Interest in Buddhism: How did it come about?

Throughout my childhood and adolescence I was deeply sensitive and morose. In an effort to find a sense of centeredness, I became extremely active in music and church. Surrounded by fundamentalism I attended Pentescostal and Southern Baptist churches, finally committing to the Southern Baptist church where I excelled in church music.

While all of these activities distracted me in many pleasant ways, none of them left me feeling the sense of purpose I hoped for. Sometime around the age of 12 I began to read different philosophies...Sartre, Descartes, Kant, and others. Steeped in religion, philosophy, and classical music, I finally decided to actually read the Southern Baptist doctrine.

Realizing that little of it had meaning for me, I abandoned the Southern Baptist church and began to explore metaphysics...beginning to avidly pursue the ideas of Mary Baker Eddy, the discoverer of Christian Science. Those principles made more sense to me--the power of being at one with God moment to moment. Concurrently, I began to read books about Zen Buddhism. Of course, this was the late 70s and so I read Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. A truer sense of who I am within existence began to more fully emerge.

Since then I have studied theology, religions, and spirituality. I do believe in Jesus, but do not believe in souls; I study the life of the Buddha, but do not worship him. I also respect that many Christians and people of other religions embrace the principles and lessons of Buddhism--Buddhism is not a religion, but rather a way of thinking about and making meaning of the world.

Below are some books that have been especially helpful to me.

Mark Epstein
Going to Pieces Without Falling Apart
Thoughts Without a Thinker: Psychotherapy from a Buddhist Perspective

Steve Hagen
Buddhism is Not What You Think: Finding Freedom Beyond Beliefs

Jack Kornfield
The Path with Heart: A Guide Through the Perils and Promises of Spiritual Life
The Wise Heart: A Guide to the Universal Teachings of Buddhist Psychology

Jack Maguire
Essential Buddhism: A Complete Guide to Beliefs and Practices

Diane Eshin Rizzetto
Waking Up to What You Do

Opening the Heart

When you think you cannot let the world in because it is so full of heartbreak, you underestimate yourself. You think, “I can’t let any more in,” because you feel like you are breaking apart. If you don’t follow that thought, can you simply allow your heart to let it all in? Not just the current disasters, but the disasters throughout time; not just the external disasters, but the internal disasters of your own life, your neighbor’s life, your friend’s life. Just really open the heart with no resistance.
That is the letting and the facing that I speak about. When you surrender to the pain, the heart does break, and there is profound grief. In the willingness for the heart to break, separation breaks also. Unless we resist or indulge it, the concept of separation disintegrates.
I am speaking of a very sober, still opening. I am suggesting that you just let it come in, and let it come in, and let it come in. Then there is a discovery that the heart breaks totally, forever open. This is possible for everyone. And all that keeps us from that is the thought, "I can’t do this."

Warm Welcome to You!

Be quiet, look within and enjoy the healing power of silence. Let go of your sorrow and attachments. Your inner core and wisdom heart remain untouched either by insult or by praise. So have faith in your heart and trust yourself.

Sit free from fear and worries. Rely on your true and sincere heart for your meditation. Pay attention and concentrate on your breath. Let peace and happiness prevail and spread through you. Remember that your life is intimately connected with all other life.

May all being benefit from your presence as a living embodiment of peace and happiness.

Venerable Samu Sunim

Neighborly Strawberry Bread for Old Friends

Strawberry Nut Bread

1 cup butter, softened
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. vanilla
1/4 tsp. lemon extract (I use Gran Marnier, instead)
4 eggs
3 cups flour, sifted
1 tsp. cream of tartar
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1 cup strawberry jam
1/2 cup sour cream
1 cup chopped walnuts (optional)

Preheat oven to 350. In mixing bowl, cream butter, sugar, vanilla and lemon extract until fluffy. Add eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Sift together flour, salt, cream of tartar and baking soda. Combine jam and sour cream. Add jam mixture alternately with dry ingredients to creamed mixture, beating until well combined. Stir in nuts. Divide among five greased and floured 4 1/2 x 2 3/4 x 2 1/4 loaf pans (or just two regular loaf pans). Bake in 350 degree oven for 50-55 minutes. Cool 10 minutes in pans. Remove from pans and cool completely on wire racks. Freezes well.

A Poem for Tuesday

Wandering Around An Albuquerque Airport Terminal
by Naomi Shihab Nye

After learning my flight was detained 4 hours, I heard the announcement: If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic, please come to the gate immediately.

Well — one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there. An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress, just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her problem? We told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she did this.

I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly. Shu dow-a, shu-biduck
habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick, sho bit se-wee? The minute she heard any words she knew — however poorly used – she stopped crying. She thought our flight had been cancelled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the following day. I said, No, no, we're fine, you'll get there, just late, who is picking you up? Let's call him and tell him.

We called her son and I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and would ride next to her. She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and found out, of course, they had ten shared friends. Then I thought, just for the heck of it, why not call some Palestinian poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours. She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering questions.

She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies — little powdered sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts — out of her bag — and was offering them to all the women at the gate. To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California, the lovely woman from Laredo — we were all covered with the same powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.

And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers —
non-alcoholic — and the two little girls for our flight, one African-American,
one Mexican-American — ran around serving us all apple juice and lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar, too.

And I noticed my new best friend — by now we were holding hands — had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing, with green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, This is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in this gate — once the crying of confusion stopped — has seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women, too. This can still happen, anywhere.

Not everything is lost.

Being on the path

Hagen writes, "Wouldn't it be great if I could create this or do that or avoid those?...our basic problem is our preoccupation with pleasing and protecting ourselves."

As the Michigan winter continues with its gray, frigid, windy presence, my friends all around wish for warmer weather, different climates, sandy beaches...anything other than what we have (and have had for 6 weeks and will continue to have for at least 2 more months!). Taking a stroll out of my West Village office, around the corner to Chelsea Piers was a great experience; I'm fond of that memory and of the photo that prefaces this post. But today I have the present. Indeed, every moment I only have the present...and then it is gone, replaced by a new present moment.

In Sangha this past Sunday the passage I've quoted above got quite a bit of airplay. We discussed how our actions, feelings, fears, hopes, and perceived expectations of others often lead us to please or self-protect. We also discussed our perceptions of "being on the path." But are we ever not on the path?

This moment is my path, and my actions at this moment are my practice. The path is infinite--without beginning and without end--without parameters. My path has a broad shoulder, some rocky terrain, some peaceful shade trees, and even some lovely city lawns near the water where I can repose. My path is everpresent--it is only my delusions that can allow me to imagine that I have left the path.

What does your path look like? Are you in rocky terrain or on a lovely sandy path toward cool water? What is your practice today? Is your practice embracing the chair your sitting in while you read this? The coffee or tea you're enjoying? Or is your practice dancing with fear or imagined catastrophes? Be with your practice and on your path.

Notes on Steve Hagen's "Buddhism: It's Not What You Think," Chapters 1-3

Earlier this year I read Hagen's book on my own. Now, after learning about a local Sangha, I'm enjoying the opportunity to read the book as part of a discussion group. Revisiting the text and having the chance to entertain different interpretations of passages with others brings a special joy.

Throughout my life I have kept some type of journal. During some periods my journals have been quite active, and other times I just jot notes here and then. Recently I've taken to a traditional paper and pen journal in which I keep notes that often find their way to this blog. Just prior to my notes on Hagen's book, I left a sentence in my paper journal: One should never hesitate to be kind.


From December 19, after reading Hagen.
To search for truth we must encounter paradox and confusion. That idea has so many implications, especially on my past work as a therapist and my current work as a college administrator. I so often work with colleagues who want safety to accompany all of our decision-making. As if the novelty of change should come with guarantees of safety, security, and comfort. How can we grow without discomfort? How will we allow ourselves to change if we wait only for those chances that are free from risk?

We engage interpretation to flee from reality--we impose our own lenses on that which is in plain sight. That idea has given me pause to consider how often I look directly at something--a situation, a decision, a meeting conversation--then begin to make up stories about what is being represented. There is a social difficulty in merely taking things as they are...to see the present as the only reality. Which often leads me to cling to the future to avoid the present.

I have a colleague, whose energy I enjoy very much. She has terrific spirit! But, she also has a proclivity to think and speak in "what ifs." Or in, "if this happens, then that will happen." Most of these imaginings are fraught with increasingly complex difficulties. If one thing happens, it will lead to misery, which will lead to more misery, and so on. I prompt her to take notice of this way of thinking and planning, but I also find myself there, too. I wonder how often my risk-aversive way of doing things muddles the path. And, how often I sacrifice the present (which is often my spontaneous intuition) for the unbridled mind. Jack Kornfield said, "the mind has no dignity; it will think anything."

The precepts are not commandments, but descriptions of the moral stance to be taken once we recognize our path. The precepts can allow us to enjoy each moment of the present. When I begin to evaluate my progress with the precepts, I've left them.

Am I acting out of wisdom and compassion? The most present thing we can say is, "I don't know."

There is growth when I throw off the comfortable blanket of interpretation.