One Drop at a Time

Someone was telling me the other day that some people are lazy, and that is why they are poor. She's run in over 50 marathons and her father is an engineer who makes telescope lenses for major observatories.

There was a forest fire and all the animals left. One bird, however, kept flying back to the forest, with one drop of water in its beak. The other animals watched their home burn. The one bird however, when asked what it was doing, explained that it was putting out the fire, drop by drop. The other animals laughed at the stupid bird. As the fire became bigger and the bird became exhausted it could fly no longer. Finally it fell into the fire.

There is a similar story about a girl on a beach covered with millions of sand dollars. The girl knew that the sand dollars could not survive the hot sun, so she started to throw them back into the ocean. “What are you doing, you silly little girl.” “Oh, I'm saving the sand dollars—one by one.”

There is a third (ancient) story of the Myth of Sisyphus that Albert Camus appropriates. Sisyphus pleaded to the Gods to let him come down from the heavens for a short visit with his wife. Breaking his promise, he refused to return, so the Gods sentenced him to roll a boulder up a hill each day, only for the boulder to roll back down at the end of the day.

None of these stories are about laziness. All three characters have futile jobs. And none of them are lazy. Sisyphus, for Camus, emulates our own lives. We take one step forward, and then one step backward, over and over again. And yet we persist, dropping water on the fire or throwing sand dollars back into the ocean.

Why do some watch their homes burn, and others try to put out the fire? We could view our lives as futile. The best that can happen could be what my father wished for: that he wouldn't die of anything serious.

Why is it that some will persist with impossible odds and others why give up so easily? I asked a writing teacher in college if he had read the great writers when they were 18, like me. “Yes” he said. “And?” I asked. “Well, they weren't any good, but they wrote lots.”

I'm not sure why some can run marathons and others get tired just thinking about it. It wasn't, necessarily, that it came easy. Even Moses, picked by G_d to be his spokesman, had trouble speaking. Yet his words shaped most of our lives in one way or another.

Statistics?

I wrote on Facebook  “when you have 30 people in a room, two will probably share a birthdate.” Andy, a friend from the 60s, replied, “Inevitable. Statistics.”

“Bah humbug,” said Ebinizer Scrooge.

Deepak Chopra asked the question of why is it that some people with a propensity to get a disease get the disease. I suspect that Andy would say “statistics” to that too. Deepak was not so convinced. Though we have a precondition for a disease, it is not just “chance” that
 causes the disease.

Living in a city is a precondition for being mugged. Is it then just a matter of Russian Roulette?

I used to marvel at the bell curves that are produced by the random distribution of balls falling through an obstruction.

One could take the bell curve as an expression of determinism. With enough coin flips, half will be heads and half will be tails. But each individual coin could be either, even if the ten flips previous were heads. Does the coin has free will?

Statistics is weird that way. It doesn’t tell how one person, or even one subgroup will behave. Belonging to a college club will improve your grades and your persistence at college. But if you are African-American, at least at the college I was at, it would have the opposite effect. Statistics doesn’t tell us about the behavior of the individual, only about the behavior of the conglomerate. So does the individual mistakenly believe that they are free, when really they are part of a grand plan?

Or is he able to buck the system?

Is religion (prayer, for example) a waste of time given that the master plan produces a bell curve? What do you think?

Facebook Friends

I commented on Facebook that I wanted to have 2000 friends. So I’ve been befriending all those numerous and wondrous beings that have at least 100 friends in common with me.

Joan wrote Xox and I replied XOX (I’m lucky that my wife, having talked to me for almost 50 years, won’t read much of my daily blabber.) Joan asked me to do a set design for her play. As I read the script, I realized that we had both had the same PE teacher in high school (Sanford Patlak), and we didn’t even know that we had gone to the same school.

Then Pam wrote: We do not share 100 mutual friends, but of those we do share, they are among the most talented in STL. I'd love to get them all in the same room.

These new friends are from all over the world. They are such interesting people. Maybe I’ll get to meet some of them in person someday. Like the female Kim Mosley in Hawaii. She is such a fine artist, who now seems to be involved with acting for films.

My neighbor doesn’t want a lot of friends because every year he gives a $1 for each friend he has on Facebook, and he says that many friends would cost him too much money.

I’ve never worked well within a vacuum. I love to get feedback on my work. Sometimes people comment. Sometimes they just press the like button. One person told me he hated my work.

Donna said the other night that her painting isn’t complete until someone looked at it. I’ve heard actors say this, but not a painter. In fact, I went every night to the play with my set. It was amazing how it was a different play each night, depending on the audience.

I have one plea: please don’t assume that people can read your mind. They are interested in what you think, especially if it is positive or at least useful. So speak up. Silence is only golden if you have nothing to say. But you do, so please speak up. Tell your friends you love them, or whatever. When people post idiotic stuff, tell them it is idiotic… and why. What an opportunity we have for the exchange of ideas and feelings.

Thanks!

The Art of Opportuning

In a sense I have no right to say “poor me” or to even say anything to others who say, “poor me.” I’ve had so many privileges. I can’t start to imagine what my life would have been like if things had been different. Some of the privileges were a birthright, some were earned, and others were a gift of the stars. I’ve had challenges too, but minuscule compared to some.

This is a free country (we are told)…so here I go:

When things weren’t going well there was an exercise we did at the college where I taught. It was a reframing operation—we took the threats and morphed them into opportunities.

For example, because of climate change, one might not be able to grow figs any more. Some would be “down” calling the glass half empty, and lament about the “good old days.” Others would see this as an opportunity for change. They could grow something else, move to a different climate, stop growing altogether or go back to school and learn to acquire a new vocation.

This is what we call “fresh air.” Complaining just gets us deeper in quick sand. Opportuning (just made up that word) does the opposite. The glass is now half full.

Here’s another example: my car won’t start so I can’t drive to the grocery store. Opportuning, I realize I can walk to the store and on the way, say hi to the neighbors who are out on their sidewalk. Different framing.

I think sometimes about people I’ve known who have taken their lives. Their lives had challenges to be sure, but by no means (as seen from the outside) as dire as many others. Some will say that they were clinically depressed. I suspect they were right in some cases. But I wonder what might have been different if they had learned the art of opportuning.

In my search for what should be included in our education, opportuning certainly should be included. It takes us from being victims to being survivors.

No, you aren’t an orphan!

Silas, my friend in Kenya, wrote that he's now an orphan. I've written him a couple of times telling him that he is not.

I think, probably incorrectly, of an orphan as one who is alone in the world, without the memories of parents. This is probably wrong according the dictionary definition. But what did Webster know?

I had imagined that when my parents died that I’d be an orphan. I would finally be free of their bonds. They would stop telling me what to do. No such luck. Their voices are even stronger because I can not say no. Or at least they pretend not to hear me. In fact, I read that Baby Boomers can't grow up until their parents die. “Do parents really die?” this Baby Boomer asks.

Why are their voices so strong? First, there is the issue that you don’t want to “kick someone when they are down.” And then there is the power of someone who doesn’t defend themselves. My father tells me to do this or that. I can’t argue with him, because, in my mind, he keeps repeating his plea.
In John 14:18 we read “I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you.” Essentially this says that there are no orphans. As a friend in college once said to me, “No matter what, God will always love you.” You aren’t alone. You not only have the memories of your parents, but you have reminders of their love in other humans, animals, plants, and even in inorganic matter.

Superman was shot from a distant planet as a baby. He was an orphan, perhaps? But when? Was it when the rocket took off? Was it when the rocket left the atmosphere of Krypton? Was it when the rocket landed on Earth? Or was it when Krypton disintegrated, moments after lift off? He was an orphan, perhaps, until he found the icicle that contained his history. Then he was no longer alone.

I’m finding, in reading the Torah, much about my parents and how they thought. But even more so, about their parents and their parents, ad infinitum. Roots was an effort to find out who you really were. We learned the words “nature vs. nurture” in school. What we might not have learned was that “nurture” wasn’t just the people who played a role in our upbringing, but those who played a role in their upbringing…back to the beginning (if there was such a thing).

Silas has a rich legacy. Though his parents aren’t with him as they once were, they are still every bit a part of him.

P.S. As is often the case, my wife tells me at dinner how I'm all wet with my thinking. In this case, she told me that the idea of orphans is just for children. Adults don't become orphans when their parents die. Wikipedia says the same, that “...orphans are children whose parents have died.” Sometimes kids are counted as orphans now if one of their parents have died.

Cheerleader for Hire?

Last night I completed my Torah Drawing (http://kenshinsbarmitzvah.blogspot.com/2014/10/parshat-bamidbar-4th-portion-numbers-31.html) and I showed it to my wife of 45 years.

I thought it was a good one. She said, “Looks like all your other drawings.”

“Oh crap,” I thought to myself. “I wanted a cheerleader and I got a wife.”

So this morning I told her that I couldn’t sleep because she didn’t like my drawing. “No,” she said, “It wasn’t that I didn’t like it, but only that it was like your others.”

As I heated up my second cup of coffee (I get 16 oz a day so I don’t OD), I was laughing about something I read Monday night: that in ancient Japan, people would buy fake enlightenment certificates. Maybe I should Google “fake certificate that this is the best drawing of your life.”

Or, “Cheerleader for Hire.”

I just wrote to my son-in-law that I took off my complaint bracelet last night and now am writing this complaint about my wife. Given enough time, we’ll complain about everything.

When people start meditating, they worry that they aren’t doing it right. And, of course, that worry becomes a great object for meditation. It is an opportunity how we take a perfectly peaceful and non-harmful act, and convert it into a painful experience.

When we say something, we don’t worry whether it is the best thing we ever said. We know that sometimes we’ll hit the mark, and sometimes we don’t.

Is our goal really just to hit the mark? And would we quit if we really did hit the mark? Did Duchamp quit art and only play chess because he had no more to say as an artist? (Actually I think it was recently discovered that he did continue, but stopped showing.)

Art students complain when they graduate that they have no audience for their art. I feel blessed to be living in an age when I have so many outlets. And I get a sense sometimes that I’m touching someone. What more could someone ask for?

In the meantime, I feel like I’m a greyhound running after a hare that is just a few inches from my nose. That is the game. Catching the hare would be a grave disappointment. It probably is the same hare that’s been used all season and is full of maggots.

Envisioning a Complaint Free World

Dirt on a Stairway

Will Bowen has been envisioning a “Complaint Free World.” I’ve been wearing his bracelet for a few years now, and have never stopped complaining. But I see the point. Rather that bitching that the world is not how you’d like it to be, it is a matter of smelling the roses. Enjoy the world for how it is.

I buy a new toaster and it breaks in less than a year. I return it, only to be told by the manager at K-Mart, “You don’t expect a toaster to last more than a year, do you?” I asked to speak to his superior and quickly get a new toaster.

“One should speak only pleasant words, words which are acceptable (to others). What one speaks without bringing evils to others is pleasant.”—Buddha, That 21

“Abandoning divisive speech he abstains from divisive speech. What he has heard here he does not tell there to break those people apart from these people here. What he has heard there he does not tell here to break these people apart from those people there. Thus reconciling those who have broken apart or cementing those who are united, he loves concord, delights in concord, enjoys concord, speaks things that create concord.” —Buddha, An 10.176

A Buddhist temple may throw you out if you speak against the temple. So what do you do when you disagree? Or when you see injustice?

In Japan, you don’t express your views until you know what the others believe. And you always vote as your parents vote. In Burma, the kids bow every day to their teachers, to their parents, and to monks.

We face an interesting dilemma when we see an injustice and we feel compelled to make waves. As a nation, we are complainers. We didn’t like the rules in England, so we came to America. And when the rules followed, we had a tea party. More complaining.

That’s who we are. When we see rules that hurt people, we want to complain. When we buy a lemon, we want to complain.

Yet Bodhidharma said that suffering injustice is one of the four important Buddhist practices. Are we between a rock and a hard place?

Look at all the freedom that has been created through complaining. Especially now, with the advent of the Internet. Look at the power of bad reviews on Amazon.

We have the expression “go with the flow” and we relish the idea of flow in positive psychology ”flow is characterized by complete absorption in what one does.” This sounds like mindfulness. Is this the antithesis to complaining?

Or is complaining actually part of the flow? This article, The Mind is like a Hammer, beautifully describes how in Zen, the point is not to change the mind, but rather to discover who is holding the hammer…who is complaining. When injustices appear to be about us, we reinforce a false dualism of ourself and the other. When we look at the problem from everywhere, we aren’t saying anymore, “I was wronged” but rather ”We were wronged” where there is no distinction between us and them, where “we” is the whole. Love has now replaced hate and anger. Change as growth can now occur.

Is inheriting good or bad karma similar to the idea of original sin?

Painting by Donna Birdwell

I'm not a believer in either original sin or karma...I don't think. But I'll give this a try. Like a bad scientist who decides what he'd like to prove before he does the experiment, I will look at this.

But first there is a difference in how Buddhists and Judeo-Christians see birth. I'm looking at a painting by Donna Birdwell that shows a woman floating in the water in an almost embryonic position. There is a path of petals on the surface of the water, and more petals rising from the woman as she breathes.

Dark petals are coming from her feet and hands. These petals tell me where she came from, while the light petals show where she is going.

The distinction of how birth is seen in Buddhism and Judeo-Christian belief is critical here.

In Buddhism there is no birth and death, nor any beginning or end. Our lives, though they appear to many as linear, are more like a circle or a spiral where “what goes around comes around. Though with each “rebirth” we get a fresh start, we inherit much. Call this karma if you want.

I read some years ago that someone taught planarian to avoid light (see: http://community.dur.ac.uk/robert.kentridge/bpp2mem1.html) and then ground up the planarian and fed it to little ones and then the fed planarian could learn faster to respond to the light. So it is with karma. Like height needed for basketballs or big brains needed in physics, we inherit karma. It is with what we start. If we were bad in the past we'd have a lot of stale stick stuff in us and we'd have to work hard to clean it up.

Original sin seems to differ from karma. Because Eve disobeyed God and ate the fruit humans will forever have to pay. In the original sin scenario, no matter what is done in this life, the next time around you are born as a sinner. (Note: I don’t accept this view of Genesis.)

In the karma model, you could start as one in previous lives had done much harm. This is different existentially from one who is a sinner. In the Judeo-Christian baby, the kid is off on the wrong track from the get go, while the Buddhist Babe is born with Buddha nature, and yet may need to work through a karmic legacy to retrieve that innocence.

The baby in the painting floats in the water. There is a circle formed with her arm and head. She will wake up and see what challenges arise for her. She is naked with only the inheritance of who she really is—her Buddha nature. Her karmic legacy is what she carried from her previous life. It is not who she is, but rather that the opportunities and challenges she will meet.

More Injustice: Jewish Stereotyping

I’m not sure when I started to return things to stores that didn’t work. “Buyers remorse’ for me is most often the realization that I'll need to spend time returning the item.

My family was Jewish, whatever that might mean.

My parents and sisters never returned things. My mom was a smart shopper. She’d buy the best and keep it forever. We still have her lawn chairs, which are over 50 years old. My wife replaced the canvas seats about 30 years ago. They will probably last another 50 years if someone is wise enough not to sell them for scrap aluminum.

My grandfather was the only cheap one I knew. His job as a kid in Russia was to stand by the scale in his father’s grain business and make sure no one put their foot on the scale. When he came to America he would buy day-old bread. And he’d fill up gas cans in Portland and drive them to the beach where gas was more expensive. Yes, I know, it was stupid. He was generous to his children and even strangers in supporting their education, even though he only had an eighth-grade education.

My father was a lawyer, and could figure his clients way out of any mess. He barely ever spent money. He’d complain when my mom would buy me books. Was he cheap? I think my sisters would say he was. After my mom died, he wouldn’t buy any new clothes. He did join Costco and bought a few things he probably didn't need. Perhaps that was his mid-life crisis occurring in his 80s. But his needs and interests were about things but about ideas. He was savvy in business, with most of his life owning linen stores. The last 25 years of his life he gave free legal advice. He never was ambitious about making money. And he didn’t like to talk about money. He got mad at me because when the ambulance was taking him to the hospice to die, I asked the EMT what the starting salary was for EMTs. I was interested for our college students who always are looking for ways of making a living. My dad scolded me on his deathbed and said it wasn’t polite.

I had a student who was working in some kind of business when she said to a customer that he was trying to “Jew” the business out of some money. She was fired on the spot.

Yesterday, I was talking to one of my wife’s friends about returning things, and she started talking about how it was my being Jewish showing up. She felt that Jews are cheap and therefore like to return things.

I felt hurt by her stereotyping. It seems to be a prevalent perception the Jews are cheap.

My Catholic neighbor growing up, who I played with often, when he was teaching economics at the Kansas University, gave an annual lecture, The Art and Joy of Cut-Rate Living. Perhaps he was an influence, though I don’t remember any money dealings with him.

I’m near the end of Sopranos now, and a little Jewish stereotyping has just reared its ugly head in these clips. The joke in the second clip is about Jews by a Jew.

I understand that Christians weren’t allowed by the church to do money lending. Christ threw the money lenders out of the temple. Some say now that the issue was not the money lending itself, but the fact that they were doing it in the temple. In any case, Jews were restricted from engaging in many occupations, so money lending became one occupation that they could engage in.

Here’s a couple of web articles on Jewish Stereotyping:

Are Jews Cheap & Selfish?

Wikipedia on the Stereotypes of Jews

In the last article I was interested how initially the stereotyping came from non-Jews, but more recently from Jews. In Oliver Twist, the character Fagin is referred to as “the Jew” 257 times in the first 38 chapter. Wikipedia claims he finally came to his senses late in life. In his novel, “Our Mutual Friend,“ the character Riah says, “Men say, 'This is a bad Greek, but there are good Greeks. This is a bad Turk, but there are good Turks.' Not so with the Jews ... they take the worst of us as samples of the best …”

It feels like an injustice to be stereotyped. If returning what you don’t like or what doesn’t work is being a jerk, I hope my friends tell me. But the suggestion that you do that because you are Jewish seems offensive. The subtext I hear (and probably not intended) is one of being a dirty Jew.

As to Jews being “cheap,” here’s an interesting article, “Muslims ‘Give Most to Charity,’…” that suggests that Muslims give the most, then Jews, and then Christians.

Enough said?

Suffering Apparent Injustice and More Questions

I was all set to write more about suffering injustice when someone sent me another translation of this phrase which blew what I was going to say.

In a book on Chan Buddhism, Peter Hershock (who is coming here to Austin in a few weeks to talk with us for a day) says that the practice was “suffering apparent injustice.”

He says that when we are good and bad things happen it is because of bad karma earned in previous lives.

At one point Buddha is asked if things sometimes just happen, and he says yes. So this teaching is a little bit in contradiction to Buddha…who also said that if a teacher contradicts the Buddha, then you should follow the teacher.

Another reason that an injustice may be apparent is that we think life shouldn’t be that way. We think sickness, old age, and death are unfair.

N wrote that some Christian missionaries had a dilemma because they didn’t know whether to help the poor since the meek will inherit the Earth (my words, not N’s).

So might we say that Bodhidharma didn’t believe in injustice? Some accuse different political factions of that.

When do we want to change things? There are two pieces of pie for dinner. One is covered with mold, and the other is steaming hot, having just been pulled from the oven. I’m served the moldy pie. Is that just?

Should I eat it as Suzuki Roshi ate the bad cucumbers, without wincing? Or as Buddha knowingly ate some bad pork and died (as the story goes)? He didn’t want to insult his host.

I think tomorrow I’ll try to nip suffering in the b_tt. Ouch!

Suffering Injustice—Many Questions.

Tangled Mess

Bodhidharma ((who brought Zen (Chan) from India to China around 600 CE)) said in his Outline of Practice that the essence of Chan practice is: suffering injustice, adapting to conditions, seeking nothing, and practicing the Dharma. Why would one of the wisest men who ever lived suggest that we should practice “suffering injustice”? Would the world go to “hell in a hand basket” if we all did that? Do we really have a choice but to do that?

I’m not sure how this all started today. I kept running into people suffering injustice. Or maybe they weren’t “suffering” as Bodhidharma prescribed. I heard in a Dharma talk the other day that someone was looking forward to joining a monastery so they could start suffering. What did they mean?

First I saw this YouTube video of Michael Brown protestors interrupting a symphony in St. Louis:

St. Louis American, an African-American newspaper, had a good description of the event.

Second, I read this book review in the Los Angeles Review of Books about Chinese Comfort Women. Did they suffer injustice, especially since they refused to talk about what had happened to them (until now)?

And lastly, I read this on Jewish Feminism.

Oh… it all started in Torah class last week. We read in Leviticus that women are sequestered twice as long from the community when they have a girl rather than a boy.

And, I remembered that Burmese nuns are low on the seniority pole, even if they have been practicing for decades. They still need to bow to a novice male monk.

So many questions here. What did Bodhidharma mean by “suffer”? Are there times when suffering might not be the right action? Have the African-Americans in Ferguson been suffering all along and that is the problem (they haven’t been protesting).

Here is Buddha’s Dart sutra that describes how our mind creates a mental feeling when the body has a bodily feeling. 

Jews are told to create injustice. “You shall not aggrieve a stranger or oppress him, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt” (Exodus 22:20). They are told that not coming to someone’s aid makes one responsible for their trouble (don’t have a reference here). 

Second Chances (Eating Meat and Not Wearing a Helmet)

Sometimes we get a second chance. When we do wrong, and realize it, we can respond in a variety of ways. We can say, we made a mistake…we shouldn’t have done that. What that says to me is that we got caught, and being caught, made the action a poor choice. A little better response might be to feel remorse. We say, “I feel terrible for what I did. I am sorry that I hurt you.” But the real growth and forgiveness come when we alter our behavior.

I realize, when eating meat, that I’m contributing to an industry that is using a great deal of resources to produce nutrition that could be derived from other means (see: http://www.peta.org/issues/animals-used-for-food/meat-wastes-natural-resources/). Many of us “know” this. I also know that the wholesale slaughter of animals does not make us a peace-loving species. Yet many of us, myself included, pay others to raise and kill animals for food. We may be ignorant of the facts. We may realize that we are doing the wrong thing, but do it anyway because we “enjoy it” or because we believe that we need the protein (see: http://www.vrg.org/nutrition/protein.php).

Or we can acknowledge that this is all true, and feel sad for the killing of animals and resources, but continue to do so. Perhaps we rationalize our behavior with the argument that it isn’t eating 1/1000 of a cow that hurts the environment, but the mass eating of many animals. (In 2008 in the USA: Cattle: 35,507,500, Pigs: 116,558,900, Chickens: 9,075,261,000, Layer hens: 69,683,000, Broiler chickens: 9,005,578,000, Turkeys: 271,245,000, see: http://www.animalliberationfront.com/Practical/FactoryFarm/USDAnumbers.htm).

Believe it or not, I didn’t mean to write a diatribe about eating animals. I guess this guilty meat eater leaked.

What I wanted to write about is not wearing a helmet when riding a motorcycle. We had a wonderful secretary in St. Louis who loved to ride on her motorcycle with her husband. I guess one could call them “bikers.” They had Harleys and cherished them.

They had a serious accident, riding together and having a great time. I can imagine how they loved to feel the breeze across their face and their hair blow in the wind. And they mended fine.

A few years later, still without a helmet, they had an even more serious accident. Now our lovely secretary had to give up her job. She has trouble walking, and says she can’t type anymore.

We sometimes say, “oh, if only I had a second chance.” They did.

I could tell many similar stories of other accidents on motorcycles or bicycles. I scolded a friend the other day for not wearing a helmet. I hope he’ll change him way. He has a good head. “Yes, I have a helmet,” he said, ”it’s at home!”

I made my son wear a helmet when he rode his bike. He refused, so his bike didn't get ridden for over a year.  We never really had much of a discussion about it (that I remember). I was just trying to protect him, and he was worried about his fashion statement (as I remember). I wonder how he remembers it.

When he was in the third or fourth grade we lived in Evanston. a suburb of Chicago. There was a man who walked the streets. He had been a stockbroker until he had a bad bike accident (sans helmet). Now he could only tell his story, trying desperately to get kids to wear their helmet. He’d tell them how he used to be able to think, but now he can only walk the streets and tell kids to wear a helmet.

We’ve arrived when we have changed our actions. I hope it is not too late.

Revenge

Revenge is interesting. We think of it as an antidote when we are injured. Today ISIS beheaded another man. They apparently are doing this as revenge for our actions. And now we’ll bomb them to retaliate. And so wars continue from the beginning of time.

Two biblical quotes that relate here (of many): turn the other cheek, and an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. Some say that an eye for an eye is not about revenge, but rather the legal idea of paying for damages that is caused. If I make a man blind, then I need to pay the blinded man the money that a slave would cost so that I can have the slave see for him. This is not out of rage, but rather an attempt to ”set things right.”

"if a man cuts off his neighbour's hand, or foot, he is to be considered as if he was a servant sold in a market; what he was worth then, and what he is worth now; and he must pay the diminution which is made of his price; as it is said, “eye for eye.” From tradition it is learned, that this for, spoken of, is to be understood of paying money; this is what is said in the law, “as he hath caused a blemish in a man, so shall it be done to him again.” Not that he is to be hurt, as he has hurt his neighbour; but inasmuch as he deserves to want a member, or to be hurt as he has done; therefore he ought to pay the damage.'’ Maimonides, Hilchot Chebel. c. 1. sect. 2, 3.

Perhaps “turn the other cheek” is one of least followed maxims there is. We are inclined to protect ourselves. When we turn the other cheek we are allowing injustice to continue. In a sense turning our cheek is creating more war, not less. Maybe that’s why it is not followed very often.

Time

Sometimes I feel like I’m in a torture chamber and these two metal plates are slowly moving toward me to crush me. I can’t stop their movement. Before I know it, it will be 10:30pm, our official bedtime (though we almost always go to bed later that).

I need to figure out how to do my stuff before then. I don’t worry too much earlier in the day, because I have the rest of my life left. Oh, I mean the rest of my day. But by 5:20 pm I’m starting to clutch. Especially when I’m going to the temple tonight to sit.

When I wake up, I usually am tired with what I was thinking about yesterday, and not yet into thinking about anything new. I just expect something to happen as the day progresses.

It is like taking pictures. I have no idea what is going to call out to me, “take my picture.” Something eventually does. I remember a teacher of mine bragging that he went shooting with a friend and his friend couldn’t find anything thing to take a picture of, but he found treasures everywhere he looked.

I was wondering if it is a defect in my seeing that I can’t see pictures everywhere. Why are some vistas not pictures and other vistas pictures?

So as I sit here with the metal plates slowly crushing me, I write about time. At the gym, I want time to go faster so I can go home. But the rest of the day I want it to go slower so I can get something done. Ideally I’d like a time app that would work slowly or quickly as needed. If I were king, I could do that. All the clocks in my kingdom would be synchronized to my time. We’d all go to bed at 10:30 pm, but it would be my 10:30 pm, not the arbituary one.

I realize I’m not king, though, and that clocks are pretty consistent.

Back to the drawing board. Samuel Johnson wrote, “If you don’t get half your work by 10 am, chances are the other half will go undone.”

Off to sitting.

Miracles and Gratitude

My neighbor’s grandson was saved by a medical miracle, or so the mother claimed. 

I read recently that gratitude is the practice for spirituality. 

I use to tell my students that it was a miracle that we have a shallow depth of field when the lens is wide open, because otherwise it would be hard to focus. Now that doesn’t matter because of autofocus.

Miracles are not rational. You need to produce three miracles to become a saint.

I found an old book at the University of Chicago libraries that I read over and over again. I was intrigued by those events that contradicted the laws of nature. I was surprised that the Jesuit/Buddhist teacher Robert Kennedy said that G_d doesn’t mess with laws of nature. And Einstein famously said that G_d doesn’t play dice with the universe.

I’ve come to see almost everything as a miracle. So much in my life seems like it is a long shot. I can’t think of anything that isn’t a miracle. The fact that I can type this post, and have it appear on my phone so that I can reread it as I’m riding a bus to hear a Dylan Thomas poetry reading is a miracle. Actually a succession of miracles. Yes we can explain these miracles. We can say that the bus is possible because we discovered the wheel and the combustion engine. And rubber and glass. They are all miracles. The fact that Dylan Thomas lived. Life on Earth. Earth. All stupendous miracles.

Gratitude seems connected with the idea of recognizing miracles. Taking gifts as something commonplace is rejecting there specialness. I hear a baby cry in the other room. A baby that was once the size of the tip of a needle. Someday he’ll write poetry or build skyscrapers. A skyscraper coming from the tip of a needle. And if I hadn’t married my wife he might have never landed on Earth 45 years later. 

Such a chance operation, as Cage would call it. See: http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/text/poetic-technique-chance-operations “Chance Operations are methods of generating poetry independent of the author’s will.” Ha, do we think we are in control? I’m sure Cage knew better than believing that we could really will things to happen. A delusion. When we learned that the unconscious decides before the conscious mind realizes it then we see that we may be driving the car, but we don’t determine where it is going. It has a mind of its own. Another miracle.

But what about evil? Like stubbing your toe or worse. Do we have gratitude for that too? Is that sadism? Do we reject the gift because if doesn’t stay new and perfect forever? Or do we honor it in all its permutations?

Rage is Empty

I've been watching the Sopranos, a series about the mafia. I guess in the early days the Italian immigrants didn't display a lot of rage. They laughed a lot, even as they were performing their nefarious deeds. Now it is different.

Both Tony Soprano and his sister display tremendous rage even if someone looks at them in the wrong way. His sister was put in jail because she assaulted another soccer mom at her kids' soccer game. As part of her sentence she needed to take an anger management class. Tony talked about this with his therapist and it was evident that he was starting to consider that such a class would be good for him.

His therapist kept saying that depression was rage turned inward. I started to think about whether rage really existed at that point if it did not show its ugly eye. Was this a transformation?  Sometimes I surprise myself with my feelings. “Where did that come from,” I think? I thought that I was a nice guy and then I thought that!

In my reading of the Torah today, I came across a section when the Lord tells the Jews that if they follow his laws they will defeat all armies and slay all beasts.

It is hard to believe that the Jews were so gullible. Rather I think a better reading is that, in the same way that rage and depression are interconnected, so are our external and internal threats. If we do the right thing perhaps our internal enemies and beasts will be slain.

When we look in a mirror we see ourselves.  If we are five feet from the mirror it will appear that we are ten feet away. We form a connection to the illusion in the mirror, perhaps in a similar way to the connection of rage and depression, or the connection of our external and internal enemies.

We live in two universes. One we create and nurture. The other and bigger one (?), does what it does, presenting us with continual challenges and gifts.

I wrote about this also in another of my blogs: http://kenshinsbarmitzvah.blogspot.com/2014/09/parshat-bechukotai-2nd-portion.html

Am I a Jew?

Years ago I heard a talk by a rabbi titled “What is a Jew?” She presented a number of different definitions, including the common one that you are a Jew if your mom is/was a Jew.

My dad, who also had Jewish parents, told me when he was dying that he didn’t want any services in a church/temple. They asked him in the hospice if he wanted to see a rabbi. “No,” he said, “But can you send a philosopher.”

He told me not to belong to anything. I mostly went against much of what he told me, but I kind of like this one.

Some people, including the head teacher of the Zen Center in Austin, don’t like to think of themselves as this or that…in his case, a Buddhist. When I look at the Burmese monks, I see them as Buddhists. It is a birthright that runs through their blood.

I was about to fill out a form for a temple yesterday and it asked me if I was a Jew. When I came to that question, I stopped filling out the application. Is being a Jew something that I can opt out of? Hitler didn’t think so. In Spain, during the inquisition, you could convert out of Judaism by becoming a Christian.

Is being a Jew ascribing to the tenets of a religion? And are there tenets ascribed to by most Jews. We hear of many Jews who claim they are non-practicing.

Our family had a marriage (actually many) between a Jew and a non-Jew. Both of the families were distraught. My father gave a speech and convinced everyone to be joyous of the union.

If we did a Venn diagram of all humans, Jews should be a small circle inside the human circle. One question in my mind is whether the circle is surrounded with a hard or soft line.

I don’t want to be separated from others who might be of other persuasions. My “community” is diverse. Being a this or that just seems like a limitation…a barrier. So my answer is: No, I wish to be interconnected with all beings and non-beings.

Though one could look at this like gender. I am a man, but I’m still connected to those who aren’t men. So in that instance, “Yes, I am a Jew, and a Buddhist, and an artist.” Hence my name, “Jelly Mosley,” because I change my mind frequently.

Exercise

I’ve become somewhat of an exercise fanatic.

When you are young you mostly think about the moments ahead of you. You never imagine that you are near the end. You buy a box of animal crackers. After eating the first one, it seems like there are many more. You haven't made a “dent.” But soon, there are few left. And then there are none.

You look at yourself in the mirror and you think, “I don’t need to look like this.” Or you get tired of waking up and having trouble getting out of bed. So you exercise.

I’ve tried a few things. Yoga, pilates, qigong, working in a gym with a trainer (actually two). Walking. Swimming. Meditation. I guess meditation is an exercise, of sorts.

But there are other exercises. Attempting to eat 26 weight watcher points a day. Another challenge.

Attempting to post on three blogs and Instagram a day.

Attempting to do 365 (minus a few) drawings from the Torah.

Attempting to know my grandkids, maintain relationships with wife, children and assorted relatives and friends.

These are all exercises. Practice, as they call it in Zen.

I retract my first sentence. I’m an exercise fanatic.

I wonder what my life would be like if I did nothing.

I had imagined a much easier retirement. I’d get up in the morning and wonder, “what shall I do now, what shall I ever do.” (from the Wasteland by T.S. Eliot)

Whose Eye is Beauty In—Beholder or Creator?

Zen says the artist,
the audience,
both,
and neither.

And is it in the eye
or the mind…
or the visual
cortex?

Uncle Ed
asks
if it
matters?

My wife says
you know better
than to ask
me that.

To be honest,
It is all beautiful
to me, this
life of ours.

Try to construct
a more interesting
mix of this
and that.

Always a surprise,
and a challenge.
Always a miraculous
sight to behold.

Who Done It?

“I like your drawings” or “You have such a beautiful grandson” or “your kids are so talented.”

I was told years ago that when someone compliments your art you should say “thank you.” That was supposed to take the place of what Gomer Pyle would say, “ah shucks.” Or making some excuse, like, “well, it would be better if I had of sharpened my pencil.”

This got more difficult when people would compliment things that I didn’t make, as in “I like your wife.” Do you say thanks? I certainly didn’t draw her into existence.

Once someone asked my dad if I did good art and he said, “some people think so.” I’m still curious where that remark came from.

Though I’ve been doing similar pictures since the 5th grade, I really don’t take credit for them. A few days ago I was trying to dig into the “does G_d exist” question. When I hear that question I start marveling at the exquisiteness of the universe and then, whether I say yea or nea, I know that what exists is far beyond my comprehension. Can we take credit for creation if we didn’t create the creator of our art?

In the same way, I’m repeatedly surprised by my art. I can’t for the life of me understand where it comes from. It feels as if some agent has possessed me and takes control of my pencil, camera, or whatever. Even when I say something (or write something), I have no idea where it came from. It is the miracle of birth, I suppose, where two relatively stupid forms join and become something stupendous. The whole is bigger than its parts. Much bigger.

I’m curious about others. Do you take responsibility for what you do? Are you possessed in those creative moments by something you don’t understand?

Prompts

http://pleasenowords.blogspot.com/2014/09/615.html

I had very few assignments in art school. And when I did, I usually didn’t do them. I thought I was, as my mom claimed to be, a “rank individualist.” Though from the first class I taught, I gave assignments. 

I work much better with prompts. I thought it was the fact that I was often collaborating with others, but really working with someone else is easier for me because an idea is suggested.

In our Zen Writing group we read a poem or tell a story. I resisted this for a while. “Why should I follow the prompt,” I thought? 

One thing that we develop in school is a bag of tricks to use when we are blocked. One trick I’ve use is to draw a nose. A nose needs a face. A face needs a body. A body needs a friend and something to stand on. Hence, a drawing is almost finished.

Prompts abound. I look at my bookshelf and see prompts calling out to me. Odyssey, Digital, Clean, Naked Lunch. All great prompts. 

I guess I was afraid that if I used someone’s prompt I wouldn’t be doing “my” art. That was a false worry. The prompt still needs to be processed through and by me. It is in the limitations that one reveals themselves. 

I once asked one of my teachers, “Why did you never tell us what to do?” He replied, ”You don’t know how much I told you what to do.” I learned then how a teacher can give prompts in subtle ways. He can look at your photograph and say, “Oh, I see you are interested in line.” Now he has brought the idea of focusing on lines to my conscious mind. Next time I’m out making photographs, I’ll look for lines. 

I Will Fly

Anthropomorph III (Ambivalence)—Donna Dechen Birdwell

The first woman
arrived in the night,
after the sun
fell asleep.

She popped up
like a bean stalk,
with feathers
on her arms.

Her feet rooted,
unable to go
and nothing to see
and only one job to do:

to wonder.
What else might there be
and are there others
like me?

Are things like this
or different?
Will I get tired...here?
And where is here, anyway?

I hear something—my feathers are blowing.
Why can't I remember
where I came from?
My mind is empty.

I reach in
the darkness
to see
what else is here.

I lift up one foot
and then
another.
I can take a step.

But where am I—
where will I go?
Oh I see something now—
over there.

How bright
that is!
What comes next?
I will fly.

God: She is Just a Story

A high school classmate who embraces Judaism recently wrote me that he is still undecided about whether G_d exists. M, a friend at the temple here, claims he doesn’t believe in G_d, but sees himself as a Jew through and through.

I asked a Catholic colleague, who has a PhD in Philosophy, whether she’d still believe in G_d if I could prove that he/she didn’t exist. “Of course I would,” she said. “Why?” I said. “Because I’ve experienced him,” she replied.

I can imagine that we could experience many things that our bodily senses might not perceive. Love is one of those things. Being depressed is another. Perhaps there is some chemical change in our body when we are in love or depressed, but perhaps too, those changes could occur when we aren’t in love or depressed. In any case, all that is verified is that a change has occurred, not that love, depression, or G_d exists.

I believe that if we took apart every molecule in the universe we wouldn't find love nor depression nor G_d. Nor do I know people who believe this. If we were hunters or fisherman, we’d come back empty handed. And many believe that does not matter.

When we say, “I don’t know if I believe in….,” what are we really saying? How can you not believe in a belief? You construct a story that shapes our conception of life. What is there to not believe? It is a story. Just a story. And for some, a life-changing story. But still, just a story. 

My Core Curriculum: The Three Ws

My niece, Abby, was visiting last weekend and talked about her issues with the core curriculum in her daughter’s Los Angeles charter school. 

To me, core curriculums contradict my idea of charter schools. I don’t object to schools separating what is core, and what is not, but I do not like the idea of “core” being suggested by outsiders. Are we sure enough of what is “core’ to impose our beliefs on others?

One of my retirement projects is to figure out what I will teach the next time around. I have little evidence that I’ll be 23 again, with the opportunity for another lifetime in education, but still … it is an interesting pastime. And I’m grateful that I was never presented with many, if any, guidelines as to what I was supposed to teach. I hope the next time around I’ll have the same luxury.

The stuff we teach isn’t always what people need to be learning. We prepare students to work (though many businesses reeducate their employees to make them productive). We sometimes prepare students to think (though that’s hard to show). How well do we teach them to move through life, to observe clearly, and to be patient? That question prompted me to replace the 3 Rs with the 3 Ws (walking, watching, and waiting). 

Yesterday I was fortunate to have a private qigong lesson because the others in the class didn’t show up. We mainly focused on tai chi walking which morphed into walking in general. There is so much to be learned about walking. Where is our weight? How does our weight shift from one side to another (like water, like sand)? How is our core involved? How do we hold our head? Are our feet pointing forward, to the inside, or to the outside? What about our arms—where are they? How are they moving? But walking is much broader than that? How do we move through the grocery store in a way that is respectful to others, so that we aren’t a jerk. How do we move from one station in our lives to the next? Are we able to leave one thing as we go to another. Some teachers have their students meditate for five minutes at the beginning of class. That helps the students' mind to catch up with their body. In the Kung Fu series, Caine, the Shaolin Monk,  remembers how his teacher told him he’d be ready to leave when he could walk across the rice paper without making a sound.

Listening and watching is another skill that I’d place in a core curriculum. Ernest Haas, the photographer, distinguished between “looking” (merely orienting yourself), and “seeing” (really getting what is in front of you). The challenge of learning to draw to mark on the paper what is in front of you. Our minds fool us. Tennessee Williams never graduated from college, but he could listen and depict how people behaved. A classmate, Jon Boorstin, got started in the film industry by patiently watching what was happen on sets. His observations indicated that he could see. Without inhaling you have nothing to exhale.

The third “W” is waiting. Siddhartha talked about waiting as one of the three skills he could do. Events occur at different times. Sometimes we don’t like to wait. When we are twelve we want to be sixteen. Often we have to wait. When I first started to meditate I would wait for the bell to ring, indicating the end of that meditation session. That eventually wore off when I realized that the job at hand, coming back from my thoughts, was a full-time job. There is a lot of waiting in the photographic darkroom. Every process is timed. Even getting a good print takes waiting. You analyize your first print and go from there. The most challenging is “waiting for death.” If you do it hard, your eyes will be glued to the window, watching for the grim reaper. But softly, you’ll realize that your breaths are limited, and then embrace and let go the breaths one by one. Like letting birds free, one by one. It was found that when you present six year olds with a choice of one cookie now, or two cookies in 15 minutes, that the kids who choose the two cookies will do better in school. They have learned to wait. 

Like waiting,  we think that walking and watching are all a matter of trying harder (Avis’s motto—We Try Harder). I suspect the opposite is true. An American Indian knows that it is a soft gaze that lets you know when some prey or an enemy is coming into your territory. Maybe the phrase, “trying soft” is more like it. 

In any case, those are my three Ws. It takes a lifetime to learn these (or maybe two…I’m not even close). Yet they seem essential before you can tackle any other task.

Blocked

I don't know what to write.

I could eat something. 

I could see if the news has changed. 

Perhaps someone will refute 

the latest stats 

on the climate.

Or maybe

that new threat to our country 

will strike us dead.

In the meantime,

I can't do the dishes. 

They are in the KitchenAide

churning away, 

eating their dirt 

like a hungry whatever.

You might think, oh, 

it is better to be silent 

than to ooze senseless words.

But suppose, 

through no fault of my own, 

something meaningful comes out.

What then? 

Your thought was wrong. 

Completely!

I like to imagine 

all the seemingly useless lives 

that were on the wrong track, 

barking up the wrong tree, 

like all the alchemists

trying to make gold out of this or that... 

and then for the few, 

something happened and we became 

more civilized, or less...

depending on
how you look at it.

So, I'm so blocked,

with nothing
at all to say,

except that [I know]

you can't get wet 

unless you go out 

in the rain.

Which isn't 

really true
but what the hell!

Cat Killer

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions. And I thought I was doing a mitzvah by giving flowers to my wife. But ... discovering that these flowers were poisonous to cats suggested that I might not know the effects of my actions.

We don't have cats but I know that every time I've buy something I encourage that product's production. So my generosity makes me a cat killer, of sorts.

Should I put a sign on the door, beware of lilies if you are a cat?

Psychologists have noted that often when one does a mitzvah their next action is more likely to be a bad action. A recent study showed you were 3% more likely to be bad if you had just been bad. It seems similar to the idea that a New Year's resolution told to others often is not followed. We have fulfilled our social obligation by announcing our good intention so now we don't need to do the act. That's enough to contemplate keeping away from people who have recently done mitzvahs, isn't it?

I recognized I wasn't very nice after giving my wife the flowers. She commented that her glasses were dirty, which reminded me that my glasses were dirty, so I got up and cleaned them. She was upset because I got up quicker than she and so she had to find another sink to clean her glasses while I cleaned mine. I'm not sure this is ground for divorce, but I do know that I wasn't very thoughtful, believing (unconsciously) that the flowers gave me the right to use the sink first.

I think this whole event, as minuscule as it was, taught me that a gift doesn't have to be a bouquet of (cat killing) lilies, but it could be, as Wordsworth wrote, ...his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.

I spent the other evening at the University of Texas, and was struck by how kind and thoughtful were the students. When I was lost, three students stood around with their Androids and tried to find where I wanted to go. But the most unusual event was the woman who was standing in front of me on a crowded bus. She asked if I minded if she stood in front of me. “Of course not,” I told her.

My challenge today is not to give any overt gifts, but just to be thoughtful like the woman on the bus. I want to recognize what spaces I might be invading. What might I do to make others more comfortable? Just because I can get off the couch faster doesn't mean I get to wash my glasses first!

Buying Flowers for My Wife

I asked my neighbor when you should buy flowers for your wife and he said, “Anytime.” Then I asked if you should get her flowers because you wanted something or because you were bad. “No,” he said.

I knew an artist who bought jewelry for his wife because she posed for his paintings. That seemed a little bit tit for tat (or visa versa).

I'm not too good with gifts. My parents didn't get it. They would insist that they gave me everything that I needed, so why should I need anything else?

And I think of Milton Friedman’s diagram about how we spent money most wisely when it is our money spent on ourselves, and least wisely when it is a third party’s money spent on someone else. I would get a number of presents from my in-laws that were things I didn't need. I’d then spend a copy of days after Christmas returning things. Somehow they got wind of this so they just give cash that I appreciated more.

No wonder my grandkids call me Grandpa No Fun.

I asked my wife when I should buy her flowers. I wanted to be sure it would not seem like prostitution. (I've been watching the evil Tony Soprano lately and my mind is going “to hell in a hand basket,” as my mom would say.

Anyway, my wife said I could “just” buy her flowers someday. I really surprised her today by doing that, though I have to admit that I was trying a little bit to appease her because she said she gets mad at me all day when I go to bed so late (which I often do).

Is there any pure generosity, with no thought of any gain? One of my Zen teachers speak of giver, gift and receiver all being one. I really like this. If I'm stuck in the idea of one person giving a gift to another then I'm always going to be having thoughts of gain and loss. But if I get pass that and see the giver, gift and receiver of all being inexorably interconnected, then giving is purer. Or, as I see Mother Teresa, she gave because giving needed to be done. In one of the chants at the Zen center, there is the line “The four elements return to their natures just as a child turns to its mother….” Ideally there is no gaining thought in those situations. Our compassion tells us what needs to be done.

Powerless in Austin

The power went out. Immediately we review what parts of our lives require power. We have cell phones. I call the power company to report that we are powerless. They say they already know. I ask how many people are powerless. They say 2800. “Oh, that isn't so bad,” I think. When will it be restored, I ask, knowing that they can't possibly know the answer? “We don't know,” she said, adding, “would you like me to call you when you are restored?” “Sure I say,” and I give her my number.

I tell my wife we have a side burner on the BBQ that can boil water for coffee. “No,” she says, “let's go to Kirby Lane.” “Ok,” I say. “I'll call them and see if they have power.” I call, no answer. “How about Consuelos,” I ask, adding “but they have terrible coffee,” “How about Upper Crust?” I ask. “I could bring my own gluten free bread.” “Well, if you are going to do that we could go to the pastry place. They have better coffee. Or we could go to Magnolias.” She looks up their menu and sees that they don't serve breakfast.

“But we can't use the coffee grinder.” “I have a manual grinder,” she says. I put the water on to boil and come back into the kitchen. “Would you hold the grinder while I turn it,” she asks, “it was hitting my knuckles.” I hold the grinder and comment, “This isn't easy. Here, let me hold it and you grind. How about if I use my power drill,” I ask. “No, you might hurt the grinder.”

We finish grinding. The water is at a rolling boil and we make a great pot of coffee. I had cut up some fruit last night and quickly get it from the fridge, keeping the cold from escaping, and a piece of my gluten free pumpkin/banana bread. She starts reading her book and I go into my room and adjust the shutters so I can see. I am in a quandary whether to start my Torah study or to write something for this blog. I decide to write.

A few minutes ago I hear my printer go on. “The power is on,” I yell. She doesn't answer. Though perhaps I didn't hear her since I haven't put on my hearing aids.

The other night in Zen writing we used a poem about window washing for a prompt. I liked it because this mundane activity of washing windows was such a good metaphor for meditation.

Around three in the morning we woke to lightening and thunder that seemed to last for an hour or so. I remember thinking that I had never experienced a storm of that duration.  When nature shows her strength I'm struck how, despite our technological advances, I am still at her mercy. I am on the grid, so to speak. I can attribute storms to our thoughtless behavior or I can just say it is one of those things that just happen. In any case, it alters my habitual patterns. What I normally do in a daze no longer works. I am left to think in a new way, confronted with new problems that need fresh solutions.

And then the power turns on and I revert to being my robust and independent self (or so I believe), programmed for many years by my repetitive life patterns.

Thanks, powerless, for nudging a challenge into my lifeless body. And thanks, City or Austin Utilities, for so quickly restoring our power.

“Zen is good for nothing.”

Sometimes I'd hear this at the Zen temple. What a great sales line!

Bodhidharma (http://www.usashaolintemple.org/chanbuddhism-history/) told the king, when asked if he gained merit from building temples, that he would gain no merit.

Buddha did care about one thing: to end suffering. I think that when we talk about "no gain" we are referring more to Bodhidharma's insistence that doing things for merit doesn't create merit. We aren't saying that there are no benefits for meditation, or even for following the precepts (http://www.accesstoinsight.org/ptf/dhamma/sila/pancasila.html).

Someone wrote that meditation softens one edges. We see this in studies that are being done at universities such as Stanford, where able meditators react far less to stimuli.
http://blog.bufferapp.com/how-meditation-affects-your-brain

One could say that they want to respond to stimuli. Fully. I think there is a difference here between being fully in the moment, and being at the effect of the moment. We don't want to be a ping pong ball, thrown around from one paddle to another. The table experiences the same game, but from a somewhat different perspective.

If I bought my wife flowers so that she'd do something nice for me, I'd be engaging in prostitution. If I made art to make money, would I also be selling my soul to the devil?

Buddha saw meditation as an advanced practice that would come after the first four paramitas. (http://www.rigpawiki.org/index.php?title=Six_paramitas). Wisdom would be the outcome from meditation after the first four were already accomplished.

Someone asked, “who sits?” I love that question. As long as it is I who sits, I'm going to continue to do a cost/benefit analysis.

We'll see what sitting brings in a couple of hours from now.

Why Sit?

Periodically I ask myself, why sit?

If I told someone I sit and face a wall for 35 minutes they would call the men in white suits to take me away. It is crazy.

Of course I am doing little harm compared with some other vocations and avocations. Especially if I don’t think about what useful work I might do during that time. My wife goes out and pulls weeds. Or reads a book. She actually was in a sitting group at one time, but now is anti both sitting and exercising. “Too much to do,” she says.

I decided to quit qigong on Sundays so that I could sit, but then decided at the last moment to go to another qigong class. The funny thing was that the new class involved a 45-minute standing meditation. It was breathtaking to be moving so slowly and intentionally.

Am my feelings a fair test about whether this or that is a beneficial activity? If so, perhaps a drug cocktail might be the better.

The poem (“What the Window Washers Did” by Margaret Hasse) talked about two window washers on either side of a window, squirting on Windex and then wiping the glass clean until the dirt disappeared. Somehow I thought of sitting when I heard that. No, I don't think the poet had that in mind, but we take from a poem something unique depending on who we are and what are our needs at a given moment.

I walk around steeped in three poisons: greed, hate, and delusion. In the busyness of life, I don't see that. I act and respond like an automaton. I am never able to watch the movie of my life because I am often somewhere else, either thinking about the next action, or lamenting about the last.

So I sit to polish the glass. It is dirty on both sides: the inside and the outside. Maybe it is like compassion. I feel for another. But it is much harder is to feel as another is feeling. To step outside of my stories and into someone else's shoes, and to see how they are suffering.

My neighbor says he's not suffering. Suffering is a bad misunderstand word. Wordsworth wrote, “Getting and spending we lay waste our powers. Little we know of nature that is ours.” That is the suffering I am talking about (some say “dukkha”). I look out a window and see that the glass is dirty and I believe that if I were just to clean one side it would be enough.

That is a delusion. But how could I know that there is dirt on both sides of the glass until I clean one side? How can I let the sunlight in to bath my life with joy? What kind of work can allow me to be both on the inside and the outside, polishing the glass until it disappears and there is no separation between the other and me?

If there were an easier way, I'm sure I would have heard about it. Continually the glass gets dirty. And, if I want to see clearly, I need to polish both sides. I need to sit. And I thank the sun for waiting patiently to be my guest.