Children, Families, and American Zen

This morning, three of our high school students at zen center gave the dharma talk. Each of them grew up in the Youth Practice program we have, and are now preparing to take jukai along with the adult group this fall. It brought to mind this old post I wrote for Buddhist Geeks a few years ago that considered children and teens (or often the lack there of) in American convert Buddhist communities.

Here's one of the points I made in the post, an issue I feel my own sangha has gone to great strides to not fall into.

2. Uber-Individualism—Buddhists in the “West,” especially convert Buddhists, struggle with building long lasting, sustainable communities. Children and teens aren’t always welcome, let alone considered vital members of the sangha. But beyond Buddhism, community in general is quite challenged in places like the U.S. Whereas in the past, friends, neighbors, and community elders were all to some degree or another considered part of the extended parenting family, today for most children, these people are often viewed with suspicion. Teachers, spiritual leaders, and other community leaders are also viewed as much with suspicion as being potentially good influences on children. Now, certainly there are valid reasons for some of this suspicion, and I think it’s quite important for parents to be careful and minimize risks, but how much of the breakdown in community in general is due to obsession with the nuclear family, and an excessive focus on individuality?

Several years ago, I taught the 2nd and 3rd grade class in our program, and all three of the high schoolers that spoke today were in those classes with me. It speaks volumes that not only were they able to come before us this morning to offer what they have learned on the path, but also that we - the rest of the sangha - provided that space and sought to uphold them as we do our teachers.

Integrations like this haven't always been easy or smooth, but it's been worth it. We aren't the only ones doing this sort of thing, but it's still rare amongst convert communities.

I hope many other lay sanghas follow suit.

And Happy Mother's Day to you all!

Expanded Love

I have been contemplating the ways in which we construct narratives recently - and probably much of my life if I'm really honest.

Lately, though, there's been a tug around blogging,
and the ways in which what gets written (here and elsewhere)
tends to be linear,
rather rational,
and well, simply put, organized towards certain messages or outcomes.

How does this impact readers? Or writers for that matter?

What are the limits of this kind of writing when it comes to speaking about -
expressing
our spiritual lives?

------------------

Let's try something different. And see what happens.

Start with this: Americans alone spend $5.7 billion annually on yoga classes and products.

That BIG. Big Mind Big. Every time I think of folks paying $50,000 to hang with Zen teacher Genpo Merzel, that's what comes to mind.

Big, but not
expansive

Not the universe,
multi-verse

moving in the ten directions,
connected if you will
as we are
with the myriad of beings

A few days ago, I came to stop at the edge of the bus stop, as a man was talking to someone on a cell phone, upset, pacing back and forth in the cool, early February wind.

Soon, he stopped too. Stopped talking. Clicked the phone shut. Looked at me. Sighed. Said "Sorry about that. My brother just died."

I stopped again. The "I" who was worried about such a conversation happening.

He started: "Things sometimes happen you know."

I do. But didn't.

"It's just that my sister stole the clothes he left me. I don't know why she did that."

Tears. Coming from somewhere between us
breaking through
both

for a moment

In meditation retreats. Sitting there, my entire body aching,
I have looked around and saw that nearly everyone else was still in half or full lotus posture.

So, what have I done? Stayed in half lotus, and either tried to cut off the bodily sensations, or intellectualized the pain as being “good for my practice.”

Why do we keep cutting our selves off from ourselves?

This man loved his brother. He was willing to cry with a stranger at a bus stop over his brother.

That's love just as much as the boundless joy of being together is.

Do you really know how to love? Allow love to grow and be?

The body as sex object. The body as an advertising method, and sales tool. The body as a machine. The body as a workhorse, means of obtaining income through labor. The body as powerhouse athlete.

All of these narratives are pulsing through many of us,

stealing the canals of our hearts

threatening to damn us
to lives of
quiet
or not so quiet
misery

He called himself "the godfather" of his family,
but also
a "lost cause"
damaged by military service,

and that which remained in silence
whatever it was
which clearly left him limping,

languishing in a certain kind of lack

even as he so easily
lifted the bar, unclasped the belt
tethered
to the wheelchair
of a passenger
about to get off
the bus

“alienation from the self is the entire focus of yoga philosophy"
yoga teacher Stephen Cope once wrote

as if we really needed that sentence
and yet

it's all so clear to me now, the way the seeds lay in our fields waiting,
patiently waiting

for the rain to come.

Practicing Conflict - a Path of Generosity?

Image from Crazy Dog T-shirts.

Here's are really interesting Q and A from Trungpa Rinpoche's book Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism.

If you have conflicts with other people, making it difficult to relate to them, what do you do?

Well, if your desire to communicate, which is generosity, is strong, then you have to apply prajna, knowledge, to discover why you are unable to communicate. Perhaps your communication is only one-directional. Perhaps you are unwilling for communication to come from the other direction as well ... we have to be careful to see the whole situation, rather than just being keen to throw something at the other person.

I'm really interested in this view of communication as generosity. Really seeing it in that way changes how it is approached. In a way, if you are attuned to the moment, and open to what is being called for, then you can't help but be generous. This might mean pulling back and staying quiet. Or it might mean praising someone's strong points, even if they also are displaying a lot of weaknesses. It might also mean clear, precise criticism driven by an intention to help someone see something they are missing. Or a calmly stated correction to someone who has spoken falsely, or wrongly, about something.

Trungpa Rinpoche says "Essentially, we have to provide some kind of space and openness." So, whatever is it we intend to try and communicate with someone, our job is to do so in a way that allows the other some room to work with.

In addition, it's important to learn to be open to receiving something in return, even if it comes in a form that isn't so easy to digest. In other words, it might be helpful to ask yourself now "How am I going to deal with the next 'ego insult'?" Instead of waiting for the next "fuck off" or "you're an idiot" to arrive in your e-mailbox, practice now, so it might not be such a shock later.

Let's go even further. Maybe those kind of blunt things roll off your back. Or you just ignore them. How about something a little less easy to tease out? Something like "I'm surprised you say it's ok to have an abortion. How can you be Buddhist and pro-choice?" My guess is people get comments like this often: not overtly nasty, but testy none the less because they call to question one's identity - that is, if there is strong attachment present.

So, it might be a good idea to practice receiving these kinds of comments as well. Because really, if you think about it, communication is not only what we say and do, but also how we receive what others say and do.

Your thoughts?

Buddhist Children? - Thoughts on Children in Buddhist Families and Communities

Over at Cheerio Road, Karen Maezen Miller has a post entitled "not teaching children to meditate" that kind of gets under my nerves. I actually agree with some of what she's saying, and appreciate the experience she has had leading a children's program at a Zen Center, and also as a parent. I'm not a parent, so I sometimes feel like stepping in on issues like this aren't my territory.

At the same time, I have had multiple jobs working with children, spent three years as a teacher in our zen center's children's program, and am currently in the middle of a lot of discussions about the place and role of children and youth within our sangha. All of this gives me a small window of perspective. I'm not expert, but I'm also not someone who has no experience with kids, and just wants to pontificate. So, whatever I will say is coming from a somewhat outsider position, and I'd encourage parents who are Buddhist practitioners to chime in on this issue.

Of the comments in the Cheerio Road post, these are the one's I probably most bristle at:

About the spiritual training of young, my view is a bit of the same. How you behave in your home is their spiritual upbringing. I think we have to be careful with all forms of ideological indoctrination, and that is what spiritual training is in children: the imposition of a set of abstract beliefs and ideals. Children will take these from of us, but I don’t think dogma serves anyone for long. After all, I was a very good Sunday School student, the star of my confirmation class, and yet I had my own spiritual crisis to resolve later in life. We all do.

I always remind myself that I’m not trying to raise a Buddhist child. I’m trying to raise a Buddhist mother, and it’s taking all my time! Not only my family, but also everyone everywhere will be served by my devoted discipline in my own training. Not because I’m self-important, but in recognition of the one true reality: no self. We are all interdependent, which means we are all one.

Before I speak about my disagreements, I will say that above all, the behavior of adult mentor figures, whether parents, extended family, teachers, or others, IS of most importance. So, we agree there.

Now to the areas of contention.

1. The Sunday School example - it's no secret that many convert Buddhists grew up and/or had significant contact with Christian or Jewish communities. They have parents and/or grandparents who are, or were, devout Christians or Jews, and who forced them to attend regular religious instruction as a child, instruction that was often about feeding children a worldview that had to be accepted as true. So, there's an understandable desire to not repeat those experiences with their kids. However, how much of this concern over indoctrination valid, and how much is a reaction to what they experienced in Judeo-Christian settings?

2. Uber-Individualism - Buddhists in the "West," especially convert Buddhists, struggle with building long lasting, sustainable communities. Children and teens aren't always welcome, let alone considered vital members of the sangha. But beyond Buddhism, community in general is quite challenged in places like the U.S. Whereas in the past, friends, neighbors, and community elders were all to some degree or another considered part of the extended parenting family, today for most children, these people are often viewed with suspicion. Teachers, spiritual leaders, and other community leaders are also viewed as much with suspicion as being potentially good influences on children. Now, certainly there are valid reasons for some of this suspicion, and I think it's quite important for parents to be careful and minimize risks, but how much of the breakdown in community in general is due to obsession with the nuclear family, and an excessive focus on individuality?

When I think of the Karen, Korean, and Vietnamese Buddhist students I have had, all first generation immigrants, the picture is different. The children are cared for by extended family and neighborhood elders, they regularly attend Buddhist services with their families, and they are considered to be an important part of the sangha. This doesn't mean that these children have perfect lives - sometimes far from it - but whereas native born Americans struggle with community, immigrants and refugees tend to have thriving communities, religious and otherwise.

3. What does a healthy lay practice look like? One of my favorite questions these days. Adam over at Fly Like a Crow also has children, and his commitment to practice looks quite different than Ms. Miller's. I don't think one is right, and the other wrong. What I'm more interested in is about the different ways people can manifest deep practice while having a family and/or living in the world. It's wonderful that Karen Maezen Miller is a devoted Zen priest who not only helps lead a center, but also shares writing regularly about her practice with the world at large. But I think devotion will take different forms, just as how people raise children takes different forms. Even if more people examine the issues I spoke of in points 1 and 2, how they decide act on those examinations will look different in each case.

In other parts of Ms. Miller's post, she argues that children have a natural ability to be present. That they already "practice single-minded attention." And about Buddhist practice in general, she states:

The aim of all Buddhist practice is to return to our natural state of wide-eyed wonder and unselfconsciousness that we can observe in our children many times a day.

I don't agree. Childhood openness is wonderful and beautiful, but is it what "the aim" of Buddhist practice is? First of all, when I think of my own childhood, that wonderful openness she is speaking about was there, but sure as hell not always. And sometimes, rarely. Some of the time, at least, I was completely trapped in fear or anger, which stunted any curiosity or openness. I often acted out of convoluted views about both my own life and the world around me because I was - a kid. I didn't know any better. That's what kids do. And when I was in that more open, perhaps "pure or "natural state" - well, I was there, but I had no idea how to bring those experiences to bear on the rest of my life. Perhaps if I had been in a class where things like meditation and basic Buddhist teachings were taught, things would have been different. Or maybe not. But from what I have seen with the children and teens in my own sangha, they're ability to handle life's difficulties, to transfer that natural openness into the areas where they get closed down, is more advanced than what I displayed as a kid without a sangha.

This gets to my final point. In our sangha, we have a children's and youth program that not only teaches meditation, but also some of the basic Buddhist messages, such as the Four Noble truths and Eight Fold Path. The kids learn variations on the Buddha's life story, and have opportunities to explore it all through arts, crafts, discussion, meditation, yoga, and sometimes service projects. Some might say this is indoctrination, but my own experience as a teacher in the program was that it was about exploration, providing some structures and support for exploration.

And that is probably the main reason why I felt compelled to write all of this. Structures like zazen, chanting, and bowing can be offered as opportunities to explore ones life at an early age. Basic Buddhist teachings can be offered in the same way. If you are a Buddhist parent who is more in line with what Ms. Miller says, I'd like offer the following question: What is motivating your views? I don't ask this because I think you are necessarily right or wrong. It's more a question I think is worth exploring.

A few weeks ago, I spoke of our center as developing a "lifespan" practice field. We have always attempted to program not just for adults, but also for children. And in recent years, we have been starting to think more deliberately about what this means, and how we might better support people in all stages of life. So, I'm interested in what parents think out there. How do you work with children? How should sanghas work with children? How does your sangha in particular work with children?


*The image is of the banner of photos for our center's children's program. I thought about finding something else after I saw the distortion, but actually think it fits well as a visual with the discussion at hand.

Relational Zen

I found myself quite moved by this post from the blog On the Precipice. In particular, I'd like to look at the following two paragraphs:

If this practice isn’t about relationship, fundamentally, then I’d question what awakening means to the person who claims as much. Whether it’s realizing the no-self, the Self, or the nature of mind–whatever you want to call it, waking up has something to do with seeing the illusion of separation. Embedded in that is relationship. Relationship of observer to observed, of mind to object, of self to other. Buddhist practice and meditation are then not about disengaging with the world but rather engaging with it fully. But this daily life practice, practice in relationship (which is really all of practice, since the body and mind are always relating to experience), can be difficult to do with no support system, with no conditions ripe for cultivating stillness and solitude. Why? Because of deeply embedded habit patterns, grooves of behavior, conditioning. Because, from Reggie Ray: “Relationships stir up the toxins in us, to the surface.” Particularly those where physical intimacy is added to the equation, and much for that reason, I assume Joshu Sasaki says: “The best monastery for Americans might in fact be marriage.”

What’s so complicated is, while relationship itself is the default experience of life, we can’t entirely choose to be in romantic relationship. By far, more than any time in my life, there is real contentment in being alone. I have no interest in dating or casual encounters, certainly. And the prospect of having to make life decisions with only myself to consider is not as daunting as it once was. I credit intensive retreat practice and deep solitude with allowing this acceptance of what is, this clear seeing into our fundamental aloneness. Thanks to a couple of good friends for making me admit it, the undercurrent of my expectation post, however, was that I would like to have more intimacy in my life – namely because I see the mirror of relationship to be an important, if not the most important, element of this practice. And in order to spiritually evolve and grow as a human being, I think it’s essential to be in relationship; and those that trigger the difficult emotions which help us the most can be that much more valuable as a result. But how to want this without attaching to any particular expectation

Although romantic relationships are emphasized in this section, Katherine points out later that living with her parents as a mid-30's adult, and experiencing the old entanglements that come with those parent/children relationships, has been quite valuable as well.

This makes me think of Peter Hershock's dense, but quite interesting book Liberating Intimacy. A PhD philosophy thesis about Ch'an Buddhism, this text can be quite daunting upon first glance, but I think it's worth it. Amongst the major points Hershock makes is the following: both suffering and the liberation from suffering are social, and that Ch'an practice is about being dynamically creative in how we "relate" in the world. He reminds readers again and again that since suffering isn't owned a by person, and since there isn't any fixed self to own it in the first place, that all we experience is profoundly relational, even if we each experience life in a unique manner.

Hermit monks and nuns aside - although even they are in relationships to the places they live, the air they breath, and whomever they came in contact before going off into the mountains and valleys. But leaving them aside, it's fairly easy to see how Buddhist practice is very much about relationships. Monastics have their fellow monastics, and anyone that they might care for or be supporting outside of the monastic community. Householders have parents, friends, lovers, co-workers, neighbors - the lists go on and on.

We "Western" Buddhists are fond of saying practice is about zazen, retreats, bowing, chanting, and whatnot. And it is - to some degree. But what about this "mirror of relationship" Katherine speaks about? In some ways, the influx of psychology into Buddhist circles has elevated relational life, and brought it into consideration. However, I also believe the same thing has also created a veil of language through which people hide themselves from truly experiencing the relational quality of life.

Instead of opening to a moment with a loved one, for example, how often do we - you and I - end up trying diagnose some problem or troubling emotion another person is experiencing, and then shift our attention towards "fixing" it somehow? Or even worse, how often do we reduce spiritual practice to some kind of working with difficult emotions process?

The "toxins" Reggie Ray speaks of in the quote above are much more than emotions, and even though emotions are a familiar gateway to deeper understanding, the relational quality of life is far too vast to limit to something like we all experience anger, therefore we are interconnected.

I remember as a child being fascinated by a large cottonwood tree that was in a yard across the alley from my grandparent's house. Every year, it's huge branches released enough seeds covered in white hairs to blanket most of my grandparent's back yard. A snowfall in late spring is how I saw it. This particular tree had to be near 100 years old, and I remember wondering how it had gotten so big, and lived so long. One time, we took a tape measure and measured around the tree's trunk. I only remember it was "really big" - ah, the clarity of an eight year old mind. Anyway, stepping around the tree meant leaping over the large, exposed sections of the tree's roots - almost like snakes to my kid mind.

It's said that the natural habitat of these trees is near rivers or other muddy places, but that human soil cultivation has expanded the growing range - hence this large cottonwood in the middle of city neighborhood, no where near a river or lake. When I think of that tree and the soil, the rain and the soil, and the soil and the people tended the soil, it's all relational. Try to separate it out, to describe the difference facets of these relationships and you get some nice sounding chemistry and biology - but ultimately a limited story.

Life is relational, and liberation comes through it, but we can't pin "it" down. There often seems to be discussions and debates online about dharma transmission, enlightenment "experiences," and the pitfalls of teachers who don't seem to handle relationships with students or even other teachers well. Lots of talk about all of this - but think about it, whatever is being talked about in these arenas, a lot of it really boils down to the relational quality of practice life. Sure, there are solitary figures throughout Buddhist history who have been considered enlightened without the need of a teacher or sangha, but it's other people who speak of this enlightenment, and in a way, confirm it.

But there's something troubling, I think, about over emphasizing the more solitary aspects of Buddhist practice, including our cherished zazen practice. How do we function as social beings embedded in neighborhoods, communities, nations? How committed are we to being with the people in our lives, no matter how much they are struggling? How willing are we to get close to others, and in doing so, be exposed to the mirrors they each will hold up to us?

Buddha's story is often cut in half in our collective memories. The drama of his leaping over the palace wall and leaving his family behind - that sticks with us. The near death experience he had after starving himself sticks with us. The enlightenment under the bodhi tree sticks with us. In other words, the more solitary parts.

But what about the development of the sangha? The encounters with kings, thieves, and everyday householders? How about the reappearance of several family members, who became part of the new community? The forty plus years of teaching, entirely done with others present?

Less dramatic than the lone seeker part of the story, but no less valuable. In fact, probably much more important because without it, what we have today as practice and teachings wouldn't be here in the way it is. Maybe not at all. Had Buddha gone off into the mountains to live off the grid for the rest of his days, the way Buddhists view suffering and liberation would be - in my opinion - quite different. And frankly, much less beneficial to both lay practitioners and monastics living in communities. Which is nearly all of us.

And thus the very act of a single man 2600 years ago to not disappear illuminates, itself, the relational quality of life.

Get Married To Yourself

I found this post by Brianna Ecklid on Elephant Journal. It's basic enough, for sure, but I think that's what's called for sometimes. Get married to yourself is the gist of it. Stop hoping something outside of you will make you happy and wise, and start waking up to your life as it is.

I have spent too many years trying to control my life and I have learned that the harder you grasp at the sand the faster it slips through your fingers. I tried in vain to lead a life I thought was good enough for others and found myself severely unhappy. I have suffocated under stress that was unnecessary and suffered from the desires of my mind. It is time to take life and find happiness, joy, and spiritual fulfillment for myself; to reach out for my hand and firmly believe that I will find what I seek.

I placed a ring on my finger and silently promised myself that it would not move until I have found that which I seek. I suppose, in a way, this is my Bodhi tree and I am not going to move from it until I find that which I seek. Plus, I might get to have a reception and realistically…what is better than cake and presents?

What she writes about in the first paragraph sounds really familiar to me. The only difference I'd make is that "marrying myself" wouldn't be just "for myself." And of course, there's also a danger of getting taken over by the "seeking" mind, trying too hard to locate some answer to your deepest questions, whether in the outer world or within.

But I think she's onto something here. It's so easy to want something or someone to "complete you," but no one and nothing can do so.

That pit of dissatisfaction we each are attempting to fill with other people, achievements, food, drink, and whatever else is always asking for more.

Perhaps committing yourself to yourself, just as things are, moment by moment, the growling that comes from that pit might cease to overwhelm.

It's worth a try. You already have done the divorce thing with yourself thousands of times. Why not try something new for a change?

The Zen of Personal Narratives

As part of an e-mail to an old co-worker this morning, who was asking me how my life is now, I wrote the following:

The hard part for me lately is the feeling that I will always be one step short from achieving my career goals, having a healthy, long term relationship in my life, and living my spiritual path fully. This is probably just a story that I'm trapped in, but it's had a grip on me for awhile, and I also know that I hold myself back too much at times out of fear.

This narrative is actually an old one, but when you have a lot of free time on your hands, and no clear direction, the old narratives can get really loud.

What I find interesting about this particular story is how it points directly to the way grasping at something doesn't work, and how it is, in that way, completely true. I can't really "have" any of the things on the list. The fulfilling career. The great relationship. The unfolding path of wisdom and awakening. They aren't graspable in the way I want them to be.

I've been considering desire lately. The desire to awaken for example. I think we get a little too black and white about desire, deeming it all trouble, all the time. It isn't. There has to some desire to awaken, or to have healthy relationships, or to do something more than the same job over and over, otherwise there's no movement. But at some point, the desire has to be let go of, to flower or disperse on it's own as it will - or else everything gets really warped.

What I see in the narrative I have cherished above is that everything I have sought - the continued career achievements, the loving relationship, the unfolding wisdom - has been something "out there," outside of me, that I feel I have to possess in order to be complete.

I'd still love to experience all of this, but it needs to be approached differently - I can see this, feel this, now. The desire energy, the wanting - it's time to respect it more, engage it differently, and to see it as another raft that, if ridden intelligently, will take me across the river.

*Image by Harry Northover
see website for details

Hot Topics: Socially Engaged Buddhism

There's been a lot of debate lately online about socially engaged Buddhism. This on the heels of last month's Zen Peacemaker's Socially Engaged Buddhism Symposium, which was held in the U.S. state of Massachusetts.

Posts from The Reformed Buddhist and, to a lesser extent, from Point of Contact argue against the notion of socially engaged Buddhism, suggesting that Buddhist practice should not be conflated with actions involving large scale social and political issues. Both suggest that it's just fine to be actively engaged with these issues, but that Buddhism should be left out of those engagements.

In another recent post, found over at Notes in Samsara, Mumon offers that those who view Buddhist practice as a means to "change the world" are clinging to a gaining idea.

The current post over at Notes from a Burning House points to the fact that when spiritual/religious folks attempt to rock the social/economic boat, they're often marginalized, shunned, and sometimes end up murdered. (Think Martin Luther King Jr. for example.) The post then goes on to ask where the middle ground is between hard core social activists and those who shun all Buddhist inspired engagement with the social/political realms.

Finally, the latest post over at Jizo Chronicles offers Diana Winston and Donald Rothberg's Ten Guiding Principles for Socially Engaged Buddhism.

For the purposes of this discussion, I think principle number two has the most relevance:

Interbeing and Co-Responsibility:
We look at our tendencies to separate “us” and “them,” and “inner” and “outer.” We see in ourselves the same structures of greed, hatred, and delusion that we seek to change. We realize that there is ultimately no “other” to fight against, yet we also recognize that some are indeed in positions of greater responsibility for suffering and oppression.

In response to a comment John from Point of Contact made wondering how the principles were any different from "mundane/non-engaged/boring Buddhism," I said the following:

I get the sense that you and others are wanting a separation where none can really be made. If you truly live the practice, anything you do in the social/political realm, regardless of whether you label it or not, will be influenced by your practice. People seem to be fussing a lot about the labels, but I really think that’s a red herring. This is an old, old debate between those who argue Buddhism is about working to disengage from worldly concerns, and those who see Buddhism as a path that includes coming back to “the marketplace” (Ox Herding Pics) if you will. I think everyone is on a continuum between these two extremes, from solitary monks living in the mountains to lifelong social activists whose work is deliberately guided by Buddhist teachings.

As for the list, #2 and #4 explicitly point to a deliberate interaction with and engagement of systemic manifestations of suffering. The list isn’t pointing to just everyday activities like washing the dishes, being kind to co-workers and strangers, etc. It’s suggesting that there are a wide array of ways we might engage in the world springing forth from our understanding of Buddhist teachings. All of it is part of the path in my view. No one person need be “engaged” if you will in all facets of action within the world suggested by these principles, but to suggest that all social action work is outside the realm of Buddhism is, as I already said, creating a separation where none can be found.

I'm going to be honest with you all: I've had some trouble figuring out how to respond to all these discussions. I have made a few comments, but mostly I've read and watched others engage.

The thing I keep going back to is the idea that for better or worse, one's belief system will influence how one acts within the larger social/political world. An atheist or secular humanist will look at things differently from a devout Christian or Jew. Perhaps, they end up making similar decisions, but the reasoning behind, as well as the path that led up to said decisions will be different. And I think it's important to consider those differences because they help us understand how the whole of humanity is interacting together to form the world we live in at this particular time.

Beyond this, I believe there are ways to be inspired by, or driven by, one's spiritual practice that don't lead to the kinds of oppression seen in theocracies, for example, or to the kinds of self-righteousness seen in individuals who believe their path is superior in solving social problems than all others. I understand that even saying this will cause some to believe that I'm no better than folks in the "Christian Right" arguing to outlaw abortions and for a return of prayer in public schools. Perhaps this is the case. I honestly don't know.

I just can't see how it's possible to divorce one's spiritual life from how one engages the big issues in the world.