The Silence of White American Buddhists on Ferguson

"Not terribly long ago in a country that many people misremember, if they knew it at all, a black person was killed in public every four days for often the most mundane of infractions, or rather accusation of infractions – for taking a hog, making boastful remarks, for stealing 75 cents. For the most banal of missteps, the penalty could be an hours-long spectacle of torture and lynching. No trial, no jury, no judge, no appeal. Now, well into a new century, as a family in Ferguson, Missouri, buries yet another American teenager killed at the hands of authorities, the rate of police killings of black Americans is nearly the same as the rate of lynchings in the early decades of the 20th century."

Since this is a blog about Buddhism among other things, I'll start with this statement. The majority, perhaps the vast majority of covert Buddhists sanghas in the US will have nothing to public to say about Ferguson. They will not deliberately open their doors, as East Bay Meditation Center is doing today, as a place of respite for the outraged, weary, and sad. They will not issue any public statements about racial injustice, the suppression of peaceful protests, or anything of the like. They will not offer dharma talks on Ferguson, state sanctioned violence, or the militarization of our police departments. They will not show up, in any significant numbers, at protests or solidary events. They most likely won't, in any real tangible manner, demonstrate that the above, quoted reality is a total travesty, and that the only way to stand behind and support our black brothers and sisters is to reject the status quo, and work together to build a more just, and truly peaceful society.

I want to be wrong about all this, but I probably won't be. It's just far too easy for white dominant Buddhist sanghas to minimize, deny, or ignore all this. We don't want to "take sides." We don't want to upset anyone. Politics have no place in the dharma. We don't know the whole story. The list goes on and on.

Part of me has compassion for the fact that this is the karma of hundreds of years of settler colonialist propaganda. That spiritual bypassing, ignorance, and even flat out prejudice and hatred in some cases can drive the words and actions of so many of my fellow white Buddhist practitioners.

The other part of me says for fucks sake, wake up!

I watched the protests in Ferguson on livestream last night for a good hour and a half. Occasionally, I had flashbacks to protests I've been involved in over the past decade. But what they were dealing with was worse. More calculated and oppressive. Tear gas canisters flying everywhere. Military vehicles all over the place. Guns aimed in all directions. It looked like a total war zone.

Apparently, some mainstream media outlets made a huge deal out of a handful of fires. A couple of burning cop cars and buildings. There was plenty of noise made about protesters throwing rocks as well. It sounded way too much like Gaza. Looked way too damned much like Gaza!

We live in a nation built from the fruits of genocide, slavery, and widespread economic oppression. Our leaders support and wage wars across the globe. The United States is, for all intents and purposes, the embodiment of the three poisons (greed, hatred, and ignorance).

Defending the "rule of law," means supporting greed, hatred, and ignorance. Choosing to hang out in the absolute realms, far too common for U.S. Buddhists, especially white ones, means being okay with the endless suffering around us, and within us.

We are a few days from Thanksgiving. A holiday that covers up a legacy of human genocide (that of our indigenous brothers and sisters), while committing one annually against an animal community (our turkey brothers and sisters). And lest this post get consumed by people defending meat eating, I'm not talking about the reverent taking of life to sustain one's own life. I'm talking about 45 million turkeys slaughtered annually, many of them raised in giant factory farms, all for a holiday that is sustained by a settler colonialist myth about the "beginnings" of the nation.
Forgive me for not feeling thankful for any of this.

A few days ago, a 12 year old black boy, Tamir Rice, was shot and killed by Cleveland police. That a boy that young is so readily seen as a "threat" so "dangerous" he must be shot speaks volumes about the state of our affairs. That Darren Wilson is free, but Marissa Alexander in prison and facing another possible 5 year sentence, demonstrates just how fucked up things are - and have been for a long, long time.

And yet, I'm guessing that the coming weeks will be similar to the previous few months when it comes to Ferguson and white majority Buddhist sanghas and practitioners. Mostly silence. And not the kind of silence that comes from meditation practice offering metta and prayers of support to the directly suffering, but more the kind of silence that comes from privilege and settler colonialist thinking.

I spent significant time at my zen center over the past 3 days. I love my sangha, and often feel proud of how far we have come over the years, even on such difficult issues as systemic racism and oppression. And yet, even so, I'm honestly not sure I can go for refuge there on a day like today. I'm just not sure there's space for the mixture of outrage, sadness, and a desire to do more than just sit, although I need - so many of us really - need that too.

This afternoon, I will head to one of our local solidarity demonstrations. It isn't nearly enough, and at every one of these someone speaks to how it's just that: not enough. But until more answers forward arise, we have to do something, say something.

I pray for more awakening, more liberation, to penetrate the hearts and minds of this nation. May the wood of the empire rot, and a new house be built that lets all of us, all beings, thrive.

Boko Haram, the 969 Movement, and Owning the Evil Humans Produce

After posting an article dissecting the current responses to the Boko Haram kidnappings in Nigeria, and the ongoing imperialist agenda in Africa by the US and NATO allies, a friend of mine left a comment on my Facebook page that included the following lines:

"These men aren't Muslims. Let's be clear on this."

I started writing a response to her, but then realized it was getting long, so I'll offer it here as a blog post instead.

There has been a similar debate amongst Buddhists around the globe in response to the hatred driven violence of a group in Burma called the 969 Movement. I wrote this article last summer, and it's gotten worse over there since then, as the movement's influence has spread.

While I think these folks have gone off the rail, and have completely distorted Buddhist teachings to support their agenda, they're still Buddhists. Saying they aren't not only erases their identity, but also allows a false sense of separation from the evil they're producing.

So many Buddhists can't imagine that their religion/spiritual path could be so horribly co-opted and used to justify horrific actions and hatred, but this is only the most current example of a long history of such behavior in different nations. I think it's better to own all of this, recognize that nothing is beyond corruption, and join public calls to clean house. It's a subtle distinction perhaps. I want what the 969 Movement is doing to end, and those who won't stop to be stopped, even if it means they're disrobed, jailed, and tossed out of the Buddhist order (many of the leaders are monks). The difference is the starting point for me is their chosen identity, one which has often been lifelong, however wrong they've gone. What drove these Buddhist people to join this movement and believe the leaders of it? Why are they now turning on neighbors they've lived peacefully with for decades? These are the kinds of questions I have asked.

While I readily agree that the men in Boko Haram do not at all represent what Islam is about, I disagree that they are not Muslims. Especially if they have spent much or all of their lives as Muslims, and haven't just converted to join the fight. Which doesn't seem to be the pattern here. One of the biggest challenges is that this is so much more about poverty, human exploitation, sexism, fallout from colonialism, and fossil fuel power games than about religion. Many of the perpetrators were/are also victims of the elites in control of Boko Haram, and those dying and suffering from their actions are a cross section of Christians, Muslims, and folks with other backgrounds. Instead of saying they aren't Muslim, I ask "What drives these young Muslim men to join this group, and become murderers and oppressors? In addition to calls for this ending, how can we in the world community help diminish the likelihood of this happening again?

It may seem like semantics here, but I actually think it's crucial that these kinds of situations do not be treated as the actions of some small, evil "other." They are us, these folks who perpetrate the worst of atrocities in the name of whatever religion or philosophy they claim supports their actions. Nothing, however sacred and life-giving it may be, is beyond the realm of corruption and co-option. Owning up to this, and claiming the people who act so horribly as part of our communities, is the path towards peace and liberation.

Peace Isn't What We Tend To Think It Is

Photo credit: krosseel from morguefile.com

There's nothing that does not grow light
through habit and familiarity,
putting up with little cares,
I'll train myself to bear with great adversity.

I've been working with these lines from Shantideva's Guide to the Bodhisattva's Way of Life for many years now. In order to keep them with me daily, I chant them silently to myself as I brush my teeth every night before bed.

Sitting here now, I can see where this teaching is a gateway into an utter calm and peace. All of those "little cares" that arrive in our lives have the ability to muck things up greatly, if we can't meet them as they are in the moment. Meeting them, however, isn't mere acceptance or some kind of resignation. It's not putting up with; it's allowing flow. Accepting what is in one breath, and then doing what you're called to do in the next.

In the cycle of samsara, the pain in your back during meditation, for example, can easily lead to tension, and then irritation, and then some kind of acting out. A few nasty words from some passerby on the street can easily lead to your own shouting, an escalation of conflict, and in some sad cases, violence and even death.

Many people come to Buddhism seeking calm and peace, but don't really understand what calm and peace actually are. And so whenever something disrupts what we've deemed to be calm and peace, we get upset and our lives are overturned.

I used to meditate like mad, associating calm with boredom, and thinking zazen was kind of an endurance contest I had to win somehow. Seems to me the "peace" I sought was otherworldly, some hyper chill state that couldn't possibly be located in the middle of this chaotic, suffering filled world.

In this, there was no room for the world to fully enter, to be "confirmed by the ten thousand things" as Dogen once said.

Things "growing light" does not depend upon outer conditions. As a social activist, I seek a more just, eco-centric, and peaceful world. However, if I get too attached to whatever is "lacking" now, or whatever vision I have for "the future," the flow of fully living stops. And the synergy of accepting what is and taking the next called for step can't happen.

Violence Will Not Cease Without Facing Our Fears of Death

The first Buddhist precept is a vow of non-killing. It’s not an injunction against all killing, and indeed we are always, even in taking a breath, killing something. If we want to embody a non-violent way of being and acting in the world, we have to come to terms with life and death as unified. Inseparable. That living and dying are occurring in every moment, no matter what we choose to do or not do. On the whole, American’s don’t handle the death side well. When faced with any inkling of it, we’re prone to turn away, minimize, or deny it. The increasing, mostly male obsession with “self defense” and resorting to violent measures to carry out such defense, feels intimately tied to this issue. Men look around and see other men killing each other and they don’t want to be next. Never mind that 2/3rds of gun deaths in the U.S. annually are self inflicted, the fear of being mowed down by some other is widespread. It’s not the slow fading away from chronic illness or quick passing during an accident that haunts many of us. It’s the messy end by bullet.

You can read the rest of the post here.

Buddhist Violence in Burma

Hey Friends! I'm doing a three part series on the violence by Buddhists against Muslims in Burma this week. It's been challenging to write because there's just so many layers to what's happening, and it's damn sad as well. But I think Buddhist practitioners outside of Burma should take note, if already haven't. Definitely says a lot about how causes and conditions can come together to bring about great suffering.

Here are the links to the first and second posts.

Update: please read the final installment here.

Buddhist Thoughts on the Boston Marathon Bombing

By now, you've probably heard about the bombings at the Boston Marathon. Whomever did them, it seems pretty clear now that they were an act of terrorism. An act which no doubt will have ripple effects of suffering far beyond those immediately impacted. Half way across the world, but not unrelated, a series of car bombs killed dozens in Iraq, a place where these kinds of experiences are sadly commonplace. Our imperialist policies, as well as those of our allies, have created a living hell for the Iraqi people. And so, as we grieve for those hurt and killed in Boston, it's imperative to remember all the ways our nation's decisions bring about similar suffering in places across the globe.

Brad Warner quickly put up a post about the Boston marathon bombings. There is some understandable anger in it. I've felt plenty myself in recent months over gun violence, wars, the numerous economic violences of capitalism, and all the ways we've been destroying the planet. But what to do with that anger? How can we face it directly, and let it move through us in a way so that it can be transformed into something of benefit for ourselves and others?

I find elements of Brad's article disturbing. He's a selection.

As is typical when these kinds of things happen, the news guys didn’t really know much. They just kept repeating the three facts they did know over and over. Two bombs went off near the finish line of the Boston Marathon. Two people were killed. An unknown number of others were injured. Nobody has claimed responsibility. And that was pretty much all anyone really knew the last time I checked in.

I remember after the gas attacks on the Tokyo subway system happened, Nishijima Roshi said that those who perpetrated the deed should be found and “removed from society.” He said this very forcefully. It was unmistakable in his tone that “removed from society” meant anything from being jailed to being executed. He made it clear that he thought that a society was in the right to take the life of someone who did such an act.

My reaction at the time was kind of typical of people who are relatively new to Zen. I was pretty shocked that a Buddhist master would condone killing people. Doesn’t the first precept say, in effect, “Thou shalt not kill”? How can a Buddhist master think it’s OK to kill even those who kill others? Isn’t it all about peace, love and understanding?

Well, yes. It is. But it’s also about facts.

One very significant fact is that Buddhism has only ever flourished in stable societies that had powerful militaries and police forces to defend their citizen’s ability to practice. Stephen Batchelor famously said something like this in response to 9/11. You cannot meditate in a war zone. Well, I suppose you can. But it’s not easy and you’ll probably be killed while you sit.

Our societies have to be stable before we can engage in our practice. This is an absolutely necessary prerequisite. That means we have to be able and willing to defend our societies against those who would disrupt them.

First off, ask Thich Nhat Hanh and other early members of the

Order of Interbeing

about meditating in a war zone. Long before the smiles and flowers Zen of the current Thich Nhat Hanh, there was the Vietnam War days, filled will practice and social action in the heart of a war zone. Hanh, Sister Chan Khong, and others regularly found themselves in trouble with one side or another, sometimes to the point of their lives being threatened. Although I wouldn't wish these conditions on anyone, some might say they were a powerful container for practice. A place of no escape beyond anything we might manufacture.

Secondly, it's a little too easy to go there. To make the leap from soft interpretations of the first precept to "we should kill people who commit terrorist acts." His desire for punishment is, again, understandable. A pretty human impulse certainly. And yet it's also so Old Testament God. Or a really raw and unprocessed sense of karmic justice that screams Buddhist fundamentalism.

In addition, this who thing about having powerful militaries and police forces so "we" (whomever we are) can practice seems like a nice excuse for fascism. For "just" wars in "terrorist" nations. And for continued oppression of anyone here, in the U.S., who is deemed to be "disruptive" or "potentially" disruptive. Our government, regardless of the political party in power, is quite fond of pre-emptive strikes, "precautionary" measures, and the like. Not that they give a shit about meditation practitioners really. That's really not what they're concerned with. And it wasn't what the governments in medieval Japan were concerned with, nor the various royal factions in India during Buddha's time. Whatever space they "provided" for "safe" meditation practice and Buddhist study was a byproduct of power and resource control. Of oppression of one group by another. Of bloodshed and ecological destruction.

Desiring the kind of "protection" we modern humans of the past several thousand years have grown accustomed to means desiring a certain level of murder, oppression, and environmental damage elsewhere. Maybe even right down the street from you. Watching the police smashing that young African American man's face into the ground around the corners gives you a sense of safety perhaps? It sure as hell doesn't for me. But I see that kind of thing all the time, and know damned well that for some folks, this is treated as a positive. A black and white case of a bad guy got caught and now we can go back to our regular lives kind of moment.

I totally understand the desire for safety. It's human. We all have it. And if I've learned anything from Buddha's teachings it's that safety is a delusion. It's a long winded story we have about staying alive for a long time because conditions appear to be in our favor. When the reality is we have no idea for sure. You can die quickly under the best of conditions, or live to 100 under seemingly the worse of conditions.

I'm sort of tired of revenge narratives as well. Yes, they're human too. Part of the fabric of our psyches. The stuff of ancient and modern tales. There's a certain satisfaction of getting back at those who have wronged you. Of taking them down the way they took you down. I get it. I've felt it. But getting even - the whole eye for an eye thing - again, it's so Old Testament. Actually, older than the Old Testament. Some might say this is just how humans are. We're petty and aggressive and selfish. But that's just a cop out. A nice justification for not putting any effort in to imagining something different, practicing that something different, and doing something to bring about that different way of being in the world. If anything, humans are too quick to give in to the current conditions, thinking they are permanent. Or the best it could possibly be.

The other thing about revenge narratives is that they tend to hold the wrong people responsible. Tend to fail to get at the roots of suffering, ours or anyone else. Some guy gets laid off from his corporate job and he goes back with an assault rifle and shoots up his boss and co-workers. He gets the immediately release he desperately needs, but it costs lives - his and others. And does absolutely nothing to address the predatory nature of our economic system. Which is much more the root cause than the owned boss who executed the order to end his job.

Although the death penalty is slowly getting overturned in some states, Americans on the whole still like a good execution. Just as we like a good war against terrorists. Or Communists. Or Indians. Or Southerners/Northerners. Or the Mexicans. Or the British. Or more Indians. Are you tired yet?

The way I see it, Buddhist practice - or spiritual practice of any kind - is garbage if it just leads us to the same old conclusions. The same old stories about how to deal with the challenges that face us in life.

I don't really have a good answer for what to do with the particular people who planted the bombs in Boston. Or in Iraq. Or anywhere else. The causes and conditions are so much greater than any one person or small group of people. How can we - as communities - both hold individuals responsible and also hold the structures of our communities responsible as well? And even further, move beyond just seeking responsibility to making an effort towards a more just, enlightened society where the desperation and hatred that leads to such awful acts isn't so common in the first place?

There's entirely too much outrage at symptoms and entirely too little outrage at root causes. Not that outrage will bring us too a better place per se. But it can bring us to a place of right attention. Shift us away from the dulled sense of security that occasionally gets punctuated by bomb blasts, school shootings, and the like. Move us more towards the awareness of the everyday violence right under our noses. The police brutality. The military/corporate rape of the planet. The prison industrial complex. The sweatshop labor behind our "cheap" goods. The compulsory levels of poverty and economic struggle that capitalism thrives off of. The commodification of everything, right down to the very water you drink, and the very breath you take.

Zen Master Ikkyu once wrote, "I'd love to give you something, but what would help?" That seems to me to be the predicament we all face. Not just when confronted with gross level violence like today's bombings. But everyday. Every moment.

Too many of our "solutions" are gifts that don't help at all. Perhaps it's time to learn how to do zazen in a warzone. Practice in a warzone. Because we're already there anyway. It's just a matter of degrees. A matter of the level of imminent threat each of are facing.

On Sandy Hook and Grief

Friday evening, I did a bowing practice for those who lost their lives in the school shooting in Conn. And for all of us, really. Our collective suffering. Our muddled, often contradictory views around violence and conflict. The practice was as follows: chanting the Jizo mantra three times, and then doing a full bow. I did this sequence for 20 minutes, one minute for each of the children murdered. I've long had an affinity for Jizo, and seem to invoke his mantra under all sorts of conditions. Being that one of Jizo's roles is protector of children, it seemed even more apt to do so here. And so I offer this to anyone who is struggling to respond right now, or who wants to do a specific practice to offer support, and/or work with grief.

During the day, and ever since, I've been talking with people about the interconnectedness of killing, destruction, and suffering. And how we need to expand our grief pool. Expand our understanding beyond any particular situation to see how interlocked violence is in our society. And many others across the planet.

I wrote the following on my Facebook page after several posts, and some exchanges about the events at Sandy Hook. We can demand gun control laws, expanded mental health services, and the like. I support those efforts, but they really aren't getting at the roots. As far as I'm concerned, there's no way to get at the roots without grieving the past, and present conditions. Accepting fully what is here and how that came about.

"You want to help stop things like school shootings - expand your grief pool. It's not just about 20 children in CT. It's a whole history of violence and genocide. In the soil. In the very air we breathe. More and more, the past is unwilling to stay submerged. The stories of Native genocide. Of decades of police brutality towards people of color. Of the slaughter of animals to near or total extinction. Of disappearing medicine plants. Of destruction in whatever form in the name of profit, or religion, or racial superiority, or species superiority. It's all bubbling to the surface. Demanding to be dealt with now. We can collectively keep pushing it all down, or we can - each of us and together - learn to expand our grief pool, to mourn all that has happened. Give it the respect that it deserves. And in doing so, help break the cycles that have been built. I see no other way but straight through. And this school shooting can be a place to begin, if you haven't already. Those deaths are tied to some many others. Consciously expand the grief pool you are feeling. Even a little bit. It all counts."

*Image of Pakistani children, living under the threat of American drone strikes, offering their support to those suffering in CT.

Aurora Massacre, Guns, and the Debates We Comfort Ourselves With

I have written several pieces over the last three years about guns, violence, terrorism, and Buddhist teachings. All of them were quite "hot" in terms of readership and discussion. Men, in particular, seem to flock to these posts, with very strong views on anything violence related. Perhaps because we are disproportionately guilty of engaging in rape, murder, warfare, etc.

Anyway, the predictable churning of commentary and advice is occurring following the Aurora, Colorado massacre. I say "predictable" because many of the arguments and end point directives are totally recycled. So much so that I have come to believe these discussions function like salves. They ease some of the distress of not knowing what else to do, or how else to respond.

There's a lot of back and forth about gun control, mental illness, and media violence. There's a lot less back and forth about race, and the use of the word "terrorist," but I have seen a few articles about that as well.

In another American city, Anaheim, racialized police violence over the past few days has led to multiple protests and calls for investigations.

While these two situations are more extreme, they represent the general tenor of our nation.

Civil society has broken down. Greed and hatred often trump compassion and sharing. Even in the face of clear and unshakable statistics, too many of us continue to gulp down oil, destroy the land for profit, defend wars on foreign shores, value fluff entertainment over meaningful relationships, and generally place individual (or nuclear family) gratification above all else.

Before accusations of cynicism arrive, I also see numerous counter-cultural movements. Attempts to revitalize community. Rethink what it means to educate and be an educated person. Rethinking and redefining work. Reconnecting with the planet and the recognition that destroying the environment is destroying ourselves.

It's not completely bleak, but those elements of a broken civil society still outweigh everything else. And there's no way to know if we'll reach a tipping point towards a more enlightened way of living together anytime soon, if ever.

All I know is that the level of violence in this country - and in many other nations around the world - won't significantly be reduced until significant social transformations occur. Restricting gun ownership, no matter how much I might support it, is just a band aid. Reigning in police militarization, no matter how much I support that, is only one step amongst many needed.

These two lines from the Dhammapada come to mind:

131. One who, while seeking happiness, oppresses with violence other beings who also desire happiness, will not attain happiness hereafter.

132. One who, while seeking happiness, does not oppress with violence other beings who also desire happiness, will find happiness hereafter.

Until teachings like this - regardless of what tradition they come from - are considered commonplace truths, gross level violence, like the shootings in Aurora and Anaheim, will continue to be far too common.

The Culture Around Us Moves Within Each of Us

I thought it might be helpful to take a short look at Thich Nhat Hanh's version of the fifth precept, which is generally translated as not giving over taking intoxicants.

Thay writes:

Aware of the suffering caused by unmindful consumption, I vow to cultivate good health, both physical and mental, for myself, my family, and my society by practicing mindful eating, drinking and consuming. I vow to ingest only items that preserve peace, well-being and joy in my body, in my consciousness, and in the collective body and consciousness of my family and society. I am determined not to use alcohol or any other intoxicant or to ingest foods or other items that contain toxins, such as certain TV programs, magazines, books, films and conversations. I am aware that to damage my body or my consciousness with these poisons is to betray my ancestors, my parents, my society and future generations. I will work to transform violence, fear, anger and confusion in myself and in society by practicing a diet for myself and for society. I understand that a proper diet is crucial for self-transformation and for the transformation of society.

I have always liked how specific he is here, even if I don't personally follow it to the letter. What's beautiful about Thay's take on this precept is how very clear he sees the interaction between individuals and the social environment around them. In fact, he's really pointing out that popular culture, conversations, foods, and the rest are flowing through all of us to the degree that we ingest them.

Part of the reason I have been so adamant about commenting on the context of the Arizona shooting, and others, is that I can feel it's impact on my life. I can feel how totally not immune I am from the nasty accusations, the denials of responsibility, and the violence of the actual events. It's very palpable, and I live 2000 miles away from the site of the event in question.

When politicians, pundits, and other public persons defend hate speech and violent rhetoric, there's a ripple effect that makes it that much more difficult for truth and peacefulness to blossom.

When politicians, pundits, and other public figures base their visions of the world on personal attacks towards those they oppose, this makes it that much more likely that truthful and reasonable debate will be ignored and tossed aside.

When politicians, pundits, and other public figures turn those they oppose into evil enemies that must be defeated at all costs, then it's that much more likely people will believe that violence is the answer for our collective challenges.

When acts of violence are separated from the context from which they sprung, it makes it that much more likely that the toxins of said context will not be addressed.

When everywhere you turn, someone is taking violent events and turning them into money making sensationalism, it makes it that much harder to uphold any vow to not give or take intoxicants.

When people are more interested in defending freedom of speech than examining the impact of that speech, it makes it that much more challenging to practice and spread respectful, compassionate speech.

The culture around us moves within each of us. When this is forgotten, transformation and liberation are that much more unlikely.

Thoughts on the Giffords Shooting

I'm sitting on the bus this morning, looking out the window, when I hear man shouting as he slowly enters the front door. Apparently, the driver hadn't moved up enough for this man, who appeared to have something wrong with one of his legs and was limping. I turn. He gets on, leans over towards the driver, a woman, and starts shouting even louder. He's bent over her so that he's almost in her face. I'm impressed by the basic calm from which she responds to this man, but I'm also wondering where this is all going. The man finally stops yelling, pays his fare, and sits back down. A few seats in front of men another man turns, and is laughing as he looks me in the eyes. All I can do is shake my head.

In the wake of the attempted assassination of U.S. Congresswoman Giffords, and the murder of six others, I have been contemplating what can be said. There have been piles of posts in the Buddhoblogosphere about it, and honestly I wasn't sure I wanted to add another. Soto Zen teacher James Ford posted an impassioned sermon on his blog yesterday, covering a wide variety of issues. Peter has simple post that quotes Sarah Palin and expresses a fear about violence in the U.S. many outside and inside the nation feel. Algernon's post expresses a sense that there probably won't be enough learned from this tragedy to prevent another one from coming soon. Genju writes that instead of just saying this is "part of life," we need to actively engage the actual circumstances of what happened, our own reactions, and our collective responses. Ethan Nictern calls for people to become resensitized to violence. Kyle attempts to consider all of this from the perspective a political moderate, which is, by the way, how Congresswoman Giffords' political views would best be characterized. And there are a fair number of other posts, many continuing the theme along the lines of where's right speech in all of this?

Here are few of my observations and questions.

1. The focus on psychological disorders, and views that this was just an act by some lone "crazy guy" are not only insulting to people struggling with psychological disorders, but is also an easy way to disengage from what happened. Instead of recognizing that each of us contain the seeds to be a murderer, and claiming some sense of responsibility for the society we live in, many people are choosing to label Loughner a "nutter" and wash their hands of it. Certainly, something is great off kilter with this guy, but he's also a product of a society we all are a part of.

2. Representative Giffords is Jewish and Mr. Loughner claimed Hitler's Mein Kampf as amongst his favorite books. I'm surprised there hasn't been more public consideration of this as a possible hate crime. (Law enforcement officials are looking into possible connections with anti-semitic and white supremacist organizations).

3. After talking with several dharma brothers and sisters yesterday during a board of directors retreat about technology and it's intersection with practice, I've been considering the impacts that "instant access" to information about violent acts like this, as well as the ability to comment on said violent acts, might have on all of us. When that man started yelling at the bus driver this morning, I keenly felt recall of the Giffords' shooting, among other things. Less than a hundred years ago, it was probably true that many people wouldn't hear about this event at all, and others probably days after the event, and not nearly at the kind of volume and pitch that news and reflections come to us today. Part of the weakness of Ethan Nictern's call to become more sensitive to violence is that the interconnectedness we now share through 24 hour a day access to, and even bombardment of, worldwide events is that even if you "unplug" much of the time, most of us still can't avoid being impacted by something that happened half way around the world. And in any given day, this might mean half a dozen or more awful, violent, or otherwise sad events, in addition to whatever is happening in our own lives.

A lot of people still struggle with the idea that "online" is real in some way, and yet it's so very clear to me that dramatic events like this have very, very real impacts on people. On the one hand, the interconnectedness of the internet can allow people to develop more compassion and generosity towards others they otherwise would never have even been aware of. On the other hand, the constant flow of "terrible news," from floods in Australia, potential civil war in Ivory Coast, continued misery in Haiti, to the shooting in Arizona can easily lead to an underlying sense of overwhelm, even amongst low level media users.

I go through periods where I greatly reduce the amount of news intake in my life, and I years ago abandoned TV watching because it mostly left me feeling drained and more deluded. But those are secondary responses. I'm convinced that humans as a whole haven't caught up to the technology so many of us are now embracing.

So, one of the things I am greatly interested in is learning to apply ancient spiritual teachings to our very modern cyber context in a way that helps us discern our actual experiences with new technologies, and respond from a place of wisdom regarding those experiences. This, too, is a path of peace.

Edit: Robyn's comment about male on female violence, as well as gun use, reminded me about this post I wrote awhile back. This is yet another element being under discussed in the Giffords' case.

Writing Violence: Thoughts on Authenticity and Spiritual Bypassing

Here in Minnesota, we woke up to over 16 inches of fresh snow on the ground. Most of the city was shut down last night, and people are trying to dig out today. Me? I was out taking pictures, including the one above of my street.

So, I was interested to see what might come of the last post, which isn't my regular writing style. In particular, what I am curious about is the ways that we can write authentically about difficult, disliked patterns and ways of being in the world. Friday's post was about aggressiveness. Competition. Excessive effort. Turning one's spiritual practice into a contest. And also the voices in our heads that can arise from such energies.

Peter left the following comment, which I can imagine was how others felt that read the post:

I enjoy the energy in your post -- but find all that hard-ass, motherfucker language of little interest. too testosterone-laden and agressive for my taste. neither meditation nor blogging (nor living for that matter) is a contest.

i find that there's enough suffering in the world, without creating more under the guise of practice.

First off, those like Peter who are regular readers of this blog know that I'm not given to tossing foul language around carelessly. Most of my writing steers clear of it because it's not necessary for the situation. I actually tend to respond in a similar way to profuse cussing as Peter did to this particular post. Adding cuss words to angry writing tends to bend both the reader and writer towards more anger. And adding cuss words in other kinds of writing often just causes distraction, confusion, and/or aversion in readers.

However, one of the weaknesses, in my opinion, of much spiritual writing out there is a failure to express the fullness of experience, and then use that expression as a way in to understanding the deep truths of this life. What I find is that the bluntness, rawness, even nastiness that sometimes litters our minds and even our actions gets abstracted, shunted, even turned aside out of a belief that presenting such stuff will just cause more suffering. Or is categorically wrong, a no-no for people on a spiritual path.

Let's take a specific example from Friday's post.

Zazen posture seems to be a big deal for a lot of people. Those who can't do the full lotus posture often spend months and even years trying to emulate it, thinking that this it is a requirement for awakening. And when the body inevitably gets sick and/or old, there's a certain amount of grief and suffering that comes up for those who are attached to sitting full lotus, and now can't.

Being in a group, especially during retreats, can ramp up this kind of energy. I've experienced this myself. You've been doing zazen all day, your entire body aches, and yet you look around, and most everyone else is still in full lotus, or half lotus. And what do you do? You stay in lotus, even though you're literally on fire with pain.

What's the mind look like under these conditions. Well, it's probably something like this: Better do full lotus motherfucker - none of that half-assed seiza bench shit.. If you are honest, that's what it looks like. Maybe your mind doesn't have the cuss words, but the aggression that brought you to keep sitting when you really shouldn't includes an aggressive, sometimes really nasty narrative. There's no getting around that.

So, here's the thing. How do we write about such experiences?

How do we convey them authentically, embedded in the teachings we've been given, so that others might gain some insight?

Maybe more importantly though, how do we stay true to where we are at, express fully where we are at, without minimizing or exaggerating?

Because what I see in myself, and also in so many others doing spiritual writing, from the most beginner student to the most seasoned teacher, is a tendency to dance around the heat of that which we collectively have deemed taboo.

Anger. Hard-assed aggression. Violent thoughts. Rage.

These are some of the experiences that we "spiritual types" avoid, minimize, cloak in psychological or other abstract language. And why? We're triggered. We're afraid. We don't know how to handle it. The teachings tell us these things are destructive, cause suffering, and shouldn't be indulged in.

And it's absolutely true that violence, rage, aggression, excessive anger - all of that is destructive, suffering producing, and blinding us from our inherent wisdom.

Yet, I also think it's no coincidence that these very same places tend to be the most common shadows of people who are in religious and spiritual communities, or who have committed themselves to such a path. We have a sense of the destructiveness of those various forms of violence, and yet instead of truly facing it within our selves, we do all sorts of bypassing and then wonder why we can't seem to be open around conflicts that appear in our lives, our communities, even online.

Consider, in contrast, something that is more palatable to work with. Like grief. Or guilt. Or fear.

I have heard some amazingly beautiful, detailed talks linking deeply personal experiences of grief to profoundly universal teachings about grief. No mincing words. No avoidance. Just raw experience, which is then transformed into wisdom, and in doing so, is an expression of compassion for all of us who also are experiencing grief.

The same doesn't seem to be true when it comes to working with violent tendencies. Grief is embraced by spiritual types, whereas rage, for example, is almost universally rejected from the beginning. And that's the problem. It's rejected from the beginning, instead of taken in, fully experienced and documented, until it drops away.

It is any wonder there is so much war and violence in the world.

I'm fiercely interested in how I, and others, might navigate this territory more honestly, more clearly, exposing enough of the rawness to ourselves and others without falling into the swamp of it. What did the mind of the man who was shaking his fist at that bus Friday afternoon look like exactly? Who was that "me" which came and then went, but will come again and again if it goes unexamined?

Because just saying he was angry, he was indulging in anger, he was attached to an outcome, he was this he was that - just saying that doesn't cut it. It cuts what IT was off.

Last night, I was snowed in. I listened to a podcast interview with Buddhist teacher Reggie Ray, during which he describes a practice called "Dark Meditation." Essentially, it's going into complete darkness and staying with whatever comes up. After the interview, I went into my bathroom, covered up all the entry points of light, and sat for an hour in the darkness. Very interesting. You know your body is there, the bathtub is there, the toilet is there - but you can't see any of it. And it doesn't take long before you start feeling disoriented, not in an awful way, but in a "what is this experience" kind of way. The natural curiosity each of us has, but which often is blocked, comes forth rather easily from the darkness.

Where is the natural curiosity towards the violent, rage-driven aspects of our lives? Why is it that instead of curiosity, so often what arises in response to "internal" violence is guilt, shame, and/or fear?

What was so interesting to me about writing that post on Friday was that when I began, it was mostly going to be about calling out the aggression and attacks I saw in The Zennist's and Uku's posts. And yet, as I wrote the post, it became clear to me that doing that wasn't really fair or helpful. In fact, not only that, but it would have been reproducing the very patterns I'm talking about here. Take a look at these guys. Talking shit about their fellow practitioners. Look at how angry their words are. We should be kinder to our fellow practitioners. Blah. Blah. Blah. All of that is true, but it's only part of the story. I'm like them too. You are like them too. The only difference is that I didn't put a post out like that.

So, what's behind the desire to shame them? What is it about angry and/or violent writing, angry and/or violent thinking, that either seductively draws us in or makes us run far, far away? And what can we do about it?

That's what I became interested in while writing that post Friday. And this post is a continuation of that, in it's own meandering way.

p.s. The Blogisattva Awards are out. This blog won the Best Achievement Blogging Opinion Pieces or Political Issues award. Thank you all for the recognition. But mostly, as I said Friday, seeing all those Buddhist blogs located in one place, where anyone can access them and drink in the wisdom, experience, and folly, is really excellent. Bows to us all.