Blogroll on Robert Aitken Roshi's Death

While I was in Detroit, I missed the death of Robert Aitken Roshi. I have long admired him not only as a powerful zen teacher, but as someone who always seemed to bring together the social/political and his spiritual life. He wasn't afraid to take on the big issues of the day. To call out corruption, corporate greed, environmental destruction and its causes, the war machine, and various other collective issues. He also spoke out repeatedly on issues of power abuse in American Zen sanghas, and served as a watchdog when others turned their backs. And his book on the precepts and zen ethics, Mind of Clover, is one of the best American commentaries available.

In honor and in gratitude of all the work that Roshi did, I have collected some of the blog reflections/rememberences for you to read. May his work live on for many generations.

Read Algernon's short post here.

Here is Barbara's excellent write up.

This site contains a detailed memorial notice.

Lots of wonderful comments and thank yous can be found on Roshi's old blog.

Maia over at Jizo Chronicles has a short post worth reading.

Barry has this short memorial, and has also been doing daily offerings of Aitken's teachings all this week.

Rev. Danny Fisher writes of an experience of almost getting to meet Aitken.

And Shambala Sunspace offers an array of links to Roshi's teachings, as well as some more blog tributes.

Detroit Rock City

I'm back from a four day road trip with family to Detroit. Even though I brought the computer, there wasn't any internet available, and I decided to take the opportunity to break from the digital world. A few choice moments for you all from the trip:

After about eight hours on the road and no sleep, my father responded to a comment about watching the same news program repeatedly "They play it ten times so that I will remember it!"

My uncle, who recently became a Catholic after years of having no desire for religion whatsoever, reported on the way out to Saturday mass that he wouldn't have a beer beforehand, but the party could start once he returned.

One of my younger cousins arrived on Saturday enthusiastic about this year's Detroit Lion's team. When someone pointed out that they had won 2 games last year, she said something like "See, things are looking up."

My great aunt's neighbor likes to feed birds. All the birds in St. Claire Shores (a suburb of Detroit) seem to know. It was almost like being in a Hitchcock movie, sitting there on the back porch as the power lines filled one by one.

My great grandmother, who is 101 years old, purchased a gold $1 coin this year for all the great grandchildren under 18. For some reason, she thought I was 15 this year, so I came home with an unexpected gift.

Yesterday, I sat down at the table, and great grandma called me by my father's name.

She's still got enough energy to flit from room to room to visit with people.

I did zazen twice in a hotel room 20 floors up, overlooking the Detroit River.

Many bows to my yoga teachers over the years, as the long car rides didn't destroy my body or mind as they have in the past.

As we stepped out on the curb this morning at 5am to leave the hotel, a white van pulled up and a guy from the film crew of the movie being shot there got out. If you ever see a movie called LOL let me know how it is. I have no idea if Miley Cyrus or Demi Moore were around, but there were a lot of film crew types sitting on boxes and moving cameras around. Pretty exciting, eh?

Now back to your regularly scheduled blog, already in progress.

Hopelessness and Death as Guides Along the Way

I pulled out an old favorite, When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chodron, and opened to the chapter entitled "Hopelessness and Death." Pretty interesting having someone advocate that giving up hope and dying in every moment are keys along the path, but there it is. I was particularly struck by the following this time around:

When we have reminders of death, we panic. It isn't just that we cut our finger, blood begins to flow, and we put on a Band Aid. We add something extra - our style. Some of us sit there stoically and bleed all over our clothes. Some of us get hysterical; we don't just get a Band aid, we call the ambulance and go to the hospital. Some of us put on designer Band Aids. But whatever it is, our style is not simple. It's not bare bones.

Hope and fear, both close friends for me lately, seem like "style" themselves. I can feel them trying to lodge in the body, tickle the mind, anything to stay alive. And whatever they are doing, it's loud. Attention seeking. Sometimes fiercely hungry, demanding to be fed.

I have no doubts about still being afraid to die. The big one, I mean. Because I'm still learning to how take the small ones in stride. You know, the everyday changes that bring an end to something before you want it to end. Sometimes, I can hang with it well, take whatever comes. Other times, I'm piling on the style, trying my best to avoiding taking in what's actually happening.

A few days ago, I watched a powerful, old movie entitled The Burmese Harp. Finished ten years after World War Two, this Japanese directed film is all about the futility and misery of wars - both "inner" and "outer" in my view. In one of the final scenes, the main character, a Japanese solider who abandons his unit to become a Buddhist monk determined to bury all the war dead in Burma, responds to calls from his buddies to return to Japan with them by playing a song on his harp. A single tear falls from his eyes while he plays, and for moment everyone is silent, just listening. And then, when he is finished, the new monk turns, and walks slowly away from his friends for the final time.

There are numerous scenes in the movie detailing how difficult the decision is for him to leave his unit and abandon hope of returning to his native country. So, this final one, which may sound a bit stoic, actually is the culmination of that equanimity Buddhist teachings always talk about. The life he had as a member of the military, as a defender of Japanese interests, and even as a well liked man trusted to do difficult missions and keep his fellows soldiers at ease, is all dead. So, too, is the man who could turn his face from actual death, and the ways in which war destroys humanity. He dropped off all "style," and became very bare bones about life.

I'm finding that the "style" in my life isn't a single pattern. I can be overly stoic, somewhat hysterical, and even a bit designer now and then. Perhaps this is true for everyone.

For today, I will just hang with the style as it is, giving up hope of catching it all. That's where I am at. May we all be liberated.

Ground Zero: Mosques, Churches, and Shared Interests

A few days ago, I wrote this post about the uproar over building a mosque and community center near the 9/11 "ground zero" site in New York City. Frequent commenter Marcus pointed out that another religious institution, St. Nicholas Church, a small Greek Orthodox community, has spent much of the last nine years trying to get their church rebuilt alongside the "ground zero" site.

The talks between the church and local government authorities have broken down over the past year. A year and a half ago, the New York Times reported the following

In July [2008],the Port Authority and the Greek Orthodox Church announced a tentative plan to rebuild the church just east of its original site, at Liberty and Greenwich Streets. The authority agreed to provide the church with land for a 24,000-square-foot house of worship, far larger than the original, and $20 million. Since the church would be built in a park over the bomb-screening center, the authority also agreed to pay up to $40 million for a blast-proof platform and foundation.

In recent negotiations, the authority cut the size of the church slightly and told church officials that its dome could not rise higher than the trade center memorial. The church, in turn, wanted the right to review plans for both the garage with the bomb-screening center and the park, something the authority was unwilling to provide. More important, authority officials said, the church wanted the $20 million up front, rather than in stages. Officials said they feared that the church, which has raised about $2 million for its new building, would come back to the authority for more.

I have to say I find this story complicated. It brings up all kinds of issues around how the whole "ground zero" site has been treated since 2001, and how many people who suffered there on that day have experienced various forms of injustices.

When it comes to the St. Nicholas project, here are a few issues that come up for me.

First off, the $60 million offered by the Port Authority back in 2008 for the building project. I am against government funding for religious institutions. We already provide religious institutions tax free status, and many (mostly Christian) religious communities have and continue to garner millions of tax dollars through the Faith Based Initiatives Office started by former President George Bush and expanded under current President Barack Obama. So, I find the $60 million offer for a single church building troubling. And I will also say this, if there is any government funding being put towards the controversial mosque and community center project, I stand against it. Maybe there is some justification for helping to fund the rebuilding of St. Nicholas, given it's demise in the 9/11 attacks, a highly unusual event. But how much, and in what ways exactly? I'm not sure.

Secondly, St. Nicholas Church has been taken up by the same people who are spreading anti-Muslim sentiment and trying to shut down the mosque and community center project. New York Congressional candidate George Demos recently used the church's conflict with the Port Authority as a rallying point against Islam, suggesting that "Judeo-Christian values are under attack in our nation" because city officials have supported the mosque project, but continue to block the St. Nicholas project. This is the kind of sickening drama and hate mongering that pisses me off. I don't see any evidence that leaders of St. Nicholas are desiring this kind of press, but it's sad that their church is being used to spread bullshit anti-Muslim propaganda.

Third, there are some questions about the nearly $3 million raised by the church community for the rebuilding project. A few months ago, the President of St. Nicholas' Parish Council resigned. Although the resignation was due to health reasons, John Pitsikalis repeatedly questioned where some of the monies donated to the church were going during his tenure as President. Sound familiar? One of the major issues people have been bringing up with the mosque and community center project is its funding. Millions of dollars from unspecified sources in Saudi Arabia. Large sums of money and religious institutions/spiritual organizations seem to have trouble going together in an "above board" kind of way, don't they? The Zen community need only look to Salt Lake City, Utah to find their own highly questionable funding practices.

Marcus kind of challenged me to publish a post about St. Nicholas, partly to see if I am a one trick pony about supporting religious institutions.

Well, actually, when it comes to religious institutions in general, even Buddhist centers, I find myself unsure how to approach them. I've written a lot of posts about being on my zen center's board, and taking a leadership role there. I continue to do this work, enjoying being able to contribute to our community's flourishing. At the same time, I have an ingrained distrust of institutions, especially large ones with excessive amounts of money and bureaucracy.

So, when I write that I am in support of the mosque project for example, it is due to a solidarity towards people who have suffered longstanding persecution in my nation. It is not because I'm terribly enamored with the institution they want to build.

And so, I can say a similar thing about St. Nicholas. Being the church of a small, fairly recent immigrant group (most Greeks have come to the U.S. in the last 100 years), I find myself sympathetic to their cause. Given that their religious community was destroyed in the devastating 9/11 attacks, I want to see them back on their feet, if only because the return of their community would be another sign of renewal.

In fact, it actually could be quite remarkable if the leaders of St. Nicholas paired with the leaders of the mosque project, and spoke out against hatred, and in support of their respective religious communities' needs. Perhaps, the necessary funding and local support might come through on both sides as a result of the good will expressed on both sides.

My guess is that each group will continue to toil on their own. Clearly, the circumstances of each situation are very different, but they do share the bond of being religious institutions that are part of the ground zero rebuilding controversy.

Update: I just saw the comments from New York Mayor Bloomberg and the decision to remove the final sticking point blocking the project. Might make the partnering up talk I spoke about moot.

Blogging as Practice

Instead of just responding in the comments section, I thought I would write a little about this whole blogging thing for me, as it has been lately.

I know I've been picking a bone with the separateness narratives in my life lately. In many ways, it is a response to "things falling apart," as Pema Chodron would say. What's falling apart, you might ask? Good question. What is there to fall apart?

So, part of blogging for me lately has been to present what's coming up for me, while also watching how I am experiencing the act of writing it itself. There is some editing going on, but not as much as I usually do.

In the post I wrote yesterday, I actually felt the shifting that occurred between talking about myself and making more generalized observations. I think sometimes this is the natural, appropriate shift - an offering to those in the world who are reading what I have written. Other times, such shifts are mostly about skipping over something in my own life that I'm either not sure how to write about, or am not ready to write about.

Putting writing like this into the world isn't always easy. I can feel the resistance, the desire to withhold certain intimate, messy details or observations, and also the desire to offer something useful or at least interesting to my readers.
When I can let go of all of this, and just write and edit as is called for, the post that appears tends to do it's work. People comment. Or not. But there's a certain flow to it all which I can't quite explain.

When clinging is present, and I'm trying to "do something" or not talk about certain things, then other dynamics occur. Sometimes dead silence. Sometimes a lot of comments with mixed responses. People poking at the edges I didn't want to speak about.

Regardless of clinging or not clinging, polished or sloppy, presenting a post on a regular basis is a practice in just showing up. It helps reinforce the same thing in my daily life. Doing it here help me do it at work. Or at the zen center. Or with my family. Or while standing on the bus stop.

Writing has always came easily for me. Before learning yoga, zazen, kinhin, and chanting, writing was often the one activity I could turn to for grounding, releasing, reflecting, and burning through. So this blog is an attempt to bring all of these activities together, as well as others - it's a practice in breaking down divisions, even though sometimes I end creating or enhancing them.

Making Peace With Instability

The Right Rev. Danny Fisher (lol, I love playing with titles) has an excellent post on practicing with a broken heart that, in my opinion, is a must read. Over the past month, I have had my own experiences with all of this, as a relationship went from daily discussions of buying a house together and perhaps opening a business together, to a land of great uncertainty about the whole thing at best. It may be over. It may be on hold. I honestly don't know.

Danny writes about a relationship that ended two years ago, and it's lasting effects on him.

I may be a peace-loving Buddhist, but clearly I’m still as big and as vain a moron as any other guy. Yes, she was knowingly careless with my love; indeed, she rode roughshod over this heart that was never as happy as it was in the short time it belonged to her. But I also know that life has not always been kind to her. Actually, I would say that it has often been aggressively the opposite of kind: no one should have to go through any of things that she has had to endure. I’m not sure that this necessarily means she should get a pass on everything vis-à-vis me, but it does put things into some kind of perspective; it engenders some important measures of compassion in a situation that is otherwise charged with strong emotions.

“Matters of the heart are the hardest,” as the old platitude goes. It’s hard to sit with all these feelings and act skillfully: I adored her like no other and was completely devastated when she ended the relationship. It’s hard to come to the realization that much of my suffering could have been avoided had I paid attention to what was actually happening and not let myself get carried away by my hopes for and fears about that relationship. It’s hard to see that the outcome would have been the same no matter what I did or didn’t do. What she really wanted was just to not be alone—and who could blame anyone for that?—but I wouldn’t see the truth. I simply saw the green light, inviting me to at last let out all the love for her that was in my heart.

I have certainly experienced my share of getting carried away with hopes and fears, not only this time around, but every time around. I can also see how this is true of anything I love, or have loved, in my life. Hopes and fears around career. Hopes and fears around friendships. Hopes and fears around family. Hopes and fears around Buddhist practice. Hopes and fears around living and dying itself.

These hopes and fears are all opportunities to come face to face with yourself, to become a liberating agent. They also are vast caverns we can loose our lives to, winding our way along the ragged edges, trying to force the map to conform to our desires. It's very much like those old European cartographers, who drew beautiful maps of worlds that never existed, and then handed them to explorers, who landed in places they thought were somewhere else entirely.

When I hear “you’re a failure,” that’s my ego talking. It’s a cop-out—a way I try to let myself off the hook in terms of the hard work of being a Buddhist practitioner. The tradition expects me to show up in all circumstances and learn from my mistakes, otherwise there’s no waking up. I must recognize the opportunities here. This situation and my increasing awareness of the places where I am still very stuck, like anything else—like everything else—are opportunities, invitations, to go deeper in my practice.

As I strive to remember this, the words of one of my teachers, Frank Berliner, come back to me again and again: “It’s called the noble truth of suffering, not the shitty truth of suffering.” In other words, as long as I insist on shrinking from suffering—instead of recognizing it as something that might teach me if I’m brave enough to look at it—progress on the path simply isn’t possible. Difficult as it can be, letting the world “tickle my heart,” as Frank’s teacher Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche would say, is imperative to real spiritual development. If I can really experience suffering, let my heart be tickled, I can understand—I can grow.

I think part of our problem as modern people is that we believe that everything in the world is completely understandable, explainable, reduce-able to human-sized bites. The "noble" truth of suffering reminds us both that we can discover the roots of our misery and work to liberate ourselves, but also that the world's functioning is pretty mysterious still, despite all the inroads we have made as a species. The Buddha's first words in the Bringer of Light Sutra are:

"I considered: ‘This Dhamma that I have attained is profound, hard to see and hard to understand, peaceful and sublime, unattainable by mere reasoning, subtle, to be experienced by the wise.

We 21st century digital boys and girls could use a little less confidence in our basic understanding of how the world works and a little more bowing to mystery. Maybe mystery isn't the perfect word here, but I'm sticking with it none the less. Why do things happen exactly the way they do? What makes you think that you can know for sure? Or even that good, old Shakyamuni was so clairvoyant that he could see and understand everything that occurred in the world?

Romantic relationships, with all their intensity, twists and turns, really defy explanations most of the time. And if they last awhile, they are bound to stir up a lot of shit, and create sometimes profound levels of instability. I'm not talking about psychological disorders (although this can happen too), when I say instability I mean a shaking, sometimes to the core, of what one's identity is. All the attachments to a certain image of one's self come to the forefront, get poked at, and/or directly challenged. This is part of the reason why humans struggle so much with these kind of relationships.

Humans don't like instability, even though it's really what the relative world is all about.

Making peace with instability itself seems like a path worth walking.

Danny's trying, I'm trying, we all are in our own ways, trying to make peace with instability. How it happens exactly, though, I really don't know.

Sunday Morning Dancing Dharma

To balance out a little of the recent heaviness. Enjoy your Sunday!