to finish term papers, pretended to be regular workers, then slowly, starting with snickers and giggles, got the whole lab laughing uproariously. If anyone there lost a particularly insightful train of thought that might have one day saved all of mankind, I hope they will forgive me if I say “no biggie”; we’ve already discovered, or shall I say rediscovered, an insight that can save us all – laughter.

Next semester my laughter pals and I will continue to broaden our horizons. We plan to take our show on the road, to hospitals, schools, prisons, nursing homes, substance abuse groups, and so forth. You can bet we’ll have arranged gigs as well as some surprise ones. As for me, I know that whatever course my life takes, laughter yoga is coming along for the ride. My main goal is to make people happy. Part of the way I can do this is by entertaining. I know I’m good at this. Making people laugh comes easily. But how exhausting! And what if I have an off day?!!

Better, I say, to spread the secret, to people like my Grandma, or that kid who lost his best friend: “psss…you’re looking in the wrong place…all the happiness you could ever want is inside of you, right now, maybe lying dormant…how about trying a little laughter to wake it up?” Just as Gandhi, who we studied this semester, viewed Satyagraha as both a strategy to defeat the British and as a life philosophy to be breathed with every breath and walked with every step, I see Laughter Yoga as a class where people can have good fun, and as a way of being in the world.

Laughter Yoga Interview

2009-01-27T05:52:18Z

Bouncy Bret: In a nutshell, what is Laughter Yoga?

Laughing Laura: The basic premise of Laughter Yoga is that anyone can laugh! We don’t need jokes, or comedy, or even a sense of humor to laugh. All we need is the desire to laugh, to open up our hearts and let the joy and laughter flow. Laughter yoga combines laughter exercises with deep breathing, stretching, and relaxation. When it is practiced in a group, it becomes absolutely contagious. Not only do people laugh, but they joyfully connect with one another and cultivate their own childlike playfulness.

BB: What are the mind, body, and spiritual benefits of laughter yoga?

LL: As you know, laughter is the best medicine. It is healthy, fun, and is proven to reduce stress, lower blood pressure, strengthen your immune system, ease physical pain and boost happiness. Participating in Laughter Yoga sessions can also increase creativity, physical vitality, communication skills, and improve your sense of well being. How exciting is that? Just from laughing!

BB: Why use the term 'yoga' in laughter yoga? Why 'meditation' in laughter meditation? How do the common understanding of yoga and meditation relate to the experience of a laughter yoga session?

LL: It is called Laughter Yoga because of the deep yoga breathing that is done in combination with the laughter exercises. This breathing increases the health benefits of the practice by flushing out stale air, and helping people develop better breathing habits.

The word “yoga” means “union.” Yoga, therefore, seeks to create union between the left and right brain, the masculine and the feminine, the mind and the body. Yoga seeks to create balance and harmony in all aspects of human life. Laugher Yoga, while it does not include yoga postures, shares that same goal.

It is surprising, even outrageous to think of laughter as a form of meditation. Yet not only is laughter meditation one of the simplest forms of meditation, it is also a very powerful one. The physical act of laughing is one of the few actions involving the body, emotions, and the soul. When we laugh, we give ourselves over to the immediacy of the present moment.

In laughter meditation, we do not initiate laughter as we do in the exercises. We simply allow the laughter to flow from the group without effort. Eventually the genuine laughter erupts from the group and is followed by periods of silence. Sometimes, the effectiveness of laughter meditation is shocking as group members are seized with uncontrollable laughter for no apparent reason!

It is truly a meditative experience in that it allows the mind to rest. The body is actively laughing but the mind is quiet. It still astonishes me how this works but apparently the mind cannot hold onto other thoughts while laughing. Because it is so simple, even beginners can enter into a meditative state through this practice, particularly if it is done in a group.

BB: How important is the silence/guided relaxation at the end of a laughter session?

LL: Some people find the relaxation portion of a laughter session to be essential. It helps to integrate the physical and mental benefits of the experience and to be mindful of this process. I, on the other hand, do not always take time for this at the end of sessions. It is also fun to simply end on a high note and go out of the meeting with full energy. I also find that some situations are not conducive to a relaxation session, such as when I am doing an interactive lecture for an event or corporate training session.

BB: How did you first discover Laughter Yoga and what were your initial thoughts and feelings?

LL: I heard about it on the BBC mini-series, “The Human Face.” In this documentary, John Cleese traveled to India where he participated in a laughter club meeting and interviewed Dr. Kataria. I was really intrigued and wanted to start a club of my own. I didn’t get around to it until more than a year had passed. I had been hired to write an article for a women’s magazine about Christian joy. For the article, I decided to try taking joyful action and writing about it. What popped into my mind was “start a laughter club” so that’s the joyful action I did. I am so glad I did.

BB: How has it personally changed your life as both a student and a teacher of L.Y.? How have you seen it change others lives?

LL: It is hard to quantify how much Laughter Yoga has benefited me personally. Overall, I feel more at peace with my life. I am able to find contentment more easily. I am more stress resistant. I still have stressors in my life – I just don’t care as much as I used to. Now I can just laugh things off. I can forgive more quickly. I feel more in touch with God’s joy and can share it more generously. I say funnier things. Things other people say to me strike my funny bone more than before. I am healthier physically. My immune system is functioning so well that I have not had a cold or flu in two years, which is a record for me. I sleep better at night. And I feel it has brought out more self-confidence and creativity. It emboldened me to produce a film and two CDs.

The people that I teach this method to often say that it has changed their life. I find this so remarkable because I rarely hear this from parishioners in my church even though I have spent much more time with them. Two days of laughter training and people feel totally new, alive, and joyful. I can’t understand it! Laughter Yoga really is a different type of ministry.

One woman even credits Laughter Yoga—in part—for saving her life. She was suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and had suicidal tendencies when she first came to the club. It was so severe that she was hardly able to summon the courage to leave the house. But she read about the laughter club and asked her doctor if it would be okay for her to try it out. The doctor said, “Why not, it couldn’t hurt.” After about a year of participating in the club, she was able to make tremendous recovery and moved to another town where she could find employment. Every time I talk with her she says that without the laughter club and the connections she made there, she does not know if she would be alive today.

BB: How does laughter yoga make people feel more connected; how does it breed compassion? Is the emphasis on eye contact in L.Y. one of the main factors here? Do you think we talk too much sometimes and that concepts and language thwart real connection, whereas nonverbal cues like eye contact foster a deeper, intuitive bonding?

LL: I think the sense of connection is partly chemical. When we laugh together, we all experience a biochemical shift inside. Our happy hormones are unleashed, and it makes us feel great on a cellular level. Since we are doing this together, we bond in a glorious way.

I do think it has to do with the eye contact as well as the childlike playfulness. It opens us to the intuitive and allows us to feel everything more deeply than normal. Since feelings of love and joy are what flow out of the biochemical shift, this really makes people in a group connect with one another. In this environment it is simply impossible to hold a grudge (even if you want to).

BB: Do you think laughing is a type of communication? If yes, in what way/s?

LL: Laughter is a non-language-oriented form of communication. Because words are so logical and laughing without jokes is so illogical, it uses a different portion of the brain than normal speech. Instead of the rational left brain, Laughter Yoga enables people to use their creative right brain. This, of course, contributes to the opening up of intuition. And universally, laughter communicates joy, fun, good-will—especially in this context where no one is being made fun of. It is laughter where everyone wins.

BB: I've heard many meditation instructors harp on the idea of making life a continuous meditation, to bridge the gap between being on the cushion and off the cushion. In what ways can a laughter yoga session translate into and transform daily living?

LL: I too, have taught meditation and have harped on the idea of connecting the meditative experience with daily life. This takes considerable mindfulness and effort. A person can have a great meditation and then get up off the cushion, head into the living room and immediately start yelling at their kids—which misses the point. Some become spiritually enlightened but with traditional meditation techniques, it usually takes years of disciplined practice. With Laughter Yoga, however, I don’t need to harp on this because it happens naturally.

When I first started doing the laughter club, I noticed that I laughed more at other things. One evening, I was driving home after a meeting. Several hours had passed since the meeting but suddenly I burst out laughing. I found it strange because there was no reason to laugh. Nevertheless, I went with it and kept laughing all the way home. It was so effortless. And it led me to start integrating laughter into all kinds of daily activities. Not only do I laugh when I drive, I laugh when I vacuum, when I dust, when I shower, and I even laugh with my houseplants as I water them. The benefit of this is that my plants are all growing much better, as they love laughter. My African violet blooms constantly and I’ve never been able to get one to live, let alone bloom. Yep, it loves the laughter.

BB: I've heard some say that Laughter Yoga is the most serious practice they do. What does this mean to you?

LL: I always joke that I’m serious about laughter. Of course, this statement is ridiculous because laughter is not serious, that’s the great thing about it. What I think people mean by “serious practice” is that it is so extremely effective. It changes lives and it is so easy to practice.

BB: The common philosophy behind Laughter Yoga is that you laugh for no reason. What does this mean? I've concluded that what this also means is that there are a trillion reasons to laugh, that we can teach ourselves to find humor in almost all aspects of life and laugh at just about anything. What are your thoughts?

LL: It is a very simple concept—laughing for no reason—but it is revolutionary. The common wisdom is that you must have a reason to laugh. The problem with this is that daily life doesn’t always offer enough reasons and so you are stuck with very little laughter. By teaching yourself to laugh for no reason, you discover that you can laugh at any time for any reason. This is so freeing. It means that you can make your own happiness simply by laughing. You don’t have to wait for happiness to show up—you can literally draw it to yourself.

The more you practice Laughter Yoga, the more you train your body to laugh spontaneously. This makes it so much easier to laugh throughout your life. One of the exciting things this has done for me is it gives me an emotional buffer against negative people. In my pastoral visits, I have to sit and listen to some pretty sad stories. In the past, after I had visited with a negative person, I would empathetically absorb their negative energy, and I’d be bent over when I got up from the conversation. Now, I can easily see when people are pessimistic and it seems so ridiculous to me that I laugh out loud when they mention worrisome ideas. My husband is doing this with his parishioners now too. We’ve found that we can do it without causing offense. These people eventually give in to the joyful energy and start laughing too.

BB: In what way is laughter yoga spiritual? More specifically, how is laughter yoga spiritual and not religious and what is the significance of this difference? Do you think laughter itself can be a spiritual lens (a worldview) through which to view life? On a large scale, how can laughter thwart war and other evils? How can it contribute to world peace? Can laughter yoga unify very different kinds of people and break down fundamentalist thinking?

LL: You didn’t put any thought into this question at all, did you Bret? Whew! It is hard to know where to begin.

This is the way I think about the difference between spirituality and religion. Spirituality is the experience of transcendence—of a deep connection to something far beyond our own existence. You can describe it as holy, sacred, mystical, divine, or metaphysical. Most everyone claims to be spiritual and it is a pretty user-friendly term these days.

Religion, I believe, is simply the container for the spiritual, lest we be flimflamming all over the place with our spirituality. Religion gives it a context, a grounding, a legitimacy, and a methodology for deepening the spirituality. Unfortunately, the term “religion” has been so maligned by examples of corrupted religion that many people flee from religious practice.

On a side note, it makes me laugh to hear the universal claim that so many young people make: “I’m spiritual but not religious.” Is that even possible? I know the sentiment behind the statement is that the person aims to have the positive aspects of transcendence without the cultural baggage of religious expression. And I think everyone IS spiritual so at least these folks admit it. But by shunning religion altogether, it sounds to me like they want the feel-good experience of spirituality without the commitment of religious practice. No one is going to have any deeply meaningful spirituality without disciplined practice. And thus, religion is needed whether people like to admit that or not.

So how does Laughter Yoga fit into all this? Well, it is deeply spiritual in that it enables people to connect—with their own joyful nature, with other people, and with the transcendent. The nice thing is that it does all this without having to bear the weight of a religious title. It is just laughing, right? This makes it non-threatening and inviting to a wide variety of people.

At its inception, Dr. Kataria was clear that Laughter Yoga was a health promoting exercise and not a religion. He wanted laughter clubs to be “safe zones” where people could come to laugh without politics or religion being hoisted upon them. This is important because laughter can be like glue—bringing together very different people. People with opposing political parties, for example, can laugh happily together in laughter club. People with different religions can laugh together too.

And this is why Laughter Yoga has the potential to bring about world peace. I know it sounds like a far-fetched idea, but Laughter Yoga is a simple method that transcends the human barriers we erect and truly builds bridges. I often dream about what peace negotiations would look like if they did some laughter exercises. I mean, how could they stay at war after sticking their tongues out at each other and roaring, or giving each other playful laughter shocks? I truly believe we could laugh away war forever if we only employed these principles in international diplomacy efforts.

But back to the topic of religion. I believe Laughter Yoga is a spiritual tool that can be employed in any religious practice. As a Christian, for example, the unbounded joyfulness of it fits beautifully with the redemptive message of the Bible. We believe in joy but we don’t always behave that way. This is why Laughter Yoga can be utilized by a Christian church as a practice to help believers deepen their joy so that it matches their theology. It can be an outreach ministry that fits squarely with the mission of the church.

I do believe that laughter can be a worldview. I think that I have been cultivating this lens through which to view life. In my two years of Laughter Yoga practice, I have come to be more positive and hopeful. I see joy in places where I never saw it before.

BB: Talk a little about different kinds of humor and different kinds of laughter. Are some kinds of humor and laughter more enriching and some kinds unhealthy?

LL: Much of today’s humor, at least in this country, is put-down humor. The joke is always at someone’s expense. We laugh AT people. And while it provokes laughter, it is a vicious laughter that seeks to poke fun. A Laughter Yoga teacher I know says that he used to be a stand-up comedian but he has stopped doing this. He realizes how much he used humor as a weapon. “Now,” he says, “with Laughter Yoga instead, we can laugh all we want and no one gets hurt.”

The thing about laughter, however, is that the body doesn’t know or care why the person is laughing. Laughter is laughter and that’s good for the physical body. So I can’t say that laughing at put down jokes is all bad but I do think it is unhealthy for the mind. Laughter Yoga provides a great way to laugh in a positive manner.

BB: How do words like joy and happiness and contentment relate to the concept of laughing for no reason?

LL: Laughing for no reason (or for any reason) brings the biochemical make-up to include dopamine, which is the joy drug we have inside and seratonin, which is our contentment drug. We can decide to alter our own chemistry to achieve the desired emotional state. This gives us far more control of our disposition than most people think we have.

BB: Have you experienced some laughter as being more profound - like laughing for the sake of just being alive or from the joy of walking in nature - than other laughter - like laughing at a joke?

LL: I have, indeed, experienced profound laughter that felt so sacred I could hardly bear it, like I was laughing from a place so deep inside I can only believe it came from God. Yet, now that I’ve been laughing as a daily practice, I find all laughter more sacred than before. In my own mind, I can hardly separate out the difference between holy laughter and mundane laughter. It is all becoming sacred and that is exhilarating because that is the goal of spiritual practice—to see the sacred in all things, to see that the mundane doesn’t really exist, that all of human experience is profound and meaningful and beyond description. That, I think, is bringing me closer to enlightenment.

BB: Is it ok to laugh about death? How can this help us? Is laughter in a sense about letting go and detachment? Does coming to grip with impermanence and change naturally lead to laughter?

LL: Regularly, I ask people to laugh about death. I think it is not only appropriate, but necessary. Most people spend their lives fearing death—so much so that they never really live. I think laughter helps alleviate fears of both living and dying. If you can laugh in the face of death, then what can’t you do? You can charge ahead into your life and live it fully. It also helps you appreciate the now. We HAVE this moment, we really have it…and the past is gone and the future isn’t guaranteed. So if we laugh in this present moment, we can make the most of it.

One of my laughter club members is a funeral director. He and I have had lengthy conversations about creating a laughing funeral, which he could market as a package option. We think that leading people through laughter exercises at a funeral would be a very healing way to approach death. I, for one, would like that at my funeral.

BB: Laughter yoga is about uncovering our child-like nature. In what way is the spiritual life about getting back to the way we were as a kid? Why do you think kids laugh hundreds of times a day while most adults laugh just a few times each day? In my experience many of the great spiritual masters laugh a lot and act like kids, while their students can be very pious and serious. What does this tell you?

LL: When Jesus said that we must be like children to enter the kingdom of heaven, what did he mean? Scholars still argue about this (maybe they are being way too serious). Some say it means that we must depend upon God wholeheartedly, as a child depends upon a loving parent for care. That is a viable option. The fact that we are saved by grace means that we must depend upon Christ for our salvation and not purport to earn it on our own. But I think it also means that we must cultivate our childlike playfulness in order to have the eyes of faith.

With God, all things are possible. Adults don’t get this. In our logical adult minds, all things just plainly are NOT possible. You know, shit happens. Being an adult in our culture means coming to grips with life's suck-i-ness and trying to not fall apart. And with this mindset, what can going to church really do for you? Perhaps it makes you feel a tad bit less awful during the hour you are at worship. But does it really transform you in any meaningful way? I don’t think so.

When we cultivate our childlike nature, however, we begin to think imaginatively. We open our minds and let our imagination run wild. In this space, all things ARE possible. There are no limits, only open doors. We don’t see enemies, only laughter friends. Life is not a dreary voyage to be endured, but a grand adventure to be savored.

I think the insight that I have gained from my laughter practice is that this childishness is life-giving. It transports me from limited thinking to limitless thinking and this is truly what I believe Jesus was getting at with this teaching.

Now, what about adult responsibilities? You can’t just run around being irresponsible and kid-like. Life doesn’t work that way. That’s what people tell me when I extol the virtues of silliness. I believe you CAN have it all. You can be a totally responsible adult who goes to work and pays the bills and never gets tickets for traffic violations AND laughs all the time and wears chicken hats around town. I think the ideal life is one that has balance. You can’t be all serious or all silly. But you can live in the healthy tension between the two.

BB: How can laughter yoga be a service to humanity, a form of social action? How have you experienced laughter yoga's effects in hospitals, prisons, nursing homes, substance abuse groups, etc.?

LL: Laughter Yoga brings joy to everyone who encounters it. I’ve seen the amazing power it has in hospitals, health support groups, elementary schools, businesses and nursing homes. To bring laughter into these environments is to give a great gift. I would love to see non-profit groups that would equip volunteers to bring Laughter Yoga into a whole host of environments where people need more cheer.

I think it can be a form of social action in that Laughter Yoga works as a great equalizer where people from all walks of life can play together as one. Some of my laughter club members noted that when they first joined, they felt really close to the other laughers even when they didn’t yet know their names or anything else about them. They said, “Our other friends think we’re crazy when we keep talking about our ‘laughter friends’ from laughter club because we love them, but we don’t know anything about them, like where they work or where they go to church.” It just demonstrates how laughter levels the playing field and no one is above anyone else at laughter club.

BB: What are the qualities of an effective laughter yoga leader?

LL: Just like with an effective spiritual leader, you have to practice what you preach. A good Laughter Yoga Leader doesn’t just lead laughter, he or she LIVES laughter—meaning it is an integral part of his or her life.

BB: I'm gonna go ahead and toot my own horn here and say that this last one is an excellent, critical question that my teacher will appreciate...and I'm betting it'll make for an excellent and well thought out answer too. Some critics of laughter yoga say that the 'acting happiness' or 'fake it till you make it' philosophy of positive thinking is a form of spiritual bypass, a selfish and unrealistic glossing over of reality and negative human emotion. What would you say to folks who think that laughter yoga is a superficial way of escaping from life's problems, that it is a quick-fix spiritual solution, like repeating a mantra, and actually inhibits real spiritual growth?

LL: Occasionally, I get this question from people when I do seminars, and the religion editor of the LaCrosse newspaper kept pressing me on this too. Is it inauthentic to act happiness? Is it wrong to fake laughter? Will this somehow make you a phony person incapable of coping with real life tragedies? Hmmm. Well, yeah, maybe.

I don’t know if you are familiar with the enneagram. This is a spirituality-personality-typing system that helps you better understand your natural tendencies so that you can widen your choices and learn to become healthier within your own personality type. One of the types – number 7 – is the person who is happy, happy, happy and loves everything to be a great, fun adventure. This is the optimist, the adventurer, the funny one in the room. A 7 is a fun person, but they totally fall apart when they face tragedy. They simply cannot cope with problems. I would think that if a 7 got a hold of Laughter Yoga, they would go totally nuts and love it and stave off disaster for all time with it. But would this be so bad? My guess is that a 7 could learn how to stay so happy that even with a disaster, they would be stress-resistant and able to keep on top of things.

My own type is the 4 - the creative type. For some 4’s, they become brooding artists who always feel that the grass is greener on the other side of the fence. They see themselves as different, apart, or misunderstood. They slide easily into depression. My grandmother suffered from life-long debilitating depression and it was horrible to see. Not only did she bring herself down, she brought everyone else down with her. Because I know how awful this is, I have spent my life pursuing emotional health. I have read countless books and tried many self-help methods. Many have helped me stay happy but nothing has been as effective as Laughter Yoga in keeping me genuinely joyful.

At this point in my life, I no longer fear depression. I know that it will never overtake me, even though my family history and my personality type predispose me to it. I can fake happiness until it is real. I don’t mind that it is “fake” at all—it is keeping me radiantly alive! And once you move into it, the laughter is no longer fake—it is very real.

How that could be objectionable, I do not know. Now, I can still dwell in the gray areas and even the deep, dark areas of my emotional life. But Laughter Yoga has taught me how to be a brief visitor there and not a permanent resident. I think that this is a God-given gift that can be beneficial to anyone, no matter what their personality type.

People would rather be around an optimist, a joyful person, a funny person, than a sad and negative one. By being joyful, you are being a greater light in the world. Whatever it takes to get to that place is worth it in my estimation.

References:

www.laughteryoga.org

www.laughangeles.com

www.laughteryogaiowa.com

www.yogaville.org

Bret means Britain

2008-12-10T15:36:40Z

“I’m just an American.”

Like many of my white peers, I grew up unaware of and uninterested in my family tree. Oh, I rather liked the recently blossomed leaves, but I didn’t give much thought to the roots. In fact, ignorance prevailed. I didn’t see that who I am today is at all reflective of or connected to my ancestors. This may be due in part to the chief characteristic of my ethnicity – independent individualism.

As a white person living in America I am the status quo, the norm, the regular. I have always considered the term “ethnic” as pertaining to minority groups. On forms where I have to choose my ethnic background, I pick “White/Caucasian” without any thought or hesitation, even when separate European heritages are offered. According to Joe Giordano and Monica McGoldrick, co-authors of Ethnicity and Family Therapy, “all people are ethnic, whether they choose to identify with their background or not – it is like not acknowledging your grandparents to not acknowledge your ethnic background. It is just a fact of our identities, one over which we have no choice.” (Giordano & McGoldrick, 1996, p. 428)

Sometimes, in a subtle way, there is a blot of resignation in my check-off marks for those background boxes. I think, “I’m just plain-Jane vanilla; boring; nothing exotic or interesting about me.” The first time I really got interested in knowing something about my roots, or at least got interested in the idea or principle behind knowing something about my roots, was during an AmeriCorps diversity seminar in Alaska with a room full of Native Americans.

When the Eskimos were each asked to describe their ethnic roots, I saw a flicker of passion light up in their eyes as they emotionally engaged with a background that was never sparse for information, no matter how seemingly far back it stretched. I saw that someone who lived – or something that happened – a thousand years ago, was just as powerful and meaningful, if not more so, than the people and events that made up their current lives. When I was asked to identify my background, I gulped and bumbled out the admission that I didn’t really know much.

I walked away from that seminar inspired by what family heritage can mean to folks. I knew from other life experiences that “feeling a part of something so much bigger than yourself” is a state of mind that yields comfort, strength, and contentment. I saw the penultimate example of this with those proud Eskimos. I too wanted a broader and richer perspective of myself. I wanted off my island, which I had been standing on, feeling very aloof and despondent. Little did I know that in my quest to discover who I am and where I came from, I would take a mental trip to another island. England, that is.

During the course of my genogram investigation I didn’t learn too much more of my ancestry because my family members have the same attitude about family heritage that was bred into me. I learned I had a blind, Native American great-great-Grandmother. I learned I had a great-great-great Grandpa who owned Polk County, TX and gambled it all away in a single poker game. The key piece of information I picked up though, in so far as uncovering the patterns and traits inherent in my ethnicity, is that I am mostly made up of English blood. On both my Mom’s side and my Dad’s side, be it Griffin Kersey or Warner Mayfield or others, I have plenty of ancestors who came over from England. I am an Anglo-Saxon.

My opinion about investigating ethnicity in so far as it relates to who you are, is similar to my opinion about studying astrological signs: I think there is most definitely something to it; there are insights to gain and understanding to be had; but while I believe these systems can point the way, they can never reveal who a person actually is, nor determine their habits or their future. It worries me that people might use their ethnicity or astrological sign as a copout, as an external locus of control that denies accountability: “oh, I couldn’t help it – that’s just the way I am – it’s because I’m Sagittarius – it’s because I’m Scandinavian.” It worries me as well that others might judge and stereotype a person simply based on these facts: “oh, well I’m not surprised she did that – she’s Irish ya know?” I’ll admit, however, that I wasn’t too upset when a girl informed me the other day that Pisces (that’s me) make the best lovers. Still, you catch my concern.

My view about ethnicity parallels the nature versus nurture argument. I think we are dealt certain cards (our genes) at birth, but our environment and our free will shape us into highly unique beings. My research into my English background has been as much about seeing where I have been able to break free from family patterns, mostly for the better, as it has been about identifying cheerfully with my English forefathers and mothers. I can say objectively, as most in our class can, that I am the black sheep in my family. I nevertheless pay homage to my ethnic roots which will forever shape who I am.

“What do you call a white person surrounded by five black people?”

A part of my heritage that I continually come to terms with is its dark history of racism, propagated primarily by my English colonial ancestors, who paradoxically fled England to seek freedom and then enforced a brutal system of slavery – as if there were any other kind – on black people. Gunnar Myrdal, in his book An American Dilemma, describes racism as “a problem in the heart of the American” (Myrdal, 1994). Looking at the various generations in my family showcases the societal shift from covert expressions of racism to more subtle forms, the point being that it is still undeniably out there. And in us.

I grew up in the south, in a small, rural, east Texas town called Dayton. As a child I heard my Great-Grandma, Mildred Boone, use the word ‘nigger’ on occasion; also, more benignly, I remember that she would always cheer for the white players on the Dallas Cowboy football team, but never the black ones. It was always Troy Aikman, the white quarterback, who made a great throw, never Irvin Johnson, the black wide receiver, who made a great catch.

Race and racism were never discussed much in my family, unless some occasion or external event brought them to the foreground. I have some memories related to Martin Luther King Jr., as he was one of my cherished heroes from an early age. I learned quickly that sharing my thoughts of admiration for King fostered petty disgruntlement from both my mom and dad. When they said anything about King, they would say: “He was a womanizer.” Or “Why should people get off for Martin Luther King Day and not for President’s Day? Why does MLK get his own day while all the presidents get crammed into one?” In a broader sense they questioned the need for celebrating black history month by posing the counter-argument: “hey, what about white history month?”

I recall setting up a pretty harmless joke one Christmas while the entire extended family was gathered around: “What do you call a white guy surrounded by five black guys?” Guesses soon popped out from Aunts and Uncles, cousins and in-laws: “Dead meat.” “In big trouble.” “Crazy.” My heart sank as I looked around the room at wonderful, loving folks who were unfortunate products of southern prejudice and English ancestry. The punch line answer to the joke, by the way, is “coach,” making the point that most basketball players are black and most coaches are white. Basketball, like racism, is in the family blood. Unlike racism, it is an innocent and pure part of my upbringing that I treasure.

I too suffer from racial prejudice. I have stereotypes that pop up in my head from time to time that I have learned to simply observe and dismiss, knowing they don't represent the true nature of my heart. Once in undergrad I made a really insensitive comment about black people having a higher pain tolerance built into their genetics by virtue of hundreds of years of slavery. It hurt one of my black friends. One night I was driving through downtown Greenville, in North Carolina, when a group of young black guys with tattoos, gold chains, and backwards baseball caps, standing on the sidewalk, started waving their arms and yelling at me. I immediately felt my stomach rumble, my heart pound, and my teeth clench. I held my breath as I sped up past them, my eyes straight ahead. A few minutes later a group of young, clean cut white folks had a similar reaction as I drove by. I was curious and calm and soon easily understood that they were telling me that my headlights were off and I needed to turn them on.

“Get over it!”

In The Scar of Race, Sniderman and Piazza pose insightful questions that highlight the version of racism that exists within my family: "What do whites think about blacks and how do these opinions influence their behavior and support for social programs? Is racism reinforced by traditional American values such as self-reliance, hard work, and individual initiative?" (Sniderman & Piazza, 1993, p. 2)

Almost all of my family have spoken out against affirmative action, and are quick to judge anything a black person says about her race as "playing the race card." One of the chief characteristics of the English is that we are future-oriented. I can vouch for that. My hopes and dreams and schemes and plans take up a lot of brain space. And if there is anything to the idea that physical habits are expressions of states of mind, then, as one holistic practitioner told me once, my habit of walking on my tip-toes proves that I'm always looking forward to things.

A neurotic aspect of this inclination though, is that we tend to forget about and discount the past. Along the same lines, we can deny the present by heaving the weight of the future upon it, that is, we can paint over the truth of the present by brushing off what we don't want to see and glossing it over with what we do want to see. My family's outlook that blacks should "get over it," and "move on," springs more from an ignorant self-brainwashing than an overt prejudice or hatred. My family wants a future void of racism and full of equality. But because they live too much in this future ideal, they start to think it has already arrived. They can't see that reality is lagging and they are projecting.

Most Americans, including the English, value self-reliance, hard work, and individual initiative. There is nothing wrong with these values, and I am proud to have them as part of my heritage. But I agree with Sniderman and Piazza: they do reinforce racism, (and I'll add my own clause here), when they are exalted as the Gods of relative truth. My family – especially my dad – serves only these Gods and does so from the false premise that everyone starts out on an equal playing field. This is simply too simplistic a worldview. The English believe that people should be independent, strong, and able to make it on their own. But this belief is built on an invisible foundation of privilege and advantage. My family is not able to acknowledge the complex and subtle ways that the system favors them and disfavors minorities.

I think that the same mindset which makes my family uninterested in our ethnic roots and unable to understand how our current lives are shaped by this past, spills over into other aspects of their lives, like racism. My family doesn’t see that blacks being poor, uneducated, and prone to crime today, is in any way connected to the oppressive injustice that they endured for countless yesterdays. Though my family wouldn’t admit this outright, they think blacks are inferior to whites. This way of thinking is endemic of Anglo-Saxon heritage and also an epidemic that has spread to the collective unconscious of most white Americans. Like trying to get all the paint out of a paintbrush with running water, it is going to take a long time and a lot more effort until the last remnants of racism have been washed out of my mind, out of my Anglo-Saxon bloodstream. Still, I can say with objective relief: I am grateful to have broken free from this family pattern. And my quest to bring others on board with me during my escape has not been in vain. My sister, Ashli, has become my trusted partner.

“Get Happy!”

A week into my sophomore year of high-school my best and only friend, Brian Moore, ran away from home. He didn’t tell nary a soul about it, not even me, his best bud. Suddenly, as if an anvil were dropping out of the sky, I was in a panic. My whole cozy world of Bret and Brian crumbled and I was left without any footing on rocky ground. Suffice it say: I became clinically depressed. David McGill and John Pearce, in Ethnicity and Family Therapy, identify some major features of the Anglo-Saxon response to conflict: “Usually they will attempt to avoid dependency and direct expressions of anxiety. They may, even when suffering, prefer emotional isolation and withdrawal.” (McGill & Pearce, 1996, p. 452)

This is certainly an accurate description of how I responded to Brian’s departure. I holed myself up in my room. I became numb, apathetic, and pathetic. I remember lying on my bed in the fetal position, facing and scrutinizing the details of the wall across from me. I grew increasingly tense and jumpy. I rarely spoke directly about my pain, or about the situation that had spearheaded the pain. I turned the pain on myself; I became convinced that my poor personality was to blame, that I was not a worthy enough person. I didn’t believe in myself anymore.

I remember rehearsing interesting or funny lines I might say in future conversations, desperately seeking connection, yearning to be liked. Even though I’m a fairly decent writer, I lost my confidence and began plagiarizing papers. My research has supported this “beating myself up” syndrome. Of all people, Anglo-Saxons are most likely to blame some life failure on a personal weakness. This pattern is prevalent in my life to this day. After every breakup, no matter the circumstances, I always come down on myself with vicious self-criticism.

During my days of Brian Moore woe I did everything but confront my suffering head-on. I found subtle ways to express my pain. Once, in school, I turned in a story called “Carpe Diem Die” about a boy who found life torturous and wanted to kill himself. My teacher knew that boy was me, crying out for help. A couple days later a counselor came to see me. She tried to get me to let my guard down, to be vulnerable, open, and authentic. But I clammed up. I did what most Anglo-Saxons do. I bore my pain stoically. I told her that everything was fine and tried to act as if I had my shit together. As I mentioned before, Anglo-Saxons are inclined to think that people should be independent, strong, and able to make it on their own. Like a lot of my English ancestors, I was ashamed of asking for help; failing to solve the problem on my own made me feel inadequate.

My Mom certainly didn’t help matters. When she saw the lifeless shell of a young Bret drooping around the house, she would don her “Mrs. No Nonsense” cap and yell, “Bret, just get happy!” Get happy. Don’t worry, be happy! Hakunamatata! I think the main family pattern I’ve broken free from is having an overly simplistic worldview, where everything is black and white with no gray area. I now live in the gray.

“Where the Red Fern Grows”

There are countless examples of this kind of response to suffering in my family. The kleshas abound because we repress our pain instead of working through it. My mom drinks wine. And spends lots of money on projects to make the house spiffier, her wardrobe more elegant, and her hair diva-like. She drives home from work like a speed demon, in her sporty car, and then heads straight to the wine bottle, never to get drunk, just tipsy enough to dull the effects of a long and weary day. I think of her as a high-class alcoholic, just addicted to the balanced and restorative normalcy of tipsiness, rather than the swooning madness of being “three sheets to the wind.” At times in my life I have succumbed to excessive drinking – drinking alone, drinking before important phone calls or before writing a story for class, drinking to “get happy.”

My dad, and quite a few other family members on my dad’s side, struggle with obesity. My inquiries tell me it’s not entirely hereditary. My dad was as skinny as me at age twenty-five and then “let himself go.” He didn’t know how to handle the stress of his job, his first or second divorce, and other mishaps in his life. So he found solace in food. Though I appear skinny, my dad’s gluttonous eating habits are an annoying and frustrating part of my existence. I eat copious amounts of comfort food to stave off stress. It’s one of the many unhealthy coping mechanisms that find expression in my family.

One final example: my Grandma, Cherri Collins, or Mema Jean as everyone calls her, recently lost her husband, Mervin Collins, or Pa as he’s known to all of Dayton, TX. Of course, everyone in the family lost Pa and we’ve all been trying to fill the void. Mema though, has unfortunately succumbed to the lure of the tube. TV, when it grabs hold of me, is one of my weaknesses too. Mema gets up in the morning, settles into her trusty recliner, and watches Matlock, Murder She Wrote, The Andy Griffith Show, and Family Feud during the day, followed by a nightcap movie on the Hallmark channel. It’s almost endearing because it’s Mema.

Over the past year and a half I have watched Mama’s Family replace Mema’s family. I have watched her sink further into that recliner as she gains weight, and sink further into the darkness of a life waiting impatiently for death, where no spark or magic dare enter. Just as I had labeled Brian Moore as my main source of happiness, Mema believes her happiness lies outside of herself, in the dead form known as Pa who lies buried in the ground. She never leaves the house; she hardly cooks; she has given up, just like I gave up when Brian Moore left. Her body is here, but her spirit has flown the coop. I wonder if she will die of a broken heart soon. I wouldn’t doubt if a red fern were to grow up between Mema and Pa’s gravestones.

“You think money grows on trees?”

My research has revealed other patterns and traits common to the English. As parents the English want more than anything for their children to be autonomous achievers. It is their biggest worry that their children won’t be independent or individually successful. Success to Anglo-Saxons is still measured primarily by externals – will the child find a job that makes good money, leave the nest, get married, have kids and live happily ever after? In truth, the younger generations – and Ashli and I are fine examples – scare the bejeezes out of older Anglo-Saxons. Ashli and I are both shunned by our families because our idea of success doesn’t fit the typical English mold.

Ash is in her mid-twenties, still in undergrad, and is reddening and steaming up my parent’s ears because she switched her major from lucrative nursing to miserly social work. She is not financially stable or married, does not have two kids, a dog, and a house with a white picket fence. She is in a bitter standoff right now with our Mom because my Mom refuses to support her either emotionally or monetarily. Ashli mostly hates the lack of emotional support. This fits with a study conducted by McGoldrick and Rohrbaugh in 1987 which revealed that Anglo-Saxons “were significantly less likely to endorse the idea that you should still give time, money, and other assistance to any family member who needs it, no matter how busy you are.” (Giordano & McGoldrick, 1996, p. 437)

I am steering a similar course as Ashli, only one more outrageous and off-putting. How’s this for a psychological obituary: Bret, a man with the intelligence to be a great lawyer or business man if he put his mind to it, is an AmeriCorps veteran who is spending thousands of dollars he doesn’t have in pursuit of his chief mission in life – to become spiritually aware, and to form a firm foundation for a life’s work of helping folks while receiving meager compensation. Shocking and scandalous.

“Gimme dat ole time religion.”

I’m not going to back away from my strong distaste of many aspects of my English ethnicity and family history. My role as the odd-duck reformer who marches to the beat of a different drummer is at the core of my authentic self, and it would have been imprudent for me to have donned rose-colored glasses for the telling of this tale. Still, a survivor’s story deserves a happy ending, and the gray world that I live in forces me to appreciate and acknowledge the positive patterns and traits of my Anglo-Saxon heritage.

No matter how far my liberal leanings, I will never stop admiring the conservative spirit in my roots that says “don’t expect a handout; pull yourself up by your own bootstraps; work hard.” There is a practicality to centering your focus on external success first and foremost. I like this side of me that keeps my ideals in check. It helps me stay grounded at a place like Naropa, in a city like Boulder. I also like the optimism that nourishes my English roots, the call for equality and freedom, and the belief that every single person can overcome obstacles and be successful so long as they make an honest effort. This is the idealistic side of the conservative spirit, and while my liberal practicality about the complex nature of reality serves to counterbalance this ideal, I nevertheless find it spurs me on in my darkest hours.

There are many more kind words I could formulate about my family heritage, but the ones I’ll create in closing shall be directed, surprisingly enough, to the one subject that usually garners my strongest critique: religion. As the Harvard encyclopedia of American ethnic groups points out, “ethnicity often has a religious character, while religious life may be largely influenced by ethnic customs and rituals” (Thernstrom et al., 1980, p. 233). I normally speak out against the fundamentalist nature of my Christian upbringing – the reformer in me fancies it a necessary passion, but I would rather, for our purposes here, draw attention to the good and noble parts of Christian culture that I believe off-set in part some of the more askew aspects of English ethnicity – most notably the ones I have spouted off against in this paper.

“If it was good enough for Grandpa, it’s good enough for me.”

I attended Calvary Baptist Church until the day I saddled up my Toyota Camry and left Dayton in the dust. My mom was the piano player, Pa was the song director, and my step-dad was a Sunday school teacher. Practically everyone in the family played some pivotal role. There were also a couple black churches in town. As far as I could tell, Dayton, Texas fulfilled the maxim that “Sunday is the most segregated day of the week.” Blacks didn't go to white churches, nor did whites go to black churches. However, there was an exception. Whenever there happened to be five Sundays in a month, the occasion of “Fifth Sunday Singing” was born, and that meant our church would go to the black church or vice versa, and we would all sing gospel music together.

I think that music breaks down barriers. Just as sports are a good medium for bringing people together and breaking through the impediments of language and culture, music is a universal force that takes people to the root of their being, where concepts like racism hold little sway. Music is a bridge to the soul, to the fundamental wholesomeness of humanity, to that feeling of connecting on a deeper level to life and to each other. Gospel music praises Jesus, a symbol of hope and salvation that is available to anyone, and, according to the Baptist doctrine, the common destiny of everyone, be them black, white, orange, or indigo.

On “Fifth Sunday Singing” I saw my family sing with soulful black folks and tap into that “we shall overcome” energy that they possessed. During the civil rights movement I imagine many white people were moved by the energy of the Freedom hymns and inspired by the Christian charisma of Martin Luther King Jr., because it stirred something in them, a part that lay dormant and repressed. My family saw Christians on that fifth Sunday. They saw good people. On that day they came as close as they possibly could to not seeing “black people.”

My grandpa was the spiritual leader of the family and my highest role model. He was the least prejudiced of anyone in my family. One of the songs he used to sing on Sunday mornings was an old Negro spiritual, Sweet Little Jesus Boy. He always sang it with passion, but never so much as when the song leader of the black church sang it with him. Arm in arm, eyes closed, their voices would echo through the church, bringing tears to people's eyes. Watching them, I saw that Christianity, especially when spirited by empathetic and joyous Gospel music, could evoke the best in people.

“Jesus is on that mainline.”

Says Giordano and McGoldrick: “People use religion as a means of coping with stress or powerlessness, as well as for spiritual fulfillment and emotional support. Institutionalized religion and the church also meet social needs” (Giordano & McGoldrick, 1996, p. 436). Though my family members may cover up conflict in public, suffer in silence, and fall prey to dubious coping mechanisms, I have also seen them find serendipitous solace in their faith. For every burden my Aunt Becky carries, I know she’s rid herself of two more through the grace of God. Pa, I believe, laid down nearly all of his burdens at the feet of Christ. Prayer, especially group prayer, serves as a therapeutic expression and processing of pain and negative emotions.

Anglo-Saxons, while privy to letting people fend for themselves and for endorsing a doctrine of independent individualism, nonetheless embrace the communal friendliness of the church. Christianity’s biggest asset to the English has been in breaking down our self-centered attitudes. I have seen the spirit grab hold of people in my family and propel them into acts of kindness and servitude that I previously considered beyond their capacity.

I also know that the glue that holds my family together is Christianity. Almost all of our greatest moments occur against a backdrop of some scene from Jesus’ life: Pa reading from his King James Bible as we gather at his feet on Christmas Eve; my Mom cooking a feast on Easter Sunday; or when some festive Christian occasion moves us to gather our strongest singers and go sing hymns at the local nursing home. As for seeing success solely in terms of external materialization, Christianity strikes a heavy blow to this concept. I learned at an early age that worldly and fleshly concerns were of little importance in the grand scheme of things. At the end of the day, I find myself incredibly grateful that Christianity, in keeping some of the unruly features of my ethnicity in check, was a chief component of my upbringing. It will always remain a positive force in my life.

***

To sum up: I know I don’t have as strong or favorable a connection with my heritage as some people, like the Native Americans I met in Alaska. I don’t know if I really uncovered anything I didn’t already know. More so I rediscovered things I do know but rarely bother to look at. Regardless, I feel I have gained some insight into the underlying forces that keep my family in orbit. These forces aren’t binding; they can be overcome. Some wild comets within our system, like me, will shoot off into space, to explore and find their own way. But that way, nine times out of ten, eventually leads them back to within greeting’s distance, at least, of their original orbit. The pull of our personal whims holds little sway against the pull of our familial and ethnic history.

Bibliography

Myrdal, G. (1944). An American Dilemma. New York: Harper & Row.

Thernstrom, S., Orlov, A., & Handlin, O. Eds. (1980). Harvard encyclopedia of American

ethnic groups. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Sniderman, P., & Piazza, T. (1993). The scar of race. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University

Press.

McGoldrick, M., & Rohrbaugh, M. (1987). Researching ethnic family stereotypes. Family

Process, 26, 89-98.

Giordano, J., McGoldrick, M., & Pearce, J. Eds. (1996). Ethnicity and Family Therapy. New

York, NY: The Guilford Press.

Please tell me who I am

2008-06-08T06:21:35Z

I have no clue what is about to come out of me. this is just practice, mostly drivel.

Boulder at its best is a place to become who you are. But if someone is going to become who he is, he would do that anywhere. He wouldn't have to do it because he would already be it. So maybe Boulder is a place to become who you want to be, to figure that out. Ideally, Boulder values eccentricity and uniqueness. In a place filled with smart, good looking white people, the crisis we face is how to be diverse. We love our individuals and our individuality.  And we love how good we are.  We even take pride in our homeless; they are the best homeless people in the country; their cardboard signs are witty and meaningful; they are like the ancient beggars of India, wise and earthy. We take pride in our costumes that we wear, as if everyday were Halloween. We try not to be too white; our way to be diverse is to embrace the ways of people who live far away and are on most days not trying to live like us. We salsa and hip hop. We attend Native American Sweat lodges. We put up Buddhist prayer flags and Free Tibet bumper stickers.  Boulder is one of the most non-diverse recluses in the country, and also one of the places that values and cares about diversity the most.

Boulder isn't real. Neither is Naropa. I say these words all the time, but what the hell am I talking about? Is Rocky Mount, North Carolina real? Is Dayton, TX real?  Is yogaville or victory junction camp real?  Trying on outfits. All of it is real enough, making me more real, more real, or does taking in so much stretch me thin, making me less real? I don't like that everyone drives a subaru outback or a toyota prius around here. What the hell do I want them to drive? I do love the many different kinds of bikes that are out on sunny days, but I shake my head still. Exercising is good; eating healthy, organic food is good. What's so wrong with being good? With being nice and pleasant and comforting?  Is it the road to wellville? Is it pleasantville? Why do I have such a love-hate relationship with these good things that I value, with the things that I consider essential to me becoming who I want to be? I am in Boulder, CO and whatever it is, real or unreal, diverse or not diverse, whatever the fuck I am trying to say about it, it is affecting me.

My life eh?. Summer.  Living with three people who have sanskrit/spiritual names, all white as snow. Yesterday I put my flappy house in a big backpack and walked, because the mountain house isn't enough of an escape sometimes. Even being a tiny dot in the middle of nowhere, green and blue and white shapes engulfing me fully, I can't escape brainwaves. That frequency that connects me to the mountain house which in turn connects me to Boulder which in turn connects me back to the womb and beyond - I felt its thrumming. So yes, I thought about all the things I was trying to not think about. But they weren't so bad. And what was bad was what made them not so bad, making the bad stuff pretty dang good. Those terrible aches in my body, especially the neck and the shoulders, fifty pounds on me of tent, sleeping bag, camera, flashlight, two pencils (mechanical, which I like to click out long and then pretend I am taking heroin into my vein on the other side of my elbow), journal, annie dillard (she weighed me down and lifted me up the most), four pairs of socks (because who knows how long I'd be gone), underwear, pants, lime in the coconut t-shirt, 2 extra batteries, wallet (in case I came upon a town), keys (in case I came upon a crying baby), cell phone (because I wasn't really trying to escape), chapstick, bug repellent (which I knew I wouldn't use but I liked the idea of having), sun screen (igualmente), sunglasses (ditto), aspirin, and food. I brought 100 extra thin corn tortillas, 4 sun dried tomato flavored flour tortillas, a big washed out sour cream container with tahini in it, a ziplock bag of cut up pinapple, a few dozen elephant peanuts, and a bag of chex like cereal. All was on my back, and my fingers were tingly-numb from sliding my hands inbetween my shoulders and backpack strap, to put some of the weight on my arms.

My canteen was the most annoying thing of all. It had a strap and I wore it one shoulder at a time, and it kept sliding down my arm, making me switch constantly, thinking that perhaps my other shoulder was significantly different and it would act differently over there. The time span of starting off in place, unbudging until its slow slide down was enough to keep this fantasy in place. After a long time, I finally figured out that if I put my canteen around my arm first, and then put my backpack on, it stays in place.  Only another predicament arises. It no longer falls off, but it becomes increasingly difficult to drink from, as the backpack straps hinder its forward progress to my mouth, so I must meet it halfway, at bellybutton level. But I liked worrying about my canteen. It beat worrying about anything else. The brainwaves eventually mellowed out. Birds and chipmunks. Toilet paper and where I would go if I had to go and what I would do if someone happened to come by and see me. Oh yes, I did have toilet paper. Night was brutal, as I misjudged how cold it would get and my sleeping bag didn't zip up. I wore my extra socks from my earlobes and laughed. I clamped down on the sleeping bag where it should have zipped up, wore my hoodie backwards so it covered my face and the eskimo cap of the sleeping bag engulfed the back of my head. I curled up everywhich way, fetus kicking, sweaty and cold, slept little, but did dream of Calvin Mercer and Mexico which was nice. And when I wasn't lucid dreaming I was thinking hard about my canteen. It is red and blue and gray, fuzzy, hard plastic, and in my head it belongs to my great great great great great great grandpa, from his time in the American Revolutionary war. I am amazed by it, and really by the idea of the canteen in general. I think it's great that it holds so much water.  Think about a big cup of water. Takes up alot of space. But you can still down it in a few gulps. A canteen seems small, flat. Standing bent over at the sink with it in one hand, water falls in and time stretches until your head yells heavy and calls for another hand, and still you watch it fill up, waiting. Your back gets sore from bending over so long. Where does all the water go? Is a miracle of shape surreality happening here? Perhaps the canteen is the elusive fourth dimension, a black hole, a portal to an infinite world of bottomless wells. Well, well, doing well.

Say you are about to pass someone on a trail, especially on a dead end trail and you are walking back from the place where it dead ended, and you haven't seen anyone in hours and aren't expecting anyone to be on your trail. Also, you just moments ago took a piss off the mountain right on the edge of the trail. Even if you are an extrovert, in that moment you get a little wierd and uncomfortable as you walk towards the person, knowing that person might have seen you peeing, will in just a short time reach the dead end and turn around, will be following you then. You know you must acknowledge the person, because it is just you and him and mountains, trees, snow, bugs, sky, and you would risk coming off as a psycho if you didn't say anything. "Hey, how ya doing?"  "I'm well, well, doing well."

Boulder at its worst is a place to become like everyone else. It isn't a bad thing to become like most people in this town because most people here are amazing. But what is bad is when the pressure of Boulder bears down on you, until you start to feel guilty about who you are. Case in point: my collection of books. I sorted through my books the other day and got rid of some books that I was ashamed to have, namely summer beach reads. Dean Koontz. Robin Cook. You know. I had an image of other boulderites looking at my bookshelf and I wanted them to only see good books, the kinds that win awards, that have literary qualities, that aren't too simple, or if they are simple (like Siddhartha by hermen hesse) there is a profoundity of simpleness in them at least. The classics and the contemporary classics only. I had a book by John Mcaine and a book by Bill O'reilly that I had to put in the free box. This summer I am reading the stranger by camus, pilgrim at tinker creek and an american childhood by dillard, slaughterhouse five by vonnegut, and after these will move on to rushdie and morrison. Movies too.  Aside from Indiana Jones 4, I have only seen award winning documentaries and off the beaten path films that win at Cannes and Sundance film festivals: Who killed the electric car, Jesus Camp, Darjeeling Limited, No Direction Home, Danny Deckchair, etc. I have mostly organic food in the fridge and cubbard. I have good wine and local beer. I don't think there is anything wrong with any of these choices for summertime consumption.  In fact, I think this is all good, really good. But is it too good? Am I too concerned with fitting the boulder mold? What is the correlation between good and real and if good doesn't mean real, what is more important, to be real or to be good?

not very good. but in many ways, very good. of course, overuse of this form (not this, but yes this!), but overuse can be a good thing! ok, now I'm just being silly.

perspective

2008-04-10T04:57:07Z

If suffering truly exists, why does it not oppress the joyful?

I really like and I really hate pimento cheese sandwiches.

My dialogue with Umit, a Muslim

2008-04-09T18:49:37Z

Umit and I met at a quiet coffee shop at the tail end of spring break. After a bit of small talk we got down to business.

Bret: Do we need a spiritual teacher? That is, a real life, present day teacher, not for instance Muhammad or Buddha. Buddhists usually have a strong connection to a teacher. How important is it in Islam? How important is it in your life?

Umit: We have religious scientists basically, to make the teachings more understandable. And because no amount of reading the scriptures can replace the emotional qualities a teacher brings. So there are a lot of scholars. And we believe that every hundred years a new scholar gets sent. It has been 1400 years since the prophet, so occasionally some more coal needs to be thrown in the fire, someone to rekindle the religion. There is this special Turkish teacher who emphasizes dialogue, and in fact the Mosaic foundation is founded on his ideas.

Bret: Would you say he is your spiritual teacher? I am trying to draw the Umit out of Umit, not the collective “we” that he likens himself to represent. I try this throughout and meet with some moments of frustration and some moments of success.

Umit: Yes, definitely. Maybe not everyone needs a spiritual teacher, but for myself, I feel that way.

Bret: In my tradition, I have a resistance to guru worship. In my experience I have seen them put on a pedestal, and whatever they say becomes absolute truth to their followers. Then people can become dronish and robotic and don’t think for themselves anymore. I think it is better to figure things out on your own, to have personal insights based on experience. This makes for a bigger and deeper impact in your life.

Umit: But you can only go so far on your own in figuring things out. There are limitations. In Islam there are teachers who teach the scriptures but they are not a middle man. Each person has a personal relationship with God. And the teachers do not make up anything on their own. They merely reiterate what the prophet said. They give the same message but say the words in a way that will instill more interest in them. I think this idea that we need assistance is both beneficial and dangerous. I worry that we may neglect our full potential in developing a follower mindset rather than a leader mindset. I also worry that we will listen to ourselves too much and let conceit take the wheel of our hearts.

Bret: I like to think of this question in a slightly different context. For me, my gurus are regular, ordinary people. A great practice I try to incorporate into my day is that of seeing everyone in the world as enlightened, except myself. This idea really speaks to me, because then I can go around thinking of every single person as my teacher. Everyone has something they can offer me if I am open and receptive. Even my enemies, people who wrong me in some way, they can be my teachers, perhaps teaching me what I should not be doing, as well as giving me the opportunity to practice patience. I am speaking from the perspective of “ideal Bret”. It is my first date kind of Bret that shines. There is nothing wrong with speaking from this perspective, so long as I am aware of what I am doing and that I don’t attempt to deceive the person with me. Later on in the dialogue I do talk about the gulf between what I am and what I want to be, between how I feel and how I want to feel, between what I do and what I would like to do. So authenticity is important, but showcasing the best of who you are is also appropriate at times.

Umit: Islam is integrated into every aspect of life. So we do not need to go to anyone or anything else for answers. Whenever there is an issue that isn’t readily solved by the texts, the scholars can put their heads together and figure things out. This is how Islam keeps up with the changing times.

Bret: Similar to the discussion of how important a teacher is, is the debate between experience and doctrine. Which is more important, and like with the chicken and the egg, which comes first?

Umit: Islam is about belief, mainly belief in God and in the prophet. Experience is prayer, which we do five times a day. Prayer is a supporter of belief, because when you start to practice your belief becomes more sound.

Bret: Where does this belief come from though? Is there some kind of experience necessary in order to start having these beliefs? This question of ‘where does belief come from?’ is itching my brain today. It becomes the crux of our dialogue.

Umit: Well, let’s say you are sick and you ask God to make you better and he does, then that is a kind of experience you go through that strengthens your belief.

Bret: ahh, hmm, right…How do you know it was God that made you better? And shouldn’t you be asking that God’s will be done, not to get better? I think my cynical thoughts leap out at Umit, because he says –

Umit: (laughing self consciously) I’m not sure if that is what you were looking for, if I answered correctly. In a heartbeat I regret any negativity I had to Umit’s answer. He says this with such wholesomeness and innocence. Ahh, his answer to my question about belief seems childish and thus my reaction. But in this statement I see the flipside of a child-like, good-hearted nature.

Bret: (chuckling) Oh, don’t even worry a smidge. There is no right or wrong way to answer these questions……for me, doctrine is like a spiritual teacher. It can inspire and motivate. But no matter how many books I read or ideas that I study and comprehend on an intellectual level, for example the Buddhist doctrine on emptiness and interdependence, although every religion has examples of heady doctrine…to understand in just this way doesn’t really affect the course of my life. So my question is: how do we allow these beliefs to grab hold of our intuitive minds, at our heart center; how do we experience these beliefs? There seems to be a wall in me sometimes, between the idealistic beliefs I prescribe to and my experience which is driven by my not so idealistic emotions. Have you felt this sort of conflict before in your life?

Umit: (seems confused) Sometimes your devil side can get a hold of you, make you do things not approved of by God. I am frustrated by Umit’s inability sometimes to speak from an internal, personal perspective. He rarely shares his longings and frustrations and hopes, etc. Accepting the dialogue as it plays out though is something I need to work on. I must always bear in mind that just as Umit may not be able to always satisfy my dialogue needs, I too am not able to satisfy his needs. We are two imperfect entities but the mere act of engaging in dialogue is a mark of perfection. To be doing it is what is most important, not so much the content.

Bret: I always seem to be striving to get better. I think to be a Buddhist you have to have good self esteem because there is this emphasis on perfecting yourself. At the same time, Buddhism is all about accepting yourself for who you are in each and every moment. Forgiveness is an interesting issue. I think, at least for western society, our hardest problem is forgiving ourselves. We beat ourselves up, and have lots of guilt and poor self esteem. How has Islam affected your understanding of self-acceptance and self-forgiveness? I notice that I am the one asking all the questions and steering the dialogue along. I feel annoyed that Umit will not ask me any questions.

Umit: In Islam if you make a mistake you can ask God for forgiveness. And when it comes to self esteem, you rely on God, knowing if you do good things then God will support you. Otherwise, I think there is no other reason to feel bad. Also, Muslim people do not have ego that much, because whatever you do you feel that it is coming from Allah. So there is a balance. You have to have self-esteem, but you also know that you do nothing by yourself, on your own. So there is no ego build up. You have to remain modest all the time.

Bret: I suffer from the snowballing effect a lot. I will get angry for instance and do something I shouldn’t. And then I will get angry with myself for having gotten angry.

Umit: Right, right. You should feel sorry, but then you ask for forgiveness from God. If you do not feel sorry for the things you have done, then you will repeat those things and they will get bigger and worsen.

Bret: So good guilt versus bad guilt eh? You use good guilt as a way to reconnect you to Allah and to your ideal self.

Umit: There is no real notion of self in Islam, because you know that everything you do and think is the will of Allah. I am shocked and pleased at Umit’s interpretation.

Bret: How interesting. Of course, as you know, the central belief in Buddhism is that there is no self.

Umit: We believe that if you do something good it is from Allah, but if you do something bad it is from your bad, human side.

Bret: Do I hear correctly that the way to give up this idea of a personal self is to realize that who you ultimately are is Allah? I am a bit skeptical that a Muslim would really believe he or she is God. I wonder if he really understands what I am asking.

Umit: Yes, and of course you should try to be successful in your life, but know that it is up to Allah whether you will be or not. So you should not build your ego up by saying “I did this, I did this, I did this,” because you didn’t. Allah did.

Bret: So you would say that your true, ultimate essence or “self” is Allah?

Umit: Yes. But there is this interplay from the apparent separateness. There is a balance. For example, if you want to do well on an exam you can’t just trust Allah will help you out with a high grade on the exam; you must do everything in your own power to be successful, but the point of whether you will be or not is contingent on Allah’s will. I find myself torn between thinking that Umit is just misunderstanding my question, that what he is really saying is that God has control over our lives but ultimately we are separate from God, and thinking that Umit is more of a Sufi mystic then I first realized. I think sometimes in dialogue we have to accept someone’s answers completely, and sometimes we have to read between the lines and figure out what they may really be saying. But you shouldn’t approach a dialogue thinking you know the other person and only expect them to say what you think they should say. So I am torn here because I have serious doubts that Umit would pronounce himself as being God, but I am also fascinated and excited that in effect, he is doing just that!

Bret: I think that although Buddhism does not believe in a self, the practical application of this teaching is really to widen the view of self, to see the whole world as your self and come to love the whole world as yourself. So you begin to see everyone as equally important. Umit, you are just an extension of me and I am an extension of you. The mysticism of feeling one with the universe eh? So this perspective can break me out of my personal concerns and worries, usually trivial in nature anyways. And ideally, everyone’s pleasure can become my own pleasure. When I really get mired down in thinking about me, me, me too much, I like to take a day, wake up in the morning and tell myself, alright Bret, beyond my basic needs like food and water, I am not going to give any concern to my troubles or desires today, not going to let myself get caught for hours thinking about them. Instead, I will focus intently on how I might be able to make other people in my life happier. When I am really able to do this, I have profound experiences. I tap into something so wholesome and wonderful and it fills me with joy. I feel a twinge of regret here, because I think of how I used to create these special days in my youth and have crazy positive results, but I’ve lost some of this energy and idealism lately. At the same time I have gained better overall stability and wisdom, but I am nostalgic for the way spirituality used to sweep me off my feet, the honeymoon days, just as I miss my kid years when a good book of fiction could have me up all night pacing around, completely mesmerized.

Umit: It is similar in Islam. Before you think of yourself, you think of others. Muhammad says, if someone sleeps while his neighbor is hungry, then he is not one of us. Ha, I think if we could really apply this then the world would be in peace by now.

Bret: I am interested in the interplay between action and inaction. I think we need both the contemplative side of life and the engaged side; the contemplative side assures us that we will have stillness and peace in the midst of chaotic action. What is your take on this issue?

Umit: Yes, you can do all you can to help the world, but always, no matter what, you must let things be the way they are and go pray five times a day. So yes, a balance.

Bret: Ahh, I love to think about the great souls who have had this balance, this stillness in the midst of a crazy life. I think of one of my biggest heroes and role models, Gandhi, how he fought against so much injustice while in the midst of lots of turmoil and yet he spun more cloth than a seamstress and took better care of his goats than a herder.

…a cell phone interlude…

Bret: You mentioned last time that in Islam there is no surety of heaven, that one is always hopeful and trying to win Allah’s favor, but there is no guarantee. I was wondering how this might affect you personally. Does fear or worry ever crop up?

Umit: We have an interesting perspective. I sigh inwardly at his use of the word “we.” Ideally, you do not do bad things because you fear punishment. At the same time, you do good things in hope of Allah’s divine treasures. But I think fear of punishment does make you do less bad things. It is there. I smile inwardly at his personal insight.

Bret: mhmm, and do you like living in this state of unrest and uncertainty about your salvation? Does it keep you on your toes, never allowing complacency to set in?

Umit: It keeps you balanced actually. We know that Allah is more merciful than he is a punisher. So I am pretty confident and comfortable. Belief is what is most important. And we believe that whenever you become a Muslim, say you are a Christian for forty years and then convert, then you start afresh, and all your previous sins are wiped away.

Bret: Man, I like that! It’s like when you move from one state to another your driving record gets a clean slate. Shoot, I might convert to Islam in the waning moments before my death. Buddhists have a harder way out. Unless you come from a Zen school that believes in instant, hit on the head with a stick, enlightenment. Buddhists emphasize karma. Everything you do affects the next moment and your next lifetime. There is no easy escape hatch. It takes lots of hard work.

Umit: Yeah, the door is always open in Islam. You can always get back to Allah and ask forgiveness.

Bret: Hmm, ya know I really like this idea in Islam. But it seems a bit too easy and makes me skeptical. It strikes me that Buddhism may be more practical or realistic. Oops, am I being too harsh here? Working hard to be just a smidgeon better off in your next lifetime. And how many lifetimes does it take to reach enlightenment? As many licks as it takes to get to the center of a tootsie roll lollipop – the world may never know. But suffice it to say, a lot.

…we chat for awhile about heaven, about different levels of heaven one can be put in, of what the definition of pleasure is in heaven, and how the images of rivers of milk and honey, golden streets, and 72 virgins are metaphorical…

Umit: Everyone wants to be eternal. In all the religions there is this desire. I think that is where the idea of reincarnation comes from. Nobody wants to die. I guffaw here because Umit seems to be saying something so insightful and almost blasphemous, that humans create these religious beliefs on their own. When I say similar things later in the dialogue Umit does not come along for the ride.

Bret: Yeah…for me and for most Buddhists I would think that reincarnation is not this feel good comfort of eternity, because I won’t remember this life in my next one, so what’s the difference between one life or many lives? Whereas with Islam, there is a link of remembrance between life on earth and life in heaven or hell.

Umit: Yes, everything is being recorded in heaven and will be replayed back to you in the afterlife. So there can be no denying anything. That is why you have to be very careful.

Bret: I too think it is important to be very careful. Buddhism really drives home the idea that every little thing I do or think affects my next moment, and because of the law of interdependence, I know that whatever I do affects everyone in the world.

Umit: If there is such a belief then the world should be getting better and better and I don’t see that. I love these little moments. Here we are, two random people in a coffee shop, trying to figure out how to solve the world’s problems. I fantasize about Umit and I wearing business suits in front of a panel at the U.N., with millions of people watching from all over the world.

Bret: It’s so hard to stay in this frame of mind. I certainly know what I should be doing to bring peace and happiness to me and to the world, but to do these things is another story. Buddhism and all of religion for that matter, epitomizes the phrase, ‘easier said than done.’ What holds me back are these loops, these cycles of negative thoughts that play over and over again in my head. Through meditation I try to disassociate myself from these thoughts, and lessen their power over me. The reward of practicing detachment is that I may transcend suffering.

Umit: Suffering is not something to feel sad about. It is something to feel happy about. And you don’t try to avoid suffering. When it comes it comes and there is nothing you can do about it. Suffering leads you back to a relationship with Allah if you have, let’s say, stopped praying. And there is nothing against human nature. No one will act like a saint all the time and that is fine. But even if you do regular, mundane things all your life, but do them as an offering, as a prayer to Allah, then you are making the world a better place.

Bret: If you don’t mind me asking, what is one of the big moments in your life where you went through a lot of suffering? Hoping, hoping, hoping…

Umit: My father has gotten really sick recently…but I don’t feel that sorry for him. Yowzer! We believe that getting sick before death cleanses you of your sins. Of course, it is hard to see him suffer, but I know that the suffering will help him in the next world. And I know there is nothing I can do. Booyakasha and Shamanahaha!!

Bret: Yes, definitely. Turning the idea of “there’s nothing I can do” from the common negative outlook into a positive perspective. “There’s nothing I can do.” Well then, great, no sense in getting upset about anything then.

Umit: Mhmm, and keeping in mind that what seems to be a negative might really be a positive. For example, missing a bus one day might seem like a nuisance, but maybe that bus is heading for an accident. So many people are constantly worrying. But once you start believing in Allah then you know there is a power bigger than yourself who is always there for you. I don’t have much stress in my life. Mhmm, and O.J. Simpson is innocent. Get real man. You come off as if everything is so hunky-dory all the time. Break down and cry. Am I jealous? Is he deceiving himself or is he actually this happy?

Bret: I think my stillness comes from accepting impermanence and not getting attached to the results of my actions. I let go of my hopes and fears because I see the folly of holding on to them. And I think your stillness comes from releasing all your burdens on Allah and trusting that he has everything under control.

Umit: I think the lack of belief in Allah is causing all the depression and stress that happens in the Western world. In fact, in our first meeting I remember you saying something about the ‘guesswork of believing in Allah.’ But I think it’s a guesswork to not believe in Allah, because your loss could be so much higher. Much higher risk to not believe!

Bret: Ahh, now I’m passionate about this subject. How should one determine whether or not to believe something? Should belief come from a place of fear or hope? I don’t like the idea of believing in something just in case it might be true and my motivation is to avoid eternal hellfire. That kind of logic doesn’t hold water with me and had a big part in my turning away from Christianity. If I may be so blunt, how and why do you believe in Allah? Tension is in the air. I am fully focused and in the moment now. I want some fireworks!

Umit: How can I not? Do you think that humans just came about by chance? If you think about the balance and symmetry in the universe then it is only logical that there has to be a creator.

Bret: But the same incredulousness you apply to the idea of a universe without a creator, I apply to the creator. Where did Allah come from? Who created God?

Umit: If he was created then he wouldn’t be the creator. There is no beginning or end to Allah.

Bret: But if you can say that about the creator, then why not just remove the middle man and say the same thing about the universe, that there is no beginning or end to the universe. I wonder just how much of my counterargument I really buy and how much I am just saying these things to play devil’s advocate, to generate a little drama.

Umit: Does this mean that the universe is God for you?

Bret: Yes, I would agree that there is a blend. I have a bumper sticker on my car that says “God is nature.”

Umit: How can you establish a religion without a creator?

Bret: Well, Buddhism often gets labeled as spiritual psychology rather than a religion because of this. I don’t like to get too caught up in speculating about things I will never really know. Again, feel bad for this kind of statement. Just as with reincarnation or some other Eastern ideas. There, I made up for it. I want to think about the concrete, inherent things that this life is about. For me, I will never really know if God exists or not. Hmm, well, it’s also about how I define God. I should have said, “I will never really know if God as Umit defines God exists or not.”

Umit: You just don’t feel it? That sometimes there is a powerful thing doing things for you?

Bret: I don’t know. I think that life is meaningless and empty and that we humans are meaning making machines. So I think it’s possible that God didn’t create us but we created God. Umit’s take on our desire for eternity seems similar to this kind of statement I make here.

Umit laughs uproariously.

Bret: I know, I know, seems negative eh?

Umit: What is the point in life then?

Bret: Well, although maybe ultimately life is meaningless, it doesn’t mean anything that life is meaningless. The meaning we make in our own lives is something powerful, beautiful, and in fact, true. I can never say with certainty that I believe in anything. And that is where my foundation is. I really enjoy resting in a state of not knowing. I feel like I am having fresh insight in the moment. Although Buddhism is trying to get us to be content with resting in not knowing, I find it is already a natural part of who I am.

Umit: And why would you do this?

Bret: Otherwise I feel like I am deceiving myself, just hoping in something but not really believing it fully. Yep, that’s what you are doing Umit. My God, how could I have such a horrible thought? Not that I am a hardcore scientist who needs proof. I just like the wisdom of, as Socrates puts it, “realizing that the one thing I know for sure is that I know nothing for sure.” There’s something inspiring about this way of thinking. Life becomes a constant search, of never getting stuck in my ways. Yep, strangely enough, I find comfort in not knowing, but I know a lot of people find comfort in just the opposite, of being grounded in a belief. My goal is to not to believe or not believe but to transcend belief altogether.

…there is a silence followed by lots of laughter.

Bret: I think we’re finally getting somewhere! I like this! We’re not just on the surface anymore. We’re diving deep. And it feels good to disagree. I feel the best of pluralism coming out right here. Lots of times we have been inclusive in our comparisons and banter, but here we can disagree on a basic worldview and do so cordially and with love for one another. This is where dialogue becomes the bombdiggety, the absolute bombdiggety. Oooh, I know something else we can talk about and disagree. Abortion!

Umit: Ha, well…Islam is against abortion. Killing an innocent person is like killing all of humanity, and a baby is an innocent person.

Bret: This is a tough subject for me. I can empathize with both sides. I don’t think I could ever, under normal circumstances in which neither my life nor the baby’s life were in danger, have an abortion if I were a woman. I guess the question that is often debated is, when is someone considered a human?

Umit: Muslims believe that on the fortieth day of pregnancy the soul enters the child.

Bret: So before that, on like the 39^th day, shouldn’t it be ok to have an abortion?

Umit: (laughing) No, no, no.

Bret: I think that bringing a child into the world and knowing you can’t provide for it and that it will suffer immensely is wrong. So abortion could be an act of compassion.

Umit: But there is no way to know this right? I know Buddhism is not in favor of even killing an ant, so how could it be in favor of killing a human?

We laugh heartily and end the session moments later.

***

This was a great dialogue. Especially at the end. I am still surprised by some of my negative thoughts during dialogue, but just as in meditation when I try to not judge them and stay detached from them, I must do the same thing during dialogue. So far I have done fairly well. Umit and I both opened up more and learned from each other and from ourselves. I really liked how Umit began asking questions at the end, because he really wanted to know where I was coming from, how I could have such crazy thoughts. We came to enjoy and embrace our diversity, our differences. I look forward to our last dialogue, which we’ve decided will be a dialogue of practice. We will go to a mosque and I will pray with Umit and he will meditate with me.

"I think you should call Joey's mother." (my teacher's response to this paper)

2008-04-09T18:44:39Z

Lou's Advice:

“Life is ten percent what happens to you, and ninety percent how you respond to it.” These words of wisdom, uttered by the renowned NCAA football coach, Lou Holtz, echo in pithy form the central message of A Guide to the Bodhisattva’s Way of Life by Shantideva. This beloved Buddhist shastra that spewed like droplets of golden sun from the mouth of the ‘eating, sleeping, and shitting’ monk before his miraculous levitation and vanishing act, is a poetic instruction manual for all who wish to become bodhisattvas.

Bodhisattvas are beings who realize that personal enlightenment, which equates to selfish enlightenment, is an oxymoron, that there is no such thing as private happiness. By ripening their awareness of emptiness – an analytical appreciation of our oneness and interconnectedness that puts to rest the false notion of an independent, inherently existing self separate from other beings and phenomena – and by continually cultivating compassion, bodhisattvas, standing on these two equally necessary pillars of wisdom and love, make their decree to perceive the entire world as their ‘self’, and strive ceaselessly for the liberation and happiness of all beings.

The essential food that a Bodhisattva nurtures herself on is bodhichitta, the experience of ‘awakened heart’. Bodhichitta, like the perfect protein of red beans and rice, is a combination of wisdom and love that grows from the mud of ego-driven madness to eventually blossom like a lotus flower in the light of egoless emancipation.

Those who wish to overcome the sorrows of their lives,

And put to flight the pain and suffering of beings,

Those who wish to win such great beatitude,

Should never turn their back on bodhichitta.[1]

Each of us can experience bodhichitta at various levels of strength and at different times in our lives. My most profound experience – and perhaps the entire country’s most profound experience – of bodhichitta occurred in the aftermath of the September 11^th terrorist attacks. All of my petty, selfish concerns vanished like Shantideva; my hardened heart grew soft and tender as I surrendered to a newfound sensitivity; the connection I suddenly felt, the compassion I instantly had for six billion strangers, erased my ego in the blinding radiance of epiphany.

The initial reaction in myself and from the collective whole to what happened on September 11^th, 2001 was positive and in alignment with bodhisattva ideals. Unfortunately, almost everyone eventually reverted back to a state of self-absorption, and, even worse, one man in an oval office let his kleshas – emotional and cognitive obscurations or factors that obscure our true nature – become his buddies. They whispered venomous words in his ear, evoked his self-righteousness, and led our country down karma’s slippery slope. Instead of seizing the opportunity to become bodhisattvas, we again took the easy way out, and bought into the falsely satisfying notion that our kleshas are friends and our fellow sentient beings are enemies.

Anger, lust – these enemies of mine –

Are limbless and devoid of faculties.

They have no bravery, no cleverness;

How then have they reduced me to such slavery?[2]

I it is who welcome them within my heart,

Allowing them to harm me at their pleasure!

I who suffer all without resentment –

Thus my abject patience, all displaced![3]

Pema Chodron, in her commentary on the text, explains: “when we realize that we like our kleshas, we begin to understand why they have such power over us. Hatred, for example, can make us feel strong and in charge. Rage makes us feel even more powerful and invulnerable.”[4]

A Guide to the Bodhisattva Way of Life is divided into three sections, describing how bodhichitta arises, how it is sustained, and how it is further developed. Expounded throughout are six practices/values for transcending ego known as the paramitas. The paramita of generosity is expressed by taking the bodhisattva vow. The other five are directly related to the kleshas we face on our quest to sustain and grow our bodhichitta: we overcome ignorance with discipline, anger with patience, laziness with exertion, attachment with meditation, and we finally overcome everything, every klesha, with wisdom.

*******

Now that we have a proper overview and understanding of the text, its content and context, let us examine in detail the klesha of anger and its fantastic flipside, patience, as it deals with the core of Shantideva’s insight: most of life’s externalities, this ten percent of life that we overvalue, are out of our control; what we do have control over is how we respond to what life throws at us. Pema Chodron says, “The choice is mine. I can spend my life strengthening my kleshas or I can weaken them. I can continue to be their slave; or, realizing they’re not solid, I can simply accept them as my own powerful yet ineffable energy. It is increasingly clear which choice leads to further pain and which one leads to relaxation and delight.”[5] To move our discussion from the abstract to the concrete, I will use a personal illustration of something that has roused my anger recently, and filter it through the advice Shantideva gives.

I am angry at my roommate, Joey, for a number of things. He eats my food and consumes my products without asking. It takes constant reminders for him to pay me his half of the utility bills, which I take the responsibility of paying each month. He hardly ever cleans or picks up after himself; he will make promises to clean and then break them. Though we already share a room to save money and willingly make this sacrifice of personal space, he has allowed his girlfriend to basically move in. She is at the apartment all the time and sleeps over on most nights. Her stuff makes more clutter. Her presence suffocates me. They have taken over the room that Joey and I share.

Right now, as I write, they are having sex in my bed, and I can hear every moan, every thrust. My stomach is churning, my heart is pounding, and my head is hot. My emotional response of anger and resentment to Joey’s behaviors is accompanied by my own poor behaviors of retaliation. I have cancelled T.V. and Internet without alerting Joey, just to spite him. I have thrown away perfectly good food that he leaves out, though I could have put it in the fridge for him. I have chosen to ignore his girlfriend when she talks to me, simply not acknowledging her presence.

WWBD? What would a bodhisattva do? Shantideva talks in general about three kinds of patience we should employ, bearing in mind that being patient will likely produce greater suffering in the short term, but immense relief from suffering in the long term. Firstly, he suggests that we voluntarily endure daily hassles and inconveniences.

There’s nothing that does not grow light

Through habit and familiarity.

Putting up with little cares

I’ll train myself to bear with great adversity.[6]

Shantideva would encourage me to peacefully attempt to resolve these conflicts with my roommate; he would not want me to sit idly by and let injustice rue the day. This would not be beneficial to me or Joey. But what Shantideva is pointing to is the unnecessary suffering I cause myself by latching onto anger. I make matters worse by thinking negatively about what is happening to me. Joey paying me a few days late, using some of my toothpaste, or leaving his crumbs on the table in no way literally impedes on the course of my day. There is nothing that changes on a real, physical level between a day that has these occurrences and a day that does not have these occurrences. The only way my day can be impeded by Joey’s actions is if I let myself seethe in anger and choose to change what I would normally be doing, i.e., pacing around the apartment for an hour in a fantasy about slashing Joey’s tires versus doing my daily meditation for that hour.

Secondly, Shantideva wishes for us to remain patient by seeing the complex, interdependent nature of situations.

Thus, when enemies or friends

Are seen to act improperly,

Be calm and call to mind

That everything arises from conditions.[7]

I feel justified in my anger towards Joey, until I remember that he, like me, like everyone in the world, is “a victim of his habitual patterns.”[8] He is not purposefully trying to hurt me, just as a branch that falls out of a tree onto my head is not acting maliciously. Joey’s inconsiderate actions are born out of the control his kleshas have over him, and I must bear in mind that these actions are symptoms of Joey’s deep rooted suffering. He is hurting himself by hurting me. I could choose empathy and compassion as my response, carefully sidestepping pity, and avoiding anger entirely. In addition, every time that Joey wrongs me I can think of the many ways I have been insensitive and inconsiderate to my friends and family. Just as I would hope they understand that I mean them no harm and grant me a pardon, I too should seek to understand the complex conditions which spur Joey’s actions and likewise pardon him.

The third type of patience Shantideva urges us to cultivate is tolerance, which echoes much of the same reasoning as the first type of patience, pointedly tackling the negative outcome of retaliation and showcasing the beneficial aspects of tolerance.

For if a patient quality of mind

Is mine, I shall avoid the pains of hell.

But though indeed I save myself,

What of my foes, what fate’s in store for them?[9]

If I repay them harm for harm,

Indeed they’ll not be saved thereby;

And all my noble actions will be spoiled,

Austerity of patience brought to nothing.[10]

Retaliating against Joey not only hurts me, but it hurts Joey. Is not my goal as a bodhisattva to help ease the pain of others? If I want to fundamentally help Joey, then I can kill him with kindness and tolerance. Just as Gandhi challenged the conscience of the British Empire by not striking back, I too can be the change I wish to see in Joey, and not stoop to his level. As in the previous example when I cautioned myself against succumbing to pity over compassion, in this case I must be careful not to fall prey to passive aggressiveness, nor take vindictive pride in taking the moral high ground. Being patient is very tricky!

Shantideva continues in the second half of the section on patience to identify specific situations and the proper response for each. Let us examine the one that best fits the conflict we are analyzing.

You who want the happiness of beings,

Have wished to be enlightened for their sake.

So why should others irk you when

They find some little pleasure for themselves?[11]

If I am honest about the anger I feel when Joey’s girlfriend is at the apartment, I will recognize that jealousy and envy have taken hold of the reigns of my heart. Just recently my girlfriend broke up with me, and by happenstance I am just now beginning to resent the presence of Joey’s girlfriend, whereas before she had virtually no conscious place in my world. The truth is, I am comparing and competing against Joey. Why does he get to be happy and I don’t? Considering his many faults, does he dare have the right to be happy? Woe- is-me, I think, when I hear Joey and his girlfriend having sex. Why can’t I be having sex? Me, me, me. Hearkening back to our initial analysis of bodhisattva wisdom, I can take empathetic joy in Joey’s happiness, because he is just an extension of me and I am an extension of him. Resolving to break down the self-absorbed attitude that hinders my enlightenment and thusly the liberation of all sentient beings, I can share in the good fortune that befalls Joey, knowing that at some point in the future, our roles will be reversed. My hope then will be for him to vicariously experience my happiness.

To land the airplane: bodhisattvas strive to attain enlightenment for the welfare of all beings; they wish to be fully equipped so they can bring beings across the turbulent waters of samsara to the shore of nirvana. Cultivating bodhichitta, the only ingredient needed for a tasty Bodhisattva, means choosing to respond to life from a selfless point of view. A Guide to the Bodhisattva Way of Life by Shantideva is one of the foremost guidebooks for rousing, sustaining and furthering our bodhichitta. It details six paramitas which help us overcome our self-centeredness. As bodhisattvas with the double package of wisdom and love, we tame our kleshas, for example choosing patience over anger, and realize ultimately that the only way to attain our own happiness is to strive for the happiness of others.

[1] Chodron, Pema. No Time to Lose: A Timely Guide to the Way of the Bodhisattva. Boston: Shambhala Publications, 2007, verse 1.8, pg. 7.

[2] Ibid., verse 4.28, pg. 90.

[3] Ibid., verse 4.29, pg. 91.

[4] Ibid., pg. 91.

[5] Ibid., pg. 99.

[6] Ibid., verse 6.14, pg. 169.

[7] Ibid., verse 6.33, pg. 179.

[8] Ibid., pg. 174.

[9] Ibid., verse 6.50, pg. 186.

[10] Ibid., verse 6.51, pg. 187.

[11] Ibid., verse 6.80, pg. 201.

Tom and Rinpo

2008-04-09T18:35:54Z

One gorgeous spring day a Buddhist monk was walking mindfully in an alcove of chestnut trees and cherry blossoms when he came upon a Christian monk stretched out peacefully in a shady grove, reading his Bible. The Christian monk, whose name was Tom, looked up with wonder and delight at the approach of the Buddhist monk, whose name was Rinpo. They stared smilingly at one another, admiring each other’s robes. Soon they were in full-fledged discussion about the similarities of their lifestyles. Both had taken vows of poverty. Both were celibate. Both lived in communities sequestered from society. And both had daily rituals they followed.

Enticed by this comparison of their livelihood, they decided to delve deeper, to discuss the beliefs and ideas that made up their respective religions. They settled beneath the old chestnut tree, taking reprieve from the afternoon sun, and Tom started things off.

“The most important aspect of our religion is a belief in God, who is really one yet manifests as three, known as the trinity. God the Father is our creator and sustainer; the universe came from him and will one day return to him. Jesus is the son of God who incarnated on earth as a human and died on a cross to repair and restore our wayward world’s relationship with God. And the Holy Spirit lives inside of us, reminding us in each and every moment of our divine nature.”

Rinpo shook his head and said, “This idea of God is foreign to Buddhism. We do not believe in an omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent God. We believe in the law of cause and effect, and beyond this, we believe in nothing.”

“Nothing?” asked Tom.

“Well, it’s not that we don’t believe in anything. But we do believe in nothing.” A wry smile crept onto Rinpo’s face. “We believe in emptiness. One of our most beloved scriptures, the Heart Sutra, says, ‘Form is emptiness and emptiness is form.’”

“Hmph,” said Tom, “this is going to be harder than I thought. One thing I’m sure we can agree on is that our mission in life is to help people get to heaven; and personally, we rest assured that at the end of our pious lives we will ascend to heaven as well.”

“Not so fast,” said Rinpo. “Buddhists believe in reincarnation, that beings have many lives in many different realms. Heaven is one realm but it is not the final goal. I am a bodhisattva and have taken vows to return again and again until all beings have attained enlightenment.”

“Wow, I see that our ideas about what happens after death are vastly different. But I’m quite certain of something we must have in common: faith. We must have faith in our scriptures and in our teachers and vanquish all doubt that creeps into our hearts and mind.”

“O’ contraire,” said Rinpo. “The Buddha told us to not take anything that he said as truth unless it agreed with our own reasoning. He encouraged us to figure things out through personal experience. In fact, one of the popular truisms in my lineage is – ‘if you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him!”

For a moment they both frowned, alarmed at the many conceptual differences between their traditions. One believed in God and the other didn’t. One held firm to faith while the other welcomed doubt. One believed that this is our only life, and the other believed in many lives. How could they communicate?

“May I suggest another way for us to dialogue?” asked Rinpo.

Quietly, he began to take breaths, inhaling and out-haling with gentle awareness. Tom followed suit, winking at Rinpo as he put his concentration on the flow of air around his nostrils. The woodsy fragrance and warm seduction of spring churned like bubbles in a hot tub around them as they came fully into the present moment. Tom pointed out a blue-jay fluttering to and fro between branches. Rinpo closed his eyes and felt the gentle breeze upon his cheek. Tom scooped up some water from a nearby pond and sprinkled it on Rinpo’s shaved head. They laughed merrily and bowed to one another.

Though they couldn’t agree conceptually about the composition of their religions, in that silent moment of spiritual practice, they saw something special in the other that connected them as brothers in wordless harmony.

**********************

The dialogue of practice, while it does point out parallels between traditions, does not serve the primary purpose of reinterpreting long held differences in a new light of sameness. Rather, its ultimate benefit is that we come to see differences as complementary, not divisive. The dialogue of practice takes us to a deeper level, beyond conceptual and intellectual thought, where we transcend sameness and difference, understanding that words may represent relative truth but silence speaks best for ultimate truth.

In Speaking of Silence, a compilation of Christian-Buddhist dialogues, concepts come under heavy scrutiny when viewed through the microscopic lens of practice. The dialogue of practice looks closely at what concepts are made of, and what we discover is that they are very similar to physical objects, that is, matter. Ultimate immaterial energy creates various relative forms of matter that complement each other, like rivers, mountains, trees and deserts. In the same way, ultimate reality manifests different relative concepts like Christianity and Buddhism, or to be more detailed, God and emptiness, self and no-self, doctrine and experience, prayer and meditation, and so forth, all of which are complementary to one another.

Let’s take just one example, ‘God and emptiness’, and see how it is broken down by the dialogue of practice. Eido Roshi says, “The moment the word ‘God’ is uttered it becomes a concept, I’m afraid. And the moment we say ‘emptiness’ it is no longer empty.”[1] Father Hopko furthers the Christian perspective: “God is inconceivable and any concept, word, or idea is inadequate to the reality of God. If you equate God with a concept, you have an idol and not God.”[2] Roshi gives an equivalent statement from the Buddhist perspective: “…it (emptiness) is not a matter of concept…instead of trying to understand shunyata (emptiness) conceptually or intellectually, we experience shunyata. Then we have no problem.”[3] Brother David pithily sums up the case against concepts: “We live in a world which is made up of things and meaning, and meaning is nothing.”[4] And Roshi offers a solution: “When you carry the concept of Christ or God, or the concept of shunyata, then kill those concepts.”[5]

There is never really a battle between different religions. The battle is between relative truth and ultimate truth. The dialogue of practice does not mean letting go of relative truth and grasping hold of ultimate truth, labeling the relative as bad and the ultimate as good. It is the deep understanding that while relative and ultimate are inseparable, “when you see only one side, you cannot see the other side, and so this could be a problem.”[6] Holding them both in our hearts yet keeping them separate is the dialogue of practice. As William McNamara said, “it is important to see, to accept, and to learn to be at home in many centers, so that we can be multi-polar about the whole spiritual adventure, the whole thrust toward the fullness of life.”[7]

[1] Szpakowski, Susan. Speaking of Silence: Christians and Buddhists in Dialogue, Second Edition. Halifax: Vajradhatu Publications, 2005, 137.

[2] Ibid., 138.

[3] Ibid., 151.

[4] Ibid., 135.

[5] Ibid., 141.

[6] Ibid., 222. (Eido Roshi)

[7] Ibid., 223.

Capitalism: people over profit

2008-04-09T18:27:56Z

My dad and I have had many heated discussions this political season. I am a liberal democrat and he is a conservative republican. He is a rich business man who has worked with two corporations that I have boycotted for the past few years, Exxon Mobile and Wal-Mart. I steer clear of these places because I believe they epitomize the chief negativity of capitalism: putting profit over people.

The definition of capitalism in my eyes: an unethical money making scheme that allows a select few to prosper by disadvantaging the masses. As Allan Johnson points out in his book, Privilege, Power, and Difference, “the richest ten percent of the U.S. population holds more than two-thirds of all the wealth, including ninety percent of the cash, almost half the land, more than ninety percent of business assets, and almost all the stocks and bonds.”

My dad makes many bold statements that can seem very justifiable and are hard to disagree with. He claims that he works hard for his money and that the government should not be able to take it away from him and give to people who sit on their arses (to be Australian for a moment) all day. The conservative movement has a good message I think: pull yourself up by your own bootstraps; work hard; don’t expect a handout. If we talk about locus of control, we must compliment the conservatives for their internal, ‘player’ rather than ‘spectator’ mentality, one that speaks to accountability, responsibility, and engagement with life.

A personal outlook that refuses to fall into victimhood, and instead focuses on self reliance, is a positive aspect of conservative logic that many ‘external locus of control’ liberals could do well to adopt. But to adapt this idealistic mindset as the foundation of reality, and thusly construct a system like capitalism on top of it, is a blatant blunder of oversimplification and naivety that ignores and belittles the role of privilege in our society.

I tell my dad that if everything was equal, if everyone had equal opportunities, if everyone grew up in perhaps different yet equally positive environments, if everyone was born with equal faculties of intelligence, and if everyone was treated equally regardless of race, gender, sexual orientation and so forth, then I would support his stance more wholeheartedly. More so, if capitalism created a society in which there is a great/good dichotomy, that is, if some people are filthy rich and everyone else is middle class, then I would not scoff at the system. Finally, even in a society with a rich/poor dichotomy, if someone could prove to me that there is not a causal link between how the rich get richer and the poor get poorer, then I could live with a clean conscience and buy into the belief that the downtrodden members of society simply need to try harder to have success. If only.

Unfortunately, the world is much more complicated, and it is not so simple to judge people’s success based on their effort. As much as people would like to think that the injustices of the past, since they are not enacted anymore, have no bearing on the present or the future, this defies basic logic and scientific principles of nature. Drug use, crime, apathy, and a host of other problems that conservatives too often write off as personal sin, are actually created by complex external conditions, both past and present discrimination, and the oppressive nature of a system that we cannot break free from.

Fact: there is a direct correlation between why some people are rich and others are poor. Take Wal-Mart for instance, a company that has a handful of rich capitalists who employ mostly overseas workers, paying them ridiculously low wages to create cheap, low quality goods to sell in stores back in the states. “For capitalists to make a living, they have to get workers to produce goods and services that are worth more than the wages capitalists pay them. The difference is what capitalists live on.” There is already an inherent flaw in the basic concept of capitalism, but the worst problem with the system is unneeded greediness. Wal-Mart’s overseas workers aren’t the only ones suffering. Store employees are paid low wages with little benefits as well. Also, because Wal-Mart monopolizes the market, thousands of small businesses are run into the ground.

But none of this has to happen. Why should the people who work the hardest be paid the littlest? Wal-Mart could pay overseas workers and in-store workers a good wage, give them great benefits, time off, and create high quality products. They would make less profit sure, but they would still make a profit. How much money does someone need? Is the difference between five billion and ten billion dollars not arbitrary? There is not an unlimited amount of wealth available to everyone in the world. For the greater good of all beings, we should distribute the wealth equally. As far as the United States goes, I believe no one should make more than two hundred thousand dollars a year. I pick this number in particular because this is how much the President makes and no one should make more than the leader of the country.

Are capitalists willing to acknowledge the role they play in the masses’ suffering? Are they willing to adopt more of a selfless (not self-centered) attitude, one that puts people over profit, that thinks utilitarianism, what is good for the majority of people, is more important than what is good for the few? Are capitalists prepared to give up lots of their wealth? I think a middle way approach is necessary. The privileged should wake up to their naivety, realizing the world is not black and white but gray and that externalities which they are a part of, willingly or unwillingly, knowingly or unknowingly, contribute to the suffering of others. In the same vein, the underprivileged should not wallow in despair, blaming their problems on others; instead they should remain steadfastly hopeful and take responsibility for their successes and failures. Only by both sides meeting in the middle will a practical solution become viable; otherwise we will all continue to live in a warped fantasy about reality.

"goodbye girl"

2008-04-09T07:47:20Z

(I wanted to write about my inability to accept Sarah's friendship, but found it too difficult. But then, a phone call from another ex got me to broach the subject in a roundabout sorta way.)

the primero adios
that stretched across a whole night sky
into mannana azul and sunshine:
singing and skipping to kailash,
or rather, marching.
"Seeeyahumbakukenanenquenkos."
jealous of funny, buck-toothed scott.
arm falling asleep with tingly pain,
but never did i think
of moving it from your body.

eating cereal on the carpet
where the sun shines a sliver of light.
sweet rice leche tears.
the longest hug in human history.

the goodbye spell
you put on me
in hookaville,
"close your eyes bret."
Ya Ya! Ya Ya! Ya Ya!

an airport farewell:
a sitar
as fragile
and hard to play
as our relationship.
a sitar
padded with love.

same airport,
different season.
strangers crying,
different reason.

Rescued from the island:
ears still ringing -
"hare rama, hare krishna" -
the false-et-to of a gemini
on the dark side of her moon.
sucking on my thumb.
she left a mark.

- "promise me one thing:
to always be in my life."
- "we made a vow didn't we?"
- "i didn't know that still mattered."
- "of course it does."
- "igualmente."

we are a series of volumes
within goodbye bookends.
sequels don't always suck.

flowers blossom, wither.
what remains?
potential potpourri.

Sometimes, just sometimes,
ghosts can be pretty cool.

Getting serious about being silly

2008-02-25T20:30:40Z

After a sucky morning of taking life too seriously, of emotional and mental frailty, I had to shake off my sullenness with some something silly. So I skipped school today and Joey and I spent all morning playing extreme mini-hoops, gambling for five or ten dollars each contest. Some of the shots included: 'from the bedroom', 'outside', 'standing on a skateboard with a fireplace poker in your hand', 'blindfolded with a guitar strapped to your back', and 'perched on the table like Shamoo'. Often we doubled over in tears of laughter wondering what people would think if they saw us, two grown men on a Monday afternoon...what are we doing with our lives?

B-ball gambling on a monday afternoon

2008-02-25T20:11:35Z

Turn and face the ch ch ch changes

2008-02-24T08:45:43Z

As the real Dr. Phil says, “I can feel it coming in the air tonight,” a melting warmth, a new hue, an orchestral shift. Spring’s masters of mutation are camped out at the top of the Flatirons, awaiting orders from their fearless leader, Punxatawnee Phil (winter beckons him on February 2nd – “please give me one more night, gimme just one more night”). Occasionally though, one of them flies the coop, sleds gleefully down the mountain, and saunters into town for some Avery White Rascals, a little bluegrass picking, and a street performance, spreading good cheer and contagious smiles to Boulderites of all ages.

While the planet is making its seasonal conversion, and as our country speeds towards change, with Mr. Obama behind the wheel, our engine running on hope, I too have been bit by the transformational tick. For someone like me, keen on novelty and averse to the ordinary, travel and adventure are my milk and honey. So when I am in a settled-down phase, as is my current status, I look to shake up such things as my appearance, my lifestyle, and my everyday surroundings, in an attempt to keep boredom at bay.

Also, there is a sense, mostly conjured by my overreacting, surreal-seeking imagination, that I am starting over. My social life is in a lull, my friends put off by my inclusive idealism while I, ironically, am yearning for better friends, friends beyond the confines of familiarity. To coincide, my introverted girlfriend is not digging my company at present. I feel more in my own world – alone more than lonely – than I have since my beginnings here in Boulder.

I tend to make changes like a rolling snowball, one idea expanding into many. I desire a complete makeover to drastically feel the differences, similar to how Sarah and I enjoy cleaning up the cabin after a crazy party so we can stand in awe at the stark contrast when finished. Change comes when comfort becomes too comfortable, when apathetic behavior jumpstarts my brain with electric impulses, an alarm of realization: I am wasting away life’s precious seconds. Hitting the snooze button works for awhile, but eventually an overwhelming force propels me from bed.

Two days ago I returned to the world of writing, the first major change. With anything I choose to do, there is usually something I choose not to do, the equal and opposite reaction, life’s universal law. In this case my friend is writing and my enemy is watching television. I am trying to disrupt my newfound dependency on T.V. with a self-disciplined, combative response of writing, reading, and meditating. These three are my spiritual practices, my Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Yesterday, after pacing my apartment and shooting on the mini-b-ball-hoop for the better part of the morning, I walked outside on a whim and headed south, no particular destination in mind. My feet led me firstly to City-Street Bagels, the nostalgic and random building of my beginnings here in Boulder. Many months ago, fresh, or rather smelly, from my road trip which began in Texas, I entered this strange city of the Pleasantville persuasion, and weak from hunger, ate a tasty Everything at City-Street Bagels. I walked into the shop yesterday and sat in the same seat I sat in previously, the ghost of my former self sliding into my body, and for a moment, my life was a blank slate again; possibilities sprouted, potentialities popped like corn kernels in the microwave.

I continued my trek to Target, where I bought a two hundred dollar, twenty-one speed, hybrid-cruiser bicycle, and some new DVD flicks that were on sale: Rat Race (one of my favorite comedies of all time), Aviator, Traffic, Whale Rider, Hotel Rwanda, Clue, and Big Fish. Shopping is often my serotonin. I rode my bicycle home with a Spring Master’s glee.

Today, I woke up to new ideas floating in cartoon bubbles above me. I’ve decided that, assuming I can woo someone into a profitable or breaking even price, I am going to sell my ailing car. I have put an ad on craigslist and on another free classifieds page. My plan is to sell my insightful Honda, pay off the credit union completely, go carless for the warm months of spring and summer, then buy a new (used) car at around the same time that I am (hopefully will be) moving into my new bodacious living pad come middle of August. I will want a car by then because I want to live outside of town, in a rustic cabin in the mountains, and facing the elements in winter seems daunting. In the meantime, I can survive serendipitously on two wheels alone, a sufficient mode of transportation to work and school, and to kill two birds with one stone – a fantastic way to exercise and stay in shape. The money I will save by not having a car payment, insurance, or gas, not to mention the money I make selling the car, will be nothing less than Shamanaha, Shamanahaha!

After a lengthy morning meditation I again felt a force pulling me out the door into the unknown. I walked to a barber shop thinking of getting a trim, but change wielded its mighty sword and chopped my hair to smithereens, a symbolic gesture that has claimed my soul on many moons, be me bald, bald with a tuft of hair, eyebrowless, with red, bleached, shaggy or spiked hair. A new haircut, at least of the drastic variety, has always meant a new beginning. I cut away the Boulder stereotype, my long locks, and am left with a very short, messy scalp hat.

Two days ago, yesterday, today. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?

fatwa

2008-02-22T09:04:46Z

Today is a normal and somewhat meaningless day for journal writing on the face of things, and after a long absence from the form, one might consider it prudent for me to return with a flourish, with an announcement of shocking proportions, an account of thrilling adventure, or a dramatic heartache wrestled out in wrenching, whimpering words and an online mood alert of the icky blahs. Yet it is the very nature of my random day that I see as the most compelling reason to return to this arena.

Plainly, I have lost sight lately of my unique capacity for combating the mundane force of routine and familiarity that besmirches a settled-down existence; the art of writing provides a healthy medium for observing my life with rekindled eyes, ears, hands, nose, tongue, and heart. Writing is the missing magic in my experiences, the added degree of mindfulness for each moment, and the comforting, romanticized transformation of memory. Big experiences require less emphasis on writing to capture a moment of life’s ultimate meaning, and small experiences require more creative canoodling to tap into the same energy. But with writing, every small detail of life becomes unbounded potential for insight, wonder, and gratefulness.

I must confess at this point that perhaps one of my chief motivations for writing is due to a morning fatwa decreed by the fierce prophet: Bret Burnout, and thusly a restraining order smothering my northbound yearnings. The reason: she doesn’t like something about my farts, whether sound, smell, vibration, or a combination of all three.

But mostly: last night I went to visit her house, but not to visit her. I wanted a quiet, serious evening of meditation and studying, void of socializing to the degree of autism. My disarrayed apartment of distractions – hundred-channeled T.V., super slow on opposite day internet, a naked roommate and his mistress – was no match in comparison to Sarah Thoreau’s cabin of serendipitous meows and scholarly wind. I paid her little mind all night, relating tersely, and quarantining myself in the monastic room of sex, spirituality, and a soon to be Dan man. Damn.

My morning revelry of sunny-sided Shantideva inspiration was booed as much as Hillary Clinton’s quip during the Austin debate tonight about Obama’s “change that can be xeroxed”, was hushed up as quickly as the right wing of the republican party is attempting to hush up the allegations of Mcaine’s lobbying for sex with a cohort who was lobbying for his vote and his money in the year 2000.

My ideal henceforth is to never lick all the icing off the cake and leave the moist, delicious cake to dry and sour. Translation: I will never again reap the benefits of Sarah’s dwelling place if I am not motivated primarily by a desire to see Sarah, to play the role of boyfriend, not roommate. And more realistically: should I occasionally desire a reprieve from the world and wish to make use of her awesome quarters for my escape, I can simply ask her in advance for freedom from all my boyfriend duties, informing her of my intention to come over but not really come over, to be there but not really be there, thereby removing any skewed interpretation of my aloofness or mood.

Hearkening back to my original point: I am partly writing to alleviate the boycott on badboybret, to woo her with my Texas wit (is this an oxymoron?), hoping to lure her to that nostalgic place in her heart, where she barely knows me, and is falling in love with my writing…and falling in love with me. But mostly I am alleviating my own Bret burnout, for writing is a big chunk of Bret who has been dormant for many months. I’ve missed him, my friend, and also, my great and worthy opponent.

Noteworthy tidbits before closing:

I hung out for a very limited yet consciously healing time with my Mexican pal. Glimmers of sunshine interspersed with gray clouds. Laughed and shared. But still. I felt awkward, as if I’d recently broken up with a girl and we were attempting to move towards an idealistic relationship of chumminess while doing our best to ignore the painful past and the fact that we don’t have much to talk about anymore. Maybe not so dramatic, and definitely rays of hope, but a bittersweet encounter nonetheless.

During tutoring session with Lucas, my misspelling, Polish, God-child whom I enjoy calling Luuuushki or Luuuuusha, much to his befuddled astonishment, I took a strict stance on a key educational issue that I am passionate about, and was met with resistance in the form of a temper tantrum more befitting of a two year old than a fourth grader. I made him learn his spelling words in random order, not the order on the worksheet. He grew royally pissed, began crying and throwing things, because he knew he would get more wrong this way. But I stood firm, and like a Christian missionary, attempted to convert him to a new style of thinking. For nearly the entire hour, with his Dad yelling warnings of “grounded for the next two months” from the sideline, I told Lucas that memorization, his studying method, was far inferior to learning, my method, that misspelling more words, even doing slightly worse on his test, was not important in the grand scheme of things, that it was better to learn for the sake of learning. I desperately wanted him to see the greater benefits of actually knowing how to spell the words for the infinite future instead of forgetting them soon after the test. But I was asking the impossible. I was asking him to change something so ingrained into us by society, that school and tests are wrathful Gods we must worship, failure is bad, success is good, and we must compete against others, not just ourselves. I believe that if there was no grading system of fear, that Lucas would be a much happier boy and in a more relaxed context, learn how to spell on a faster curve than he is currently.

no more time for journal entries...

2008-01-20T06:05:40Z

I'll be writing a book for the next couple years. It will be published. I will make money on it. It will affect the quality of people's day and year and life. Booyakashayaya!

see y'all in a couple years...

Reflections on Impermenance

2007-10-09T06:47:24Z

When the Buddha was meditating beneath the Bodhi tree he wasn't wrestling with the usual burning questions: What is the purpose of existence? What is the meaning of life? Where did we come from? These were too indirect and philosophical for his meticulous, scientific brain. He wanted to get at the root of things: what is this – this place right here, this state of mind right now – what is this? Or to put it another way: What is truth itself? What is this thing called reality? After forty days of meditation, the Buddha concluded that everything in existence has these three characteristics: duhkha (suffering), anitya (impermanence), and anatman (egolessness).
Duhkha means unsatisfactoriness. While we experience passing pleasure and bliss, nothing in the physical or mental realms can bring us a lasting, deep satisfaction. The Buddha taught in the First Noble Truth that life is painful in many gross and subtle ways: “birth is painful, aging is painful, illness is painful, death is painful; sorrow, lamentation, physical pain, unhappiness and distress are painful; union with what is disliked is painful; separation from what is liked is painful; not to get what one wants is painful.”1 The Second Noble Truth explains the origin of our suffering: craving (desire) for and attachment to sense-pleasures and existence, as well as aversion for what is not desired. The other marks of existence are what we are most averse to: impermanence and egolessness. It is by conquering our fear and ignorance of these that we reach Nirvana, the cessation of suffering, which by its very nature is also the cessation of (samsaric) existence.
Anitya means impermanence. This refers to the fact that all conditioned things eventually cease to exist, and also that all conditioned things are in a constant state of flux, always changing. Our main problem is that we are always fighting change, as if it were our enemy, instead of embracing and accepting it. We try to grab hold of the reigns of change and steer it in the direction we want but our efforts are feeble; complex cause and effect patterns are always in control, never us. The most poignant result of impermanence is the fact that we will get old and die. We are fearful of death and attempt to deny its existence by painting over our signs of aging with the colors of youthfulness. In the Ambapali Sutra, a nun gives a comical yet vivid portrayal of bodily change: “Swelling, round, firm, and high, both my breasts were once splendid. In the drought of old age, they dangle like empty old water bags.”2 Our society has methods of combating bodily demise, such as plastic surgery, and we can often fall prey to believing appearances over reality. Impermanence, like nature with her dominion over our world, is indifferent to our cherished existence. But impermanence should not be seen as the Grim Reaper, rather as a fact of life, and it would serve us well to laugh and poke fun at our decaying bodies from time to time.
Another fact of life, the most subtle and not believed in fact, is that of anatman or egolessness. We think we exist, that there is some permanent, unchanging, fixed self that is separate and independent from everyone and everything else. But on careful analysis and examination we realize that we are merely a collection of parts (skandhas), of momentary experiences, all co-dependent and causally connected to everything in existence. Just as we give the label 'chariot' to something with a wheel and axle and seat and so forth but realize that no chariot in and of itself really exists separate from its parts, so too we use the conventional label of self for our ever changing experiences.3 But at the metaphysical level we know that there is no solid self, that existence is an illusion. Suffering happens when we cling to these skandhas as a real self.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The mark of existence that resonates the most with me is impermanence, especially in how my reflections on and lessons learned from impermanence have had a positive impact on my mental and spiritual countenance. The three ideal reflections that I'll examine are: contemplating death as a means of living life to the fullest, learning the lesson of detachment from the frailty of relationships, and not identifying with emotions by understanding the cyclical nature of impermanence.
Death. Excusing the negative connotation of the word 'passion' within a Buddhist framework, I must say that my daily awareness and reflection on death has enabled me to live a more passionate life of heightened and surreal and meaningful existence, one that cuts through and overpowers the trivial riffraff of bureaucracy or faulty stoplights or lost luggage. My practice (and my girlfriend can attest to this!) is to wake up each morning with the dramatic semantical kick - 'today is the last day of my life' - usually followed by its natural chain thought: 'Carpe Diem – seize the day!' Though these quips of motivation might seem cliché, they have the powerful ability to snap me out of the dull funk of going through the motions, wipe away half of my needless worries, and propel me to be mindful of every significant moment, which becomes every waking moment when death is at the forefront of your mind. The biggest mental monsters we face are the past and the future, mere constructs that are conjured up out of the reality of emptiness, constructs that consume most of our energy in the form of hope, fear, and regret. Indeed, as many masters have said, suffering and impermanence can be defeated only by bringing ourselves entirely into the present moment, for it is here that we will find peaceful eternity.
Change. The impermanence – the absolute frailty – of human relationships has been the harshest hit on the head that life has dealt me. From sixth grade until tenth grade I had only one main friend, a kid by the name of Brian Moore. At school we were attached at the hip, lost in our own imaginary worlds of delightful mayhem and laughter. One day I went to school and discovered that Brian had run away without bothering to tell me. Suddenly the pillar that held my happiness in place crumbled and I was in shambles. I didn't know what to do anymore. I didn't know who I was. An ensuing depression resulted, lasting for over a year, in which I would retreat into a shell of self-pity, hopelessness, and tears. Similarly, the loss of my first girlfriend, Laurel, was a swirling vortex of chaos and madness and heartache.
Twas living in these realms of suffering that led me to the spiritual path and for that I am thankful. I came to realize that these two debilitating depressions that occurred once Brian and Laurel were removed from my life were brought about because I had become attached and dependent on these two externalities and was projecting my own inherent happiness into the forms of their being, thereby creating a need to possess them as a means of keeping hold of my happiness. After these depressions I practiced a skewed form of detachment for a while, that of not allowing myself to really get close to anyone, to be self-disclosing and open, because I feared abandonment; I saw impermanence wearing an ugly hat of apathy-producing, 'there's no point' sadness; but if we take this hat off of impermanence then what is left is the ability to throw our whole body, mind and spirit into connecting with and loving people, while at the same time practicing detachment. When people are no longer in our life there is no reason for lamentation; whatever we've gained from our relationships with them we take with us from one place to the next. Even when we can't remember them anymore their karmic residue resides in our hearts. People that are gone forever are not really gone forever: we've met them all before and we'll meet them all again, though their faces might be a little different. We'll see them on down the road. We'll see them because we are them. The greatest spiritual level to reach through pondering human relationships is that of seeing that we're all one, we're all the same.
The Cycle. Impermanence works as a cycle, moment to moment, day in and day out. Imagine the simple act of sitting somewhere for a long time. At first we are comfortable in our position, then after some time we feel neutral, which leads eventually to a feeling of discomfort and pain, until we shift our position and once more regain that feeling of being comfortable. As far as our emotions go, when we come to accept this cycle and realize that it is impossible to stay in one realm continuously, that we are in a constant flux of peace, neutrality, anxiety, and peace, then we no longer are bothered much by the anxiety, nor are we too attached to the peace. We can transcend our emotions and not identify ourselves with them. Reflecting on impermanence can, in very practical ways, affect the quality of our day for the better, and this is the highest of arts.

Island Life

2007-10-09T06:36:40Z

hey guys, i'm on another summer adventure (a working-vacation in puerto rico) and hadn't been writing much so I finally went crazy tonight and it all just came spilling out. Hope you enjoy, and do please let me know how things are going in your neck of the woods.

These past few weeks have felt like one really long day, with many naps in between, a routine of existence in the bubble that can make you forget about the world, but with enough sit around and think time that you can't get away from yourself. My time on the tiny, sleepy island of Culebra ("snake" island) off the coast of puerto rico has followed a pattern that is at once incredibly peaceful, yet mind numbing. Here's how you would spend a typical day if you were doing what I was doing now...and if you happened to be me : )

Awake to the sound of crazy roosters long before the sun actually comes up at the hippie hangout you've been sleeping and utilizing utilities at, Pan's house of surf boards, national geographic magazines, and about a half dozen beat up VW buses from the 60's scattered around his junkyard yard. Go back to sleep as best you can, then wake up drooling and make some oatmeal or whole wheat farina on the old burners that need lighting by match.

Next grab a backpack, the ole office briefcase if ya will, filled with the days work accessories and if i may say so, neccessities (hehe): travel magnetic checkerboard, paddle ball game, frisbee, book, towel, sunscreen, journal, hat, sunglasses, fruit and sandwiches, and sand, because really, when you're at the beach everyday you bring sand everywhere you go; there's just no getting away from it. Get on the rusty bike with a basket attached to the back and ride the steep downhill bumpy potholed road like a madman daring yourself not to apply the brakes two miles to one of the top ten beaches in the world, Playa Flamenco. Park the bike and don't lock it up even though there is a lock in the back basket.

Work is straining at the beginning, relaxing in the middle, and straining at the end. Cart out and carry and set up heavy loads of chairs and umbrellas (sillas y sombrillas para alquilar - though for many days you will yell out alquidar which doesn't mean "to rent" and isn't even a word at all and you'll get many strange stares and laughs from the locals) to mainly white old tourists or daytrippers from the mainland. Be charming and engaging within the paramaters of the same routine conversation - where ya from and what's it like, how'd ya wind up here, how long ya staying, where's the best place to eat, ect.

Occassionally, to spice things up a bit, do funny things to amuse the people and yourself: sing random songs with spontaneous stream of thought lyrics, dance funky, have moments of terret's spanish speaking syndrome where you just start babbling any spanish phrase or words you know into the air, or pretend there is something trecherously villainous in the hole that you've dug for the umbrella by peering ominously into it, then slowly reaching your hand over it only to have it sucked in up to your shoulder while flailing about in horror (this one gets lots of kids laughing and lots of parents rolling their eyes).

Learn to practice detachment and patience as the puerto rican customers whistle at you and yell meanly "mirra" or "hey" and start demanding their comfort equipment on the double. Feel the muscles straining as you amass upper body strength for the first time in your life. Collect tons of money which you will later give most of away to the evil bossman named Ed who is like the boss from "office space" talking in cliches and fake laughing and generally not caring about you as a person but just as his money.

Then, once everyone is satisfied, go get yourself a coconut whose top has been whacked off by a machette and drink the sweet water inside, maybe a pincho (kabob of pork or chicken) or fried plantain. The nice ladies at the food booths will get to know you and your amusing ways after awhile and start giving you free frybread and mangoes and rice and beans and mufungo. Lounge back on the beach and take it all in, the pure white sand, the palm trees, the old tank washed ashore at one end, the giant rocks at the other where water crashes into and sprays wildly high, the pond of turtles and crabs in the little murky green inlet, the crystal clear bluish green ocean with sparkly dots on top from the suns rays.

But mostly look around hard for the hottest girls on the beach, preferably wearing thongs or going topless and then ask yourself the double check question: are they really as old as they look or are they merely 16 year olds that look 22? Once you've guesstimated their legalness, find any excuse to go near (in case you've forgotten the binoculors) for a better look and eat the candy with your eyes. Should you find out the girl is married have no fear for there is a popular saying here in Culebra: "there's nothing to do in Culebra except another man's wife." And if that seems too sinful then take refuge in the following island saying and simply bide your time: "on culebra you don't lose the girl, you just lose your turn." If your downtime happens to progress happily with flirting and a little volleyball and some jose cuervo swiggling with the lovely ladies and then the monsoon comes and you get to cuddle and huddle up under one umbrella with five or six of them during the duration, then count yourself a lucky islander. If you find yourself looking at a sixty year old fat woman in a thong who thinks she's all that and will likely be appearing soon on sally jesse rafael, then proceed to plan b.

Plan B is a routine all to itself: read a little of Kerouac's "Dharma Bums" or Carlos Casteneda's "Don Juan" books, write a few precious enlightening words in your journal, meditate to the crash of the waves and do some yoga, go for a little run, crank up the earphones with some Bob Marley, John Lennon, or Jimmy Buffet, anything but the God awful repetitive-beat-every song sounds the same of Puerto Rico's newest music fad,Reggaetone, basically sucky rap music (cause you agree that not all rap music sucks). What happened to the beauty of salsa and merrague?

Get lost in your thoughts about the future and the past or talk those thoughts aloud with your fellow buddy traveler beside you, and if those thoughts get depressing, like you start to wish things had worked out differently with some girl or your friend gets too annoying with his talk of psychedelic mushroom trips, conspiracy theories, and steve vye, his guitar hero who you think sucks, then it's time to hit the water.

Jumping waves and floating on your back is fun, but the real mesmerizing, tantalizing adventure is the snorkeling. Swim among thousands of colorful, tropical fish, like fish you might color with very random crayon designs if you are really young. Catch yourself holding your breath even though you can still breath with your snorkel as you see huge fish swim by mere inches from your face. Later you might see your friend Fernando walking along the beach with a harpoon shooting device that is lodged in a big blowfish's stomach, guts and blood exposed, and you'll be glad you weren't snorkeling near him. If there are not many fish there is still the coral and fauna, the rocky shapes of tentacles and big orange mushroom balls that make dark, hollow, cavernous areas gleaming with big white eyeballs. Stay clear of the spiky balled sea urchins that will stick you with their splintery substances. You might then wind up with a crowd of locals around you and one guy with a hot needle jabbing you in the foot while you scream out in pain.

After snorkeling, bask in the rays for a bit, both admiring what a wonderful tan you've gotten and fearing that you just have to have gotten skin cancer by now. Then wind down the day by packing up all the chairs and umbrellas. Again, make this divertido (fun). Pretend to pick the chair up while the person is still sitting on it. Applaud them and pat them on the back shouting about how well they've done as a person today - "good job eating and sleeping and digging holes in the sand today - well done!!!" If they are laughing about something as you walk by, join in with raucous laughter of your own, having no clue what is funny, except your general knowledge that life is, in it's own inherent way.

Don't bother wiping the sand out of your backpack, cause it's there to stay. Put the bike in the taxi for the ride uphill into town, even if the driver thinks it's a hassle. Say adios to the local kids who have formed a celebrity out of you by calling you "Shaggy" because you look just like the character from the Scooby Doo movies. Get off at the aeropuerto where the low flying, two seater planes nearly take your head off as they wobble their way in the wind toward the runway. Give most of that wad of cash that makes you think you're a drug dealer as you count it to the bossman who's idea to rent chairs and umbrellas on the beach is making him rich while he does nothing and you work your ass off and grow ever jealous of him and start thinking that going into business for yourself aint such a bad idea.

Back at Pan's you face the swarm of mighty mosquitos that have evil vampire tendencies and have grown immune to OFF and anything that is not 95 percent DEET. Get revenge by taking Pan's electrical bug zapper and swishing it through the air, killing dozens at a time and laughing maniacally as they pop and sizzle, the burning smell at once gross and very satisfying. Take a cold shower to desalt and desand. Cook some dinner, maybe eat the strange fish that Fernando caught with his harpoon earlier that day. Then do the only thing there is to do on the island at night - hit the bars. Heather's, Mamasittas, Happy Landing, El Batey. Get yourself a cold Medalia Light, the most famous and best beloved Puerto Rican beer, so loved that almost all the hot girls at the beach wear yellow and red Medalia Light baseball caps. Get one for a dollar at Happy Landings where the locals party or 3.00 at Mamasittas where the tourists walk into their trap. Once the alcohol is mixing with the blood, then get up and sing some kereokee. Or maybe the local music stars - Wikki Sound, a group of guys with hand drums and tamberines - will be performing. Find yourself conversing with some fellow hippie travelers or locals who can't really understand you but insist on talking to you anyhow. Maybe you'll run into one of the girls from the beach.

From here anything can happen. You might find yourself walking home with a buzz, to sleep in your tent at Pan's. But if you're lucky you'll wind up at the beach again, where the nighttime gives it a special allure, and goosebumpers of surreality will pop up on your skin. The stars will light up the whole sky like you've never seen anywhere, even in Alaska. Venus will be the brightest one you see. Dozens will shoot across the sky, a meteor shower every night. The girl you came with will talk your head off and then suggest a midnight swim, naked of course, with moonlight snorkeling an added bonus. Then you'll curl up in your sleeping bag on the soft sand far away from the water which will come closer and closer all night long, and enjoy the strong night breeze, as you drift off to sleep.

In the morning you'll wake up and do it all over again. One day you'll ask a local what the best and worst thing about Culebra is to her. She'll say "the best thing is that you can come here and get lost in yourself and island life and twenty years can go by like that (snapping her fingers) without you having a clue where they went. "And the worst?" you'll ask? And she'll smile whimsically and say "that you immerse yourself in life here and twenty years goes by without you knowing it."

That's pretty much how I feel about "the bubble", as I spend time in it I love it yet soon get itchy to get out. Maybe astronauts feel earth is their bubble and so they venture into space. could space ever get too small for someone?

with that thought i'll sign off and be hoping to hear back from my friends and family to hear how they are doing.

chao, (and in the tradition of yogaville, where this brand of writing really began for me, may I say: om shanti shanti shanti)

bret

the 'adventure' philosophy

2006-05-15T00:52:33Z

Summer is here and time once more to don my ‘adventure’ cap and hearken to the essence of my growing philosophy about mindset and semantics. An ‘adventure’ as I’ve come to define it has little to do with what happens externally in your life, but rather, how you react to and process the external circumstances. Experiencing life as an adventure is a higher way of being; it is merely a shift in perspective that enables you to relax completely into the present moment. To me, an adventure is something beyond the scope of my wants and desires. Reality shifts its axis; life becomes more like a dream, malleable. Duality disappears. I step out of my body and watch the good and the bad with equal satisfaction. I try on feelings, ideas, actions, and even experience the entire range of human emotions, but remain detached. I don’t become anything. To become would shift the axis back to normal consciousness, and suck me back into the lower realm of reality, of being. In an adventure I become the witness, the observer, the listener. I don’t give as much thought to myself as I normally do, but focus rather on the world around me, becoming interested in other people, experiencing their stories and emotions as if they were my own. I become interested in silent moments of connecting, in spectacular views and trees and rivers and animals. A heightened surrealism overshadows everything, even the experiences that I usually see as common or mundane. The adventure is my ideal way of interacting with the world. This is the beauty of semantics, of the power of language to shape life, for life as an adventure is never dull (at least not in hindsight!). Last summer I was swept away, ignited by this new sense of reality. But over the course of the past year I got sucked back into the ickyness of egoism. So I came back to yogaville, to get back that something special that I’d lost, and this time figure out how to hold on to it, to realize that yogaville is not really a place, but a mindset. Now India looms, the next great summer adventure. May I walk out of India with it always in my heart, no matter where I may go.

a thought on fundamentalism

2006-03-26T05:17:17Z

I've just had an apostrophe! Smee, I do believe you mean an epiphane.

At the liberty tax office, which I still frequent even though my Uncle Sam costume is retired to the museum of marketing fame, that is, I don't work there anymore, there is a fundamentalist Christian who likes to preach. She's black and has the black gospel charisma in her. Usually she preaches to the choir. Most of the tax office employees are Christians who nod along with her tirades and smile. Nowadays when I'm in there and she is preaching I merely smile and don't say a word. But when I first started working there and was unaware that offering my opinions and thoughts to her preaching would prove to be anything but constructive, enjoyable debate, I would make my usual stand for religious pluralism. Upon hearing my calm, differing words, she would get very defensive, even angry, raise her voice, rev up the body gestures, quote more direct scripture preceded by the words "the Bible says...", and by sheer aggresiveness dare me to a rebuttal. It's in the nature of a fundamentalist to not listen to reason or budge on their beliefs, and that's fine. But I've always been perplexed at the anger many - not all! - display when they are defending their beliefs. And I think I've figured that out.

Why do we get angry about what we believe?
Because we don't really believe it.

I was once a hardcore Christian fundamentalist myself and I remember getting sweaty, panicky, fearful, defensive, and even angry when in highschool I'd find myself in debates with atheists or agnostics. Looking back I see the seeds of doubt were always with me. And I think these insecurities rile up at the very least the subconsciousess of most fundamentalists, which is why they fight so hard to keep doubts from rising to the surface by angrily defending any knocks against their beliefs. They aren't so fervently worried about the souls of those that disagree. They aren't roused to passionate preaching because they want to save souls from eternal damnation. Them getting all worked up is a sign that they are having doubts and are desperately trying to convince themselves. What's sad about fundamentalist belief systems is that most people convert based on fear, of what will happen to them if they don't believe, and this fear leads to a life of insincerity, quenched only when they listen to the dissenting voice inside their heads or else turn it off completely or drown it out with the angry voice that often gets unleashed on nonbelievers. Regardless, each fundamentalist must do something about this voice of reason. Some listen to it and gain a new perspective on their belief and adopt an improved version or abandon it - though this can lead to a sort of fundamentalism on the other end of the spectrum as I noticed at yogaville - while others turn it off or drown it out and become resolute in their hardcoreness.

If someone truly believes in something, they can rest peacefully in their belief, and not feel even the slightest stomach pang nor an urge to spout off at the mouth when a disbeliever comes along. Most people can't rest peacefully in a state of not knowing. Answers! they cry. We want answers! I'd rather go through my life enjoying the quest, the search, than to pick an answer I don't really believe in and have to decieve myself and others the rest of my life. Ahh, the joy of doubt! That voice, which is entirely mine and mine alone, how I hated and feared it at first. But now it is my best friend.

Learn to love that voice. It's the voice less listened to, like the road less travelled. So choose it and see what a difference it will make.

peace

God's land

2006-03-26T04:07:10Z

This morning I drove my car to a deserted field near my house, put a 'for sell: 850 bucks' sign on it and walked back to my house and to a wicked message on my answering machine from a lady whose mansion is far, far away from my car, such that I wasn't aware I had placed my car on private property. She menacingly told me I had an hour to come move the car or she was calling the City (sounds like the uncle sam job all over again eh?). I walked to her house to apologize and she came out scathing, hands on her hips, big white lady, mouthing off about my rudeness, while I am humbling myself, hands in the prayer position, meekly bowing, and offering my apology. She told me I best turn around and get the hell out of her yard, that I'm lucky she didn't pull a shotgun on my ass. What kind of madness is in this world? As I was getting in my car to drive away, an old country, front teeth missing, black man with oil stains on his britches, came up in his beat up chevy and gave me a smile. I thought at first that he might be a hired beater upper come to lay me prone and make me moan, but turns out, he was interested in my car. The big bertha lady strode toward us both with a devil inside of her and after offering a hasty explanation to toothless George, a retired plumber who's in need of a kidney transplant, we hastened down the road to a safe spot. I talked my car up as best I could. George had a quiet way about him, fiddled here and there and just slowly meandered around the car. He'll be coming back with his daughter later on today and if she likes it, for it will be her car, then he will buy it from me for 800 dollars. Before he pulled away, he shook his head sadly and with pity in his eyes said, "that lady just don't know." 'Know what?' I said. "That aint her land. Matta a fact, none of this is our land. It's God's land."

whew, finally some little something that inspires me to do the meagerest of writing. I'm too content right now to just watch march madness and surf the internet.

the next big natural catastrophe

2006-03-09T05:45:54Z

I got bored and decided to write an essay, did some research and everything, on the first topic that came to my head...natural disasters. Enjoy.

What’s up with nature lately? Is she PMSing or something? Getting back at us for cutting down her forests and polluting her waters? In the past year there has been bam, bam, one after the other, a deadly concoction of Zeus’s wrath in the form of earthquakes, tsunamis, hurricanes and the like. Indeed, for the hardcore Christian fundamentalist the end of the world is fast approaching; to watch the news lately is nearly the equivalent of reading Revelations. Hundreds of thousands have died. Massive sections of our continents have been deplorably destroyed.

The scariest trend that underlies these climactic upheavals is the complete and utter feeling of helplessness we’ve had to bear. Our world is technologically and scientifically advanced to the n^thdegree and our control over our lives and our planet is sometimes akin to playing God, but in the chess game against Nature we are still mere pawns held constantly in check. In third world countries it might be unjustly justified that warnings and evacuations were virtually nil in the days and hours leading up to the giant tidal waves that roared across Indonesia, India, Sri Lanka, Thailand and so forth or in the case of the India-Pakistan earthquake that killed as many people in a single day as the Hindu-Muslim wars have claimed in the last thirty years. But how could it happen to the world power, the United States of America? Hurricane Katrina outwitted our weathermen and weather equipment. Our streak of being able to provide early warning and assistance in getting people out of harms way came to a cataclysmic end.

Maybe global warming is the cause of nature’s unstable behavior. Or can we still blame everything on El Nino like we used to? Perhaps all of these disasters are the work of some mad terrorist group that has harnessed weather controlling technologies; could Michael Crichton’s latest thriller, State of Fear, be more reality than fantasy? Irregardless of these fanciful notions, the subject worth exploring is: what’s the next big event on the horizon; how bad will it be; and are we going to have sufficient warning to escape its terror? For the rest of this essay I will give voice to an eminent disaster the likes of which would provide a most terrifying climax to our recent troubles, ranking second only in comparison to a comet striking the earth.

In western California residents live along Apocalypse Avenue. The tyrant of tectonics, where the North American and Pacific Plates converge in a complex zone of crushed and broken rocks 800 miles surface-long and ten miles deep into the earth, is infamously known by earth’s populace as ‘the San Andreas fault’. This fractured, shifting crust of earth was dramatically brought to world attention on April 18, 1906, when sudden displacement along the fault produced the great San Francisco earthquake and fire. (textbook source)

Since then the fault has enjoyed a ghastly and sordid life of death and destruction in the public limelight. But it hasn’t reached its full potential in a long time, since 1857 to be exact, and because geologic studies show that large earthquakes occur along the fault every 150 years, it seems evident that the next big catastrophe nature will spring from her bag of evil tricks is an enormous earthquake along the San Andreas Fault. It could happen any minute now, even as I write these words. Or it might be a couple more years. Scientists foresee the big quake registering a possible 9 on the Richter scale. (Schulz)

Will we be able to predict this earthquake enough in advance to save countless lives? The sad and disheartening answer, that stands in the face of tremendous technological advances in seismology during the past few decades, is no. According to Amos Nur, head of the Geophysics department at Stanford University, he and his colleagues were hoping to be able to predict earthquakes in the 1970’s; now, thirty some odd years later, they still can’t. “It’s kind of disappointing,” (Shwartz, 2) said Nur at a recent conference of Tectonic Problems attended by hundreds of international earthquake experts. (Shwartz)

The problem with earthquake prediction, at least as it pertains to detecting quakes along the San Andreas Fault, is commonly referred to as the heat-flow paradox. “The simple minded idea,” said Robert Kovach, another Stanford geophysicist attending the conference, “is that when you have two blocks of earth grinding against one another, there should be friction, and that should produce some sort of heat” (Shwartz, 2). And yet, mysteriously, this simple law of friction doesn’t hold up, as scientists have been unable to detect heat along the San Andreas Fault since they began probing around in the 1960’s. “There obviously is heat generated,” Kovach points out, “but it seems to be dissipated in a mysterious fashion that we don’t fully understand” (Shwartz, 3).

One explanation generated to account for the missing heat is that the San Andreas Fault is a weak fault. Weak doesn’t mean wimpy here, but rather, that the fault is weak compared to the crust surrounding it. “While a strong fault can accumulate a great deal of stress before triggering an earthquake, a weak fault requires a lot less stress before rupturing – and less stress means that less energy is released in the form of heat” (Shwartz, 3). The big debate is whether the San Andreas Fault is weak or strong, and so rests the fate of earthquake prediction, unless scientists can design a new strategy for detecting quakes that isn’t dependent on measuring heat. (Shwartz)

It doesn’t look like that day will arrive before the next big quake does, so that spells another disaster in a long series of natural disasters that have released their spells upon planet earth recently. All we can do is prepare the best we can, and study the clear but mysterious skies that arch above us as cold as stone, hoping, wondering, praying for salvation, for we now know more than ever that the master of our planet is not man, but rather an all pervasive, powerful, ethereal force: nature.

Uncle Sam in trouble with the law!

2006-01-11T22:16:31Z

Wow, again I must reiterate, how unlikely this time in my life for adventurous mayhem; I am simply working the odd job to save up some money for the upcoming adventures, but what an odd job it is! Dressing up like Uncle Sam and waving to people (see previous entry). I find myself off the clock and out of costume waving to people now, and people honking at me all over town. Quite the celebrity status. However, this happy tale takes a dark twist today. Apparently the city municipal county blah blah whatever they are called, people, haved decided that it is against the county laws for people to be dressed up and waving to people on the side of the road, so we have been shut down! For now. The liberty tax people are gonna get their legal team involved and we're gonna fight it. There is a theory, a conspiracy theory making the rounds, and it strikes me as very plausible. Our company is right across the street from HR and Block, the God of tax companies; they have their own commercials for uncle sam's sake! We are a grassroots organization and yes, we solicit, we give out free donuts, we dress up and act goofy. We are fun. They are plain mean. I was just walking by on the sidewalk outside of the hr and block, happened to stop and talk to some random people about the tax company i'm recruiting for, and an hr and block employee came out, scowled and said "if you want good tax service you can come here." After being slightly off guard for a second I smiled and said "ahh, tis but some friendly competition is it not? Like Duke vs. UNC! Here, let's show some good sportsmanship?" and I stuck out my hand for her to shake it. Her scowl turned into demonized hatred and she threatened to call the cops if I didn't leave the premises immediately. Speaking of cops, a little while later, while putting flyers on people's cars in the parking lot, a cop accosted me and threatened jail time for littering! Apparently a flyer had blown off a car onto the pavement. Anyways, the conspiracy theory is that hr and block tipped off the county legal people, maybe paid them off, and thus, according to page 12C of blah blah manual, paragraph 3, what I do is illegal.

Ha, this is all quite amusing. A lemonade stand war. Reminds me of the movie "good burger" (if you've ever seen it). And yet again, for the millionth time in my life, I must rant and rave about the danger, the evil inherent in beurocracy. The rocky mount population must be 40 percent crack dealers and murderers and mama haters at least and yet who gets taken to the ground, beaten like Rodney King? Uncle Sam and Lady Liberty, arrested, in the slammer, for making people smile. Could you imagine? Tis a crazy world.

Uncle Sam Smiles

2006-01-10T21:44:06Z

It's a funny thing. Just when you think that your life has been put on hold, that your in a time warp, a stalling mode, just waiting for the next big thing, that's when unexpected loveliness blooms. To raise some money for travelling, I'm working nowadays as Uncle Sam. That's right. I get dressed up like Uncle Sam - red, white and blue pants, coat, and top hat, and stand on the side of the road and wave to people driving by. I hold a sign that says "liberty tax services" for I am recruiting people to come get their taxes done by this company. Now I know it's just a little silly part time job but by golly there is something absolutely joyous and profound about it. While everyone else (in statue of liberty costumes) simply waves boredly and complains of being hungry, I have decided to take an outrageous amount of pride in my job. I have made it my mission to intimately connect with each and every person that drives by, so I look every single person in the eye and have a special moment with them. Now, my goal is to make every single person laugh hysterically as they drive by and see me, but I feel satisfied if they at least smile a little. I have done so much experimentation with different funny poses and facial expressions, clown like miming, dancing, hand gestures, "beating up" the lady liberties; in essence, i get to be a complete and total goofball and jackass - the very thing that has always gotten me in trouble in other venues of life. I could really care less if anyone pulls their car over and gets their taxes done. But my mission is to for a single, brief moment, pull everyone out from the worry and anxiety of their dronish thoughts, and just be in a completely present, amused state of mind. I've always had a talent for being goofy and making people laugh and now I get to entertain a street corner for seven bucks an hour. Not a bad gig eh? And in a matter of a few days I've become sort of a town mascot. People drive by and honk and wave and yell and scream and blast their radio, knowing I'll start dancing if they do. There are a few mopy people who frown at me and shake their heads in disgust, and one guy drove by and yelled 'get a real job', but they are few and far between. I especially love it when the school buses drive by and I get to entertain the kids for a bit. This job is one big laughing meditation. The smiling and laughing on my part is almost constant. And I get to make my coworkers feel a little less bored. It reminds me a little of this Indian guru who has made her spiritual practice the simple act of hugging everyone she comes into contact with. Similarly, I make people smile. As it so happens, I'll (uncle sam that is) be on the front cover of the town newspaper tomorrow.

In other 'rewarding job news' I've also landed a job with coordinated health services, inc, where I'll be working to help mentally ill patients achieve their goals. This job will start soon.

peace y'all, and remember, smile : )

Bret Parrish

regrouping

2005-12-31T01:57:00Z

On the day I was fired, my friend Steve and I were conducting a very buddhist experiment. We said we would go through the entire day with the mindset that nothing is good and nothing is bad. It just is. So when the moment arrived in the office, the firing that is, I had to smile a little. The ole cliches ran through my head: a blessing in disguise, everything happens for a reason, there's always a positive to be taken out of a negative. Cliches, yes. True, indeed. I'm back in NC, just sitting here now watching the wheels go round and round as lenon might say, biding time, smiling, meditating. Not a whole lot to even write about, journalize that is. Perhaps this time will produce a new piece of writing, perhaps not. What's contentful about this here situation is that everything is open to me, the world, my life, begins anew. There's no telling what will happen next. Whatever comes, will be. Just be.

I hear the smell,
I smell the sound,
I listen to the feel
of life living life.

and don't even say i'm crazy or drunk, cause i'm not. Strange words come when you begin to know and you don't know what it is you know.

BP