Saturday, June 30, 2007
Read This Instead... Please!
I'm off for the weekend this morning. I'd ask anyone who might have checked in to read The Buddha Dairies to read this instead, as a favor to yourself. And while you're at it, this is important, too. And this, a valuable historical reminder. And then there's this. All from today's Op-Ed pages of the New York Times. Feel the outrage. One of the great teachings of the Buddha is that we must never stop paying attention. And as someone said, these days, if you're not ouraged, you're not paying attention. Have a great weekend, Buddha lovers!
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 6/30/2007
The pessimist sees the difficulty inEvery opportunity; the optimist sees the Opportunity in every difficulty.
~~ L.P. Jacks
Friday, June 29, 2007
Volunteering
Yesterday I had such a rewarding, touching and profound experience. I went with my father to volunteer at a community kitchen in the basement of a downtown Presbyterian church that offers free meals to those who need them. I helped out in the kitchen preparing the food and then was stationed out in the dining room to offer people something to drink. I then went around and asked people if they wanted refills of their drinks.It was a great chance to give back to the community and meet some really wonderful people that have fallen on hard times.
In Buddhism we speak of dana (giving) and perhaps what comes to mind at first is a monetary donation--which is very generous and needed indeed. Yet, there is something about giving of oneself that is more rewarding--at least for me. My wife and I donate a little money to different charities every month online but it seems so impersonal. Yesterday gave me a chance to be there with the people in need. I was present--literally. I was being present to not only fill physical needs but to also give out smiles to weary faces. I saw them *not* as people that have "less then me" but people who are me and have as much as I do. Despite some of the tired faces--I saw Buddha in them all. I recalled the Buddha's days as a wandering ascetic and saw the same desire to be free in them--as he did. The desire to be free from the suffering that they were enduring. There journey is no different then mine, yours, or that of Thich Nhat Hanh for example. It may manifest in different forms but the search and the yearning to break free of samsara is exactly the same in all beings.
I saw in their faces my struggle in obtaining my social security benefits to keep us financially afloat. I saw in their faces the moment I was admitted to the hospital under suicide watch and in all those moments--someone was there for me and now too, here I was there for them. I can't convey how rewarding that realization was for me. I also saw in their faces the smile of my grandmother and the twinkle in the eyes of my niece. I met one little girl named Angel and it gave me so much joy and satisfaction to make her smile and in turn to make her dad smile in reaction to seeing his daughter smile. For that moment--that present moment--all was right in the world and helping them see that was a priceless gift from them to me.
As I filled each persons cup I concentrated on them as if they were the only person in the world. I saw the water I poured as precious gold. On such a hot day these folks gulped water as if it was the only thing that mattered--and in that moment it was. In that moment, offering them water was the most important thing I could do.
Another under emphasized side of giving is that of listening. So often the thing that we need most in life is to just. be. heard. I listened to their plights and desire for a home for example. Of course I couldn't give them a house but I could (and did) offer them a home. A house is different then a home. A house is an object but a home is love, respect, peace and understanding. For the afternoon these folks could come get a meal, a smile and someone who cared enough to listen for a few minutes. They were part of a home--they belonged. Someone cared for them and cares about them.
In the end, the only thing that we really have to give is indeed ourselves.
I was reminded how lucky, loved and looked after I am. My problems seemed to vanish into the warm summer air as I saw how grateful these folks were for a simple glass of cool water and a warm lunch. I walked on air back to the car. It reminded me how often I take things for granted and get cranky with people over stupid things. I was reminded of how silly it is to complain about being a little over-weight because of the medicines I have to take. Everyday, every moment, every breath is a precious gift and an opportunity for us to be who we know we truly are.
It was so wonderful to work together to help people get though one more day--helping them concentrate on one thing at a time--eating and drinking. We were Buddhists, Mormons and Presbyterians expressing the reality of our Oneness to help bring assistance to others and in turn they helped us.
Speaking of my Christian brother and sisters I could not help but remember the words in the Bible under Matthew 25:30-4o:
For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.' Then the righteous will answer him, "Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?' And the king will answer them, "Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.'
This reminds me that when we give to the monks in their begging bowls we are giving unto the Buddha and therefore all beings.
Those folks will forever live inside of me.
~Peace to all beings~
PHOTO: The Buddha with begging bowl.
Reading
I had fun last night joining other bloggers at a live reading put together by Leah Peterson at our local Tangier Lounge down on Hillhurst in Los Feliz. I found myself sitting at a table with fellow-blogger Deezee from Confessional Highway and Laura Viera Rigler, the author of a new novel, "Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict," to be published in August by Dutton. There were about eight of us who read selections from our daily labors, and it was interesting, given the variety of tones and voices, to find a common thread: it is, I think, a confessional medium. It attracts those of us who are willing--even eager!--to expose a deep part of ourselves in the often trivial events of daily life. We usually hide behind our computers, because there's a part of us that's shy enough to want to remain anonymous, but we're drawn irresistibly to reveal ourselves in our weakest and most vulnerable moments as well as in our strength.
I'm short of time this morning. I have a final interview scheduled for my next "Art of Outrage" segment for Artscene Visual Radio, and the rest of the morning will be taken up with organizing all the sound files for editing next week. Then off to Idyllwild for a weekend at Painting's Edge, and a full week in our little cottage in Laguna Beach for the Fourth of July. I'll plan on doing some linking to my genial fellow-bloggers in the coming week. Thanks, meantime, to Leah and the blogging gang!
I'm short of time this morning. I have a final interview scheduled for my next "Art of Outrage" segment for Artscene Visual Radio, and the rest of the morning will be taken up with organizing all the sound files for editing next week. Then off to Idyllwild for a weekend at Painting's Edge, and a full week in our little cottage in Laguna Beach for the Fourth of July. I'll plan on doing some linking to my genial fellow-bloggers in the coming week. Thanks, meantime, to Leah and the blogging gang!
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 6/29/2007
It is not because things are difficult that weDo not dare; it is because we do not dareThat they are difficult.
~~ Seneca
Thursday, June 28, 2007
New Rock Candle Holder for the Altar
A new picture of our main alter. We finally got a matching rock candle holder to the one on the left when we went to the Cave of the Winds in Manitou Springs, Colorado. It glows up nicely--you can see the reflection glowing in the three-tier, vertical, red candle holder.
~Peace to all beings~
Our House; Oh, and the iPhone...
Ellie hosted a meeting of professional women in the arts in our house last night, and it was a pleasure to see how well our new place worked to entertain a large-ish group of people. They arrived before sunset and enjoyed the daytime view of Hollywood from our balcony over wine and hors d'ouevres, then strolled in the garden before returning to the balcony for dinner around the big teak table there, staying on through the dusk into darkness, and well into the night.
I, meanwhile, was joined by the sole male guest--a friend and the husband of a member of Ellie's professional association. We sat and chatted together over dinner and throughout the evening, ending up with a long exposition from him about one of the great passions of his life: the Yiddish language--its history and practice, and its persistence despite the devastation of the Holocaust and the consequent diaspora of the twentieth century. A fascinating story. As one who studied languages and philology many years ago at university, I was able at least to contribute some interesting questions...
We talked, too, about the city and the undergraduate program I directed--also many years ago!--in which we took students for a full semester and immersed them in all aspects of art in the city of Los Angeles. Our first day, which started at four in the morning at the fruit and vegetable markets and lasted the full length of the day, was called "The City as Art" and involved a fast-paced, multi-vehicle tour of corners of Los Angeles that most students had never visited or known about--from the sublime to the ridiculous. We ended up at Forest Lawn cemetery, admiring the prim, fig-leafed copy of Michelangelo's David and the ghastly stained glass version of Leonardo's "Last Supper," viewed to the sound of pious organ muzak.
Interesting, though. My friend pointed out that many young people literally don't know where they are these days, In the geographical sense. The newest generation have grown up with navigation systems in their cars, so they drive without the faintest idea as to where they're going except as an electronic concept projected on those little screens. Without the digital assist, they would be lost. By the same token, we wondered, how many young people grow up with having to understand the basic principles of math? He told me that young employees in his office are astounded by his ability to work out mathematical problems in his head.
To what extent, I wonder, are we in the process of stultifying the human brain with our reliance on those marvelous digital gadgets? Are we at risk of sacrificing our own circuitry by outsourcing it to our machines?
It's today, is it not--or tomorrow--that the much-touted iPhone makes its public appearance. Predictably, there will be mobs of people storming the Apple stores to lay their hands on one. Another piece of miniaturized gadgetry that does everything but fly us to New York... How long will it be before everyone on Earth requires the help of such a device to ascertain where he is? Then we'll all be permanently lost.
I, meanwhile, was joined by the sole male guest--a friend and the husband of a member of Ellie's professional association. We sat and chatted together over dinner and throughout the evening, ending up with a long exposition from him about one of the great passions of his life: the Yiddish language--its history and practice, and its persistence despite the devastation of the Holocaust and the consequent diaspora of the twentieth century. A fascinating story. As one who studied languages and philology many years ago at university, I was able at least to contribute some interesting questions...
We talked, too, about the city and the undergraduate program I directed--also many years ago!--in which we took students for a full semester and immersed them in all aspects of art in the city of Los Angeles. Our first day, which started at four in the morning at the fruit and vegetable markets and lasted the full length of the day, was called "The City as Art" and involved a fast-paced, multi-vehicle tour of corners of Los Angeles that most students had never visited or known about--from the sublime to the ridiculous. We ended up at Forest Lawn cemetery, admiring the prim, fig-leafed copy of Michelangelo's David and the ghastly stained glass version of Leonardo's "Last Supper," viewed to the sound of pious organ muzak.
Interesting, though. My friend pointed out that many young people literally don't know where they are these days, In the geographical sense. The newest generation have grown up with navigation systems in their cars, so they drive without the faintest idea as to where they're going except as an electronic concept projected on those little screens. Without the digital assist, they would be lost. By the same token, we wondered, how many young people grow up with having to understand the basic principles of math? He told me that young employees in his office are astounded by his ability to work out mathematical problems in his head.
To what extent, I wonder, are we in the process of stultifying the human brain with our reliance on those marvelous digital gadgets? Are we at risk of sacrificing our own circuitry by outsourcing it to our machines?
It's today, is it not--or tomorrow--that the much-touted iPhone makes its public appearance. Predictably, there will be mobs of people storming the Apple stores to lay their hands on one. Another piece of miniaturized gadgetry that does everything but fly us to New York... How long will it be before everyone on Earth requires the help of such a device to ascertain where he is? Then we'll all be permanently lost.
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 6/28/2007
To have courage for whatever comes in life -Everything lies in that.
~~ Saint Teresa of Avila
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Meditation
Today, as every day, I sit and watch the breath. I try to maintain my attention from the very beginning of the inbreath to the very last moment of the outbreath--each breath from birth to death. It's hard. My mind has many things to divert it, many threads to follow, many things to worry over. I watch it go to work, and each time it wanders, try to reel it back in. For a couple of moments, for a couple of minutes even... success!
Then off it goes again. Sometimes I catch it sooner, sometimes later. Sometimes I only notice it has wandered off minutes later. Then the judgments come: how come you can't make a better job of this, when you've been doing it for ten years? My mind jumps at them: something to get its teeth into. Great.
So, no, it's not about leaving your mind at the door, along with your shoes, as Christopher Hitchens too easily assumes. It's not about blissing out and escaping the mind. For me, it's about teaching the mind to do exactly what I want it to do, about harnassing the power of the mind by training it to focus and concentrate.
I'm finding myself, eventually, irked by Hitchens's glib dismissal of all spiritual exercise, along with all religion. I suspect an inner rage that pushes him further than even reason wants to go--the result, perhaps, of some as yet unhealed, unacknowledged wound. There's a lot of old emotional crap encrusted around his arguments, which somehow become personal, arrogant, even hateful.
Still, his book is a "good read," perhaps in part because it is unrestrained by the usual socially-sanctioned politenesses and tolerances around another man's religion. Raw intolerance makes for tough, sinewy prose, a refreshing change from that mealy-mouthed habit of tiptoeing around the feelings of everyone who might possibly be offended. Worth a try.
Then off it goes again. Sometimes I catch it sooner, sometimes later. Sometimes I only notice it has wandered off minutes later. Then the judgments come: how come you can't make a better job of this, when you've been doing it for ten years? My mind jumps at them: something to get its teeth into. Great.
So, no, it's not about leaving your mind at the door, along with your shoes, as Christopher Hitchens too easily assumes. It's not about blissing out and escaping the mind. For me, it's about teaching the mind to do exactly what I want it to do, about harnassing the power of the mind by training it to focus and concentrate.
I'm finding myself, eventually, irked by Hitchens's glib dismissal of all spiritual exercise, along with all religion. I suspect an inner rage that pushes him further than even reason wants to go--the result, perhaps, of some as yet unhealed, unacknowledged wound. There's a lot of old emotional crap encrusted around his arguments, which somehow become personal, arrogant, even hateful.
Still, his book is a "good read," perhaps in part because it is unrestrained by the usual socially-sanctioned politenesses and tolerances around another man's religion. Raw intolerance makes for tough, sinewy prose, a refreshing change from that mealy-mouthed habit of tiptoeing around the feelings of everyone who might possibly be offended. Worth a try.
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 6/27/2007
If you are distressed by anything external, thePain is not due to the thing itself but to yourOwn estimate of it; and this you have the powerTo revoke at any moment.
~~ Marcus Aurelius
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Conversations
Think Buddha
Excerpts from a great post about the social implications of "Couchsurfing"
For much of the time in Bulgaria (and in between, as I’m taking the train) I will be Couchsurfing. For those of you who don’t know about it, Couchsurfing is a web based global hospitality network. The dea is that you sign up, put up a bit of a profile, and then you can contact people all around the world and arrange to stay with them. It is all run on the basis of generosity and hospitality...
Some friends have said to me that they think such hospitality – whether offering it or receiving it (and, with hospitality, I think that one is always both offering and receiving it at the same time, that there is a hospitality to being a host and there is a hospitality to being a guest) – is foolhardy...
I suspect it comes down to the fact that something like Couchsurfing goes against the tenor of our times, and the reason is simple: that we feel uneasy with a transaction based upon generosity, openness and hospitality. We are reassured when money changes hands, because we understand financial transactions; but when no money changes hands, our suspicions are aroused. We do not know what to do with such a situation. We are not accustomed to this kind of thing happening. It does not fit in with our world view...
But then, our world view can be a bleak one. The prevailing impression one can get from the media is that every stranger is out there to murder and maim, that trust is a mugs’ game; and this leads to an all-pervading siege mentality. Yet there could be no sadder house to live in, to my mind, than one surrounded by barbed wire, with large metal gates and an intercom at the end of the drive, the grounds bristling with security cameras and patrolled by fierce hounds.
A Sideways Look at Womanhood
Miss Understood stumbles upon an ethical index of clothing companies in the UK, sparking a re-evaluation of her consumer habits, and a lively discussion in her comments section.
I wonder if it’ll change the way I shop? I’m highly unlikely to ensure that all the clothes I buy are Fair Trade or made from organic cotton, but I wonder if I’ll be able to walk out of Primark with a bulging bag and a flutter of excitement in the knowledge I’ve picked up some bargains, when the reality of the situation is that the labels which should inform me of the origin of the clothes is missing. Will I still have a smile on my face when I think about the working conditions of the employees who make it all possible for me?
Dharma Bums
Gorgeous nature photos posted by Robin Andrea today, followed by a discussion of Michael Moore's new documentary, Sicko, and then a call to action!
Moore goes to Canada, England, and France to talk to people about their experience with health care. Everyone he speaks with seems quite content with their national systems. No matter what, they don't really ever have to worry. Imagine that--No worries, and for less money than we spend.
Isn't it time for a revolution in this country? What will it take to get us off of our butts and out into the streets? What?
Swinesend Revisted
I have been reading Quink's book. Quink, attentive readers will recall from occasional recent observations in the "Comments" section of The Buddha Diaries, is a fellow blogger and a somewhat more recent graduate than I of the absurdly misnamed British "public school" system. "Public", of course, in Brit speak, in this context means private--and exclusive of all those whose families either have no long history of association with the school in question, or can't afford the fees. Quink's book, "Swinesend" (please check out this link!), is a hilarious satrical indictment of the system. I got a good few chuckles of recognition as I read--along with the occasional cold frisson of recollected dread, pain and fear.
One of the great benefits of the meditation practice in which I have been engaged for some years now is that it affords me the opportunity to observe those patterns of feeling and behavior that originate in those "public school" days, and which persist in attempting to make their appearance in my life even today. So long as I manage to remain awake, I am able to catch them: the armor I instinctively resort to when anyone happens to get close; the exercise of boyish charm to deflect attempts of others to reach the more tender inner places; the knee-jerk teflon response to unwelcome feelings of pain, fear, and grief. As a small boy entering the "system" at the age of six--this was boarding school, mind--I quickly learned these skills in order to protect myself from the slings and arrows of other nasty little boys. I perfected my skills as I went along, and exercise them today without a second thought--unless I happen to pause and have that second thought, and recognize that the devices I learned as a six year old are neither necessary nor useful to a man of senior years. That's where meditation comes in useful.
It's also where I find myself in disagreement with Christopher Hitchens, whose "God Is Not Great" I am also reading. In his eagerness to indict all religions, he castigates Buddhism with the familiar charge that it requires you to leave your mind at the door along with your shoes. Which is not my experience of Buddhism at all. The mind part. I can live without the shoes. My experience is that Buddhism has everything to do with the mind, with mind-fulness, with bringing things to consciousness that might otherwise negatively affect my life and that of those around me--precisely those things, in my case, that threaten to govern my life and my behavior patterns in unproductive ways. I'm grateful for the daily opportunity to observe, and in some cases to correct them.
It's interesting to observe, though, how I go along with virtually everything Hitchens has to say about religion--and how my back goes up when he attacks my own beliefs. Well, I'd argue, not so much belief as practice. Now I have to wonder about that other issue we've been talking about recently: the ease with which we see the faults in others' arguments and beliefs, and the trouble we have in seeing those in our own. Which brings me back to my recent contretemps with Carly, on the subject of contemporary art...
One of the great benefits of the meditation practice in which I have been engaged for some years now is that it affords me the opportunity to observe those patterns of feeling and behavior that originate in those "public school" days, and which persist in attempting to make their appearance in my life even today. So long as I manage to remain awake, I am able to catch them: the armor I instinctively resort to when anyone happens to get close; the exercise of boyish charm to deflect attempts of others to reach the more tender inner places; the knee-jerk teflon response to unwelcome feelings of pain, fear, and grief. As a small boy entering the "system" at the age of six--this was boarding school, mind--I quickly learned these skills in order to protect myself from the slings and arrows of other nasty little boys. I perfected my skills as I went along, and exercise them today without a second thought--unless I happen to pause and have that second thought, and recognize that the devices I learned as a six year old are neither necessary nor useful to a man of senior years. That's where meditation comes in useful.
It's also where I find myself in disagreement with Christopher Hitchens, whose "God Is Not Great" I am also reading. In his eagerness to indict all religions, he castigates Buddhism with the familiar charge that it requires you to leave your mind at the door along with your shoes. Which is not my experience of Buddhism at all. The mind part. I can live without the shoes. My experience is that Buddhism has everything to do with the mind, with mind-fulness, with bringing things to consciousness that might otherwise negatively affect my life and that of those around me--precisely those things, in my case, that threaten to govern my life and my behavior patterns in unproductive ways. I'm grateful for the daily opportunity to observe, and in some cases to correct them.
It's interesting to observe, though, how I go along with virtually everything Hitchens has to say about religion--and how my back goes up when he attacks my own beliefs. Well, I'd argue, not so much belief as practice. Now I have to wonder about that other issue we've been talking about recently: the ease with which we see the faults in others' arguments and beliefs, and the trouble we have in seeing those in our own. Which brings me back to my recent contretemps with Carly, on the subject of contemporary art...
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 6/26/2007
Silence is our deepest nature, our home,Our common ground, our peace.Silence reveals. Silence heals.
~~ Gunilla Norris
Monday, June 25, 2007
Travel Shrine from India
My oldest brother (and sibling) went on a business trip recently to India and brought us back this lovely, beautiful, little Buddhist shrine. The neat thing about this little shrine is that we can take it with us when we travel. Anyway, this gift is very meaningful to me as we follow a different religion from the rest of my family and this shrine represents respect, tolerance and acceptance of our faith. I was very touched emotionally and am honored and grateful for such a loving gesture. Thank-you dear brother.
~Peace to all beings~
~Peace to all beings~
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 6/25/2007
All healing is release from the past.
~~ A Course in Miracles
A Holocaust Weekend
Three searing reminders of the Nazi holocaust this weekend. First, Friday night, we watched the movie "Blind Spot: Hitler's Secretary" (take a look at the "preview") which had arrived in our mailbox from Neflix. I can't remember how we were alerted to it, but it must have been on our list because someone had recommended it.. So, thanks to whoever did, because it's an amazing documentary. The camera dwells exclusively on the one person, Traudi Junge, who sits in the same position throughout a series of interviews, recalling her days as secretary to one of the great monsters of history.
Frau Junge's is an absolutely compelling story, from the time she had barely heard of Hitler as a young girl to her move to Berlin with the hope of becoming a dancer; to the secretarial skills tests she was urged to take and her first interview with the man she described as as a kindly older gentleman, and particularly as "fatherly"--she herself had grown up without one; to her recollections of typing to his dictation, mostly personal things, she said, and speeches, never anything that carried a remote suggestion of the evil that she later came to understand he represented... She recalled only one instance of his hatred of the Jews, expressed by no more than a curt response to a woman visitor who dared to mention hearing of the poor treatment of Dutch Jews being herded onto trains: the great dictator told her not to speak of things she did not understand and stalked out of the room. Frau Junge could remember nothing more.
Most compelling were her memories of the Stauffenberg attempt on Hitler's life and the last days in that bunker in Berlin, with Hitler's increasing alienation from reality, his marriage to Eva Braun, the six Goebbels children and their distraught mother, the constant din of bombing and artillery, the suicides... And the feelings of guilt she had lived with for the rest of her life--she was 91 at the time of the interviews, and remarkably robust and clear of memory, and died at the time of the film's release--for not having been aware, for having allowed herself to sleepwalk through the horror of the war and the holocaust, for having been an enabling cog in the machinery. Only at the very end, shortly before her death, could she tell her interviewer that she had begun to forgive herself. These days, we tend to scoff at those who claimed not to know what was happening in Nazi Germany: Traudi Junge's story, from the very center of it all, is a tragic example of the "blind spot"--or, more literally translated from the German title, the "dead corner"--that succeeded in numbing the consciousness of the great majority of her countrymen at the time.
We are, as members of the human species, responsible for our own consciousness. We need to remind ourselves to stay awake, because it is all too easy to close our minds to that which we choose not to see. It's a lack of consciousness, as I see it, that has led us to the current woeful predicament of our own country and its reputation in the world.
The two other Holocaust reminders of the three I mentioned were the review, in the New York Times Sunday Book Review section of The Years of Extermination, a new historical study of the holocaust by Saul Friedlaender, described by the reviewer as a "masterpiece"; and the repeat of a CBS "60 Minutes" report on the release of a vast archive of documentation: three survivors were invited to review the paperwork relevant to their capture, transportation and confinement in KZs (Konzentrationslager, or concentration camps.) Now old men, their recollections were almost too painful to bear.
I hate to bring this to you on a Monday morning, but there you go. It's absolutely vital that we not pass up a single chance to maintain this inhumanity in our consciousness. We must, as they say, "never forget." And yet, to our shame, we do. We keep forgetting. And forgetting, are condemned to keep repeating the past...
Frau Junge's is an absolutely compelling story, from the time she had barely heard of Hitler as a young girl to her move to Berlin with the hope of becoming a dancer; to the secretarial skills tests she was urged to take and her first interview with the man she described as as a kindly older gentleman, and particularly as "fatherly"--she herself had grown up without one; to her recollections of typing to his dictation, mostly personal things, she said, and speeches, never anything that carried a remote suggestion of the evil that she later came to understand he represented... She recalled only one instance of his hatred of the Jews, expressed by no more than a curt response to a woman visitor who dared to mention hearing of the poor treatment of Dutch Jews being herded onto trains: the great dictator told her not to speak of things she did not understand and stalked out of the room. Frau Junge could remember nothing more.
Most compelling were her memories of the Stauffenberg attempt on Hitler's life and the last days in that bunker in Berlin, with Hitler's increasing alienation from reality, his marriage to Eva Braun, the six Goebbels children and their distraught mother, the constant din of bombing and artillery, the suicides... And the feelings of guilt she had lived with for the rest of her life--she was 91 at the time of the interviews, and remarkably robust and clear of memory, and died at the time of the film's release--for not having been aware, for having allowed herself to sleepwalk through the horror of the war and the holocaust, for having been an enabling cog in the machinery. Only at the very end, shortly before her death, could she tell her interviewer that she had begun to forgive herself. These days, we tend to scoff at those who claimed not to know what was happening in Nazi Germany: Traudi Junge's story, from the very center of it all, is a tragic example of the "blind spot"--or, more literally translated from the German title, the "dead corner"--that succeeded in numbing the consciousness of the great majority of her countrymen at the time.
We are, as members of the human species, responsible for our own consciousness. We need to remind ourselves to stay awake, because it is all too easy to close our minds to that which we choose not to see. It's a lack of consciousness, as I see it, that has led us to the current woeful predicament of our own country and its reputation in the world.
The two other Holocaust reminders of the three I mentioned were the review, in the New York Times Sunday Book Review section of The Years of Extermination, a new historical study of the holocaust by Saul Friedlaender, described by the reviewer as a "masterpiece"; and the repeat of a CBS "60 Minutes" report on the release of a vast archive of documentation: three survivors were invited to review the paperwork relevant to their capture, transportation and confinement in KZs (Konzentrationslager, or concentration camps.) Now old men, their recollections were almost too painful to bear.
I hate to bring this to you on a Monday morning, but there you go. It's absolutely vital that we not pass up a single chance to maintain this inhumanity in our consciousness. We must, as they say, "never forget." And yet, to our shame, we do. We keep forgetting. And forgetting, are condemned to keep repeating the past...
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Artwalk (Second Lap)
(Scribbled down in ballpoint in the columns of the Op-Ed page of Saturday's NY Times in the parking lot at Trader Joe's Crystal Cove store.) Okay, Carly, consider me baited! (See "Comments", Thursday.) There's something to be said, for sure, for having a strongly-held point of view when it comes to art--or perhaps to anything else, for that matter. It provides a place to stand and, for an artist I'm sure, as for a writer, a framework within which to work. There's something to be said for standards--criteria by which to judge what's good, what's not so good, what's bad. They provide some clarity in an often confusing arena. But they don't always work, especially when they prove unusefully restrictive.
I take issue, then, with your too easy dismissal--my judgment--of the work of artists who don't fit in with your prior determination as to what qualifies as art and what does not. I personally respond to art that challenges me to think, to re-appraise, to widen my understanding of art--and eventually, most importantly, of myself. My point about Chris Burden was that it spoke to both the mind and the heart about the differences between youth and age. I found both humor and pathos in rhe insallation, as well as food for a good deal of reflection on wider social and cultural issues. Beyond the fact that it was not hand-made by the artist and not partiucarly beautiful in the conventional sense, the piece did have a certain "presence" in the gallery, as well as something interesting to say about the human body and the human spirit.
I did not see the Charles Ray piece as a vain attempt to copy--still less to equal--nature, but rather as an homage to natural beauty and a confession of the futility of trying to match nature in art. Why else would the process of the craftsmanship be made so evident as to draw attention to itself? No, it was clear that the piece acknowledged itself as an art object, not a natural one, and as such it's still no less an awesome presence, compelling in its size as well as in the detail of its surfaces. Unlike yourself, Carly, I believe that the Zen mind would be as much attracted to this beautifully-crafted artifact as to those near-immaculate temples and gardens we associate with the Zen culture--down to the smallest utilitarian object. I see it as an act of love and veneration and not, as you seem to do, as a cynical exploitation of the art market. So here we differ.
As for abstraction--and your dismissal, sight unseen, of the work of Helen Lundeberg--well, there are authorities I find more persuasive than the ever-pompous Salvador Dali, himself an artist who betrayed the insights and achievements of his early years and devoted much of his life to the pathetic celebration of the sacred cow of his supposed "genius"! To dismiss all abstraction as "about nothing" is to say exactly nothing. In this, Dali descends to the absurdity of the "my child could do it" school of criticism.
As I say, Carly, consider me baited by your comment! Art, for me, is in part about opening up the mind to possibilities undreamed-of, about revealing aspects of humanity about which I need to be reminded, about creating grounds for reflection on the human condition. Figuration is one way of achieving that, to be sure. It's not the only way. A Zen garden can do it for me too.
I take issue, then, with your too easy dismissal--my judgment--of the work of artists who don't fit in with your prior determination as to what qualifies as art and what does not. I personally respond to art that challenges me to think, to re-appraise, to widen my understanding of art--and eventually, most importantly, of myself. My point about Chris Burden was that it spoke to both the mind and the heart about the differences between youth and age. I found both humor and pathos in rhe insallation, as well as food for a good deal of reflection on wider social and cultural issues. Beyond the fact that it was not hand-made by the artist and not partiucarly beautiful in the conventional sense, the piece did have a certain "presence" in the gallery, as well as something interesting to say about the human body and the human spirit.
I did not see the Charles Ray piece as a vain attempt to copy--still less to equal--nature, but rather as an homage to natural beauty and a confession of the futility of trying to match nature in art. Why else would the process of the craftsmanship be made so evident as to draw attention to itself? No, it was clear that the piece acknowledged itself as an art object, not a natural one, and as such it's still no less an awesome presence, compelling in its size as well as in the detail of its surfaces. Unlike yourself, Carly, I believe that the Zen mind would be as much attracted to this beautifully-crafted artifact as to those near-immaculate temples and gardens we associate with the Zen culture--down to the smallest utilitarian object. I see it as an act of love and veneration and not, as you seem to do, as a cynical exploitation of the art market. So here we differ.
As for abstraction--and your dismissal, sight unseen, of the work of Helen Lundeberg--well, there are authorities I find more persuasive than the ever-pompous Salvador Dali, himself an artist who betrayed the insights and achievements of his early years and devoted much of his life to the pathetic celebration of the sacred cow of his supposed "genius"! To dismiss all abstraction as "about nothing" is to say exactly nothing. In this, Dali descends to the absurdity of the "my child could do it" school of criticism.
As I say, Carly, consider me baited by your comment! Art, for me, is in part about opening up the mind to possibilities undreamed-of, about revealing aspects of humanity about which I need to be reminded, about creating grounds for reflection on the human condition. Figuration is one way of achieving that, to be sure. It's not the only way. A Zen garden can do it for me too.
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 6/24/2007
All healing involves replacing fear with love.
~~ A Course in Miracles
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Dinner With Friends
Readers will remember our friend Dr. Steve from several entries in The Buddha Diaries as a great healer. Now we know that he's also a great cook! I don't think he'll mind if I mention that we went over there to dinner last night and had a great evening of food, wine, and conversation with Steve and his partner, Tim--that passionate collector of sometimes difficult, always engaged political art whom I interviewed a while ago for my "Art of Outrage" series on Artscene Visual Radio. They live in an elegant home, architecturally designed by Tim himself in uncompromisingly hard edge style. It's always a pleasure to be in a home where art is taken seriously, and where it makes its presence known. And always a pleasure to engage in real conversation--impossible, generally, at large dinner parties or in noisy restaurants. Steve's home-made pasta was delicious--so much lighter, somehow, than the store-bought variety. Enhanced by an excellently-crafted sauce and followed by an incredible chocolate cake, it made for a first rate dining experience. In our busy lives, it's easy to forget the importance of this kind of human intimacy and exchange.
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 6/23/2007
Forgiveness is the exercise of compassionAnd is both a process and an attitude. In theProcess of forgiveness, we convert the sufferingCreated by our own mistakes or as a result of being hurt by others into psychologicalAnd spiritual growth. Though the attitude ofForgiveness we attain happiness and serenityBy letting go of the ego's incessant need toJudge ourselves and others.
~~ Joan Borysenko
Friday, June 22, 2007
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 6/22/2007
Love is all we have, the only wayThat each can help the other.
~~ Euripides, Orestes
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Artwalk
Ellie and I made one of our periodic forays into the gallery scene on Wednesday, and came upon some current shows that seemed to warrant a few words of commentary.
First stop, the expansive (and expensive!) Gagosian Gallery in Beverly Hills, where we found an installation by Chris Burden, whose work will be familiar to anyone even vaguely familiar with the Southern California art world: who could forget his crucifixion on the rear end of a Volkswagen, his shots fired at a jetliner landing (or taking off?) at LAX, his crawling naked through a bed of broken glass? It gives pause, these days, to observe his recently-abandoned tenure as Chair of the prestigious Art Department at UCLA, and to find him enshrined in this established mecca of the currently superheated art market.
Still, there he is, with “Yin Yang,” an installation that consists of two machines from the artist’s personal collection of strange and exotic exemplars of vehicular transportation—a sleek, low-slung1973 Lotus Europa racer and a klutzy, rusting old bulldozer, an International T6 Crawler.
(The above is obviously a promotional rather than an installation shot, shamelessly purloined from the gallery's website.) Yin Yang indeed. The one is the symbol of speed, precision design and engineering, superlative performance, streamlining; the other, a slug of the mechanical world, is slow, plodding, heavy on its tracks. (Both, incidentally, seem to be rudely leaking oil on the polished gallery floor.) On the walls alongside of each, Burden has tacked up a series of large scale, roughly made photographs depicting the vehicles and their (be it said, kindly though, from one who shares that seemingly inevitable spread, now rather more stocky) artist-owner with various expressions of bemusement on his face—and one with the contrasting figure of a man young enough to be his son.
I see both these vehicle as Burden: the once sleek, once fast-paced, once young body; and the older, more plodding, stockier version, slightly the worse for wear, and slower in performance. I see this piece to be in good part about the physical human body and the aging process, and I share viscerally in the pathos of it. It's the yin and yang of life itself.
And I must say I liked the simplicity of this statement. There will be those who ask whether this simple juxtaposition is enough to justify its exhibition in one of our major galleries, but I had fun with the show. Aside from the deeper and more disturbing implications, Burden’s boyish fascination with all things transportational will appeal to anyone who has ever loved a train set; and the film in the adjacent gallery, “Metropolis,” suggests that there are wider cultural issues at issue. The film documents another, earlier installation, this one a complex, miniaturized citiscape with dozens of toy cars speeding along roller-coaster highways and multi-car trams darting endlessly along their tracks. It’s a bewildering—and hypnotic—evocation of the edgy hum of mechanical urban thoroughfare, reminding us of the impossibly fast-paced, barely organized structures of our city lives, at once a critique and a celebration of the power of the machine.
It's also, in its network of nerves and pulsing circulation, another powerful metaphor for the human body.
On to Regen Projects, and the current work of a contemporary of Burden’s, Charles Ray. Ray is another artist who established his reputation with edgy, sometimes disorienting or discomforting work involving, often, like Burden, his own body—and another who joined, in a sense, the ranks of the academy as a faculty member at UCLA. He offers an exhibition every bit as simple, on the surface, as Burden’s pair of vehicles: “Hinoki,” Ray’s single—singular—object in the gallery space is a massive rotting tree trunk.
Well, not quite. It’s the recreation of a massive, rotting tree trunk, one spotted by Ray along Highway 1 on California’s Central Coast.
(Photo: courtesy Regen Projects, Los Angeles, photographer Joshua White)
Wishing to celebrate and breathe life back into this noble carcass which spoke so eloquently about time, entropy, and the forces of nature, the artist had casts made of its various parts and shipped them off to Japan for recreation in “hinoki” wood—Japanese cypress—by Yuboku Mukoyoshi, a master carver who specializes in Buddhist temples and sculptures. The work took the master and a team of assistants more than five years to complete, and the resulting object is a marvel of craftsmanship.
The eye is drawn first, of course, to the huge overall shape of the thing, and to its evocation of the original object of Ray’s interest. But it’s the paradoxical details that draw the eye next: the dovetail joints left visible, the marks of the chain-saw that carved up the tree and the chisels of the carvers—all those things that contradict the initial impression and set the mind off in an irresolvable spin between reality and illusion, object and artifact, nature and art. The viewer is seduced by the compulsion to keep looking further and for greater detail, exploring the pits and flaws of both surfaces and interiors, caverns and canyons--and by the nearly irresistible urge to touch, to feel the shapes and the texture of the wood, to somehow surrender to its massive, in some way humbling power. While very different in appearance from Burden’s vehicles, this awesome “sculpture”—I’m tempted to use the word in quotation marks, even though that is precisely what it is—shares the mature artist’s fascination with the aging “body” and the marks that time leaves on both its surfaces and its inner core.
Okay, two exhibitions well worth a visit. And, once in the neighborhood of Regen Projects, don’t miss the elegant paintings of Helen Lundeberg at Louis Stern.
This early 20th century California artist, wife of Lorser Feitelson and at least his equal as a painter, created wonderfully simple, mysterious, austere architectures in her work which tease the brain into finding the exits and entrances of her deceptively flat spaces. For the meditative mind, a special treat, as are the spectacular, late-career abstract expressionist paintings of Norman Bluhm around the corner at Manny Silverman Gallery. It’s amazing to see how the culture of street art and graffiti found its way into the exuberantly colorful vision of a painter who earned his chops many years before those whipper-snappers came along.
Also of note, on Beverly Boulevard at Crescent Heights: at Michael Kohn Gallery, a wonderfully-paired exhibition of the work of Carl Andre and John McLaughlin. The exchange of rhymes and the rhythmic echoes in the subdued palette and geometric shapes of these two artists creates a quietly lyrical ensemble, and the artists they serve usefully to inform and enrich each other. And, at df2 gallery, an interesting and challenging exhibit by three contemporary Chinese artists who "address notions of isolation and communication through the artist's placement of their own bodies in physically extreme conditions." I'm still thinking about this one, and may get back to it. Curiously, it's where Chris Burden and Charles Ray both started out...
First stop, the expansive (and expensive!) Gagosian Gallery in Beverly Hills, where we found an installation by Chris Burden, whose work will be familiar to anyone even vaguely familiar with the Southern California art world: who could forget his crucifixion on the rear end of a Volkswagen, his shots fired at a jetliner landing (or taking off?) at LAX, his crawling naked through a bed of broken glass? It gives pause, these days, to observe his recently-abandoned tenure as Chair of the prestigious Art Department at UCLA, and to find him enshrined in this established mecca of the currently superheated art market.
Still, there he is, with “Yin Yang,” an installation that consists of two machines from the artist’s personal collection of strange and exotic exemplars of vehicular transportation—a sleek, low-slung1973 Lotus Europa racer and a klutzy, rusting old bulldozer, an International T6 Crawler.
(The above is obviously a promotional rather than an installation shot, shamelessly purloined from the gallery's website.) Yin Yang indeed. The one is the symbol of speed, precision design and engineering, superlative performance, streamlining; the other, a slug of the mechanical world, is slow, plodding, heavy on its tracks. (Both, incidentally, seem to be rudely leaking oil on the polished gallery floor.) On the walls alongside of each, Burden has tacked up a series of large scale, roughly made photographs depicting the vehicles and their (be it said, kindly though, from one who shares that seemingly inevitable spread, now rather more stocky) artist-owner with various expressions of bemusement on his face—and one with the contrasting figure of a man young enough to be his son.
I see both these vehicle as Burden: the once sleek, once fast-paced, once young body; and the older, more plodding, stockier version, slightly the worse for wear, and slower in performance. I see this piece to be in good part about the physical human body and the aging process, and I share viscerally in the pathos of it. It's the yin and yang of life itself.
And I must say I liked the simplicity of this statement. There will be those who ask whether this simple juxtaposition is enough to justify its exhibition in one of our major galleries, but I had fun with the show. Aside from the deeper and more disturbing implications, Burden’s boyish fascination with all things transportational will appeal to anyone who has ever loved a train set; and the film in the adjacent gallery, “Metropolis,” suggests that there are wider cultural issues at issue. The film documents another, earlier installation, this one a complex, miniaturized citiscape with dozens of toy cars speeding along roller-coaster highways and multi-car trams darting endlessly along their tracks. It’s a bewildering—and hypnotic—evocation of the edgy hum of mechanical urban thoroughfare, reminding us of the impossibly fast-paced, barely organized structures of our city lives, at once a critique and a celebration of the power of the machine.
It's also, in its network of nerves and pulsing circulation, another powerful metaphor for the human body.
On to Regen Projects, and the current work of a contemporary of Burden’s, Charles Ray. Ray is another artist who established his reputation with edgy, sometimes disorienting or discomforting work involving, often, like Burden, his own body—and another who joined, in a sense, the ranks of the academy as a faculty member at UCLA. He offers an exhibition every bit as simple, on the surface, as Burden’s pair of vehicles: “Hinoki,” Ray’s single—singular—object in the gallery space is a massive rotting tree trunk.
Well, not quite. It’s the recreation of a massive, rotting tree trunk, one spotted by Ray along Highway 1 on California’s Central Coast.
(Photo: courtesy Regen Projects, Los Angeles, photographer Joshua White)
Wishing to celebrate and breathe life back into this noble carcass which spoke so eloquently about time, entropy, and the forces of nature, the artist had casts made of its various parts and shipped them off to Japan for recreation in “hinoki” wood—Japanese cypress—by Yuboku Mukoyoshi, a master carver who specializes in Buddhist temples and sculptures. The work took the master and a team of assistants more than five years to complete, and the resulting object is a marvel of craftsmanship.
The eye is drawn first, of course, to the huge overall shape of the thing, and to its evocation of the original object of Ray’s interest. But it’s the paradoxical details that draw the eye next: the dovetail joints left visible, the marks of the chain-saw that carved up the tree and the chisels of the carvers—all those things that contradict the initial impression and set the mind off in an irresolvable spin between reality and illusion, object and artifact, nature and art. The viewer is seduced by the compulsion to keep looking further and for greater detail, exploring the pits and flaws of both surfaces and interiors, caverns and canyons--and by the nearly irresistible urge to touch, to feel the shapes and the texture of the wood, to somehow surrender to its massive, in some way humbling power. While very different in appearance from Burden’s vehicles, this awesome “sculpture”—I’m tempted to use the word in quotation marks, even though that is precisely what it is—shares the mature artist’s fascination with the aging “body” and the marks that time leaves on both its surfaces and its inner core.
Okay, two exhibitions well worth a visit. And, once in the neighborhood of Regen Projects, don’t miss the elegant paintings of Helen Lundeberg at Louis Stern.
This early 20th century California artist, wife of Lorser Feitelson and at least his equal as a painter, created wonderfully simple, mysterious, austere architectures in her work which tease the brain into finding the exits and entrances of her deceptively flat spaces. For the meditative mind, a special treat, as are the spectacular, late-career abstract expressionist paintings of Norman Bluhm around the corner at Manny Silverman Gallery. It’s amazing to see how the culture of street art and graffiti found its way into the exuberantly colorful vision of a painter who earned his chops many years before those whipper-snappers came along.
Also of note, on Beverly Boulevard at Crescent Heights: at Michael Kohn Gallery, a wonderfully-paired exhibition of the work of Carl Andre and John McLaughlin. The exchange of rhymes and the rhythmic echoes in the subdued palette and geometric shapes of these two artists creates a quietly lyrical ensemble, and the artists they serve usefully to inform and enrich each other. And, at df2 gallery, an interesting and challenging exhibit by three contemporary Chinese artists who "address notions of isolation and communication through the artist's placement of their own bodies in physically extreme conditions." I'm still thinking about this one, and may get back to it. Curiously, it's where Chris Burden and Charles Ray both started out...
Conversations: Quotes to Chew On
Here are choice bits from some great blogs.
Letting me be...
Dharma Bums
Letting me be...
I wonder what it's like to be real, without people looking. I know for a moment or two every once in a while.Chattering Mind
Pop culture is teaching material. Better to just use it than avoid it altogether.(Following this quote - in the comments section - is a great discussion about the benefits and pitfalls of influencing your child's interpretation of pop culture.)
Dharma Bums
A thin reed of non-native sawgrass, absurdly planted by our predecessors, whipped across my face and left a nice sharp bloody line from my nose to the tip of my chin...Compared to everything else, being whipped by sawgrass is nothing.
Engagement
I think we're at risk of dancing on heads of pins here. What I see, in reading recent comments from all directions, is a common concern that our spiritual values not be dissociated from our our moral and practical responsibility for our fellow beings in this world. We can fuss over the terminology and its meanings, but I would argue that there's nothing, in Buddhist thought, that precludes social action. Intervention can take different forms, however. I suppose it might be argued, for example, that the Dalai Lama's pacifist, non-violent positiion vis-a-vis the Chinese presence in his country is passive and permissive; but there he is, rushing around the world, bringing his country's plight to the attention of admittedly mostly disinterested world leaders.
Is this "engagement" or "non-engagement"? Semantics, as usual, do more to muddy the waters than to clarify them. Are we not better off looking at practical outcomes rather than theoretical foundations? Or am I misunderstanding here?
Maybe I'm just being muddle-headed and not listening closely enough. Chalk it up to an unusually busy week: another reading from "The Real Bush Diaries" last night, this time for the good people at the Alhambra Democratic Club. Along with the blog, I'm finding this to be a useful and important way of making the kind of connection we're talking about. It's a matter of helping to raise and maintain consciousness in the world--and to keep the juices flowing in anticipation of next year's election. I'm also scheduled to record a public television interview later this morning, so my time is limited.
Meantime, best thanks for the great conversation. That, in itself, is engagement of the best kind--butting up against each other with the most potent of all weapons: ideas.
Is this "engagement" or "non-engagement"? Semantics, as usual, do more to muddy the waters than to clarify them. Are we not better off looking at practical outcomes rather than theoretical foundations? Or am I misunderstanding here?
Maybe I'm just being muddle-headed and not listening closely enough. Chalk it up to an unusually busy week: another reading from "The Real Bush Diaries" last night, this time for the good people at the Alhambra Democratic Club. Along with the blog, I'm finding this to be a useful and important way of making the kind of connection we're talking about. It's a matter of helping to raise and maintain consciousness in the world--and to keep the juices flowing in anticipation of next year's election. I'm also scheduled to record a public television interview later this morning, so my time is limited.
Meantime, best thanks for the great conversation. That, in itself, is engagement of the best kind--butting up against each other with the most potent of all weapons: ideas.
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 6/21/2007
Our first duty is not to hate ourselves.~~ Swami Vivekananda
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Comments...
There I was, yesterday, wondering why the silence--and this morning find a welter of welcome comment, all thoughtful, smart, and focused. Thanks to everyone who joined in. Welcome, Lindsey. I'm not sure I fully understand the distinction you make between tolerance and acceptance--though perhaps acceptance goes a bit further in the positive direction. And I think I see some common ground in this with Carly's rejection of "disengagement" as not viable in today's world, and his proposal instead of "non-action" engagement. In Buddhist terminology, I think the concept of equanimity is a good analogy to what he's talking about. As I understand it, this is a kind of compassionate non-attachment. Cardozo's "isolation"--whether personal or geopolitical--sounds to me impractical, as Carly suggests. The dinner conversation that started this discussion--concerning the differences between twin sisters at opposite ends of the political and social spectrum--reminds me that it is possible to maintain a close and loving relationship even with those with whom one profoundly disagrees. My wish is to learn to better see things from the other person's point of view: too often I find that I'm simply blinded to their angle of vision by my own.
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 6/20/2007
"We constantly judge ourselves. Our minds Decide what our experience should or shouldNot be - relentlessly labeling things good orBad - and demand that our lives conform toOur labels. Then, when pain comes into ourLives - and it does to every life - we not onlySuffer it, but we suffer our suffering as well.We add the mind's harsh judgement of painTo our actual experience of it. By practicingSilence, we may discover the ways in whichWe intensify our pain by judging it. Then weHave a chance to become lass harsh, moreForgiving."~~Gunilla Norris
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Conversations...Lives and Lessons in L.A.
Some recent high-quality posts from fellow Los Angeles-area bloggers:
Janitors March in Century City
Metroblogger Helen Jupiter offers this nice bit of journalism about the recent SEIU strike against Pegasus Building Services. Si se puede!
Two Weddings, Two Divorces
By Jane - whose candid blog currently traces her progress towards divorce - posts some bittersweet memories of her two weddings.
Good for the Ride, but Few Places to Park
Eric Richardson at Blogdowntown discusses the inevitable challenges (and occasional delights) of the pursuit of alternative transportation in L.A.
Janitors March in Century City
Metroblogger Helen Jupiter offers this nice bit of journalism about the recent SEIU strike against Pegasus Building Services. Si se puede!
Two Weddings, Two Divorces
By Jane - whose candid blog currently traces her progress towards divorce - posts some bittersweet memories of her two weddings.
Good for the Ride, but Few Places to Park
Eric Richardson at Blogdowntown discusses the inevitable challenges (and occasional delights) of the pursuit of alternative transportation in L.A.
Addressing the Question of Why Predominately "Buddhist Countries" Seem to be So Violent and Waring
I received an excellent question on one of my older posts regarding Buddhism and violence from Bangkokker. He wanted to know how Buddhists can explain the violence that one often sees in predominate "Buddhist countries." The following was my humble attempt to answer. Feel free to add your opinions in the comment section. One words of caution--this is a long post:I think that most Buddhists (especially the monks--although Thai monks are getting rather militant as of late) in Buddhist dominated countries do not want war. However their governments often do not lead their country by Buddhist principles.
Part of the violence in Buddhist countries stems from abject poverty and extreme corruption in their governments who take advantage of the poor and under educated populace.
Additional reasons for such militancy in many of these "Buddhist" countries is due to a lack of eduction and necessary health care. A lot of the failures in regards to these important issues stems from that corruption.
Education is a major brick in the the foundation of peace. If people are not educated in the importance of peace and why it's important--as well as what Democracy is really about then they will often make terrible decisions in both their personal lives but as well as in their jobs and government positions.
As well as knowing that the Buddhist monasteries are not going to engage them in the political arena for the most part. Government officials take advantage of their peaceful nature.
This is the importance of embracing engaged Buddhism taught especially by Vietnamese Zen monk Thich Nhat Hanh. Engaged Buddhism encourages involvement in the political process while still maintaining a path of peace. Engaged Buddhism, however, does not mean following it to engaging in violence.
And yet all of these important areas of life: education, health, a vibrant economy, etc. aren't a guarantee of peace and harmony unless one works to let go of greed for power and control.
Buddhism also teaches that critical aspect of peace involves understanding and engaging in interconnection. If we truly understand that we are all dependent upon each other then we are a lot less likely to cause others harm.
Another important concept to understand in Buddhism to help maintain balance and peace in society is that of love for others. If we build on our understanding of interconnection then we feel more love and acceptance toward those we previously saw as our inferiors.
This is because if we love ourselves then naturally we will want to love others because they are apart of us and our happiness depends upon that of others.
Then there is the importance of understanding that all beings want happiness and no one wants to suffer. This helps cultivate patience which is a trait the helps prevent violence and disharmony.
So just because there might be much violence in Buddhist dominated countries does not mean necessarily that those Buddhists agree with it.
I would submit that most violent and oppressive governments in Buddhist countries such as Myanmar is because of militant dictators that have eschewed the peaceful, accepting teachings of Buddhism long ago.
You are correct in saying that many Buddhist countries are not living in peace but I do not think that one can blame Buddhism for that. Buddhism does not preach hate or violence and if a monastery does do that then they have strayed from the Dharma severely.
Perhaps the most important issue to keep in mind is that peace should be first and fore most about peace in ones own heart. As long as one practices the Dharma then one will find the peace that perhaps is denied them from their government. Nothing can stop the power of inner stength.
One only need look at the strength of the Jews in the Nazi concentration camps. The Nazi's hoped that they could break the Jews from their religion but instead it only strengthened their resolve to maintain their faith.
From what I've researchedI can not find a war that was ever waged in the name of Buddhism.
Of course, many Buddhist individuals have taken part in wars, and wars have been waged by countries that are nominally Buddhist. But these wars have been waged over territorial, economic or political disputes, not in the name of the religion itself, and the dictates of Buddhism have never been used to justify or rationalize a war.
Any Buddhist who wages war or engages in violence for violences sake is not following the Buddhist path--they have fallen astray.
Next I'd like to address the specific examples that you raised:
-The Vietnam War was not waged over Buddhism. It was waged by Communists who are not only non-Buddhists--they are non-religious altogether.
-The Cambodia genocide was not waged by sincere Buddhists, nor was it condoned by Buddhists.
-Burma's military junta was waged by a military that was certainly not following the peaceful Buddhist teachings. They took power because of greed, selfishness and disregard for human rights. None of which are taught or condoned by Buddhism.
-The Laos cleanings are most certainly not carried out by Buddhists--at least not Buddhists who actually follow the teachings of the Buddha. Anyone can call themselves "Buddhist" but to live as a Buddhist is to follow the teachings of the Buddha which means more then anything--non-violence.
-Bhutan's case is one of corrupted Buddhism. They are attached to a lust of power which is a form of attachment which Buddhism does NOT condone in the least. These actions are extreme examples of why duality is so poisonous.
Buddhism does not usually concern itself with where it ranks on the peace scale in relation to other religions--that is a form of attachment to the stroking's of the ego. The maintenance of peace amongst Buddhists is a personal experience--something that must be accomplished by each practioner alone.
One can not force fellow "Buddhists "to be "peaceful." In doing so one is engaging in a type of violence.
The Buddha emphasized personal experience in realizing peace and harmony because otherwise one is doing it for others and that is a peace that can never last.
Buddhism is not exempt from corruption and perversion of it's teachings and anyone who tells you otherwise is living in a thick cloud of delusion.
Living a certain way because you are "Buddhist" and that's what "Buddhists" do is wrong action and intention which will always lead to difficulty due to grasping and craving of the desire for "enlightenment" and "perfection."
It is called spiritual materialism.
~Peace to all beings~
Differences
It's amazing, isn't it, how one person's passionately held belief can seem so foolish and wrong-headed to another? We've seen evidence of this in The Buddha Diaries recently: I confess I find it virtually impossible to "understand"--or even accept--the thinking of those who profess a certain kind of Christianity; what I broadly refer to as the fundamentalist kind. These folk embrace positions that seem profoundly un-Christian to me, who was brought up in the Anglican version of the Christian faith. Take, for example, their rejection of evolutionary theory and their hatred of homosexuality.These thoughts are promoted, this morning, by a conversation at dinner last night with a friend--a good, right-thinking, and likely religiously skeptical liberal like myself--whose twin sister is a right-wing, evangelical, fundamentalist republican. They have, our friend reports, a very loving relationship, but they have learned to avoid certain topics in their conversations. Amazing! That twin sisters should hold such diametrically-opposed beliefs. Their shared wisdom, of course, lies in their mutual tolerance, their tacit agreement to disagree.
I have to tell you that I find it extremely hard to practice such tolerance. It's work for my struggling intellect. Not necessarily because my beliefs are passionately held or intolerant, but because I find it hard--along with most of us, I think--to maintain a healthy separation between belief and reason. But then, I know that there are those who question the validity of reason. Is it not possible that new scientific evidence, two hundred years hence, let's say, will modify our current understanding of Darwinian theory? Of course it is. There were those whose reason led them to believe, not so very long ago, that the earth was flat and that the sun revolved around us.
One of the reasons I'm so attracted to Buddhism is that it's founded in an essential pragmatism. It's not about belief so much as what works--and what doesn't work--in my life as I progress from day to day. It's not so much a suspension of disbelief (Coleridge's famous formulation) as a suspension of belief. When we look around the world today, it's impossible not to conclude that passionately-held beliefs cause a lot more problems than they solve. (I guess that's MY belief!) From the absurd stalemate in our own government to the disastrous crises in the Middle East, is it not all about one side not being able to imagine--let alone tolerate--the other's view? I recall that wonderful artwork that I saw in Munich--the neon blue lettering installed on the facade of a venerable old building: you can imagine the opposite. (Click on the image to enlarge.)
Would that we all could.
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 6/19/2007
"This is the advice that the holy being Venerable Atisha gave to Venerable Jangchub Ö."
Monday, June 18, 2007
A Visitation: Sunday Afternoon
Here I am, sitting quietly on my balcony on page 55 or so of “God Is Not Great” when this hummingbird appears a couple of feet from me, sinking its tiny, needle-long beak into the business end of a plant that happens to be set on the table next to me. I turn my head, very slowly, to avoid disturbing this marvelous creature, and watch… It continues on about its business, refilling the nectar tank, and then, as if aware of my observation, swivels around to take a look at me. I hold my breath. Curious, it leaves the plant and comes to inspect me in a closer view. It’s now hovering with its familiar hum no more than six inches from my face, and staring at me intently. I return the gaze. After a moment, my visitor gets bored and heads back to the more satisfying task of feeding. But then it repeats the maneuver, closing in on me again, almost strafing my cheek; and then again.
I’m astounded by the fearlessness of this tiny creature, and humbled in a certain way by its interest in inspecting me. I suspect that the bird’s eyes are better by far than mine, and wonder what this extreme close-up of my face can look like, with its outcrop of bristly hairs, its many wrinkles, and a thousand barely visible pores. I wonder what the bird makes of this carefully motionless, gigantic fellow being, so intent on staring back at it—and so awed by its minute and miraculous presence and by its ability to literally stand still in mid-air, with only the whirring of those infinitely fragile wings to support it. Anyway, I’m deeply touched by the encounter, and somehow honored to have been chosen in this way. Thanks, hummer, for the reminder of the fragility that we share.
Another odd bit of business, quite different, though, and raising certain interesting ethical issues. Here goes: in our small cottage down here, near the beach, we have a neighbor with a ficus tree next door. Our large picture window offers us a daily view of the huge tree—and a nightly one, since we light it from below. It’s a living sculpture right outside our sitting room, and we treasure its presence there.
But it brings with it one enormous problem: its roots. They reach down under the foundation of our house—where they have as yet done no damage, at least none that we can see. But they have mercilessly penetrated the cast-iron pipes of our aging drainage system. Three or four years ago, we were forced to spend a huge sum--$12,000, for the curious—to replace the section of drain that leads from the corner of the house to the main drain at the center of the street. Recently, with raw sewage backing up into our bath and shower whenever the toilet flushed, we learned from the plumber that a whole new section of pipe, running down the side of the house to where it was repaired before, would need to be replaced—at the cost of another $10,000!
We gulped, we got an alternative bid, much lower, little more than half the cost, for a process that would line the broken pipe rather than replace it—and come accompanied by a guarantee of fifty years, rather longer than we expect to be around to enjoy the fruits of our expense. Thinking, well, it’s HIS tree, after all, we approached our neighbor with a super friendly and carefully unthreatening request, this time, to share the cost. He dillied and dallied, the drains backed up, we were forced to move—and accepted the lower bid. The work was done, the bill was paid. And the neighbor sent a letter back denying responsibility for the roots of his tree and claiming, anyway, that it could have been done at far less expense.
The instinct, of course, is to fight back. Get angry. Send another letter explaining in still greater detail the predicament and presenting still more evidence of the culpability of the ficus tree. Does our neighbor not bear some responsibility for the destruction to our property? In fact, from the legal point of view, he does: I had earlier sought legal advice, and we would have ample grounds for action. Obviously, though, it’s just not worth it: the satisfaction of getting even--perhaps even recovering some part of our cost--pales beside the prospect of protracted neighborly warfare. The line from the “Sublime Attitudes” rings true to me: May I be free from animosity. In the Buddhist view, I believe, any action on my part would end up harming me more than it would harm him.
Or am I just a patsy? It's small matters like these that test the convictions. What do you think? If you were me, would you pursue things with your neighbor? If you were him, would your instinct have been to help me out--assuming you could reasonably afford it? Or would you have told me to get lost? I like to think I'd have been on the helpful side... His tree, my property. It's a conundrum.
I’m astounded by the fearlessness of this tiny creature, and humbled in a certain way by its interest in inspecting me. I suspect that the bird’s eyes are better by far than mine, and wonder what this extreme close-up of my face can look like, with its outcrop of bristly hairs, its many wrinkles, and a thousand barely visible pores. I wonder what the bird makes of this carefully motionless, gigantic fellow being, so intent on staring back at it—and so awed by its minute and miraculous presence and by its ability to literally stand still in mid-air, with only the whirring of those infinitely fragile wings to support it. Anyway, I’m deeply touched by the encounter, and somehow honored to have been chosen in this way. Thanks, hummer, for the reminder of the fragility that we share.
Another odd bit of business, quite different, though, and raising certain interesting ethical issues. Here goes: in our small cottage down here, near the beach, we have a neighbor with a ficus tree next door. Our large picture window offers us a daily view of the huge tree—and a nightly one, since we light it from below. It’s a living sculpture right outside our sitting room, and we treasure its presence there.
But it brings with it one enormous problem: its roots. They reach down under the foundation of our house—where they have as yet done no damage, at least none that we can see. But they have mercilessly penetrated the cast-iron pipes of our aging drainage system. Three or four years ago, we were forced to spend a huge sum--$12,000, for the curious—to replace the section of drain that leads from the corner of the house to the main drain at the center of the street. Recently, with raw sewage backing up into our bath and shower whenever the toilet flushed, we learned from the plumber that a whole new section of pipe, running down the side of the house to where it was repaired before, would need to be replaced—at the cost of another $10,000!
We gulped, we got an alternative bid, much lower, little more than half the cost, for a process that would line the broken pipe rather than replace it—and come accompanied by a guarantee of fifty years, rather longer than we expect to be around to enjoy the fruits of our expense. Thinking, well, it’s HIS tree, after all, we approached our neighbor with a super friendly and carefully unthreatening request, this time, to share the cost. He dillied and dallied, the drains backed up, we were forced to move—and accepted the lower bid. The work was done, the bill was paid. And the neighbor sent a letter back denying responsibility for the roots of his tree and claiming, anyway, that it could have been done at far less expense.
The instinct, of course, is to fight back. Get angry. Send another letter explaining in still greater detail the predicament and presenting still more evidence of the culpability of the ficus tree. Does our neighbor not bear some responsibility for the destruction to our property? In fact, from the legal point of view, he does: I had earlier sought legal advice, and we would have ample grounds for action. Obviously, though, it’s just not worth it: the satisfaction of getting even--perhaps even recovering some part of our cost--pales beside the prospect of protracted neighborly warfare. The line from the “Sublime Attitudes” rings true to me: May I be free from animosity. In the Buddhist view, I believe, any action on my part would end up harming me more than it would harm him.
Or am I just a patsy? It's small matters like these that test the convictions. What do you think? If you were me, would you pursue things with your neighbor? If you were him, would your instinct have been to help me out--assuming you could reasonably afford it? Or would you have told me to get lost? I like to think I'd have been on the helpful side... His tree, my property. It's a conundrum.
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 6/18/2007
"I who am ignorant request you to take this advice to heart."
Sunday, June 17, 2007
An Inspirational Father's Day Story
James: This is an inspiring, beautiful, tearful, joyous story of a father and son bonding and accepting each other for who they are and celebrating that relationship:My name is Richard E. Hoyt Jr., and I have cerebral palsy. I cannot speak or walk. To write this story, I'm using a computer with special software. When I move my head slightly, the cursor moves across an alphabet. When it gets to the letter I want, I press a switch at the side of my head.
I am half of Team Hoyt. We are a father-and-son team, and we compete in marathons and triathlons around the world. Our goal is to educate people about how the disabled can lead normal lives. We started racing in 1979. My high school was having a road race to raise money for a lacrosse player who was paralyzed in an accident. I wanted to show this athlete that life can go on, so I asked my dad if he would push me. My wheelchair was not built for racing, but Dad managed to push me the entire 5 miles. We came in next to last, but in the photos of us crossing the finish line, I was smiling from ear to ear!
When we got home, I used my computer to tell Dad, "When I'm running, I feel like my disability disappears!" So we joined a running club, had a special running chair built, and entered our first official race. Many of the athletes didn't want us to participate, but the executive director of the event gave us permission. Soon we were running three races a weekend, and we even did our first double event a 3-mile run and a half-mile swim.
Dad held me by the back of the neck and did the sidestroke for the entire swim. We wanted to run in the Boston Marathon, but we were not allowed to enter because we had not done a qualifying run. So in late 1980, we competed in the Marine Corps Marathon, in Washington, D.C., finishing in 2 hours, 45 minutes. That qualified us for Boston!
A few years later, after a road race in Falmouth, Massachusetts, a man came up to my dad and said, "You are quite an athlete. You should consider a triathlon." Dad said, "Sure, as long as I can do it with Rick." The man just walked away. The next year, the same man said the same thing. Again, Dad said he'd do it, but only with me. This time the man said, "Okay, let's figure out what special equipment you'll need."
So on Father's Day in 1985, we competed in our first triathlon. It included a 10-mile run, during which Dad pushed me; a 1-mile swim, during which Dad pulled me in a life raft with a rope tied around his chest; and a 50-mile bike ride, during which he towed me in a cart behind him. We finished next to last, but we both loved it. Soon after, we did our first Ironman Triathlon. We've now competed in more than 950 races, including 25 Boston Marathons and six Ironmans. During every event, I feel like my disability has disappeared.
People often ask me, "What would you do if you were not disabled?" When I was first asked, I said I'd probably play baseball or hockey. But when I thought about it some more, I realized that I'd tell my father to sit down in my wheelchair so I could push him. If it weren't for him, I'd probably be living in a home for people with disabilities. He is not just my arms and legs. He's my inspiration, the person who allows me to live my life to the fullest and inspire others to do the same.
Happy Father's Day, Dad. And thank you.
James: Are you crying? I know I did after I read this story. What a wonderful expression of love and commitment. I am reminded by this story that I really have nothing to complain about in life. As some of you know I live with schizo-affective disorder and am disabled because of it so this story hit me even closer to my heart.
I'd like to share with you an email that I wrote to my father after reading this wonderful story:
Dear Dad. I was reading this story (link below) here in our hotel room in Manitou Springs and It really touched me to the point of tears--tears of joy because It made think of you and I. All the times that we spent backpacking together but especially I thought of my disability and how you have pushed me along in my "chair" (refer to the story)--and I want to push you in your "chair" as the son in this story would like to push his father in the father's "chair." You and mom have done so much to push me along and keep me going in my life before schizoaffective and since. You have been so understanding of my illness, comforting and supportive both financially and otherwise---I could never have done it without you and still can't. I think of all those years growing up when I didn't understand why you worked so much and so hard but now I know why--you were pushing me in my "chair." Dear Dad, the tears that I am shedding as I type this email are tears of utter joy, love and appreciation for all that you have done and sacrificed so that I might have a better quality of life. How could either of us known that I would be diagnosed with a major mental illness--and yet, here we are--surviving and thriving together, as a team. Buddies. Dad, you're my buddy and I love you so so so much. I look forward to many years to come together. Love, JamesJames: I hope all the American father's have a joyous father's day today and I hope the father's from other countries around the world will appreciate the wonderful relationship between parent and child. Those relationships are definite lessons on interconnection, inter-being and understanding its importance.
~Peace to all beings~
About Those Crack Dealers...
.... Our voluble correspondent, George, seriously mistakes the Buddhist view of happiness if he believes "there are many crack dealers... that are happy doing what they do." Not to mention the child molesters. The Buddhist view insists on the primacy of doing no harm--to oneself or others--a condition that hardly applies to either crack dealers or child molesters. True happiness, as I understand it, in the Buddhist view, is achieved by doing the hard work needed in order to learn to relinquish all attachments to passing pleasures and satisfactions, as well as all aversions to unpleasantness and pain. Happiness, then, has nothing whatsover to do with the illusory pleasures of material life or the satisfaction of desires. Happiness is precisely about liberation from such things.
That said, I have no wish to get into the argument about the relative value (or "truth") of different religions. It's not particularly useful or productive to argue about beliefs--especially those that are so passionately held. I'm with James in making a case for tolerance and mutual respect. And I react quite negatively when I get the sense that someone is trying to shove THEIR belief down my disbelieving throat. In a word, I gag. Otherwise, if a person wants to believe that the world was created in seven days (or six, if you discount the day of rest) six thousand years ago, so be it. He's welcome to his belief. I happen to think that such a person is willfully blinding himself to a universe of fascinating science and impoverishing his access to the wealth of human knowledge. Too bad. In such a case, I have to say that while I respect that person's right to believe whatever he chooses, I reserve the right to disrespect the content of his belief. By analogy to what some Christians profess: love the sinner, hate the sin. Except that, I see it, willful ignorance is not sin. It's just willful ignorance.
Which brings me to morality. First, do no harm. Everything fall in place behind that single tenet. I don't believe that morals are "established by God." But I hope and believe that God would agree with me on that general principle. Think about it.
Ah, yes. My sit today. I returned to my Sunday sitting group for the first time in several weeks--and brought my cough along with me. Within two minutes, I was disturbing everyone else's peace along with my own, but Ricola rode to the rescue and kept me quiet for the rest of the hour. A wandering mind, of course, brought more or less successfully back on track by renewing attention on the breath. This Buddhist meditation practice is hard work, I promise you. No wonder that Bhanta-Ji, our visiting monk from India, talks so often about "effort." Don't know about you, but I find it hard to discipline my unruly mind!
That said, I have no wish to get into the argument about the relative value (or "truth") of different religions. It's not particularly useful or productive to argue about beliefs--especially those that are so passionately held. I'm with James in making a case for tolerance and mutual respect. And I react quite negatively when I get the sense that someone is trying to shove THEIR belief down my disbelieving throat. In a word, I gag. Otherwise, if a person wants to believe that the world was created in seven days (or six, if you discount the day of rest) six thousand years ago, so be it. He's welcome to his belief. I happen to think that such a person is willfully blinding himself to a universe of fascinating science and impoverishing his access to the wealth of human knowledge. Too bad. In such a case, I have to say that while I respect that person's right to believe whatever he chooses, I reserve the right to disrespect the content of his belief. By analogy to what some Christians profess: love the sinner, hate the sin. Except that, I see it, willful ignorance is not sin. It's just willful ignorance.
Which brings me to morality. First, do no harm. Everything fall in place behind that single tenet. I don't believe that morals are "established by God." But I hope and believe that God would agree with me on that general principle. Think about it.
Ah, yes. My sit today. I returned to my Sunday sitting group for the first time in several weeks--and brought my cough along with me. Within two minutes, I was disturbing everyone else's peace along with my own, but Ricola rode to the rescue and kept me quiet for the rest of the hour. A wandering mind, of course, brought more or less successfully back on track by renewing attention on the breath. This Buddhist meditation practice is hard work, I promise you. No wonder that Bhanta-Ji, our visiting monk from India, talks so often about "effort." Don't know about you, but I find it hard to discipline my unruly mind!
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