a finger pointing to the son

Piled in the back of the station wagon like a bunch of soft toys juggled by a mischievous hand, the children listened intently to the banter of the adults in the front seat. Bob Kagen, looking fondly over the pastoral landscape stretching beyond Botsford Hill Road, inhaled deeply and proclaimed that there was nothing like the smell of fresh cut grass. Ollie slapped the steering wheel and bellowed a large laugh. Taunting his buddy, he replied that what he smelled wasn't grass at all, but horse manure. The rollicking back seat thought that the gaffe was hilarious, but being a child from suburban New York, I wasn't sure I could tell the difference either.

It can be easy to misidentify something we're not familiar with. When we trust in our own limited experience it's easy to get things wrong. Then there's a need for someone to get us back on the right track. And that's the point of the gospel message this morning. John the Baptist, with fire and brimstone, has come to show us to the true road. "Make straight the way of the lord," he professes, and a page later, "He must increase, but I must decrease." And like the Zen story of the monk Hotei pointing to the moon, the Baptist is only a finger pointing back to our original path. 

Some get caught up thinking about the particulars. Who is this wild man that corrects our ways? What is the point of knowing the difference between increment and excrement? And who is this other we do not know? Yet, Eckhart Tolle explains that: "The truth is far more all-encompassing than the mind could ever comprehend. No thought can encapsulate the Truth. At best, it can only point to it." Blogger Myrko Thum says analyzing the pointer is pointless. We don't need to find, nor can we find, the Christ outside of our true self. "Turn your light inward," Dogen Zenji said, "and you will illuminate the self." Only then will you know what's horse s__t and what's not.

love, always,

pia

three times

Everyone is searching for happiness. Yet happiness is fickle and elusive. It seems to be affected by just about everything. Things out of our control, from the weather to the news, cause anger, anxiety, and frustration to arise. Yet even things in our immediate domain, such as how much sleep we get or our overloaded holiday schedules, inflict undue clutter and stress. Theophane, a Trappist monk, used to tell me that all people are deluded. The burglar steals because he thinks it will bring him happiness. He is unaware of his own pain and incivility. Perceiving that fulfilling our individual wants and desires will bring a permanent state of ease and gratification, it is in effect, the true cause of our suffering.

So it was with alcohol. Three times in my life have I imbibed too much in the search for happiness. The first was in college when my friend Gene and I thought it might be fun to experiment with rum and coke. Both inexperienced drinkers, the result was disastrous. To this day, the smell of rum, even in cooking, makes me nauseous. The second time I had just been fired from a job and overdid my consolation in beer. Consequently, I have lost much taste for it as well. And finally, about nine years ago, while working at the Fillmore Auditorium, a friend coerced me with one too many. By then, two vodka and cranberry's had me staggering, so I made a vow that I would not drink in excess ever again. In fact, it is an extremely rare occasion that you would find me with a drink in hand at all.

It wasn't hard to do. I didn't find alcohol attractive, the taste was mostly unappealing, and the deleterious effects outweighed any pleasure I received. Unfortunately, it's not so easy for many people, but there is a point where we have to repent of our ways and change our behavior. Not just in drinking, but in anything unhealthy that we think will bring us satisfaction. And this is what John the Baptist is calling us to do: Out of the wilderness of unmindfulness, recognize your unskillful actions and resolve never to repeat them. Make yourself clean, he proclaims, by returning to righteousness and resisting evil.

In the same way, Toni Morrison in her classic novel "Beloved," has "Baby Suggs, holy, offer[ing] up her great big heart. She did not tell them to clean up their lives or to go and sin no more....She told them that the only grace they could have was the grace they could imagine. That if they could not see it, they would not have it." If we are unaware of our circumstances we shall continue to live in ignorance. Through right living, unwise choices originating from delusion, aversion, and attachment, can purify our soul. Three times I had hoped that drinking would be enjoyable, might drown my regret and sorrow, and perhaps, gain me a new companion. None of these came to be and ultimately changed my mind about what was good. A continual returning to the divine indwelling may be the only real source of happiness.

love, always,

pia

train in vain

A late New York night, Evie and I peered down the empty subway tunnel pondering when the next local 1 train would finally take us downtown. We had been anxiously waiting for some time and I was getting quite concerned. I wasn't up for the walk, and having already paid our fare, hailing a cab was not in my vocabulary. We would just have to be patient for our savior to come. Every noise brought hopeful anticipation but ultimate disappointment. The slightest rustle of a lone rat on the tracks below, the ker-plunk of the turnstile echoing the arrival of a solitary traveler, or the stertor* of a vagrant asleep on the single pew beside us, ignited our senses that our destiny would soon be fulfilled. But no light was coming our way. Would it ever come? Could we be saved from this underground hell before I fell asleep? My watchful doubt was lifted when the faint rumbling of wheels steeled on track was discerned. It was but a deadheading train collecting trash that clambered by without stop. Oh, when would our time come?

In "Everyday Zen," Charlotte Joko Beck relates a story about a man who waits for the E train to enlightenment. Just like Evie and myself, he waited a long time. Others soon joined him on the platform and all were waiting for something. Something that would take them where they wanted to go. Mostly, we are waiting for our hopes in dreams: In things that we think we need. Although good in themselves, they inevitably fail to deliver what we're truly seeking. The obscene lines for urgent Black Friday shopping are signs of this perverted hope. The fragile reliance on the temporal future will only leave us waiting in vain.

This waiting is a denial of the present. When we are unaware of the power of our attachments and aversions, we have fallen asleep and have missed the train. That's why Jesus tells us to "Keep awake - for you do not know when the [train] will come." Today is the arrival of Advent which announces the good news that the train is coming, has come, and will come again. We must wake up and realize that there is no need to wait. We are already on the train and have been since the beginning. Joko Beck concludes her parable by saying *that there is no train. There's nothing to catch, nothing to wait for, and nowhere to go. In other words, we have arrived.

After some time Evie turned to me with an enlightenment. "It's in the wind," she said, "You'll know it when you feel it." Even before you hear a sound you'll know it's coming. We stopped our waiting and took off on our journey.

love, always,

pia

* Today's "word of the day" at Thesaurus.com meaning a heavy snoring sound.

us and them

Yesterday I witnessed the Occupy Wall Street protesters marching in downtown Denver. The dissatisfied and meager 99% are rallying a nascent - though some might say a nescient - cry nationwide against the powerbrokers and their cronies. It was quite exciting but what struck me most were the chants and banners which plainly made the distinction between us and them. All I could hear, however, was a classic rock song playing in my head: 

"Us (us, us, us, us) and Them (them, them, them, them)

And after all we're only ordinary men

Me (me, me, me me), and you (you, you, you, you)

God only knows it's not what we would choose to do"

Almost forty years ago Pink Floyd recorded "Us and Them" on perhaps the seminal rock album of all time, "Dark Side of the Moon." To commemorate the anniversary, they recently released a deluxe version of the masterpiece containing not just the original version, but additional live performances, outtakes, demos, and scores of unreleased material. It is known by all of my generation through and through, and although an undeniable favorite and much-loved, I haven't listened to it in ages. But when I finally put this new collection on my iPod I remembered why this music was so important. Personally I was always enthralled by the exceptional experience of the music, but the words have never been more relevant. The band continues their tome of separation...

"With (with, with, with, with), without (out, out, out, out).

And who'll deny that's what the fightings all about" 

It breaks my heart that the social climate of this country has catastrophically polarized corporate capitalism against the public welfare. Political ideologies rage without due concern for long term solutions to our serious problems. It appears that we live in an selfish age where to help, not just the needy, but the other has become irresponsible. We have no use for the other. Tragically, our own special interests and individual concerns now outweigh the collective good. Are we forever separated into us and them?

Our readings this morning, unfortunately, do not help as they stress the incompatible divisions. Both the Old and New Testaments demonstrate that we have been struggling with this problem for a long time. Those who do the right thing, that is, the people who help those in need are rewarded. Consequently, those who refuse to give are denied god's grace. Matthew's gospel is particularly fiery and vindictive in such a way. But this idea of separation arises with only short-sighted consciousness. We are not alone, nor are we the 99%. We cannot separate ourselves from each other or from the earth. We are intimately - 100% - connected and to deny a part of one is a death to all. Perhaps we should consider the Buddha's portrayal of the two reed bundles leaning against each other. When one bundle is removed, he cautions, the other cannot remain standing. 

Zen practice uses a technique called the ten ox herding pictures that may represent a practitioner's advancement on the path to becoming enlightened. It begins with "In search of the bull," and it describes our current situation: 

"In the pasture of this world, I endlessly push aside the tall reeds in search of the bull.
Following unnamed rivers, lost upon the interpenetrating paths of distant mountains,
My strength failing and my vitality exhausted, I cannot find the bull.
I only hear the locusts chirring through the forest at night."

We eventually realize that the bull has never been lost. And as such, there is no need to search. Only because we separate ourselves from our true nature, do we conceive him missing. Our senses confused, we lose our way. We see many roads but do not know the way. Many chose the way of greed, some take the path of fear, others the road of power, but they all lead further away from home.

The only avenue that returns us from the dark side of the moon is to remember that there is no us or them. When we come to understand our unity we shall progress together to a better world. Although we are ordinary men and women, god knows we can choose the right thing to do. Let us not leave anyone out - the 99 or the one percent.

love, always,

pia

trust fund investing

The veritable personification of god sternly sat in judgment listening to my plaintive defense. The longer we sat the more my confidence was shaken. And we sat for a long time. Finally I cried out in desperation, "I don't know if I can. I am so unworthy." His eyes twinkled from behind a full beard that buried his face in thick wool and a knowing smile spread across Brother Micah's lips. "Truly, we are all unworthy," the monk confided. But that's not the answer I wanted to hear. I had hoped for some assurance that everything would be okay, but all I got was an affirmation of risk and that made me nervous. Perhaps I shouldn't take the chance.

Each day we take many risks of minor consequence, but when we're playing with fire - when life as we know it is on the line - then the unknown scares us. That's what causes the judicious servant in today's parable to play it safe. He doesn't want to take a chance losing his god-given talent, so he hides it and therefore has nothing to show for it when the credit is called due. He is scorned and condemned, but considering the market's ups and downs recently, it may not have been such a bad strategy. Similarly, Lorraine bemoaned the fact that her retirement account lost a bundle this year and wondered if it would have been best to hide it under a mattress. I won't even look at mine for fear of the worst. So what chance do we have?

First of all, this isn't a lesson in investment, unless of course it's an investment in a trust fund. The Nike* Christ is saying "Just Do It," and don't hold back. Trust and give all the love you have and you will reap a bounteous reward. However, we often get the feeling that what we have to give is hardly enough. With our meager talent we shall never prove ourselves worthy. But we are not called to calculate risk, but to give love. The prudent who offer little do much to offend. 

There will always be risks for life is necessarily uncertain. But the rich opportunities will only arise when we don't deny the goodness and gifts of the universe. All that is true; All that is good; All that is wise, comes from answering with confidence the call that the divine has placed upon us. If there was no risk there would be no growth. And without growth we would not have lived. In the end, a life safely lived is not lived at all.

love, always,

pia

* Greek goddess of victory, not of Oregon shoes.

a different way to go

No, it wasn't a glorious fall day that brought out the best in everything. The dull sky loomed forlorn without brilliance and the chill nipped ever so that it might be best to remain content at home. Nonetheless the afternoon was calling me outdoors. And justified with some errands to run, I hopped on my bike and sprightly went on a 20 mile junket. I wanted to follow a route that Amy and I took a few years prior but somewhere along the way I veered off course. Still, fond memories flooded my mind as I recalled our day together talking of her reconnecting with Andy and eventually buying a large stash of windup toys for our mom. Even though unplanned, somehow I had found another way to get where I wanted to go.

On the return, although being more careful to maintain the preconceived path, I soon ventured a unique course. Again it mattered little, for which ever way I traveled there was something to marvel. Here was a group of roofers on their lunch break imbibing the sweet strains of Conjunto Norteno accordion. I pondered the coincidence when I came across a second just a few blocks away. In a park I spotted a father and son tossing a football in long, perfect spirals, and later, two girls gathering the last of the quickly fading snow to make a one ball snowman. When I rode past the house where Lorraine lived when I first met her, the smell of freshly baked bread and the ruckus of a truckstop jamboree ignited my senses. Each of these events formed part of a, now, glorious day.

Yet if there was only one of these recollections it still would have been a blessed afternoon. It's not the cumulative total, nor is it any one thing that creates the specialness, but the discreet attention to the individual. One is not better than the other for each was a gift of the divine. The best of everything awaits in anything. The way to love has no prescribed path because there's more than one way to get there.

The same is true with our relationship with our true self. There's more than one way to follow the inner light. In today's lesson from Matthew, Jesus preaches his first gospel message which sums up his spiritual convictions. He proclaims there are many roads to the golden heart: Be compassionate, sincere, humble, or merciful and you will arrive, he says. Seek justice, peace, or long to love and you meet the holy. Don't be attached to anything except finding yourself, and you will. The New Testament could end here and it would still get us where we need to go.

The Beatitudes offer us many ways to reach our destination and each one is filled with grace. We don't need to follow all of them to wind up at our spiritual home, but if we truly follow one, there's a good chance we'll reach them all. When we recognize the blessedness of life we won't be content with what's at home, we'll want to go out and fully experience the love that's everywhere to behold.

love, always,

pia

too smart/too late

Out of the blue it struck me. Like a swift blow to the stomach, Martina's remark came as a shock, and it knocked me from my confident bearings. "You're quite arrogant," she decried with burning eyes and pursed lips. It was an awkward moment because I felt, quite the contrary, sincere, almost humble. It was nothing I said that caused her resentment, but a condescending attitude that hurt just the same. It was one of the last times we were together but I remember well her lesson of non-verbal communication. Sometimes you don't have to say anything to say the wrong thing.

I tried to refute the accusation but my inadequate words were of little value, offering anything but empathy. Ultimately, pride was the source of my insolence. I knew what was best and even as I remained silent the words were plain to hear; "I was superior." And even if I didn't realize it, I was making sure that she did. Overcome by a need for self-validation, I wanted to impress rather than support. A deep insecurity led me to search for acceptance from others rather than where it can be truly found - at the inner source.

This is precisely what leads to Jesus' rebuke of the religious elite. He cites their consummate study but cautions, "Do not do as they do, for they do not practice what they teach." They may speak the wisdom of compassion yet they can't hear the cry of those in need. The Buddhist teacher, Thubten Chodron says, "Believing themselves to be learned, talented, and excellent, proud people are self complacent. They don't want to and cannot learn from others. Their pride keeps them in a stagnant state."

With our vast knowledge we tend to insulate ourselves from what's important. Pride keeps us from increasing and practicing our true wisdom. Instead of benefiting others we end up hurting them. Everyone deserves to be listened to. Everyone deserves our respect. Sometimes, however, we may be too smart for our own good.

love, always,

pia

bring in the clowns

When I was young I must have had a fear of going to sleep. Nightly, I would plead to my mother to "sit with me a little bit" until I nodded off into dreamland. I did this not to coax a favorite bedtime story - though a few pages of "Where the Wild Things Are" or "Charlotte's Web" were never discouraged - but to assuage the subliminal terror of being alone. Like the deranged zebra in Garth Stein's novel, "The Art of Racing in the Rain," who torments Enzo's sleep, I was occasionally terrified by a crazed jack-in-the-box that watched me from a shelf in my room. Even so, I wasn't consciously afraid of this, or similar monsters under the bed, or recurring nightmares of a giant moon perched outside my window, I simply wanted the surety that someone would always be there to protect me.

Seems like an ideal job for an omnipotent, omnipresent, and omniscient god. However, as a child the idea of an invisible phantom being a comforting ally was the furthest thing considered. The impossible deity was unfortunately more like that jack-in-the-box than the familial intimacy of my parents. Sharing the disagreeable traits of my foe; god was a cold, ever-watchful, and sneering clown, all the while taking sordid notes of all my daily misdeeds. He (for it was a "he" in those days) wasn't one to be trusted as he was poised to pounce on my defenseless soul. And in the rare instances when I did call (to god, not his evil twin), there was little account of his existence. I can't remember one time where he helped me with my homework or subdued that boxed devil. I was alone with my demon and it was no wonder I entreated my parents to quell the night.

Despite my misgivings, however, I didn't give up on god. But as much as I tried, he didn't make sense. So it's not surprising that I've resonated with today's difficult gospel passage for many years. In response to a pharisaical test, Jesus poses the rabbinical riddle: "If (King) David calls him (the Messiah) Lord, how can he be his son?" It's a mobius strip argument that has no satisfactory answer. The religious elite, like a computer in an endless loop, shut down and leave the Christ in his glory. It's no help and much like the Buddhist conception of Samsara - an endless cycle of suffering.

Curiously, this same eternal knot is also a symbol of unity. It is an intertwining of all that is: the good, daytime jester coequal to the bad, dark, and lurking spirit. Like an M. C. Escher drawing where each image is dependent upon the other, Jesus continues to emphasize the inseparability of religious life and secular activities. Last week he visioned a coin as his tool, today the ungainly father is son is father enigma. He tells us not to fear because we are never alone. The answer to life's puzzle is the interconnectedness of all beings protected by the unending love of god. And that's all we need for a good nights rest.

love, always,

pia

who's side are you on

On Wednesday I read an article about fans of the Philadelphia Flyers hockey team jeering rival players that were displayed on their arena scoreboard. Considering even my subdued passion for sports teams, I can understand the fitful reaction. Caught in the contest's frenzy, I might have behaved in a similar bass way. For having disliked the Broad Street Bullies since my beloved Islanders were still a major threat on the ice - harking back at least 25 years - had I recognized them in my home venue, my blood might begin to boil. Unfortunately, the reason for the unwelcomed Philadelphia response was a public service announcement in support of The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. During a break in play, the solicitation for donations by the worthy cause sent the crowd into knee-jerk apoplexy. The reaction was seen as crass even if they weren't booing the anti-cancer charity itself. Their loyalty, common to many non-sports scenarios as well, was unequivocal for they knew who's side they were on.

Sometimes we're questioned on where we stand. Are we for the team or not? In cases like the one above, it's not always easy to be clear in our priorities. When Lorraine called me at work on Thursday saying she arrived in Yosemite after a long drive, I sensed that there was something lingering and all was not completely well. She didn't offer much information because she understood from my harried tone that I was under a pressing deadline. Two important items were competing for my attention and I had to choose. Regretfully, my job took precedence over my familial obligations. But how was I to care for both? I had to make a choice.

That's what happens in the gospel narrative this morning. Jesus is confronted with a deliberate quandary: Where do you place your allegiance, the inquisitor's chortle their crafty ply, do you support the political state or not? Their scheme was perfectly deceptive and there was no pat answer. Both a yes or a no comeback were wrong. The teacher would have to implicate himself one way or the other. If he chooses one, it's heresy, the other and he's indicted for treason. Either way he loses. So they press to know who's side he's playing for.

We often make definitive "life or death" distinctions in our situations. It's easier, less confusing, and safer to limit the possibilities to either "A" or "B". Yet perhaps we are not dealing with two alternatives in conflict, but rather two options in tension. Could it be that we don't have to take sides? Thus the Christly reply: Choose both. Jesus implies that you can't contain god in a box, selecting or dismissing it with a yes or no choice. The spirit is bigger than we can know and can't simply be divided or pinned down. Radically, it isn't the government or god, it's both and more.

There is a lot of talent fighting for ice time in the game of life. We can react from our projected prejudices, hissing at hated enemies all the while missing the divine intent behind the message. Or, as Jesus tells us, that everything is sacred and nothing can be left out. Today's story presents an Imperial coin which bears the image of the political deity, demanding that we pay homage to society's leaders and laws; yet the mark of god is indelible in each of us, and therefore deference is due to the one above all others. To determine which side your on is ultimately not a toss of the coin, but two sides of the same.

love, always,

pia

a gift

My father's birthday was a few weeks ago. Unfortunately, it's difficult to buy him a present because, first of all, he doesn't really need anything, and secondly, he humbly admits that he doesn't want anything. Maybe birthdays remind him of his age, and like me, we'd both prefer not to get any older than we are. But I wanted to celebrate and give him something I thought he might like. Anything. Simply as a token of my love and happiness that he is my dad. 

I have always liked birthdays. Perhaps it's because it's the day we get showered with attention or maybe it's just cake and presents, but whatever it is, a birthday makes me feel good, important, and above all loved. On the other hand, there are people like my father, who eschew the day - and presents in particular - modestly thinking that it's a burden on the giver. But the giving is equally important as the receiving. Maybe more so because we get to show our appreciation and gratitude even if the gift is a trifle.

At one time or another we have all been given a special birthday gift, one that stands out from all the others. I recall a memorable sixteenth when my father and I drove out to some long-forgotten Long Island locale in the old Pontiac Grand Prix station wagon to get a bicycle. John Lennon's "Be Bop A Lula" was blaring on the radio which was significant simply because we weren't listening to classical WQXR. I loved that bike, yet some of the most precious gifts are the little ones without monetary value. Surprising my mother a few years ago by just showing up on her Denver doorstep when living 2,000 miles away was unforgettable. Regrettably though, there are other gifts we don't even remember having received or not recognized until much later. 

When I was young I received a gift I couldn't play with, wear, or physically use. It didn't feel like a gift but it was something I have cherished my whole life. It was the gift of love from my very dear friend, Margot, who recently passed that is worth more to me than any present imaginable. And today's gospel speaks of this same gift. 

At a prince's wedding, where everyone has been invited, a guest is tossed out for being improperly dressed, that is, coming without a wedding robe. The robe is offered to all and is a symbol, as Saint Augustine says, of "love that springs from a pure heart, a clear conscience, and a genuine faith." Margot had that gift.

We are free to make the choice; to accept or decline the king's gift which is constant, persistent, and a repeatable invitation to god's great party. I'd like to return my friend's gift now - not exchange it - but share it with her husband Jerry, the immediate and extended family whom I love the same as my own, and all their friends who knew her: To share the gift of love.

Intangible gifts are under-appreciated and are often oblivious to many of us. Others don't care about them or think they have little value. Some take them for granted or feel as if they were entitled to them. But the gift of love is the greatest gift and it is the one gift that we can't live without. It is a gift from god and the only one worth giving.

love, always,

pia

to be is to do

The "redlines" arrived on my desk unannounced and unwelcome. There weren't many, but the imperatives staring me down demanded in no uncertain terms to "Make the following changes." To say the least, I was a bit indignant. My "superior" sense of design, color, and proportion was being challenged by what I selfishly deemed to be unjust, coming from uncritical reason. These changes were not for the better, I scoffed, but arbitrary and imprudent. After fuming over a hurt ego for a spit, reluctantly I deferred. But only just so.

Recanting my stubborn refusal to change, I sifted through the pages and began to accommodate my superior's requests. At some I shook my head in disbelief, vowing that I could never affront my masterpiece with such embarrassment, but eventually found the resolve to make good. Others, however, I assented to quickly but proudly failed to perform. In the first scenario I started out wrongly but corrected my action, and the latter had good intentions but no follow through. It was a deja vu rendering of today's gospel parable. In both instances, words and actions did not align. The protagonist said one thing yet did another.

It isn't what you say you are going to do that's important, it's what you do*. And this is the point of Jesus' obvious story: Results matter; Intentions, well, not so much. He condemns the religious elite for starting out on the righteous path but ending up perversely distorting their objective. They mean to follow god but instead get sidetracked with innuendo and intrigue. More concerned with dead legal formalities than the life behind their words, the authorities proclaim: Do what I say not what I do. The unacceptable (the tax collectors and prostitutes), on the other hand, may have begun their journey in the wrong, Jesus infers, but finish strong by following the good. Their actions speaking louder than their words.

Who we are is shown by what we do. We inhabit the divine as the divine is in us and we must share the spirit to make it come alive. The self-emptying, humble, and loving Christ is born in our works. His adversaries speak only to confuse and disable. Our intimate nature seeks our involvement not just our words. We are called to follow through on our promises. Are we ready to say yes - yes to our obligations, yes to the right choices, yes to the god we intimately know and who knows us, yes to live the life of Christ?

love, always,

pia

* Of course the end doesn't justify the means. There is more than doing the right thing. What's not addressed, and arguably more important, is how we do what we do.

lights on, nobody home

A new roommate moved in to my condo last week. Unfortunately, day by day I have become increasingly dismayed over a multitude of instances which I consider violations of my space. Cabinet doors are routinely left open, items are left scattered about after their use, shoes sit on the furniture, lights left indiscriminately on, and the toilet remains unflushed. When I return home I consistently find something not being attended to. I wanted, not an admission of guilt, but a simple "I'm sorry," but none was forthcoming. I felt hurt because my home - and by extension, myself - was not being afforded the respect it deserved. The expectations of an orderly house have been abused.

It's a matter of awareness. To handle things with attentive care, whether through our speech, touch, or mind, is the embodiment of the divine. Of course, it is extraordinarily difficult to be conscious of everything we do and to do it with love, but I saw no evidence of an attempt. An early lesson from the convent was a reprimand for noisily clanging the dishes while placing them in the dishwasher. I was intent on hastily completing my task in order to enjoy free time in other, more pleasant, activities. But my Sisters reminded me that every action required heedful attention - from quietly closing doors to never hurrying. When we wash the dishes we do it carefully that even plastic dishes are given great accord. When we talk we speak with a reverent tongue as if speaking to one most honored. Everything we do is performed as if the our entire life depended on our work - as indeed it does - for the extension of our touch knows no bounds. In such a way, everything and everywhere is a potential for the sacred to emerge.

So a feeling of distress arose on account of my roommate's indiscreet manners. While unmindfulness may have upset the tranquility of my home, anger destroyed my inner peace even more. I became overly anxious and couldn't sleep until I came across a quote by the Taiwanese Buddhist nun, Cheng Yen, who said, "To be angry is to let others' mistakes punish yourself." I quickly realized that my roommate was not purposefully inflicting harm and that only my emotions were the root of my misery. The key to letting go of the pain was forgiveness.

However,  "Everyone believes in forgiveness until he has something to forgive," remarked C. S. Lewis. Why should I forgive when I was the one who (it seemed) required forgiveness? Yet this is what Jesus is attempting to relay to his disciples in today's gospel. In the parable of the Unmerciful Servant, he explains that we are all human and all in need of divine grace. There is no end to forgiveness. Peter, on the other hand, expects a quick fix. He wants to know when his work is done so he can get on to other, more preferable, activities. The Christ tells him that the job is never done. 

Forgiveness is not about accepting unacceptable behavior, it is about relinquishing our resentment and thoughts of revenge. On this anniversary of 9/11

that's something to be mindful of - and perhaps something we should have been aware of ten years ago. But forgiveness takes time for true healing and can't be forced. When we forgive, we let go of of our anger, not our ethics. We can then move on and not be disturbed when the lights are on but nobody is at home.

love, always,

pia

fences

This past Labor Day weekend I helped my father build a fence. He wanted to screen out a stand of junipers that over the years have become bare and unsightly, and although he did the majority of the labor, I found that I also built a fence of my own.

Unlike my father's project, mine could not be seen nor was it entirely useful. I constructed a subliminal fence meant to conceal the suffering from a negative onslaught of self examination. Things that I would rather forget or those that are too painful to live with, my critical mind uncovered and I wished to hide them. In deference to a functioning sanity, my subconscious built a fence around this deep hurt of shame and guilt. A hopeful strategy inflicting a minimal hand blister from the screwdriver of humiliation, but which soon enough is forgotten. However, underneath festers a writhing discontent rendering eventual turmoil onto the unsuspecting visible side.

And so it was this weekend. My usually adequate defenses were torn down, and faults, large and small, overwhelmed my sense of safety. The radical question "Am I looking at myself clearly and honestly?" failed to arise and a ready gainsaying of the provocations appeared to be negligent. Fast I held the gates closed, and in an exasperated resolve, vowed to build a better barrier.

Yet these fences serve only to disassociate ourselves from the true beauty we so hope to see. I wanted to screen out the internal graceless negativity leaving only a secure haven. But my freedom is not found in a separation from the pain but through the wisdom of acceptance. We can't rid ourselves of the things we don't like, these things are what make up our reality. There is always the good, the bad, and the indifferent. The problem is in ourselves and how we relate to what we're confronted with. Our strength and freedom reside not in the protective self but in the uncomfortable confusion of what is.

And this may be the subliminal message that Jesus is attempting to get across in yesterday's gospel. Of course the Christ is alluding to reconciliation of a deviant member of the group, but in effect he may also be acknowledging that all - the acceptable and the unacceptable aspects of ourselves - are part of the One. The joy lies in tearing down the fences and welcoming the undivided soul, not just the parts we find favor with. When we become friends with our Self there is a profound wholeness because nothing has to change and no new fences need to be built.

love, always,

pia

i have arrived

I was deeply concerned that I made the wrong choice this morning. I had eschewed my usual responsibilities at Church with the intention of spending the day at a local Buddhist monastery. Thich Nhat Hanh and the monks and nuns of Plum Village were scheduled to lead a Day of Mindfulness concluding their week-long Colorado retreat and I wanted to be there. However, I was alerted that he was also supposed to be teaching at Naropa and the conflict of interest had me worried that I missed an opportunity to be in the presence of such a venerable and celebrated practitioner.

I had been anticipating Thay's visit for months and despite a grave tiredness from yesterday's intensive activities at the U.S. Pro Cycling Championships, drove up to the mountain center. Convoluting a myriad of scenarios along the way - if he's not there, I'll do such and so - trying to convinced myself that whatever the outcome, it wouldn't be a waste of time. But the reality was that I had my heart set on hearing the master speak. If he was gone I would be sorely disappointed. And even though I didn't hear it in person, the morning's gospel was clearly audible in my ears.

As you may recall, Jesus had just anointed Peter as the head of the Church in last week's reading, and today, three verses following, the Christ is rebuking him for short selling the institution out. Peter has legitimate concerns of course. If the veritable teacher is gone by submitting his will unto death, then it's up to him. And Peter knows all too well that he's no savior. So he tells Jesus that this must never happen; he's got to stick around at least a little while longer.

Don't we all feel that way? What shall we do when our leader, teacher, friend, lover, (fill in your codependency) is no more? Ananda, weeping before the dying Tathagata, is much the same as Peter's admission. In the same vein, I, too, was worried about the teacher's absence. But when I arrived at the monastery's parking lot, I witnessed hundreds of followers streaming up the hillside. I was assured in my hopes and thus regained my spiritual footing. But the ground was paved by what Jesus was trying to tell Peter, and in fact was also the same as the Buddha told his closest disciple.

Each of the unawakened chooses to live in the unreal future confines of "what if." In a two hour dharma talk, Thich Nhat Hanh consistently emphasized living in the here and now as the way to freedom. My happiness is not dependent upon being in the presence of a master, even less about satisfying my own desires. As the Buddha said to Ananda, "Each of you should be an island unto himself, with himself and no other as his refuge." Jesus' rebuke to his closest disciple, "Get behind me, Satan...for you are setting your minds not on divine things but on human things," echoes this sentiment. Two thousand years later, we translated this message beginning the day joyously singing "I have arrived." In walking, sitting, and eating meditation I repeated:

I have arrived, I am home

In the here, and in the now

I am solid, I am free

In the ultimate, I dwell

And by the time I left, I felt as if I surely had.

These writings are now being collected at: http://lovealways-pisa.blogspot.com

a different way of seeing

Advertising is ubiquitous. Beyond the billboards, TV spots, and internet banners, shout outs can't be shut out. Everywhere we look some interest is trying to positively define itself in the consumer's mind. Over the years, branding, as it's now called, has become very sophisticated in the hope that when company communication is seen or heard, an advantageous Pavlovian response will be blindly triggered. Coca Cola used to be "delicious and refreshing," soon it became "the real thing," and now it simply "opens happiness." From long ago crisp description to today's vague promise, each allure affects our emotions and ultimately our buying decisions. In a not so subtle way, corporate America is invading our consciousness in an attempt to create alchemical desire out of fictional grounds.

As a graphic designer I have done a fair share of image creation. In my corporate identity work I usually endeavor to impart meaning beyond that which is readily apparent. My hope is that through the clever use of form, memorable impact will be created while accurately defining the client's product or organization. Most, if not all, of the company logos that you can think of, successfully employ this technique. The hidden arrow in the FedEx logo denotes movement, speed, and efficiency; Infinity automobile's vanishing roadway is a disguised arrow taking you far into the future; and the not so discreet arrow in the Amazon.com mark implies that the company carries everything from A to Z, are just a few examples. 

Branding attempts to create meaning beyond itself. With pervasive and persuasive contact we are easily deceived. Gullible, we readily believe what we're told. Soon we are not seeing for ourselves but that which we are conditioned to see. Though Coke may be delicious and refreshing, can it open happiness any more than the real thing - the real world - can? How is it anything more than a sweet carbonated beverage? We must open our eyes to see things truly for what they are. 

And this is Jesus' test in the gospel reading this morning. What do you see when you encounter the Christ he asks. Is there more than meets the eye? Answers are contrived from the collective consciousness but finally Peter declares only what he alone has perceived. He has seen the infinite in the finite. He has seen the real thing. William Blake, in the Marriage of Heaven and Hell, notes that "My senses discover'd the infinite in every thing." Through the senses we see only the finite reality, yet we sense the infinite through reality. If we look closely enough, the divine is seen in everyday life.

Does that make the mundane special? In one sense, no - a Coke is still a Coke no matter what the behemoth propaganda tells you. The physical phenomena has no meaning beyond itself. But then on another level, there is so much more. And this is what branding attempts to tap into and what Blake infers: That behind every physical thing there is a spiritual element waiting to be discovered. Jesus commends the often daft disciple because with deft comprehension he sees beyond the blinding rhetoric. His message: See not with the eyes, hear not with the ear, but understanding with the heart. In the finite lies the potential for the infinite. No one needs to tell you otherwise.

love, always,
pia

These writings are now being collected at: http://lovealways-pisa.blogspot.com

see what a tree can do

Late winter, when the snows begin to recede and the daytime temperatures rise above freezing, is the brief sapping season at the Convent. The surrounding woods is a veritable sugarbush so there is no shortage of trees from which to choose from. Small and medium sized trees are bypassed until years later, but the large ones are targeted and tapped. Over time some proved to supply more sap than others, yet there are one or two on the far side of the school's basketball court that readily flow far greater than the others. Although the Sisters were grateful for all the trees in the vicinity, these specimens were dubbed Grandfather and Grandmother Maples, perhaps because of their girth and long life, but also because of their unconditional generosity. They were accorded genuine respect and they are still loved to this day even when they are occasionally outdone by their neighbors.

A tree can do that. When you come to know it, not solely for the visceral value it provides, but simply because of it being a living being, that relationship can change you. It only requires an adjustment in perspective. It's important to remember that it's not the tree that changes, but only our perception. The tree is always there, quietly doing its tree business, it is we who become aware that there is more life than just our own limited physical presence. As such, our reality becomes just a little bit larger than it was before. We become more than ourselves and our natural compassion extends beyond our own needs.

This is what Peter, James, and John experience at the transfiguration of Jesus. We are told that the appearance of Jesus' face changed and his clothes became dazzling white. But somehow that can't be what happened. The Master was always such - he did not change, only those who saw him were. Luke continues; "Suddenly they saw," and as their eyes were opened to the majesty of god in man, they became aware of a new possibility. Even though the classical Christian interpretation is to reveal the divinity of only Jesus in that moment, I believe that the understanding of the divine indwelling in all humankind is what truly broadened their worldview and thus changed them forever. The disciples became a part of a greater whole, one which they could not see before, but once the potential was revealed it became indisputable.

As I was driving to my parent's house Wednesday night, I noticed for the first time a statuesque sight. Two houses down from their driveway stood a tall pine tree which stood out from the rest of the hillside. I have driven this road perhaps thousands of times in the 30-plus years they have lived there, but never once had I seen this beauteous giant. Its twisting shape revealed patches of spare limbs and smooth reddish bark. The green-needled branches stretching horizontally struck me with awe. How could I have missed this tree all these years? Of course, it was always there, it didn't change, but now it is a part of my reality. Just like Peter, James, and John, the future will look different because of the recognition of the gracious divine presence dwelling among us. This tree will remind me to be grateful, not only of its individual existence, but for the landscape in which it dwells and all who live thereby. It's simply amazing what a tree can do.

love, always,

pia

a good or bad choice

Acceptance is perhaps the most challenging aspect of life. We find ourselves consistently dissatisfied with what is, and typically grasp for something better, something to change, or something different than what reality presents. As such, we choose to impose concerted opinions about whether something is pleasing to us or not. Yet Shakespeare's Hamlet wisely said, "There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so." By creating the distinction we foster the conditions of pervasive suffering. The source of all unhappiness is being intolerant of the present situation.

On the other hand, tolerance is not what's called for either. In a response to one of my recent tracts, I was accosted with vituperative and provocative language. Their attempt to rectify a perceived wrong through unsubtle judgment did less to induce critical dialog than to incite inner violence. Perhaps there was a need for tolerance to the onslaught in a move toward resolution? Strangely, however, one should not tolerate anything, for this implies remaining bracingly static, bearing indignantly the situation which serves only to increase the inner conflict. Nor should we kowtow from our self-defined positions to the other. Rather, we must forget ourselves and our deeply-held sacred position, and compassionately welcome that which we find. Acceptance of all, not tolerance, is the key.

We are reminded of such in the Wheat and the Tares analogy in today's lesson. The Christ explains that leaving both the weeds and the grain to grow alongside each other is better than to make a biased distinction. We may, unknowingly, have them confused. It is therefore best to have both remain, the good and the bad, and let life be without judgment.

Just last week I visited the local botanic gardens and marveled at a beautiful iridescent blue thistle seed head. Normally we might consider this plant unwanted because it takes space away from the useful and beneficial, yet here it was anything but a weed. In actuality, the flower exists without interpretation. It is neither good nor bad. We alone create the distinction. We may be distracted by our prejudice, our inculturation, or our reasoning may not always be right. Sometimes the weeds, that which we consider unwanted, are good for us too.

LIkewise, my father is currently involved in a medical research test. The doctors are evaluating between two titanium discs that can help reduce the pressure on his spine. He had hoped for the newer, compact version but was told after the surgery that he received the original one. I expected him to be disappointed but he judiciously indicated that it didn't matter. There was no distinction for in the end they both worked toward the same goal. 

There is nothing wrong nor right; nothing good nor bad; and there is nothing to choose. Everything is simply as it is. All condemnation creates division, but judgment is not reality. The Tao says, "Be content with what you have; rejoice in the way things are. When you realize there is nothing lacking, the world belongs to you."

love, always,

pia

where love can grow

In the middle of a downtown street I came upon a small oasis. Emerging out of a six inch perfectly round hole lay a patch of cool green surrounded by a swath of sweltering black asphalt. Wall to wall, a carpet of lush grass concealed a gas manhole cover and in the middle I spotted a ladybug crawling on a tiny white clover flower. Transfixed, I was amazed that this beautiful tableau could arise in such an adverse place where presumedly nothing could grow - nothing perhaps, except road rage.

But how was it possible? Frequent traffic traverse this intersection threatening immanent trampling. Little water could penetrate to enliven the bare and fragile earth. And the scorching summer pavement would make even the hardiest plants wither without hesitation. Yet out of this most inhospitable environs shot forth the seed of possibility. An island of hope took root and love blossomed.

The reality was that the street was simply returning to its natural state. Provided a crack in its hard surface, the seed of god's nature broke through the mean streets of everyday life. The indomitable spirit penetrated the nature of man-made reality and revealed its original nature beneath - that is, the ground of love.

We are told about such places in today's gospel parable. The prophet concedes, however, that these precarious conditions often ensure a fruitless harvest. Though the plant may germinate in a variety of landscapes, it never fully matures unless the ground is well prepared. But our hope in the prodigal farmer, who refuses to neglect even the most difficult places, is undaunted. Regardless of the fact that some soil may provide a more enriching environment than others, there always remains the potential for full flowering. The teaching reveals that the undiscriminating spread of the divine seed of love fills us no matter who or where we are.

Should an opportunity arise to break through the often impenetrable surface of our heart, these ripening seeds promise to cover our full being. The ultimate flowering of life is to return to our natural state - to let the seeds of love mature and yield a flourishing oasis even in the harshest environments.

love, always,

pia

the last word

I have struggled with reading all of my life. Not only do I read slowly, many times after finishing a passage of text, I have little conception of what I just read. From the very beginning, extra classes were invoked to help me, not just understand what I was reading, but also what was on the page itself. Basic first grade primers were confused in imaginative verse much different than what was intended. Later, high school SAT examinations were torturous because my skills were still only approaching adequate. Much to my chagrin, I was encouraged to take them twice because of the unfathomable discrepancy between my mathematics and English scores. A mild form of dyslexia - my own diagnosis - created a fear of the written word that persisted until I rid the home of the television set fifteen years ago. With no allure to the intoxicating blue hues of inculcation, I encouraged and developed a love of books notwithstanding being often flummoxed by mere comprehension. 

So when a misconstrued email found its way into my inbox this week I pondered its meaning intently. Innocuous as it may have seemed to the sender, it catapulted the recipient into skewed fits of confusion. Did it mean what it said or was I reading into it something that was not there? Over and over I ruminated if the wording was a simple mistake or a subtle jab with underlying purpose. Try as I might to grant the benefit of the doubt, anger surged inside me as only the paranoia of disrespect dominated my reading. I could not let go of the presumed affront and it opened a Pandora's (in)box of despair.

Wisely, I recognized straightaway that the words were not the perpetrator but, in fact, was of my own conspiring mind. I created the problem by taking offense. By supposing that the sender's meaning was malicious, I exacerbated its effect by clinging to a created reality. My ego inflamed the situation when all I really wanted was to be free from the speculative slander. Unfortunately this wisdom did not prevent an ill-advised, if reasoned, response. This unskillful strategy did not bring me the joy nor redemption I longed for, but only more consternation.

Jesus says, "Come to me, all you who are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yolk upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls." Our burdens enslave us to not only physical afflictions but mental sufferings as well. And a majority of these burdens are self-inflicted resulting from our attachments. My pride was hurt and so desired a less-than gentle and humble retribution. I thus bound myself to unhappiness because I understood solely through what the subjective mind could read.

The fine print, however, is the extant truth hidden in the authentic Self. And this is what today's gospel calls us to encounter - the unlimited, unburdened Word. Our contrived burdens are never the last word. A true and lasting joy can be learned only in attentive comprehension. There will be found rest for the wearied mind; there will be found ultimate understanding.

 

love, always,
pia

more than meets the eye

A blistering summer yester-day, I took air conditioned refuge in the local art house cinema. Inside, Tom Shadyac's lively documentary "I Am" entertained the questions, What's wrong with the world and what can we do about it, in a "What the Bleep" format of exploration. Known for his mega-successful comedies, the writer/director/co-star contemplates these spiritual concepts after suffering an about-face traumatic bicycle accident. His interest derives from the realization that although he has accumulated vast wealth, it has failed to secure lasting happiness. He attempts to investigate the root cause of this disfunction and discovers that ultimately, things are not what they seem.

Following the film, I began browsing in the Tattered Cover, Denver's premiere independent bookseller, and as always, gravitated to the Religious/Philosphical section. Out of the myriad of selections that surrounded me, I was first pulled toward familiar authors and then, because of my background in book design, to those with beautiful covers. However, upon noticing that the influential and recently deceased Zen teacher Charlotte Joko Beck wrote the foreword to Diane Rizzetto's "Waking Up to What You Do," I became intrigued. In my brief perusal I was engrossed with her (presumed) premise, "Are we there to meet our current situation or not?" In effect, every situation in our lives becomes our teacher thus engaging the proverbial "don't judge a book by it's cover" slant. For things are not always what they seem and there is more than meets the eye.

Each act, every minute, contains profound meaning. In it we can open to the existence of the divine or we can pale in oblivion to the magnificence. Just so, we celebrated the feast of Corpus Christi this morning in recognition of that self-same presence. The sacramental ritual of the body and blood of Christ makes the beyond personal. We live through it, become one with it, as the material is transformed to that which is deep, vast, and fundamental. As the bread nourishes the seen and known body, so too the hidden inner soul. In a faith-transformation from object to metaphor, the carnal reunites our bodily self with the spiritual self.

Certainly a division never existed, yet through societal consciousness we often forget the inside truth. We live in the world as if blind. We don't see, we refuse to see, or are distracted from seeing the deeper meanings inherent in all existence: The cover hiding the latent possibility of the infinite. Of course any object can return us to this place - bread, book, or body - and in reality we don't need a protagonist at all. Only awareness can bring us to immanence. Every object contains the potential to go beyond that which we see. It's always there and never fades away. 

Whatsoever we do, whatsoever we see, has meaning more profound than at first perceived. Inside lies a depth that provokes gratefulness as its only response. In this amazing world of grace, Shadyac proclaims, "All phenomena, including the accumulation of material wealth, is a neutral phenomena, neither good nor bad," we just need to see beneath the surface. And that true presence restores us to fullness, the original state where reconciliation with ourselves and with the world takes place.

love, always,

pia

three little words

This morning's short passage from the conclusion of Matthew's gospel really resonates with me. In it the author sums up the entire narrative with a sublime truth underlying all of what Christianity stands for. Perhaps more so, it affirms the very heart and soul of all religions. Oh, not in the "great commission" where Jesus sends out his disciples commanding them to attest the word of love to all nations. Nor is it his assurance that the divine spirit forever dwells within us and it is our quest to exact courage in its illumination. No, although these are valuable insights that express the sagacity of the master's teachings, we heard an even more profound lesson in three concise words.

It is of course Trinity Sunday where the Church recognizes the unity of the triune god. But neither do I contend that Father, Son, and Spirit convey today's vital message. No, it actually resides in a clause easily overlooked; "The eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. When they saw him, they worshipped him." It could have neatly ended there - They came. They saw. They conquered - but it doesn't. Only then comes the inconvenient truth: "…but some doubted."  Though the author quickly glosses over these troubling three words and within three sentences the book ends happily ever after, the fact remains some were not so sure. 

We want to be certain - especially about faith. Not simply to be right but to confirm who we are. If we confess doubt we reveal an uncertainty that may question our entire understanding of the world and our place in it. That's a lonely place most of us don't want to go but it's where seekers for millennia often find themselves. Years ago Sister Maria Walburga warmly said to me in profound astuteness, "From now on I'm going to call you Sister Joseph because you are always wrestling with god." It's true, I'm never sure.

Perhaps I learned this from my highly influential high school biology teacher, Ralph Postiglione, who passionately exclaimed, "In life there are no absolutes." Invariably an exception to every rule exists. We just can't be sure so faith becomes, at least for me, a relentless fight to the death. That makes everything very confusing and may explain the comforting security of fundamentalism. With staunch faith, life retains order and hope. But I'm not convinced. Nothing is static as everything eventually changes. 

So, where can we find definitive answers? Maybe that's not the appropriate question. There is a Zen proverb that says the student must have great faith, great doubt, and great determination. With true faith comes doubt. And doubt is about openness to what is. The determination to persevere with uncertainty is the reassurance that our journey is proceeding toward a humility of imperfect understanding. The disciple who doubts are perhaps the one with the most faith.

love, always,
pia

the ravaging within

A howling wind braced through the shadowed skies as the first drops of a heavy rain splattered against my exposed flesh. I shivered in anticipation. A gloaming chasm of fear enveloped me, so I retreated inward to a presumed safe haven. There, in my sheltered anomaly, the buffeting storm raged in even greater intensity. And although there was nothing overtly terrifying, nothing except my own perverse and convoluted thoughts, a deep sense of dread soon paralyzed my being. The enemy, it seemed, was not the gale beyond but that which ravaged within. When the edgy chaos would not abate and feeling drawn to a past interior darkness long thought quit, I called for help.

That surprised me. Being self-assured and of independent mind, I arrogantly employ a DIY approach which has taken me on three disparate routes: One fully absorbed in the trappings of the misguided mind, thus directly combatting heresy with apostasy; another denying the serious nature of the threat, thereby procrastinating the eventuality of conflict; and the third, wholly refusing to engage in combat with the would-be character assassin. Despite an abundance of aggressive therapy and alternatively dismissive behavior, victory is often claimed in detached nonviolence.

I hear this in today's gospel as well when Jesus says, "If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained." Usually this passage is perceived about the behavior of others, but this morning it reflected most ardently upon my own state of mind. If you let go of the sins, the grudges, and the maladies of any - most importantly, those committed by ourselves against ourselves - they are forgiven. When we are contentious, fighting with guilt, self-condemnation, and convictions far damaging, we divide against our divine nature, and defeat all that is good. This is not license to evil, accepting our actions in laissez-faire complacency, on the contrary, this is a call to awareness of all that is true. Only then one is freed from worldly convention, our potentiality fulfilled, and we can be in the spirit. Only then one becomes whole.

Yet I was far from complete after receiving a dismissive email yesterday. "How could the new head of the organization fail to recognize my efforts and attribute them to another with no authority," I silently railed with exacting ire. I was effectively and contemptuously fired from my position without regard, without reason, and obviously without understanding. I have been fired before, but never by email and never in such a presumptuous manner. All sorts of excuses travailed my brain in explanation. Should I reply and defend myself, I contested, must I set the record straight as I began to compose my reply. Eventually, I laid my pen to rest to allay not just my beleaguered pride, but the situation as well. It was simply a misunderstanding and no malicious intent was implied. However my aggrieved ego contorted afflicted thoughts that harangued my susceptible being. When distanced from the ravaging within, all that remained was the clarity of peace. Then I could rejoice when I perceived the lord. "Jesus came and stood among [us] and said, 'Peace be with you'," suddenly I knew my fears were self-inflicted.

love, always,
pia