SEEKING PEACE

I'm thinking about the fragility of life today.  I'm thinking of the little burst of optimism most of us demonstrate just by saying,  "See ya later!" when we depart from family or friends.  Because lately it feels like the odds are against that being the case.

Two and a half weeks ago, on March 8, Malaysian Airlines Flight 370 disappeared into thin air; or landed on a remote strip of island, or crashed into the wilderness, or flew straight into the Indian Ocean -- no one quite knows since all communication was lost (seemingly purposefully) and the jet veered dramatically off course and continued on to "somewhere" for several hours undetected.  Searchers are still trying to find Flight #370.

Last Tuesday, March 18th, a news helicopter fell out of the sky on a busy Seattle street next to the Space Needle at 7:30 in the morning.  It landed on cars sitting at a stoplight, yet some people were able to escape before the crashsite was engulfed in flames.  It was a miracle there weren't more casualties, but the deaths of the pilot and photojournalist aboard and the severe burns suffered by a driver in the wrong place at the wrong time were sobering enough.

At 10:45 this past Saturday morning, March 22, an enormous hillside slid down onto a whole neighborhood along the Stillaguamish River, a beautiful, rural, small-town area north of where I live, burying everything in its muddy path in a one-square mile slurry of mud and debris.  They say it took only seconds to sweep everything away, to bury everything and everyone in its path under 40-50 feet of mud; no time to run.  Twenty-four bodies have been recovered so far; scores still missing.

Tsunamis, earthquakes, hurricanes, and tornados have all been top story news with seeming regularity.  People with guns wreck havoc in schools, on campuses, in movie theaters and on street corners so often we have almost come to expect it -- saddened but not shocked anymore.  Drunk drivers are so commonplace I am almost amazed we make it home most nights at all, grateful to have avoided the carnage that has come to so many so senselessly.

I realize all of these incidents are echoed through the news media 24/7, creating the sense that they happen over and over, when in truth the odds really are still with us.  Yet, no matter the odds, we are vulnerable every day to an untimely, unexpected departure from this life, leaving those behind to mourn, pray, and question fate.

Still, aren't we always, every minute, in a time of transition?  We are here for such a brief moment, then we are gone, whether we live in these bodies for one year or one-hundred.  It's a quick stop in the grand scheme of things.  Maybe the surprise should be that we get the gift of another day at all.

I have a spiritual teacher who stops everything she is doing whenever she hears a siren on the city streets.  She spends a moment, not turning away from whatever tragedy may have befallen a stranger, but turning toward that pain and opening her heart with compassion.  She chants "Om Namah Shivaya", honoring Shiva the Destroyer, who makes the way clear for rebirth, for regeneration, who represents transition of all kinds.

Perhaps the best we can do is to embrace each of our days with gratitude, send loving compassion to those who suffer and mourn, and know that transition is life and, as my teacher says, "Capital 'L' Love" is really all we have to count on.   Om Shanti Om  (Peace to all Humankind).

At least, that's the view from here… ©

"SUFFER THE LITTLE CHILDREN TO COME UNTO ME..."

Here we are, right in the middle of the fa-la-la-la-la Christmas season, caught up in shopping, baking, decorating, planning, organizing, socializing....a time when our hearts sometimes have a hard time finding "Christmas Spirit" amidst the "to do" lists that this holiday has become.  And then an act so unspeakable and at odds with the season of peace and love shakes us to the core and focuses our attention away from ourselves and our petty troubles.

On Friday, a crisp blue sky day in Newtown, Connecticut, a troubled young man, carrying at least two rapid-fire weapons, entered Sandy Hook Elementary School and started shooting.  Within only a couple of minutes, 6 adults and 20 children, between the ages of 5-10, were dead, as was the shooter, who took his own life.

Facts are slowly emerging of acts of heroism by teachers and school staff, whose first thoughts were to keep their students safe.  Facts are slowly emerging about the perpetrator, who had also killed his mother in their home before descending upon the school, who seems to have suffered his whole life with significant mental health issues; as we so often hear, he was intellectually brilliant but socially withdrawn, even pathologically "shy" and reclusive; a loner.

My first thought, as is my first thought every time there is an eruption of gun violence (which is frequent), is that troubled people with access to guns leave more carnage in their wakes than those who do not have a readily available gun.  I am an unequivocal proponent of gun control.   Within hours of the shooting, I re-joined the Brady Campaign to End Gun Violence and wrote to my Senators and Congressman.  I might finally be giving in to my frequent impulse to "get involved" in an issue or cause again.  I've always known this would be the one.  For me, it's the only action I can take to try to mediate the overwhelming sadness and frustration I feel when something like this happens, something I believe could be prevented.

But right now, I don't have any energy for "organizing".   Instead, I am reminded of a saying that comforts me:  "We are spiritual beings having a human experience."  Humans are flawed, vulnerable, confused, loving, compassionate, violent, crazy, amazing creatures.  So, my energy is going into creating havens of peace for the human experiences in my little world. My energy is going into advocating for "radical kindness" within myself and others I know.  My meditation practice teaches me to "stay in the moment", to be aware of the vast cosmic consciousness that exists in and around us, connecting us all, and that the only answer to the troubles of the human experience is to be kind, to love, to act with compassion.

There is a meditation in the Tibetan tradition called Tonglen, where one invites on the in-breath the suffering of another into our consciousness and on the out-breath sends out love, peace, and healing to that person.  I have been practicing this meditation since Friday, both in sitting silently and at random times during the day when I am going about my life's busy-ness.   Meeting violent, unspeakable acts with compassion for those impacted (which on one level is all of us) is the only response I know right now.

For Christians, this is the season celebrating Jesus' birth.  He was an example of love and acceptance and also acted to upset the status quo.  His example might be one we can  emulate in the days and months ahead, beginning as we gather around our Christmas trees holding those we love with special care.

So, my prayer is this:  May all those little children and the adults who gave their lives for them, the families left to mourn, and the person who fired the gun, all find peace in the compassionate, loving presence of Divine Consciousness.

At least, that's the view from here....©

THE SACRAMENT

We are 11 days away from the 2012 Presidential election.  Everybody is pretty much sick of politics at this point.  Me included, even though presidential election years are like Mardi Gras to me.  Spectacle, tradition, ritual, absurdity, and at base deeply important – even “religious”.  I treat voting like a Sacrament.

Our state has gone to an all mail-in ballot voting system, which I really dislike.  I LOVED going to the polls on Election Day.  It was high school civics class come to life.  My polling place was the local elementary school where my boys were students.  I saw familiar kids, teachers, neighbors, and poll-workers – a true sense of community.  I loved being handed my ballot and walking to the booth to cast my votes amid the hubbub of activity around me in the school cafeteria.  It reminded me why I was voting at all.  I loved getting my “I VOTED” sticker, which I wore proudly the rest of the day, like ashes on my forehead.

Now I have a different voting experience.  My ballot arrives in the mail about 2 weeks before the election.  I don’t open it until the day I set aside for voting.  At that point I sit at the dining room table with my Voter’s Pamphlet and a cup of coffee.  I become quiet, focused, and intent on making my final decisions.  I might read once more about each initiative, the “for” and “against” arguments.  I might read once more the candidates statements.  And then I draw my line next to the name of the one I’ve chosen to vote for with great care, ensuring the black line is neither too thin nor too thick.  I feel like the altar guild ladies preparing for communion.  Everything just so.  Because I want to be sure my vote will count – no errors.  Then I put the ballot in the envelope and sign my name carefully where indicated and drive to the post office to mail it.  I absolutely don’t trust leaving it at my door for the mail carrier to pick up.  I must see it slide into the slot of the huge mail box outside the post office, left there by my own hand.  Amen.

This may sound seriously neurotic.  To me it feels seriously patriotic.  Voting is a right, a responsibility, and above all, a privilege.  I think it is the most amazing thing, this representative form of government of ours.  It’s broken now, I know that.  Money, lies, betrayals, “fixes”, apathy, cynicism…it’s all in stark evidence this year.  That makes me sad for our country, for our democracy.  But I won’t give up.  I still believe my vote counts.  The only way we lose this grand experiment, this model of democracy that people in other lands are literally dying to emulate, is to stop voting.

My vote is my prayer of thanks for those who fought so that I’d have this privilege – our nation’s founders, the soldiers who fought for independence and freedom, the women who marched and were jailed and tortured to win me, their sister, the right to cast a ballot alongside men, the Freedom Riders who stood shoulder to shoulder with their brothers and sisters to desegregate the south and eventually win the right to vote for all.  Our history is about preserving – and serving – this big, messy, majestic United States of America.

My vote is also my prayer for hope for the future.  It really does matter who is in the White House and what that person’s vision and leadership will manifest.  It really does matter who is in the Legislature and whether their positions on issues (that will become the laws we must all obey) are those which will benefit all Americans.  It really does matter who sits on the Supreme Court and is the final arbiter of dispute, interpretation, and enactment of those laws.

How can we do anything less than to cast a vote for those who are most likely to embrace the inherent humanity of every American and set policy that will respect, uplift, and benefit every citizen?  How can we do anything less than to take this right seriously, cast our vote joyfully, and shout “Halleluja!” on Election Day? 

At least, that’s the view from here…©