Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 2/28/2011

" Human beings by nature want happiness and do not want suffering. With that
feeling everyone tries to achieve happiness and tries to get rid of suffering, and everyone has the basic right to do this. In this way, all here are the same, whether rich or poor, educated or uneducated, Easterner or Westerner, believer or non-believer, and within believers whether Buddhist, Christian, Jewish, Muslim, and so on. Basically, from the viewpoint of real human value we are all the same."

~His Holiness the Dalai Lama




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Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 2/28/2011

" Human beings by nature want happiness and do not want suffering. With that
feeling everyone tries to achieve happiness and tries to get rid of suffering, and everyone has the basic right to do this. In this way, all here are the same, whether rich or poor, educated or uneducated, Easterner or Westerner, believer or non-believer, and within believers whether Buddhist, Christian, Jewish, Muslim, and so on. Basically, from the viewpoint of real human value we are all the same."

~His Holiness the Dalai Lama




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Friends?

I had a strange experience this afternoon. Well, I had a strange experience this morning, too.

The day started out unusually cold, by Southern California standards. When I let George out for his morning pee, my cell phone weather app told me that it we 37 degrees. It was still cold, shortly before 9 AM, when I made my way to our Sunday morning sitting group. Our custom is to sit for an hour of silent meditation, and then to talk for another hour about some aspect of the dharma. An hour's sit is usually not a huge challenge for me, but on this occasion, for the first time ever, I had to get up and leave after forty minutes.

I have had difficult moments in the past, when the hour has seemed interminably long, or when I have been seized with sudden physical discomforts like a dreadful pain in the legs or inexplicable heating-up or cooling of the body temperature; but I have always been able to breathe my way through the discomfort and survive the hour. On this day, though, I was overcome by a feeling of dizziness and nausea, along with a body chill that would not go away, no matter how much I tried to ignore the sensations and hold my attention on the breath. Worse, it all turned into a downward spiral bordering on panic.

I opened my eyes and tried, instead, to focus my attention on the pattern of the carpet. I put my head down between my knees in the attempt to counter the dizziness, without success. Minutes went by with excruciating slowness. After five or ten, it still felt as though, if I closed my eyes again, I would keel over and end up on the floor. I decided that discretion was the better part of valor and--as I say, for the first time ever--got up and made my way as quietly as possible to the door. I found a chair outside, and by now the sun was beginning to feel warm, so I spent the remainder of the hour there, to be joined, before the end of the sit, by a worried Ellie who had sensed my unusual departure. Once home, hydration helped; as did, a short while later, a bite to eat.

So... I survived. The other strange experience for the day was a far more pleasant one. By early afternoon we were enjoying warm sunlight on the back patio and I went out to indulge in my once weekly vice--a Sunday afternoon cigar. (So sue me. I defer to our Native American friends, who have long honored tobacco as a sacred healing substance. That's my excuse, anyway.) There I am, then, sitting with my Saturday New York Times crossword puzzle (the hardest of the week; I save it for Sunday afternoon) when I hear the distinctive sound of a hummingbird close by. This was not too unusual in itself, because the hummers like the plants on our patio and come visiting quite often.

What was unusual, though, was that after darting away, this one returned just a few moments later. And again. And again. The bird kept coming back, quite close, a bit closer each time, clearly examining me, as if he (she?) wanted to make friends. I was touched. I told him, quietly, that he was welcome, that I would be honored by his friendship if he cared to stay. But I guess it's in the nature of the hummer to keep darting hither and yon, and our friendship was necessarily a brief and peripatetic one.

I was surprised, of course, by the bird's evident interest in me. I wondered whether it might be the delicious smell of my cigar--though, second thoughts, probably not! And then, more likely, whether it could be the bright red baseball cap my daughter brought me, with the Welsh dragon on the front, as a gift from her visit to the village in Wales where I spent many summer months in my childhood, and where my parents spent their retirement years. Or maybe, as I would like to believe, he just wanted to be friends...

Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 2/26/2011

" Whether one believes in a religion or not, and whether one believes in rebirth or not, there isn't anyone who doesn't appreciate kindness and compassion."

~His Holiness the Dalai Lama




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Visiting John Lennon

Having experienced sleep-depriving pain the previous night, I decided yesterday to fill that pain-killer prescription the doctor gave me last week, but which I had postponed taking to the pharmacy. I'm not keen on taking medications, particularly pain-killers, but it seemed like a good idea to give it a try as an alternative to a second wakeful night of pain. I took one pill during the day--more out of curiosity, I have to say, than absolute necessity--and ended up feeling a little bit woozy. And a little bit sleepy. And a little bit high.

So I took another before going to bed and was rewarded with particularly vivid dreams, of which I remember something of two, separate, one late night and one early morning. Both were about dead people.

In the late night dream I went to visit John Lennon. He was living in a mansion surrounded by a vast sunlit estate and greeted me cordially, if somewhat dreamily, in loose-fitting shirt and pants. He was wearing those familiar glasses with round lenses. I can't remember the purpose of my visit, nor what we talked about, but it was pleasant to spend time with John Lennon. After a while he had to leave, for some unstated reason, but before he did so he gave me a gold CD on which he had written my name, Peter.

I wandered out into the garden and was challenged by a young man who was chatting with someone by the entry. I thought he was perhaps a kind of plain clothes security man. He gave me a hard, unfriendly stare and asked: "What are you doing here?" Then he seemed to know without my answering and allowed me to proceed. The garden, it turned out, was a vast, flat, formally landscaped affair with few plants but many statues, pathways, and pebbled areas. The visitors were sparse, and seemingly silent, figures in a landscape... I remember nothing more.

Waking from this dream--and after a visit to the bathroom--I lay in bed wondering if the dream could be some kind of premonition--long-view, I hope!--of an afterlife, a vision of heaven, or nirvana. It was certainly peaceful, serene. Was that St. Peter who challenged me?

The second dream was more bizarre. A once-close friend, now dead for several years, came down to visit from up north with a friend of his. There's little I remember about his visit, except that (Ellie being absent from this dream) we slept in the same bed. In the morning--sensitive readers, close your eyes! This was a dismaying vivid part!--he casually masturbated before getting up and heading for the bathroom. I lay in bed for a while wondering when my turn was going to come, but it never did. Honest!

Then it became a question of whether to have breakfast or brunch. We took a tube train to wherever we were going and I had a rollie suitcase, as did several other people on the train. I nearly walked off with the wrong one. Then we were in a parking lot where there were white cars bumping into each other... and the dream fell apart.

I can't help but feel that it was somehow significant that the two main characters in my dreams were both dead. Clearly, I'd say, there was some projection going on. And I wonder what that pain-killer had to do with everything. The "afterlife" in the two dreams was certainly very different--a formal landscape and a parking lot with white cars colliding! Just thought I'd write them down before they got forgotten...

Have a great weekend, everyone.

PROTEST, ANYONE?

(I was well into writing this entry when I stumbled on a notice of the Rally to Restore the American Dream at Daily Kos. It's a good start for what I'm talking about, but only a start. And how does it happen that I only just discovered it? I try to keep my eyes and ears open... It's far too late in coming to the attention that is needed.)

So, yes...

We need to hit the streets, in massive numbers, everywhere, throughout the country. Not just on one day, soon forgotten about and dismissed by those in power. We need a determined and sustained effort to make our voices heard.

We now have superlatively brave examples in the least likely places, from Cairo to Tripoli, to Madison, Wisconsin. Yet we continue to sit down passively under the onslaught of mindless, nation-destroying right-wing rhetoric.

There is no need for this, no reason for it. I believe that "we" are more than "they." They are just louder, more ruthless, more domineering.

We are a compassionate nation. We care about those less fortunate than ourselves, and we are prepared to sacrifice in order that they have a better chance at equality--not to mention the basic protections they deserve against poverty, disease and hunger.

We expect no less a sacrifice from the very fortunate, the very wealthy individuals, whose numbers and wealth continue to grow in defiance of all need and reason. We expect those individuals to share proportionately in the common sacrifice. We expect the same of corporations now posting unprecedented profits: they should be shouldering their share of the burden. Too many of them have fed shamelessly at the public trough and still manage to avoid taxes altogether.

We complain about the weakness and inefficacy of the Democrats we elect to represent us, too easily forgetting that they need more than just our vote. They need our continuing support and our reminders. They need to know that they can count on us to back them up. They also need to know we'll keep them honest when they show signs of selling out.

The initiative I mentioned earlier is unfortunately nowhere near achieving national groundswell in the United States. My guess is that few people beyond the more vocal activists have even heard of it, and it's scheduled for tomorrow, Saturday, February 26. Even if it manages to draw large crowds, as I would hope, I'm afraid that it will simply come and go, like the Jon Stewart Rally to Restore Sanity.

My wish is for organizations like Daily Kos to join with MoveOn, ActBlue, Democracy For America and others, and with bloggers and social activists nationwide to spearhead a sustained, unyielding campaign of protest marches against shamefully unfair budget cuts and deficit-exploding tax evasion. Perhaps this is their intention. I hope so. I commit to joining in any march or demonstration within reasonable travel distance.

We need to make it clear that we refuse to worship at the delusional altar of "deficit reduction" without appropriate tax increases, and demand that politicians work to reinstate the concept of tax payment as a privilege, not a punishment. We need to make it clear that we are not ready to sacrifice vital services like education, health care and public safety at the feet of the demonstrably false idol of "spending cuts."

It's time to hit the streets. Time for us to be heard.

Woe Is Me

Do you ever wake up with the feeling that you've been working like mad all night but have no idea what you've been working at? This happened to me last night. I think it might have had partly to do with that bum knee. For exercise this week, I have avoided walking, as per the doctor's orders, and using instead the prone-position bicycle at the gym. Last night, since we had theater tickets, we parked in downtown Laguna Beach and walked about three blocks to the restaurant where we had booked dinner, then five of six blocks to the theater, and a couple more back to the car. Then I woke several times during the night with shooting pains in the knee and had a hard job finding a comfortable place to get back to sleep. (I blame George, in part, for this. He insisted in sleeping right down in the place where I extend my foot, and refused to budge despite several hearty kicks. George sleeps just fine.)

I think this blog is another contributor to those hard-working nights. My head starts to write before it even hits the pillow and persists in thinking/writing while I'm trying to get to sleep. That is, it keeps trying to line up the words just right, then going back over them in a kind of rehearsal, to be sure they'll be remembered exactly when I wake. My theory is that it keeps working away at the same stuff while I'm sleeping. But then, when I wake... nothing. It's all gone anyway, and I have to start afresh.

Does this sound familiar to anyone? It has taken me years to build to the kind of daily writing practice that is, pretty much, my life today, and I'm grateful for it. I have perhaps been a bit too successful, though, because I'm clearly finding it hard to hit the "off" switch. The past few days, it has been the same with meditation. Than Geoff's familiar advice resounds in my head: Not now. But my head has either not been getting the message or choosing to ignore it. I sit and make up words. I write...

This morning I have decided to reverse my usual process: write first, then meditate. This is it, the writing part. I'll report back on the results. In the meantime, metta to all. Here goes.

Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 2/25/2011

" To find a buddha, all you have to do is see your nature. your nature is the buddha. and the buddha is the person who's free, free of plans, free of cares. if you don't see your nature and run around all day looking somewhere else, you'll never find a buddha. the truth is, there's nothing to find. but to reach such an understanding you need a teacher. and you need to struggle to make yourself understand."

~Bodhidharma




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Little Princes

I have been promising an antidote to the bleak view I have been taking of my adopted country in my past few political entries. Here it is, today, in the form of a book review.

The book is called Little Princes: One Man's Promise to Bring Home the Lost Children of Nepal, by Conor Grennan. Lest you fear, as I did when I first scanned the title page, that this might be just another chronicle of do-good activity in a distant part of the world, let me assure you that it's also an extraordinarily compelling human drama, leading up to a sometimes nightmarish "journey into the interior," in a landscape forbidding enough to put body and soul to the ultimate test.

But first, the context. As a very young man, freshly graduated from the University of Virginia, Conor embarks on a world trek, part as a challenge to himself, part with the vague intention of making a useful contribution to those less fortunate than he. Along the way, in a rather self-conscious gesture of goodwill, he volunteers to work for a spell at "Little Princes," a children's shelter near Kathmandu--and falls, unexpectedly, under their spell. What was initially not much more than a desire to impress his friends and family back home turns into a full-blown obsession once he falls in love with these rambunctious kids and learns something of their predicament.

They are the children of war, torn away from their families in the remotest of villages in the Himalayan foothills by men--there is one particular villain in this piece--who extort the last pennies from parents gullible enough to believe their children will have a better future if they let them go. Instead, once in the hands of their abductors, the children are treated cruelly, starved and beaten in filthy, overcrowded homes, and sold into servitude--or worse. Only a lucky few are rescued by a pitifully small and underfunded Nepali organization and a handful of dedicated and compassionate foreigners, whose number Conor joins.

The children are, properly, at the center of this story. They are a diverse bunch, all undeservedly wounded in varying degrees, all survivors, each in their own way, a maelstrom of energy and mischievous activity whose sheer, naked humanity captivates Conor and compels his commitment to them. It becomes his mission in life to do what he can to protect them, provide them with food and shelter and a rudimentary education--and eventually to attempt to reunite them with their families.

That's the bare bones. The meat is in the love. Initially as self-absorbed as the average young person in the privileged Western world, Conor finds himself confronted with real hardship, widespread suffering, deprivation and violence in a country torn apart by civil war, where hard-line Maoist rebels fight implacably against a feudal monarchy and where the vast majority of people are caught up innocently in the chaos, whether in tiny rural communities or the teeming back alleys of the capital--all evoked in sharp relief in Conor's narrative. In this flight-or-fight situation, he chooses to stay, and the story he tells becomes also, but unobtrusively, about his personal change and growth. Observing, and having to struggle at first hand with human suffering, this young American becomes himself more human, more fully compassionate, more concerned with the happiness of others than his own.

His story is also about the power of family love. The final, harrowing journey I mentioned above, into the hinterland of Nepal, is Conor's search for the parents of the children he has been caring for, with the intention of reuniting them--or at least re-connecting them with the reassurance that they are safe. These encounters in tiny mountainside villages are among the most touching scenes in the book. The author never loses respect for these hardscrabble people, so far from his own cultural background; and he never condescends. When I say the journey is a harrowing one, I think back to the old meaning of that word, the harrowing of the soul--because it involves excruciating pain and daunting physical impediments, described in such riveting detail that we, the readers, feel that we are living through it with the author. That we also experience the towering beauty of the natural environment is sometimes small compensation. But the greater compensation by far is the joy--both for the parents and the children--in reconnecting. Conor shows us that the love of the human family transcends the boundaries of time and place.

There is also, in his book, a love story of his own--as touching, in its peculiarity as the story of the children and their families. It slips in from the side, unexpectedly, and takes a while to blossom; we sense that it is a natural offshoot from Conor's development from that relatively careless youth to a man of substance and compassion, an opening-up to love that might not have been possible for him earlier in the book.

I think I can guarantee you a good deal of joy and laughter as you read this book, and more than a few tears--not the sentimental, tear-jerky kind of tears, but the kind that well up from full and genuine emotion. You will surely share Conor's love for the kids he comes to know, and his concern for their future. I hope you might want to find out more about them and, perhaps, to help them. It takes only a click of the mouse to visit Conor Grennan's Next Generation Nepal foundation, and another to buy a copy of his book or make a contribution--as I plan to do.

Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 2/24/2011

" All buddhas preach emptiness. Why? Because they wish to crush the concrete ideas of the students. If a student even clings to an idea of emptiness, he betrays all buddhas. One clings to life although there is nothing to be called life; another clings to death although there is nothing to be called death. In reality there is nothing to be born, Consequently there is nothing to perish."

~Bodhidharma




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Hope & Joy

I was intending to write, this morning, about a book that I've been reading about the trafficking of exploited children in Nepal. Sounds grim? Yes, but it's also a book that tells us a lot about the better angels of America. But I haven't yet finished my read, so it will have to wait until another day.

Meantime, though, on the same topic... I watched the Chris Matthews MSNBC News special President of the World: The Bill Clinton Phenomenon, with a feeling of some dread, largely because of its hyperventilating title which, to me at least, evoked the image of the "Ugly American" striding the world with the arrogant assumption of knowing what's best for other countries, other peoples. Instead, especially in view of the gloom I have be spreading in my past few posts, I was pleased to be watching something that was really rather inspiring. The program explored the multiple ways in which the former President is using his energy, his fund-raising ability and his irresistible personal charisma to spread goodwill and compassion in the world.

In contrast to the anger and animosity that dominate our current political scene, the prevailing mood that Bill Clinton projects is joy--and the joy is evidently infectious. Wherever he goes, he seems surrounded by joyous crowds, no matter the often desperate conditions of their lives, singing and dancing and jostling to touch him. He brings, as much as anything, hope. And it's clear that he inspires the same in the wealthy of this world, who flock to his conferences, generously support his causes, and feel better about themselves as a result.

It's Clinton's enthusiasm and generosity of heart that represents the best of America, and the mean spirit and small-mindedness of those who tried to drag him down that represents the worst. We do not know much, of course, about the life and work of those former Presidents who choose to withdraw from the glare of public life; but it's hard not to make the comparison between Clinton and his quieter, perhaps more modest fellow-Democrat, Jimmy Carter, and the two Bushes. The latter two, I know, have stepped forward in emergencies, but so far as I'm aware are not involved in the kind of continuing, daily, dedicated activity of Clinton and Carter to bring about change for the better in our world.

And I can't resist the opportunity to observe the similarities between Clinton and our current President. Both rode into office on a great wave of hope: remember "Don't stop thinking about tomorrow" and the ecstasy of the Clinton inauguration? Yet Republicans sought to destroy him, as they are now attempting to destroy Obama, through insult, deliberate lies and personal attack. Clinton was literally and irrationally hated, as Obama is widely, irrationally hated today. Both took a "shellacking" in the mid-term elections during their first term. And both were constrained to move to the center, to the dismay and outrage--remember this?--of those who had placed so much hope in them for an about-turn in American politics.

Hope, it seems to me, is all about ourselves. We merely project it onto others, expect them to fulfill it for us, and get upset with them when they fail to live up to our projections. It's up to us, if we indulge in the luxury of hope, to do the work necessary to fulfill it for ourselves. If we can trust the Chris Matthews special to provide an accurate picture of Bill Clinton--and I'm inclined to believe, despite the title, that we can--he offers us the example of a man who's doing just that. Which is, to repeat myself, inspiring.

Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 2/23/2011

" When your mind doesn't stir inside, the world doesn't arise outside. When the world and the mind are both transparent, this is true vision. And such understanding is true understanding."

~Bodhidharma




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Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 2/22/2011

" To find a buddha, you have to see your nature. Whoever sees his nature is a buddha. If you don't see your nature, invoking buddhas, reciting sutras, making offerings and keeping precepts are all useless."

~Bodhidharma




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The Question

Here's the question for the day. Why are we so ineffectual, and they so effective? By "we" I mean, of course, those of us leaning toward the left, or even far out on the left wing--which is where my political instincts take me. By "they" I mean those people I was talking about yesterday, the ones who appear to run our lives.

The answer I come up with is this: they have been winning out simply because they are ruthless, like those autocrats in the Mideast. They are hard, ungiving, unresponsive. Monolithic in their thinking, they act out of an unquestioning sense of rectitude. Their minds are closed. Think Reagan. We, on the other hand, are by nature open, ready to listen, prepared to concede the possibility of error. Pluralistic. Self-questioning. Think Carter.

(George Lakoff says all this more eloquently and persuasively, perhaps, though differently than I do; he "frames" their strategy as paternalism.)

Am I flattering "us"? Maybe. Am I tarring "them" all with the same brush? Quite possibly. But it's a genuine puzzlement for me, and the source of infinite frustration. There are hard-liners on the left, too, I know--those who insist that we should never compromise on principles. But one of those principles is the democratic one, that each of us has a right to an opinion, a right to voice it, and a right to vote. We are opposed to tyranny, whatever form it takes---including, then, presumably, our own. We argue endlessly amongst ourselves. We do not coalesce into the kind of solid--and hence powerful--block that gives the other side their strength.

Take Obama. I know there are many who disagree with me on this, but I believe we do ourselves a disservice in castigating his every departure from the hard lines we believe he should be taking. We feel free to attack him publicly when he takes the time to listen. We accuse him of weakness and complicity when he makes a concession or a compromise. We fault his "leadership," but are unwilling to follow. We provide no firm ground for him to stand on. Contrast this with the other side, with "them." How many Republicans were ready to stand up and criticize George W. Bush in public, no matter how egregious the errors of his judgment, no matter matter how glaring and costly the mistakes? Consider his ill-considered tax cuts, his rash wars that remained, contrary to all conservative fiscal wisdom, unpaid for. He was subject to criticism, often severe, from our side, yes. But from his own? Scarcely a murmur.

Some will consider this a retreat from what I was saying yesterday, but I say, No. My own Buddhist principles urge me to opt for the "Middle Way"--the way that Obama urges with remarkable consistency and patience, and to his cost. I look around me in the political world and see mostly those who reject this as the way of weakness and inefficacy. I wonder how differently things would look if "we" were to rally unanimously to the President's support? If all the "we's" were to step forward, stand up, suspend our differences, and form that solid block for him to stand on. But that is contrary to our nature. We, on our side, are born to question, argue, quibble, doubt. All of which is great--except when it comes to effective political action, where bullying and certitude win.

Which leaves me with another Buddhist speculation: At what point does karma catch up with those who have grabbed on to the reins of global power and their misguided policies? At what point will the delusion they have fostered in our country meet up with the consequences that will inevitably result?

Tomorrow... good news! I have found something rosier to talk about!

Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 2/21/2011

" If you don't find a teacher soon, you'll live this life in vain. it's true, you have the buddha-nature. but without the help of a teacher you'll never know it. Only one person in a million becomes enlightened without a teacher's help."

~Bodhidharma




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Stand Up

Sorry, friends. It's my bleeding heart. Today, another jeremiad... There are times one has to say what's on one's mind.

Do you think there are enough among us willing to stand up, like those good people in Wisconsin, in the face of bully conservatism? I mean, enough to make a difference? Can America be saved? I really think it’s time to ask that question.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Hillary Clinton was right. She was widely mocked when she raised the specter, in 1998, of a “vast right-wing conspiracy,” but subsequent events and trends have only confirmed her suspicions. What we boast to the world as our “democracy” has been appropriated by the avatars of power and money. It is now being used exclusively to their advantage, and at the cost of the people of this country.

Okay, so call me a conspiracy theorist. I have always distrusted people who hide behind the accusatory “they,” but I’m going to use it because I am convinced that this “they” does in fact exist. They inhabit the boardrooms, the penthouse apartments and the country estates where excessive wealth prospers and multiplies with virtually no hindrance. They have disposed of everything that could once have regulated their insatiable appetites. They gobble up power wherever it exists like gourmands at the table, leaving none for others. They are the American oligarchs, unrecognized as such because they wear the camouflage of respectable conservatism, hiding in plain sight without fear of discovery.

The most effective weapon of this cabal is fear, and they have used it to suborn every institution and value. They have persuaded vast numbers of people that up is down and down is up, that right is wrong and wrong is right. They have bought our politicians and dictated our politics. They have co-opted those in political power to assure a “permanent majority” favorable to their purposes, in part by gerrymandering congressional districts, in part through the use of promotional and advertising dollars to disseminate half-truths and lies. The electoral system—indeed, the electorate itself—has become theirs to manipulate at will. Their efforts have created a Republican “base” that can be relied on to think, vote, act—and of course, consume—in accordance with their wishes. And their representatives engage in open-handed lobbying, exchanging munificence for votes.

They have succeeded in suborning the judicial system. The Supreme Court of the United States is now in their pocket, for possibly decades to come. It was their Supreme Court that assured the election of their minion, George W. Bush, in the 2000 election; it was their Supreme Court, in Citizens United, that further empowered them to manipulate elections with their money. It is to the Supreme Court they will appeal to overturn the hard-won health care bill that entitles a further 30 million less privileged Americans to access to affordable medical attention; and as I see it, given the Court’s track record of partisan decisions, there is a chance they will succeed.

They have undermined the power of the presidency. The people-oriented Carter was replaced by the business-oriented Reagan, whose powerful kitchen cabinet of business executives took advantage of his malleability to promote their own agenda of corporate advancement, along with the disempowerment of working Americans—and particularly the unions. When Clinton succeeded in becoming too successful and too popular they set out to destroy him, even though he had embraced a centrist agenda that alarmed his supporters to the left. Failing to achieve their purpose ideologically, they made it personal, resorting to a specious impeachment process to discredit him and weaken his political standing. Now, lacking any rational or personally scandalous basis on which to attack the elected President, they spread lies about Obama’s very identity and his religious affiliation—and with apparent success in some quarters: a recent poll shows that, contrary to all factual evidence, over 50 percent of Republicans believe the President to be a Muslim, and that he was not born in the United States. In this way, they seek to undermine the very legitimacy of the current presidency.

Clearly, they could not do this without the cooperation of the media. One of their more successful strategies has been to paint the media as “liberal,” even while assuring its steady movement, over thirty years, to the right. Even the “mainstream” media today, perhaps for fear of being denounced as biased, is constrained to give “equal time” to the most absurd and extreme of radical conservative views, as though their arguments had equal standing. And the extreme right wing media and talk radio hosts are given free rein to promote the lies and distortions that serve to misinform and inflame their public.

Worse, perhaps, than all this, because it runs so deep, has been the subtle co-option and reversal of those values that truly made this country “great”: a sense of fairness, justice, opportunity for all; a willingness to lend a hand to those in need or trouble; a respect for community and shared responsibility; a long, sometimes difficult struggle to assure equal rights for all its citizens. Success, these days, is too often a matter of ruthless competitiveness; it is judged by the pile of money a person can amass.

The clamor in Wisconsin, as I see it, is a revolt against all of this. It’s a plea for common cause, for respect and recognition for those who serve the greater community, a sense of mutual responsibility for the well-being and proper functioning of the social system in order to ensure that it works for all and not just for the favored few. I admire these people for their determination to stand up against the mindless march of radical conservatism.

Anyone with half a brain and the ounce of good sense needed to apply it must know that the nation’s financial woes will not be solved by window-dressing budget cuts aimed at those who can least afford it. Nor by slicing away at vital necessities like education, justice and other public services, or international relations. This is the time, as Obama says, for an adult conversation about who we are and where we’re going. It has to be one in which people on all sides of the table are prepared to make significant sacrifices. Civil servants will certainly be among them. But it is absurd to declare in advance, as Republicans persist in doing, that spending cuts alone will be sufficient. Railing against taxes may appeal to popular sentiment, but it is not responsible argument. Unless thoughtful consideration of the revenue side of the equation becomes part of the discussion, we will get nowhere.

So how many of us are prepared to stand up to the would-be oligarchs and the right-wing bullies who are their willing, if unwitting tools? Are we ready to follow the example of Wisconsin, if necessary—and those brave protesters in the Mideast!—and take to the streets to demand the conversation that we need? I think of the missed opportunity of the Jon Stewart “Rally for Sanity” with regret. There, people did show up, in massive numbers. That we stood up and were—literally!—not counted, at least not accurately by the media, serves only to show us how much work is to be done. That we stood up and were fobbed off with a glib distortion of the reasons for which the vast majority of us came was even sadder. We came—I came—to show my anger and frustration at the continued domination of our political system by the wealthy few, and by the suppression of the voices of genuine humanitarian concern.

We have been meek and passive for too long. I say, with the Boss, Rise Up! Our city is in ruins…

Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 2/20/2011

" A sagacious student does not depend on his teacher's words, but uses his own experience to find the truth. A dull student depends on coming to a gradual understanding through his teacher's word: a teacher has two
kinds of students; one hears the teacher's words without clinging to the material nor to the immaterial, without attaching to form or to nonform, Without thinking of animate objects or of inanimate objects... This is the Sagacious student; the other, who is avid for understanding, accumulates meanings, and mixes good and bad, is the dull student."

~Bodhidharma




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True Story...

Well, yesterday we decided to go to the movies. There are still a couple on our list, and we had heard good things about "The Fighter." We discovered that the most convenient location was up in Pasadena. But first...

We wanted to visit our friend Jayme Odgers who, as you'll remember, has been though a nasty health crisis, so we stopped by to see him at the hospital in East Los Angeles and were greatly relieved to find him in good spirits and looking a great deal better than we had feared. And with a hair-raising story of his own to tell. No details here. Enough to say that after a roller coaster months-long odyssey of misdiagnoses and agonizing worries, the doctors finally hit upon a cause for our friend's problems that turned out to be relatively easily addressed with medication. Once administered, the appropriate drug produced almost immediate results and accompanying relief. I'm sure you all have your own stories about the limits of medical knowledge, and the sometimes egregious blunders of its practitioners. This one was amazing--and would have been quite comical... had it not put our friends's life literally at risk.

With gladdened hearts, then, we headed out into the rain and up the old Pasadena Freeway from downtown, arriving in time for a cup of coffee before the movie. We were looking forward to sitting back and enjoying a couple of hours' entertainment...

So we show up at the theater. We are puzzled to find something rather different from the functional ticket sales office we remember from our last visit to this same place. Low lights, carpets, drapes, occasional furniture... A crowd of young people standing around and chatting, as though at a party. We worked our way through the crowd to a long, low, well-appointed desk with three or four young women in attendance. "Oh," we said, "we must have come to the wrong place. We were looking for the movie."

"No, no, this is the right place," said one of the young women. "Which movie did you want to see?"

I told her. "Two seniors, please." I had my twenty ready, anticipating six or eight in change.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "We only have two prices. It's twenty dollars a person, twenty-nine at the weekend."

"What?" I was aghast.

"We're a dinner club theater," she explained patiently. (I may be wrong in remembering the exact name she gave it.) "You can sit comfortably and order your meal and a glass of wine, which will be brought to you any time you want them." She pointed to the menu lying open in from of her. Everything from shrimp cocktail to prime rib--at eye-popping prices.

"That's... in addition to the movie tickets?" Ellie asked, just to be sure.

"Oh, yes." The young woman looked at us as though it were we who were crazy.

We declined. Missed the movie. Went instead to the Italian restaurant next door.

Have you ever heard of such a thing? It gives new meaning to "dinner and a movie." And, for us at least, a not terribly attractive new meaning. I'm not keen on watching a movie while the waiters move in and out with trays of food and drinks and my fellow-movie goers clink their glasses. Was a time, in my own living memory--remember?--when every seat in movie theaters had an ashtray for the convenience of smokers. That was bad enough. But this is ridiculous. This was a whole new "what's the world coming to?" moment.

Or maybe you disagree?

Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 2/19/2011

" This one life has no form and is empty by nature. If you become attached to any form, you should reject it. If you see an ego, a soul, a birth or a death, reject them all."

~Bodhidharma




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Arizona Bans Karma--Seriously.

Since the dark days of the attacks on America by radical, Islamic terrorists on September 11th 2001, there has been a growing intolerance here for non-Judeo-Christian religions. This has, unfortunately, been mostly aimed at the American-Muslim community in a misguided attempt to combat radical Islam.

Unfortunately, there are numerous people in America who can't seem to make a distinction between an Islamic terrorist and an Islamic moderate practicing their religion freely as allowed under the American Constitution. But I digress. One of the targets of the this fear of anything Islamic has come in the form of a wide-spread paranoia of Sharia law.

In brief, Sharia law is law based on the Islamic holy book, the Qur'an (koran). The Islamophobia is so rampant in America these days that states have taken to banning Sharia law in a preemptive move to prevent such law from taking root. This is occurring despite no movement to impose or establish Sharia law in America. The silliness of it all is that such moves by these states are a waste of time since the American Constitution supersedes any other form of law within America!!

But the politicians of Arizona didn't stop there. They wanted to make sure ALL non-Christian religious beliefs would have no influence in Arizona state law. This included banning karma, which I didn't even know was possible considering karma is basically the idea of, "cause and effect" or causality. So, in one sense, by banning karma, these politicians are essentially trying to ban the scientific law of cause and effect. They seriously banned karma within the state of Arizona, which for a Buddhist is all rather odd considering karma isn't really a form of law to base a government around, but rather a natural consequence of our actions. I'm not angry or offended by their attempt to ban karma but I am certainly amused by it all!! It makes me laugh because banning karma is like banning gravity.

However, what I do take seriously is the generalized intolerance of anything that's not Christian or of Anglo-Saxon cultural origin. The last thing we need in this already complicated world of suffering is additional reasons to divide ourselves and fuel hatred. It truly makes my heart ache to see such narrow-minded thinking in my country, which has often been the example of tolerance in the world.

~Peace to all beings~

Wisconsin Rises

First, this is about the saddest must-read that I ever read. Thanks to my friend Michael for having brought it to my attention. Things have to change. We hear the voices of those clamoring for democracy on the streets of the Mideast and we admire their courage. We overlook the real imperative that we should be out on the streets ourselves, with peaceful demands to save the tatters of our own democracy.

Is it not ironic that--at least until the past couple of days--those who have been getting noisy on the streets, believing that they are clamoring for the restoration of the American middle and working classes, have become instead unwitting tools in the hands of profiteering interests who cynically promote their exploitation? Is it not ironic that those who loudly claim, in Congress, to speak in the name of "the people" are acting, instead, for the benefit of those same profiteers? What in the name of sanity has happened to our sense of the common good? What, in this "Christian" country, has happened to those supposedly Christian values of mercy, love of one's neighbor, compassion...?

But now there's Wisconsin. I have been watching news reports from that state, where those whose pocketbooks have been targeted to ante up for the deficit, state workers, are finally in full revolt. Their new Republican governor, having doled out huge tax benefits to business, is now trying to essentially dun the middle class to pay for his munificence. The handful of remaining Democrats in the Wisconsin government have fled to other states, to deprive their Republican opponents of the quorum they need for passage of the proposed union-busting measure to deprive state workers of bargaining rights. And those affected have been out on the streets in masses for the past three days, in a peaceful protest that emulates the events in Egypt and elsewhere in the Mideast. Amazing that we are now beginning to take lessons from countries long dominated by autocracy, in a fledgling attempt to undermine the oligarchy at home.

I have no idea who or where "Mark" is--the writer of the letter to which I link, above. It may be that, as he suggests, he is no longer with us. His cri de coeur should, by rights, be required daily reading for every Congressman and Senator, as well as for every American voter; it should also be a spark equivalent to the one that set the unemployed Tunisian Mohammed Bouazizi on fire in an act of self-immolation, and led to the turmoil we see today throughout the Mideast as the underprivileged rise to demand their rights and dignity as human beings.

If we want to see democracy take root throughout the world, we should first see to it that it works "for the people" here at home. Complacency ill becomes us.

Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 2/18/2011

" Mind is like the wood or stone from which a person carves an image. If he carves a dragon or a tiger, and seeing it fears it, he is like a stupid person creating a picture of hell and then afraid to face it. If he does not fear it, then his unnecessary thoughts will vanish. Part of the mind produces sight, sound, taste, odor and sensibility, and from them raises greed, anger and ignorance with all their accompanying likes and dislikes."

~Bodhidharma




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Another Plight

It pains me to have to add yet another name to the list of good people whose sickness and suffering I include in my daily meditation practice. This time I discover that a friend has prostate cancer. Anonymous, of course; I would not wish to be betraying any confidences, but there is no reason in the world to think that any readers of these words might know this friend. And I think that, from an entirely transpersonal view, his story raises an important and rather agonizing dilemma that we all might need to think about one day. I spoke to him yesterday on the telephone and heard about his struggle for the first time.

Here's what I heard: my friend was diagnosed a number of years ago on the basis of a high PSA count, and advised to submit to a biopsy. He did not like the doctor, nor did he trust him. He distrusts doctors and Western medicine generally, but he distrusted and disliked this one particularly because the doctor seemed careless, inattentive, and arrogant in his dismissal of the patient's concerns. And my friend had heard--rightly of wrongly, I don't know--that the interference of a biopsy tends to provoke the cancer into rushing to its own defense, increasing its energy and reinforcing its hold on the body. He refused the test.

My friend assured me that he has been what is casually called a "health nut" for years. He believes strongly in the body's power to restore itself to health, given the right diet and the right attention. After refusing the biopsy, he continued to take what he thought was good care of himself. But recently he started to feel that all was not well. He was suffering from a lack of energy, a general malaise. So he went back to the clinic where he had received his diagnosis, and was dismayed to be referred to the same doctor he disliked and distrusted in the first place.

After new tests, he learns that his PSA count is now alarmingly high. The doctor recommends once again what Western-trained doctors recommend when they find evidence of cancer: a biopsy, to be followed by chemotherapy and radiation--precisely the kind of things my friend most deeply mistrusts. He is now faced with a dire decision, and one that could clearly prove fatal, between what the (mistrusted) medical profession tells him and his own deeply rooted convictions. He says he is not afraid of dying, but he does seem torn. There are few of us who would consciously choose death when the extension life--at a relatively young age--is a viable alternative.

(This did not come up in our conversation, but I'm acutely aware that for many in this situation there is the added worry about the cost of treatment. I have, truthfully, no idea of this particular friend's situation on the health insurance front but I do know that, in this country, today, a disease like cancer can ravage a family's financial security as well as the patient's health. I do know, too, that the physical suffering of too many of our citizens is redoubled by the fear of financial devastation. This simply should not be.)

I myself am fortunate to be with a medical plan that has served our family well for years, and with a doctor who knows me and in whom I place my trust. Like my friend, I believe that Western medicine has its limitations--but then, fortunately, my doctor agrees with me on this point. He is open to discussion, and will think seriously about alternative treatments when asked. I believe, too, that hospital is the last place you want to be when you are sick, and am leery of the easy dispensation of drugs for whatever ails you. I lament the widespread practice of defensive medicine to protect doctors and hospitals from lawsuits; and, on the other hand, believe strongly in the kind of preventative medicine that is often overlooked in the obsession with "cure."

That said, I believe that if I were in my friend's place I would be inclined to follow the doctor's recommendation. Even acknowledging its limitations, Western medicine has proved and continues to prove itself remarkably effective in innumerable ways. It can perform what once would have been considered miracles. I hope, of course, that I will never have to face the kind of choice my friend now has to face, but I would be blind not to recognize that this could very easily happen. Considering the plight of all those friends to whom I send wishes for happiness and good health in my metta practice every morning, I count myself fortunate to have nothing worse to complain about than a sore knee and a touch of vertigo.

The broader dilemma I describe, between medical intervention and letting our human frailties run their course is one we are increasingly likely to have to face as we grow older. Indeed, these days, as death approaches and with an array of medical options for artificially prolonging life, it is virtually inevitable--whether I am able to make choices for myself, or my family have to make them for me. In the latter case, a living will and advance health care directive seem the only sensible course to take. That these legal instruments should have sparked the absurd "death panel" debate in the discussion of a national health care system is an unhappy indication of the apparently willful ignorance rampant in our society.

But I have begun to stray far off course. My original purpose, to which I should now return, was the simple expression of compassion for all those struggling with illness in all its multifarious forms. May they be restored to health and happiness.

Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 2/17/2011

" When you observe your delusions, you will know that they are baseless and not dependable. In this way you can cut confusion and doubt. This is what I call wisdom."

~Bodhidharma




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From Amsterdam...

Here's a moving story from Amsterdam. This blog is a heart-rending reminder of "how fragile we are," as the Sting song has it. I'm including a link in my blogroll, so that I'll remember to check in with Rose and her family once in a while. In the meantime, I hope you'll join me in sending metta out to them.

AND FROM FLORIDA... as if we needed yet another remind of our vulnerability, news of the death of the Dalai Lama's nephew, hit by a car as he participated in a "Walk for Tibet."

Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 2/16/2011

" Hope and fear come from feeling that we lack something; they come from a sense of poverty. We can't simply relax with ourselves. We hold on to hope, and hope robs us of the present moment. We feel that someone else knows what is going on, but that there is something missing in us, and therefore something is lacking in our world."

~Pema Chödrön




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Jayme Odgers

I am posting one of my gallery rounds entries later today (SEE BELOW). First, however, this important message...

I was writing only yesterday about my small aches and gripes. Now I feel more than a bit ashamed for having brought such trivia up at all. The same day, I heard for the first time that my friend Jayme Odgers suffered a stroke last month, which has affected his ability to swallow, speak and work. This is a man who made a substantial reputation for his work in the field of graphic design, and who in recent years has turned his creative attention to painting. It is another sad reflection on our country's health care system--or rather its absence--that Jayme's stroke has landed him in the kind of devastating financial bind that all of us dread, because it could so easily befall us. There is a benefit Exhibition and Sale for him, scheduled to start this Saturday, February 19. It continues through next Saturday, February 26. I trust that those among my readers who are involved with art and artists will find it in their hearts to take an interest in his plight, spread the word, and if possible support the effort to help him last out until his supplemental insurance kicks in, a little later in the year. He should not have to bear with financial anxieties in addition to the physical affliction. Nor, indeed, should any of us. Please pass this on.

Gallery Rounds/Bergamot Station

We actually found quite a lot to like in the course of our afternoon at Bergamot Station late last week. (Bergamot, for readers unfamiliar with the topography of Los Angeles area galleries, is a former train station in Santa Monica, and has been a lively center for galleries and design studios for a number of years now. Soon, I have heard, the trains will be running through the station again. No idea how this will affect the galleries.) It has been too long since Ellie and I last made our gallery rounds, so it was a good moment for a catch-up. I mention here only a few of the highlights, with apologies to some good shows passed over and, to those mentioned, for the brevity of attention to work that deserves more than it gets here.

Our first stop was Shoshana Wayne Gallery, where we were astonished to find a painting depicting a session very much like one of our artists' groups, led by people who looked startlingly like Ellie and myself...

Group, 2010 Acrylic on canvas, 49" x 66"

(My i-phone snapshot)

... seen here at the far left. Brad Spence's paintings feature the kind of air-brushed haze with which we are familiar since Gerhard Richter opened up that possibility, so it was impossible to tell whether this particular painting was based on an actual photograph of one of our workshop sessions, but it sure looked like it. (We were with a handful of artists from our regular Tuesday group, who all agreed on the remarkable similarity; but we heard later from Shoshana herself, who had called the artist to ask, that he thought it was "some religious group"--hence unlikely to be us!) Spence's haze suggests an oneiric perception of reality...

Cocktail, 2010, Acrylic on canvas, 55" x 53"

(This and all images below courtesy of the respective galleries)

...where the absence of clear focus evokes the frailty of receding memory and the always questionable nature of reality itself.

I was intrigued by what Stephen Aldrich manages to do with cut-ups of Victorian etchings in his remarkable collages at Craig Krull Gallery. With meticulous precision that fools the eye into believing that it's looking at a singular image, Aldrich pieces together disparate images which, on closer examination, offer wonderfully surreal, often whimsical, sometimes even hilarious juxtapositions. Some of his collages create crazy, eye-catching architectural puzzles...

Point Counterpoint, 2010, collage, 18 x 24 in

Others, like the fabulous creatures invented by the appendage of one familiar animal or bird head to the body of another, content themselves with a simple visual pun...

Menagerie, 2011, Collage, 20 x 26 in

They tickle the imagination with mischievous humor and intriguing visual conundrums. Also at Craig Krull, there's a collection of exquisite, small-scale black and white photographs by Yamamoto Masao...

#1589, 2010, gelatin silver print, 10.5 x 7.5 in

#1579, date not listed, gelatin silver print, 8.8 x 5.6 in

...nature studies whose chiaroscuro effects are a superb refinement of the camera's potential. The gallery's press release appropriately evokes the haiku as a kind of verbal equivalent of these distillations of pure presence into a single, intense moment of insight.

I also loved the playfully meandering lines of Patrick Nickell's painted plaster sculptures at Rosamund Felsen Gallery. Organic, brightly colored and entertaining to the eye, Nickell's big, three-dimensional squiggles beg to be circumnavigated, changing contour with each step as they play positive against negative space in a dance that is at once, curiously, both elegant and amiably clumsy...

Gazing (blue), 2010, Acrylic, plaster, metal armature, painted wood table (lt. blue), 26 ½ x 35 x 21”, table 32 3/8 x 27 ½ x 22 ½”

These structures work well not only individually, but with each other...

The Lending Library Lends A Hand, Installation view

The installation has its own peculiar choreography, in which the viewer is invited to play his or her own interactive part.

It seemed like a good day for visual fun. At Lora Schlesinger Gallery, we found Bruce Houston's "Nefertetes, Trucks, and Assemblages." Houston has been playing around with trucks for years--toy rigs put to work to transport disproportionately-sized ( or shaped) icons of contemporary art. They are the most fun for me when they are made to climb steps, turn the corner...

Mondrian Corner Truck, 1989, mixed media, 14 x 11 x 7 "

... or go around in circles...

Orange Truck, 2009, mixed media, 11-1/2 " in diameter

New to me were Houston's delightful "Nefertetes," combining the ancient Egyptian icon with those of our own time, whether Warhol's tomato soup can...

Warhol Nefertete, 1995-1996, mixed media, 9-1/2 x 8 x 8in

... Jackson Pollock, or Groucho Marx. These small satires make us laugh, but also challenge us to reconsider how cherished cultural icons can morph swiftly into cliches---unless we manage to somehow reinvent them.

A highlight of our tour was the discovery of a gallery that's new to me, though its doors have been open for several months now. Luis De Jesus (not to be confused with long-standing La Luz De Jesus Gallery, also in Los Angeles) seems focussed on bringing in new work from outside Los Angeles, currently Margie Livingston from Seattle and Geoffrey Todd Smith from Chicago. Both are addicted to bold color, and both flirt with--but, I think, escape--the salacious temptations of pure eye candy. Todd Smith's engaging small paintings create intricate patterns out of myriad, carefully hand-painted ovate dots...

Spectral Hex, 2010, Gouache, ink and acrylic on panel, 12 x 12 in

Exotic Socks on an Erotic Fox, 2010, Gouache, ink and acrylic on panel, 20 x 16 in

... which set the eye dancing in somewhat the same manner as op-art. Margie Livingston creates delicious three-dimensional objects out of nothing but pure acrylic paint. In this installation, hundreds of multi-colored disks--tiddlywinks, anyone?--form an eye-level line around the entire gallery wall, or are stacked in a twenty-foot high line from floor to ceiling...

Paint Objects, Installation Shot

Paint Objects, Installation Shot

Strands of pure color are woven into solid eggs--some chopped open, like geodes...

Paint Objects, Installation Shot

... to display their interior layers. Large, paper-thin sheets of poured paint are folded like blankets or hung against the wall. This is "painting" joyfully redefined.

There was much more to see, but I'll have to content myself with one last stop, at William Turner Gallery, to see an old friend, the painter Ned Evans. I'm no painter myself, but Evans, surely, is one of those people we mean when we're taking about a "painter's painter." This installation includes a series of strong, bold works which bear the stamp of someone who knows what he's doing with color and form, and does it with the authority of one who has been at it a long time, and with at least the appearance of ease. They are formally elegant variations on a theme, musical in structure, rhythmic in progression...

JOGU, acrylic on canvas, 78x94

ZANBIL, acrylic and mixed media on canvas, 30x48

GOA, acrylic and mixed media on canvas, 18x16

They invite us to follow that progression from painting to painting, and deepen our perception of each one as we go. They are also knowledgeable paintings, steeped in art history. As I looked around the gallery walls, I found myself thinking about Paul Klee, about Duchamp's "Nude Descending a Staircase," and about a whole range of late twentieth century American painters. A thoroughly satisfying experience.