
I was doing yoga the other day and was reminded of a guided meditation that was a part of a workshop called, “The Spiritual Journey.” Our teacher talked about how we all need a place where we feel safe and free to be truly ourself, a place to escape to in a sense. One common form of meditation is to be able to go to that place in your mind even if you can’t go there physically. For some it’s an imaginary place, but for most it’s a place that holds in it a deep emotional connection. It may be a place from childhood or a place where something significant and good happened. It could be the top of a mountain, a bench with a view, your room at home (I know someone who says it’s their bathroom because that’s the only place they are truly alone), or even a store that you like to wonder through (my daughter and I used to wonder through the hardware store every Monday just dreaming of projects, but rarely getting anything to actually work on something). I guess the point is that it really can be anywhere so long as it’s a place where you feel the most true to yourself.
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An Ode to Dessert
Dessert is my favorite part of a meal. It’s amazing how a good dessert can make a bad day seem not so bad. I have always had a sweet tooth (inherited from my father), but I am not so much a candy person as I am a dessert person. It’s one of the main reasons I exercise (maybe not the main reason, but it seems like a good reason not to feel guilty about indulging in dessert). The other day I walked three miles to find a gelato place in downtown Seattle and though the gelato was just good not great, the combination of the walk and the gelato were invigorating (I may be exaggerating the effect of the gelato, but I did feel pretty good after the two). Gelato has become my dessert of choice lately and though it wasn’t as good as the gelato in Milan I am glad to have found a place in Seattle that was pretty good. I am doing a survey of the lemon tarts at the local bakeries too, but I have yet to find one that I feel like I have to go back for a second.
El Dios Vivente
I had the pleasure of worshiping with the congregation of El Dios Vivente Iglesia Metodista Unida. Admittedly my spanish is poor, but I have said before that if the spirit is in something then language need not be a barrier. It was a cold and wet day and attendance was about a quarter of what they usually have with only a few families huddled together in the front row, but it was inspiring to see the pastor, full of energy, singing, praying and preaching as if there were thousands. The songs were played from a CD with a jazzed up latin flare that you couldn’t help but get into. The rhythm moves you and it’s like your whole body receives energy from the pulse of the music and the passion of the singing. The sermon was preached from one of the same texts that I had used earlier that day, but the message was something completely different. He talked about preparing yourself for the end of days and living each day with the assurance of salvation (that’s what I got out of it, but remember I don’t really speak spanish). There were some parallels between what he preached and what I did about the permanence and impermanence of things, but from a whole different angle. It was a great lesson in context. I was honored to give the benediction (I wish I had been more prepared with something in Spanish, but the pastor translated for me) and was glad that I had made the trip to offer my support for the ministry that they are doing.
Adventures
Left to our own devises I asked my daughter what she wanted to do for the day. Her answer was, “read books,” which is a great answer and on many a day I would be happy just staying home and reading books, but the sun was shining and the outside worlds was calling. I asked, “do you want to go on an adventure?” “Yeahhhhhh!” she roared as her immediate response. Then she asked a very important question, “Daddy, what’s adventure?” which prompted me to explore the whole idea of “adventure.”
Trolls under bridges
As I crossed Fremont Ave. it made me think of the whimsical troll carved out under the bridge, where tourists come and movies film (10 Things I Hate About You), and of the whole idea of trolls who come out to stop us. I met the other day with a group of bridge builders; ecumenists trying to bring people together and I couldn’t help but think about whether it really is the troll under the bridge, the things we see as blocks to our coming together that we fear, or if it is more the idea of what happens once we cross the bridge that scares us. Even the existence of a bridge means change, it means we don’t have to go around things any more and it means that new possibilities exist, so there’s plenty of resistance to building bridges, or even finding bridges as the case may be, but I am more concerned with who will use them once they exist. Who will stand in the gap and stick their tongue out at the trolls beneath in defiance or simply acknowledge their existence with a wave and cross over anyway. We need bridge builders, but we need even more people who will be bridge crossers. Those who are willing to step into the territory of the other, to learn about what exists “over there” and maybe even close or narrow the gap and perhaps go so far as to crush the trolls in the process. Those who go around the gaps have a roll too, but I don’t think we really get anywhere if we ignore the trolls or pretend that gaps don’t exist.
Maybe I am just using a new metaphor to say what’s already been said, but I think this is something else. We often talk about the “elephants in the room,” the things we won’t really or don’t really talk about, but to me those aren’t the trolls. Those may be the things, which prevent bridges being built in the first place or the things that the bridge builders never talked about, but if the bridge exists then those things aren’t what is blocking people from crossing; so what is? Apathy? Fear of losing yourself? Fear of change? Maybe the builders have not been clear enough about how to cross or about what it might look like as we go back and forth and sometimes meet in the middle. Maybe we think it has to be something big, some grand gesture with fanfare, but what if it’s just a couple of friends from different traditions sitting together in a public place showing that it is possible to cross that bridge. My point is that there are lots of bridges out there waiting to be crossed by those willing to stand up to the trolls. We must be willing step out.
Raking Leaves
From green to gold, orange, red then brown they grow and they dazzle until they fall only to be raked into piles for children (and those who wish to be childlike again) to dive into in a final celebration of their gift to us. It’s easy to miss amidst the dreary gray of a cold and blustery fall day, but autumn is when all of creation’s colors are truly on display. All the shapes and sizes each similar, but with their own signature, unique as snowflakes yet bound together by an inevitable fate and letting go only when their job is done. Even a leaf must have a sense of purpose. It captures the energy of light and drinks in all that it can while it can; working every moment so that its tree, its mother, its home, its roots can live, can carry on and grow to be stronger and better because each leaf does its part. i wonder if a leaf could choose or if more leaves gave up too early, how would the trees ever grow to reach the heavens?
Deport
I feel incredibly guilty when I catch myself judging someone else, but I try pretty hard to move from judgment to a compassionate desire to engage and discover why they feel the way they feel. AS I was leaving the hospital the other day I was behind a person whose bumper sticker said, “illegal aliens are not immigrants,” and whose license plate says, “Deport.” The bumper sticker is one thing, because those can be placed in a moment of fervor and there isn’t the same kind of permanence (though I did see a political sticker from 30 years ago the other day) as a license plate. The license plate means that they are so sure of their position that they are willing to pay extra to clearly state that opinion to anyone who happens to see their car. i suppose if I were to get a single word license plate it might say, “simplify,” or “intentional,” but even with either of those I would hesitate to apply them without reservation to every situation that might be facing the person who is reading my plate.
Agendas
Just because you know your own agenda does not mean that it isn’t hidden from others. How much do we leave unsaid because we assume that others already know? How often do we simply jump right into something without laying the foundations to prevent misunderstanding. If we trusted more in each other this might not be so big an issue, but we don’t. Perhaps in the case of agenda setting we don’t know our own as well as we should and people can see that. This argument goes deeply into the whole idea of doing things simply to do them or doing them because we think that’s what we should do. We earn trust by how genuine and how authentic we are. Intentions do matter and if we are unsure of our own maybe we need to think more about it. Follow-through is a big deal too.
The Extraordinary Man The Invisible Man, the Native Son and the Entrepreneur
Books can push the boundaries of our knowledge and force us to think of things in a way that we otherwise could not. They offer us an experience through the eyes of others and it’s easy to read into them more than was intended, but there is a gift in how a story can play on our imagination. Any book whose cover compares it to Ellison’s “Invisible Man” Wright’s “Native Son” and Dostoevsky’s “Crime and Punishment” has a pretty high standard to live up to. “The White Tiger” by Aravind Adiga lives up to it. The story telling is great, but the depth of social criticism/observation is what makes it smart. Plenty of people will read it and find it interesting, but when you consider it in the light of its call from the darkness it is so much more.
Dostoevsky’s Raskolnikov makes the case for the extraordinary man; the person who can commit a crime, even a murder and it should be excused because of the greater good which is possible due to of the existence of this extraordinary person. Part of his own personal reasoning is that in ridding the world of a bad person he is able to rise up and do more good (not that he actually does a whole lot of good, but the argument is more about potential). Munna/Balram, aka. “The White Tiger” doesn’t try to make the argument, he tries to live the argument, to show that even though his crime is a crime, the result has offered something new and good to others. His rise offers a different perspective to others that are like he was and creates a new way of doing things, maybe even a better way of doing things. They are two men with potential whose circumstances are preventing them from realizing the possibilities they imagine. On the other hand “The White Tiger” is also a version of Bigger Thomas driving around the rich man who is part of the establishment, which suppresses him and feeling empowered by every step towards the eventual end. He feels stronger when the deed is done. He is the invisible man not even really understood by those in his own world and who is discovering his eloquence by telling his own narrative, but he has also become one of the visible even when it seemed impossible.
The liberation from the chicken coop, the breaking of the cycle and the defiance of caste hold in them the power to inspire (though hopefully not to murder, but perhaps to revolution). It’s a modern tale of oppression and a person finally having enough. The portrait is of a reality, which contains an understanding of how things are and yet at the same time his refusal to be limited by them. That truth is revealed by the clarity with which he can be both critical and contemplative in the portrayal of his own life. Perhaps the most important realization is that it is not just his own culture, his own country, but the influences of the whole world, which both created his cage and pushed him to get out of it. You can’t help but hear the underlying critique of western culture and the almost playful prodding into the vagaries of Chinese culture as well.
Wrapped in the framework of cultural criticism, corruption, murder and personal narrative we are forced to ask: What must we be willing to do to accomplish the impossible? How do the powerless rise? Can one person’s triumph be called a revolution? Do the ends justify the means? Is Raskolnikov right about extraordinary men and their ability to bend the rules or even break them so that something good, something “extraordinary” can happen? Or on a personal level, who are your invisibles; the people that you don’t see or who you fail to recognize the value of?
Philanthropy
This summer there was a show called “The Philanthropist” that aired six or seven episodes. The premise was that a billionaire looses his son and on a business trip to Africa he ends up saving the life of a little boy about the age his son was and it inspires him to a kind of ultra philanthropy of risking his life and using his money to make positive things happen in the world. There’s more to it than that, but my point is not to give a review of the show, but rather to ponder the motivations for why we do things for others.