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