Blogging Retreat

Here's an interesting experiment to consider: a sangha doing a blogging retreat. Tsem Tulku Rinpoche and some of his students in Malayasia did just this over the past few days. One of his students, Jamie Khoo (aka Paris), wrote the following on her blog about the retreat:

We've had a special past week, full of everything I love - writing, blogs, pizza and air-conditioning.

Inspired by Rinpoche's blog a big bunch of us have been engaged in a special one-week retreat to study the many teachings and posts on the blog, write comments and create dialogue within the blog. It seemed a shame really that so much goodness should just stay within the blog and collect cyber dust. We felt it was time to shake things up a bit and get some dialogue and interaction going on within the blog. If we weren't going to do like Pabongkha Rinpoche and enter Lamrim retreats, then this would be the closest we'd ever get to it. It may look all shiny and sleek, pulled up my very splendid 15inch Macbook pro screen, but every post in Rinpoche's blog finds at its heart a profound Dharma teaching - it is all Lamrim, beautifully packaged for our attached and desiring 21st-Century minds.

There was a dual purpose - first, to expand our own minds and challenge us to think about the teachings on a deeper level, especially how we can apply them to our own lives. Secondly, to promote the teachings to other people; to bring more awareness to both Rinpoche and Kechara, thereby building the platform for KWPC in the future as both become more well-known throughout the world.

After a year and a half of blogging, I have learned that when you actually pay attention to what you write, how you write it, the responses that come in, and how you choose to respond to them, there is much to learn. Take a particular teaching you've been studying and try and write something about it in an engaged way that might inspire or provoke others. It's not that easy. Take a discussion you've had within your "brick and mortar" sangha and try to convey it to the world. Again, it takes some effort. Take something you've read online and try and write something else that isn't just rehash or snarky reaction. All of this is an extension of practice as I see it.

Does this replace established practices like meditation retreats? No. But I do think that there will be more of these kinds of practices developing in this 21st century digital world, and I for one think we shouldn't be afraid of such innovations, especially if they are offered along side the "tried and true" methods we already have. Frequently for me during the weekdays, it's blogging in the morning and zazen and/or dharma class in the evening.

What do you think of the idea of blogging retreats?

*photo of bloggers at work from Jamie Khoo's blog.

Violence, Control, and "Freedom Loving" People

Oscar Grant was a young black man murdered by a white police officer on New Year's Day 2009. A few days ago, that police officer was convicted of a lesser charge of involuntary manslaughter. In one way, the fact that he was convicted of anything is a change from the past, where white law enforcement officers would walk away free men following such killings. On the other hand, both the lack of a stronger conviction, as well as the sickening portrayal of protests in Oakland following the verdict as "riots" requiring more excessive police force are reminders that injustice still is commonplace.

There is some interesting discussion and links on the blog Racialicious.

In addition, one of our own Buddhist bloggers, Katie over at Kloncke, was at the protests and wrote an excellent post giving us an insider view of what people experienced and what those of us on the outside might consider when it comes to police, communities of color, and violence.

Take a good look at that photo of Oscar Grant. He was 22 years old, just beginning his adult life. He'd made some mistakes as many young people do, and yet on the night of his murder, he was basically in the wrong place at the wrong time. For many white Americans, a face like his is the lurking bogeyman of their individual and collective psyches. Including some law enforcement officers unfortunately.

Writing about the protests a few days ago, Katie's words echo this sentiment:

Media and many non-profit folks repeatedly called for “non-violence” from the crowd, but besides one small fight that was quickly broken up, the only violence I witnessed was cops in riot gear beating on protesters. (The blurriest of my photos shows cops taking down and arresting a friend of mine. They whacked him over the head, tackled him to the ground, cuffed him, threw him in a car, and are apparently charging him with a felony.)

Again, it’s important to distinguish between property destruction or the looting of a Foot Locker, which did happen among the crowd, and violence, which is what the police were doing, did to Oscar Grant, and do to poor of-color communities in general.

I'm trying not to disrespect law enforcement officers in general with this post. Many do their best under difficult circumstances, and are in life threatening situations that most of us non-police officers can't even imagine. Police officers should not be considered "enemies," "evil," or "other" in my view. They are us. And I think too often, the majority of people in communities actually expect that the police will use a lot force, will take down "the bad guys," and this only serves to increase the appearance of excessive force in my opinion. In fact, any excessive force done by law enforcement is, in my view, the responsibility of the entire community said officers serve. As such, even if the officer who murdered Oscar Grant had been convicted of the greater charge, the damage done to both his police department and the city of Oakland would still have been present. For better or worse, the people of Oakland and the police of Oakland are intimately tied to each other.

My hometown police department, which had been noted as a regional, if not national, leader in community/police relations, had some of their fragile work damaged in my view because of events that occurred two summers ago. The Republican National Convention came into town, and the mass arrests and general clamp down that came with that convention tossed the image of a police department working with it's community out the window. Granted, a lot of the logistics and decisions were in the hands of federal law enforcement, so it would be unfair to lay responsibility on solely on the St. Paul Police Dept. However, they did eagerly take millions of federal dollars to purchase tons of riot gear, military-style vehicles, and cameras for nearly every intersection downtown (as well as other major intersections around town). In addition, even though 95% of the arrests made during the week-long convention ended up having no grounds, our Dept. repeatedly stood behind nearly everything that was done during the convention. Even though 30 journalists, including Democracy Now's Amy Goodman, were among the arrests, there was barely even an apology to be found from either our police department, or our city's leaders.

Between the cement blockades and wire fences that lined half the streets downtown, to the 2-3000 police officers in riot gear, to the 24 hour a day helicopter surveillance, to the 800 + arrests that had no grounds to them, it was nothing short of overkill. And yet, this kind of militarization done under the claim of "public safety" seems to be trend now whenever mass protests occur, especially amongst people who have long been disenfranchised, like those in Oakland. It should be unsettling, but when I hear people calling for more police control, more head bashing, more prisons, and more violence in the name of safety, it doesn't surprise me in the least.

I'm writing this piece in a very direct, blunt, and "slanted" way because anything less would fail to spark some questions we all need to consider.

What is the nature of our fears? Why are so many of us tossed away by our fears about others, to the point that we'd rather see entire groups of people oppressed than face what we are afraid of?

Why is it that people who claim to want a "free society" are also so quick to call for more police, more military, more video cameras, more prisons, and more generalized state control over their communities?

Why is it that when someone tosses a brick through the window of some corporation, people want "the thugs" dealt with, but when an unarmed black man is killed by a police officer, our nation ends up split almost in half as to whether or not the killing was justified?

All the meditation in the world won't bring liberation if we're blind to how these kinds of issues impact our lives.

Katie's post makes an important comparison between state-sanctioned violence and intimate violence or domestic violence. I think there a link is there, and worth exploring more.

No one who lives in a place controlled by violence or threats of violence escapes unscathed. We owe it to ourselves to examine the origin of violence both within our own lives, and in our communities and nations. And furthermore, we owe it to future generations not even born yet to take action now, in whatever ways we can, to liberate our minds and hearts. Some try to do this on the meditation cushion. Others try to do this in our communities. It's time that more of us bring these two together.

Responsibilty, Leadership, and their Narratives

Feeling a bit in a funk the past few days. At work, we now have a new director. I met him this morning. He probably will be successful, and elevate the organization. He seems to be a person who knows what is necessary to get things done. And at the same time ... I think it's still time for me to go. But to what and how?

Barry over at Ox Herding recently had some posts about making a one percent shift in your life, our communities, even in our nations' current trajectories. He points out that such a shift will lead to others, and that it's often the first action step that is the hardest (in our minds.)

This is me, stuck on that first shift, not only in my job, but really in much of my life. I have plenty of ideas. Yoga teacher training. Studying herbal medicine. Going back for a PhD in Education. Getting a driver's license for the first time in my life. Starting another non-profit. Lots of ideas, but that's where it all is at right now.

I have a great fear to be honest that I will end up being over-committed and responsible for even more than I already am. This has been my life's storyline. Being the "responsible one," the one that is fairly self-sufficient, doesn't need a lot of help, volunteers in multiple capacities, and generally lands in positions of responsibility. It's a story, certainly. But also one with enough truth to it that it's hard to simply let go.

Before I was 10 years old, I had already become part parent to my sister, was responsible for a lot of the house cleaning, and had collected an internal narrative that I also was "responsible for maintaining the peace" between my then often fighting parents. Into my early teens, I began volunteering at my local rec center, and also "acquired" my mother's overbearing boyfriend's list of non-negotiable helping demands. I've rarely felt deep hatred towards another - I very much hated this man even long after he had exited my life.

Moving on, into college, I began acquiring extracurricular positions, eventually landing on the University's Student Senate, where I chaired multiple committees in addition to averaging 16 credits a semester. The end of college was, for this reason, both a time of loss and a relief. However, it wasn't six month and I found a new way to get involved, this time as a volunteer ESL teacher. That was 12 years ago. In the meantime, I have finished grad school, helped start a non-profit adult education organization and a literary journal, been an ESL teacher in three different organizations, and have risen to board chair of my Zen center.

And I have made so little money over the years that it's taken every last bit of frugalness, and probably a pound of stinginess to boot, in order to make it this far. No car. No health insurance. Living at home until three years ago. Lots in unusual decisions in the eyes of the average American. Honestly, I think I've done alright though, and there is little or nothing I'd change in my past even if I could.

Maybe this gives you all an idea about why taking the next step, making that one percent change, isn't so easy. Because I can feel the trajectory of my life being ready to reflected differently in some way, and yet can also feel all the fears and doubts attached to what might come.

Really, I'm afraid to fail - kind of silly when I view it from a teachings perspective - but there it is.

I've been told before by people who don't know me well, and could care less, to shut the hell up, suck it up, and move on.

Uh huh. That's a nice blunt offering. Sometimes very true too. Then again, the same person could just give me the bird and call it a day.

From a practice perspective, I think I've always had a major rub between the silent, contemplative, meditative aspects and action in the world. Anyone reading this blog for more than a few weeks would know that one though, so it's barely news. I find myself sitting in zazen, or walking around my neighborhood, listening. Maybe expecting answers to come and/or a direction to take as well, which I can see is probably a hindrance. Thing is, in the past, that direction, and the actions required have come to me - as you can see by how much I've done in my life.

So, I'm feeling impatient. Thinking maybe I just have to leap in some direction, and letting what comes come. Wondering if the whole leaping off the hundred foot pole teaching is foolish if done in haste. And what is "in haste" anyway?

I like to be a confident person. I like to have some sense of what I'm doing, and to be able to support others in finding that sense for themselves. It's part of the reason why I love teaching. But being in a lead role too often makes it that much harder to feel confusion, directionlessness, and incompetence because not only do you expect the opposite of yourself, but others come to expect you'll have your shit together as well.

Over the past week, I have felt less resistance to these decidedly "non-leaderly" qualities I am experiencing. In fact, I can even say I am curiously attending to them a little more. But it's still a challenge, one I can handle, but which seems to leading me slowly away from familiar territory.

One Step at a Time

Sometimes, it's good to have some inspiration. Someone or a group of someones who do something so outlandish that you can't miss it's significance. Here's the story of a man who has spent much of his life living and breathing alternatives to oil-dependency.

When the Gulf oil disaster first hit the headlines, John Francis got a series of calls and messages from friends across the country offering condolences and apologies. Francis isn’t from the Gulf but he has spent years trying to answer the question that now looms large in public debate—what does it mean to end our addiction to oil?

It took an oil spill and a tragedy to get Francis to radically change his life. Francis grew up in a working-class African-American family in Philadelphia and moved to California as an adult. He was in his early 20s in 1971, when he witnessed the aftermath of a collision between two oil tankers in San Francisco Bay. The resulting spill coated shores from Berkeley to Marin with oil and killed thousands of birds and fish. That event and the death of a friend a year later profoundly shook Francis. He gave up driving and riding in motorized vehicles for 22 years.

One day, as an experiment, he stopped speaking and realized that the experience opened up deeper modes of communication with others. “From this new place [of silence] lessons come,” he writes in his memoir, Planetwalker. “The first is that most of my adult life I have not been listening fully.” He spent the next 17 years in silence, began a pilgrimage on foot across the country, pursued a Ph.D. in environmental studies in Wisconsin at one of the nation’s foremost graduate programs, and became an expert on oil regulations. He taught courses at the University of Wisconsin—Madison without speaking and took an oil regulations policy job with the U.S. Coast Guard without driving.

The journey has made Francis into a kind of moral, spiritual, and symbolic leader for the environmental movement. He considers himself to be living proof of the idea that a single person and simple actions can reach millions. He has since resumed driving, riding, and speaking, but continues to promote environmental education, walking, and personal empowerment, especially among children, youth, and college students, and through lectures across the country.

As a person who has never owned a car, and only driven a few times, I feel a kindredness with Mr. Francis. But his commitment to embodying a different way, as well as his ability to show how one can still be successful in the U.S. without being a driver, makes anything that I have done pale in comparison. And that's good. I'm glad to have been greatly outpaced.

What's profound about this man to me though is the vow of silence he held for 17 years. Stemming from experiences of arguing with others about his ideas, the vow of silence was a return to the deep listening that every spiritual tradition calls people do if they wish to fully awaken in this life.

Think about this. During the 17 years Francis didn't speak, he completed three college degrees, including a PhD. He taught graduate classes, and walked halfway across the country, from Oregon to Wisconsin, to enroll in his PhD program. In addition, he covered he entire "lower 48" states of the U.S. and also walked to South America during this time. And all the while he listened to others' stories, ideas, hopes, and fears, responding only through writing, gestures, or playing his banjo.

In 1994, Francis came to a crossroads, opening to the idea that he could be a more effective environmentalist if he again used motorized transportation. It feels like a koan in my own life right now, as I, too, have been considering the seeming contradiction between being eco-centric and being a licensed driver for the first time. I haven't decided yet, and have no plans to go out and purchase a car anytime soon, but I can see how standing apart from the driving culture as I have has been extremely valuable, and also creates certain limits that it might be time to transgress.

Francis still walks a lot. He even did an extended walk along the Great Ocean Road in Australia last year for a film being done by Tourism Victoria. This, in itself, speaks volumes - that the commitment to a way of life and expressing one's vision can outlast even actions that seem to contradict it.

Poverty Dharma(s)

Genju over at 108zenbooks offers the following provocative teaching in her post this morning:

In her retreat at Upaya, Joanna Macy spoke of being satisfied with just what we have. A retreatant asked how that could possibly be useful to the people in Haiti (the earthquake was very prominent in our thoughts on that day) who now had less than what had been already a horrendously impoverished life. Roshi Joan Halifax, adding to Joanna Macy’s response, pointed out that the dharma was aimed at our perceptions and she closed with this statement:

“Do not foster a mind of poverty in yourself and others.”

Yikes! When I first read this, it felt like a mountain we are called to climb without the use of our arms or legs. In fact, as soon as I saw the word "Haiti" I was ready to disagree with the whole thing, waiting for yet another soft, warm and fuzzy teaching from some privileged person aimed at "helping" the "poor masses." I've experienced enough of this kind of stuff now that my mind is on alert for it. There are benefits to thinking like this, but it also, in itself, can be an example of that "poverty mind" if one isn't careful.

“Do not foster a mind of poverty in yourself and others.”

One of the challenges this kind of teaching brings up for me is that it's only subtly different from all the languaging people in power positions have used throughout time to oppress others. The endless droning on these folks and their attendants do about "those whiny, pathetic people always asking for handouts." People of color in the U.S. know this kind of shit all too well, although they are only one example. I distinctly remember being poor enough to only have government cheese and powdered milk available in my house, and how the clothing my mother purchased at garage sales rendered me other amongst many of my elementary school classmates. It's hard not to develop a mind of poverty when you have lived in some form of material poverty, and have been repeatedly given the message that it's your own damn fault and that you or your family should shut the hell up and get a job, or a better job. In other words, it all becomes about material position, and so it's hard not to develop, and then foster in others, a "mind of poverty" because this is what is constantly being reinforced around us.

Yes, there is repetition in this post. Repetition is required for people to learn, or unlearn in this case.

Roshi Halifax and Joanna Macy are pointing to the ways in which we forget the boundless, totally generous functioning of this world. That beneath all the human constructed miseries there is that something greater pulsing through us in a totally generous, beyond poverty and wealth kind of way.

This is an important teaching for us, and yet one that isn't always easy to know how to apply.

How would a materially privileged person from a nation like the U.S. or Canada enter into a materially poor nation like Haiti and not foster the mind of poverty?

There is a rub because you can't separate the relative conditions from the absolute. If I, a lower middle class (by U.S. standards) white guy from Minnesota, went around a tent city in Port Au Prince and told people to "be satisfied with what they have," I'd probably get punched in the face. Or at least some dirty looks. This is the trouble with just repeating teachings to others, thinking they will instantly understand because somehow you think you understand.

One doesn't have to go all the way to Haiti to experience this fumbling about. I can think of countless times I have fostered some kind of poverty in myself and/or others. How I have hooked on to some form of "there is lack" here, and just went with it. How I have failed to hold both the real economic injustices that occur all over the world and the boundless, totally generous functioning of this world at the same time. Because when you are able to do this, you can speak clearly about those same injustices in a way that still fosters that boundless generosity - I've felt it in myself, and from others at times.

“Do not foster a mind of poverty in yourself and others.”

How can it be done? The answer might start with listening.

"I Just Feel Startled to be Alive."

This morning, during our monthly lay training group meeting at the zen center, a fellow dharma brother brought up several quotes from Diane Ackerman, as he spoke about the power of focusing on the sense gates of experience. Here is an excerpt of an interview with her:

Jill: You have been or still are a poet, a naturalist, a crisis-center worker, a small plane pilot, a teacher, an avid biker... the list goes on. What's one of the strangest or most interesting jobs you've ever had?

Ackerman: I had to pause for a moment, because it's not really a job. But I think just being a human. Every single day, without exception, at some point — it's not planned, but at some point, I just look up and notice the sky and think, Oh my God — we live on a planet. It's a planet, you know? And we've evolved. And there was blue-green algae. It seems so extraordinary, so improbable. I just feel startled to be alive. The planet is green; nature is green here. It doesn't have to be green. On other planets, the biology could be blue, or red. But we live on a green planet. I find it absolutely amazing, so this is not the strangest "job," but I find being alive strange and wondrous.

Wow! Don't you love that? Maybe not. I do though. It kind of does a nice number on the good old achievement chatter in the mind, the "need" to maintain what you have, and to become "better" than what you already are.

How about slowing down and being here now, as it is? Isn't this what Ackerman is reminding each of us to do?

There's so little reinforcement for this in our speed and achievement-driven society. But you know what? It's probably time to accept that too. Like the child who doesn't get enough love and attention from his or hers' parents (probably all of us to some degree), anyone who embarks on a life of being fully present is going against the grain. And that probably won't change much, no matter how popular meditation and yoga and tai chi and whatever else becomes popular.

Maybe you readers out there have already accepted all this. Or maybe you just think you have, which is certainly where I thought I was until recently. It's easy enough to be a rebel or a contrarian in public, but then when you go home at night to an empty apartment, or when things get terribly challenging, that's when the mask comes off and you're staring your scared self in the face.

It's actually hard to remember how startling it is to be alive when you can't quite embrace who you are in the world.

I see this in myself; I see it in others I know. The dance steps taken between the vast, pulsing expanse and the closed down little "self."

It's entirely sad and, also, startling in a way. That we are capable of such things. That people have such a plethora of ways to step away from their own basic lives. And that even so, some of us still wake up and learn to be with everything as it is.

Men Getting Angry and the Hook of Self-Righteousness

I wrote about anger as entertainment a few days ago, and would like to add a little to that discussion with the help of another voice. The following is from this guest post by Don Mead over at the blog Metta Refuge:

But, one might say, “My anger is Vajra (spiritual) anger. There is no hate in it. My anger works for the good of all sentient beings.” Luckily for us, there is a very easy test to check if our anger is ego-centric or not.

If there is even the slightest bit of self-righteousness, then we, are 100% in the wrong. In fact, I would go so far to say that self-righteousness is the Ninth Precept’s best friend. It is so easy to recognize in ourselves that all excuses to indulge our anger are washed away. But we need to examine ourselves honestly. “Do we, in fact, like the energy of anger?”

Now, his conclusion that we "are 100% in the wrong" seems a little clunky. Wisdom is contained within our delusion-riddled responses, and I also believe that getting into labeling things "right" and "wrong" misses the mark. However, I think his focus on self-righteousness is a good one to pay attention to.

One example I used when speaking about anger in my previous post had to do with cars blocking the crosswalk while I was trying to cross. Even a momentary glance at the anger that arose during that situation is enough to see how I felt superior to those drivers involved. I was following the laws, and also was not polluting the planet as I walked, while those drivers were both breaking crosswalk laws and, by being in cars, adding pollution to the environment. There is a certain truth in these statements, and anyone who reads my blog knows that I always try to take the social context into account. It's never just about "me" or "you" or some "others."

However, at the same time, I can see how hanging onto statements like that, and even pointing immediately to the larger context in situations can be a dodge of responsibility. If I look closely at the anger in that situation, it's really more about two things: fear, and a deeper woundedness.

The fear is easy to see. Drivers often forget in their haste and/or being surrounded by a half ton or more of plastic, metal, and whatnot that in any crash between a car and a pedestrian (or bicyclist), the pedestrian (or bicyclist) probably will be hurt, frequently hurt badly. I've been hit twice by cars while on bicycles, and know this intimately. So, whenever a car gets too close, some fear is bound to arise. In addition, the blocking of the crosswalk usually means stepping out into traffic part of the way, or attempting somehow to get the driver to back the car back, both of which are scary if you ask me.

The second, deeper issue for me in this situation is a sense of woundedness I feel when it comes to my own impact, and the rest of humanity's impact, on the planet. Car-centric urban and suburban planning, where people on foot, bicyclists, and others are de-emphasized in favor of increasing the speed and mobility of cars - experiencing the results of this always brings up grief, sadness, and helplessness in me. And behind these emotions is a story about how the world "should" be different, more eco and community friendly. I don't want to accept the situation as it is, and in fact, believe that accepting the situation as it is means giving up on any kind of work towards things like an eco and community friendly place to live.

I think this is a struggle for most of us who become involved in social, environmental, racial, and other forms of justice-oriented work. Accepting the present conditions feels like defeat, and people who aren't involved, or could care less about the world around them really don't understand why we "justice work types" get so attached to our visions, and also have a hard time accepting the realities that are currently present.

When it comes to anger, though, it's a more acceptable expression than all of this complex grief, attachment, justice narrative stuff, especially for men. Getting pissed off can give you instant street cred amongst activists, or just plain frustrated people, like the ones at the bus stop with me this morning, waiting for a late bus. (Half the people waiting were pissed off, and I started to act angry about the bus being late when the reality was that I really didn't care if I was a few minutes late to work, and mostly just wanted to blend into the conversation that was already around me.) In "ordinary" situations like this, getting angry allows us men to cover up all the other stuff I mentioned above that takes time to explain, and might make us "look weak" or "odd" in the process. At the bus stop this morning, I didn't want to expend the energy to have a real conversation with the people standing there, getting upset because I was already thinking about how much energy teaching my classes was going to take. So, I opted for faux anger, which allowed me to blend in, and not have to actually say or do much. The sad thing about this is that it just added a few drops of misery to the collective pot, and really didn't save much energy for my teaching either. Maybe if I had expressed some calm, and the actual sense that I wasn't really worried about a late bus, I could have helped lessen the anger load for everyone else. Or at least not added to it.

*11 of the 12 angry men from the 1957 film 12 Angry Men