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