Month: September 2012

Finding Sister Visentia and the story of the empty stomach

On By MaryIn Cloister of the Sisters of Mary Magdalene, growth into humanity, vision and perspectiveLeave a comment

When we last saw Sister Visentia she was dangling off the edge of a cliff near the South Branch of the Raritan River. She had been chased over the cliff by a mother bear. As she came to the edge of the cliff, she grabbed onto a vine thinking she would find a way to the bottom – only to see a snarling pack of coyotes below. It was about then that she looked more carefully at the vine that was her life line, and she noticed two things: a luscious strawberry, and some mice gnawing on the vine.  Out Sister Visentia being who she was, she plucked the strawberry with her free hand and deeply savored its sweetness. And the “Family of Bears” blog entry ended there.

 What transpired just as we left the scene is that a young man flying an ultra-light aircraft happened by just at that moment. He noticed Visentia dangling from the vine and took stock of her situation. Just as he flew by, Sister Visentia saw him and recognized the pilot as the young man she had saved from drowning earlier in the summer. She waved and called out to him, but he just flew by. Sister Visentia’s hopes rose and were dashed in the same quick instant. She knew that he saw her dangling there. How could he just fly off and leave her there. He must have recognized her; she certainly recognized and remembered him. How could he forget someone who had saved his life? How could he abandon someone who had saved his life!?!  But he was gone and that was all there was to it. Nothing had changed; she had to remember to focus on the sweetness of the strawberry. She wanted her last thoughts to be ones of joy and appreciation. She really did want that.

 And then she thought she heard the sound of the ultra-light getting louder. She looked out and didn’t see it. But, then she looked down and saw the ultra light flying ridiculously close to the ground. What was he doing? Then she realized he was buzzing the coyotes and chasing them off. And as she looked down she noticed that the ultra-light had only one seat. There he was herding the  pack of coyotes off away from the bottom of the cliff. One problem removed. But it was still a very tall cliff, and the vine was just about at breaking point.

 With the coast clear for a landing, Sister Visentia started to look around in more earnest for a pathway to the bottom. There were a few scrub bushes below her, maybe they would break her fall. Just as a plan began to take shape in her mind, the vine gave way, and the base of the cliff came rushing towards her.

 “Tuck and roll.” Visentia heard a man’s voice call out to her.

 Reflexively she tucked into a fetal position, protecting her face and front and she let herself roll down the face of the cliff. Eventually, after the longest couple of minutes of her life, Visentia felt her tumbling halted by strong, careful hands. She looked up from the ground into the eyes of the man she had saved from drowning only weeks before.

 “Good afternoon, Sister. Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Javier de Esperar. I believe that I owe you my thanks for saving my life? I apologize for not thanking you properly earlier, but I – well, I did not think that I was dressed properly for the occasion. But perhaps now our accounts are somewhat in balance?”

 Sister Visentia collected herself. She gathered her thoughts, straightened her limbs and robes, and struggled to stand up, even as she smiled, “Well, indeed. You are quite welcome, and I am most grateful, Javier. I am delighted to see you again. Twice in one summer it seems that I have tested my vows and both times with you.”

 Visentia winced and moaned as she tried to stand up. Javier looked crestfallen. “Sister, I trust these innocent transgressions of your vows should not cause you such grave pain?”

 “Ah, Javier, my new friend, it is not the condition of my vows that are the source of my pain. It is the condition of my arm. I am afraid that I have broken it.”

 Javier looked more carefully at Sister Visentia’s arm, asked her if he might touch it, and then very quickly before she could respond, he took her arm in both his hands and pulled and twisted it in one smooth, if painful, movement. Visentia started, yelped, and then looked relieved. “what?”

 “I am a chiropractor.” Javier responded before she could finish her question. “You dislocated your shoulder in the tumble. It should be fine now. But you may want to baby it a little for the next few days. Sister, may I ask you a question?” and without waiting for her response, Javier continued, “I must admit that I was flying over the area looking to see if I could find you. I indeed wanted to thank you properly for saving my life the other day. When I first saw you, you were not alone. What happened to the other sister who was walking with you? How could she have run off and left you alone with that mother bear chasing you? What is wrong with that woman? Has she no sense of care or community?”

 “Oh Javier, that was Sister Septimus, and I must admit she is her own kind of person. Indeed, she has gone off somewhere. But, Javier, let me tell you a bit of a story that helps me to understand and appreciate Sister Septimus. You are a medical man, so you may appreciate this story. My mother was a philosopher, and she use to tell me this tale often when I was frustrated with my sister when I was much younger.  Mom would remind me: ‘in the earliest days of the creation of humans, not all the body parts  worked together in harmony the way we find them to work in our own times. Each member of the body, each part had its own opinion and ideas of how to function and of how to relate to all the other parts.  Each body part thought it was the most important, that its way of working was the best method, and that its function was the most crucial in keeping the new humans alive and healthy.  A revolt was brewing among them.  The various body parts began to grumble and complain, and finally the focus settled on the stomach as a lazy bag that just sat in their midst and collected and enjoyed the fruits of their persistent, diligent work. They were angry and insulted that they all worked so hard, and the stomach just sat there taking it all in without effort or gratitude.   And so one day all of the other body parts colluded in a revolution. The hands would bring nothing to the mouth, the mouth would take in no food, the teeth refused to chew – they would reign in the stomach and give it nothing but hunger – the first hunger games you might say. But, soon enough, their dedication to punishing the stomach and teaching it the need for discipline and persistence brought starvation and weakness to each of the other body parts – they were wasting away.  Finally they realized that the work of the stomach was nothing insignificant, that indeed the stomach too gave back to the body. As a result, they realized that the work done by the stomach was no small matter, and that the food he consumed was no more than what he gave back to all the parts of the body in the through the digested food which nurtured them all through the blood, and which cleansed them through the intestines and so on.’  At that point in the story my Mom would smile, and remind me that we all have a part to play in the larger body of life. Sometimes that part is clear to see and sometimes it hidden from our view. But we must trust each other and help each other as best we can by living out the best that we can be, each of us being simply our selves, each of us playing our own part – because as Mom also used to say, all the other parts are already taken.”

Javier smiled at the story. “Your Mom was quite a woman.”

“She was indeed. Then, because she was a philosopher and didn’t quite know when to stop, Mom would remind us that tolerance is not enough. It was only when each of the body parts came to understand and celebrate each other in all of their differences and diversity that they call came to flourish.”

“Ah, indeed, she was a wise woman.” Javier concluded.

Wanting to have MU

On By MaryIn alchemy, Koan, spiritual growthLeave a comment

 We were sitting in the student center, each drinking a cup of coffee, saying our goodbyes. Over the past semester, Ludis and I had co-taught a course, we had talked about life and hopes and dreams, I guess you could say that we had become friends of a sort. Why the qualification? Well, we never went out to dinner, we didn’t do things off campus, we didn’t exactly hang out together. But we did talk before and after class, and we seemed to like each other well enough. So, friends of a sort. As we sat there talking, I asked Ludis if he was ready to head home to Lithuania.

 “In many ways, more than ready. I very much miss my wife and son. It has been far too long since I have seen them. I want to hold them both, each of them, for a long time.” He said blushing a bit at the last admission.

 “And, are you packed? Is there anything you want to do here that you haven’t gotten to yet?”

 “Yes, one more thing.” He said. “I want to buy a sweatshirt from your book store.”

 “A sweatshirt?” I asked a bit incredulous. Ludis just didn’t seem the kind of guy who would care very much about college logo clothing. Let’s just say, in the months that I had known him he did not strike me as a clothes horse. He did not dress badly, but he certainly was neither flashy nor cool. More, I saw him as guy who always wore neat, clean clothes but who had more important things on his mind than haute couture. So, his one last desire being the acquisition of a university logo garment seemed kind of odd.

 “I don’t understand, Ludis, what’s so special about a sweatshirt from here?”

 “Think about it, he laughed, the school’s initials are MU.”

 “And?”

 “And you talk about Zen Buddhism?.” He said sounding a little disappointed.

 “I do, some. But what’s that got to do with it?”

 “MU” he said, “the school for you here, and the koan for Buddhists.”

 And then, finally the light went on for me. Of course, the great Buddhist koan, also known as the first gate to enlightenment. For over ten years I had taught at the university. How many times each year had I written the school’s initials, and I never saw the connection! How many times had I read and reread and meditated on that Koan! At one point I even thought I was beginning to get it. Ugh. Clearly, I did not have it yet. But then, that too is the point of the koan, isn’t it?

 In Japanese, Korean and traditional Mandarin, ‘mu’ means not, nothing, nothingness, without, non-existent or non-being. For Zen Buddhists, one of the first koans is known as MU. A koan is riddle like paradox used to demonstrate the inadequacy of logical reasoning as the only mode of knowing; mediation on koans help to provoke openness to enlightenment. The ‘mu’ koan is put this way: a student asked the Great Master Zhaozhou, “does a dog have Buddha nature?” Zhaozhou replied, “Mu.”

 So, the koan can be understood as asking about the meaning of life, the purpose of life, about attachments and possession, it asks about the vastness of life, and offers to teach about how to live and how to love. For an ultra short story, it holds great depths of potential if we are willing to plumb the depths that await us.

 I thought I had been doing some plumbing of the ‘mu’ koan. I thought about it in connection with the adage: if you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him. That meaning that if you think you have found enlightenment outside yourself, you are quite mistaken, and so end that delusion. Does a dog have Buddha nature? No because it is not a thing to be had. Buddha nature is more about being than having. I thought all these things as I plumbed the ‘mu’ koan. I thought I was plumbing a bit. And then Ludis showed me that I had not even picked up the wrench!

 When I finally saw the connection, we both sat and laughed for a good long while. Ludis bought the sweatshirt. I left without mu.

The Bengali Tea Boy & Be Grateful to Everyone, Change Yourself

On By MaryIn alchemy, change, spiritual growth3 Comments

Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi was a 13 century Muslim poet, theologian and Sufi mystic in Persia, today’s Iran. His thoughts and ideas continue to offer a wealth of wisdom and inspiration. The one that I find myself thinking about today says: “yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself.” Well, not that I have any claim to wisdom, but if charity begins at home, then maybe social change begins at home as well.

 Pema Chodron is one of my favorite Buddhist teachers. In her book, “Start where you are: a guide to compassionate living” she tells a story about Atisha, a renown Buddhist teacher from northeast Bengal, today’s Bangladesh, who lived between 980 and 1050 CE. Atisha was preparing to travel to Tibet where he was going to share his knowledge of Buddhism with the people there. As he prepared for his journey, he heard reports that the Tibetan people were very good-natured. His scouts told him that the people of Tibet were earthy in their understanding of the world, flexible in their thinking, and open to new ideas. On one level this was very reassuring and gave Atisha great joy, as he hoped he would be welcomed and his teachings well received. On another level Atisha was afraid that his personal spiritual growth would be stunted. One of his beliefs was that our greatest teachers are those people we find most obnoxious, frustrating or contemptible because they mirror and reflect back to us those very aspects of our selves that are obnoxious, frustrating or contemptible – what we most dislike in others is that which we do not accept in ourselves.

As he developed his itinerary and roster of traveling cmpanions for the trip to Tibet, Atisha invited his tea boy to go along with him on the trip to Tibet. All of the other monks in the traveling party were quite surprised by the invitation, as the tea boy was known for his mean spirited irritability, but the young man was also from Bengal, and the monks thought that perhaps this was Atisha’s was of keeping his home culture close to him. When Atisha caught word of the monks’ presumption, he laughed, and corrected their misconception. Rather he told them he wanted the Bengali tea boy near him to ensure that his spiritual growth would not be stunted by the equanimity of the peoples of Tibet. The story has it that once Atisha arrived in Tibet he discovered much to his delight and chagrin that he need not have worried about his need for the Bengali tea boy, the Tibetans themselves were just as obnoxious, frustrating and contemptible as the rest of humanity. Challenges to foster Atisha’s spiritual growth were bountiful – the people there were not as pleasant as he had been told. 

And so it is, we are all, each of us obnoxious, frustrating or contemptible each in our own way. And so we can each work to change ourselves as a foundation for building virtues and a vision of a world where fairness and dignity are respected and honored. And, in the meantime, we can each be grateful to everyone who as they visit us with their obnoxious, frustrating or contemptible behavior stands as a mirror inviting us to witness those very characteristic in ourselves.

Now, I am a child of the 60’s – OK, really the 70’s, but it is still so much cooler to claim the 60’s – the point is, I remember pacificism, and “Be grateful to everyone” is not a naïve all accepting defenselessness. If you are in danger of getting mugged, defend yourself or run for safety. “Be grateful to everyone” gets to at a complete change of attitude. Pema Chodron reminds us that the  slogan actually gets at the guts of how we perfect ignorance through avoidance, not knowing we’re poisoning ourselves with our ways of being, not knowing that we’re putting another layer of protection over our heart, not seeing the whole picture. In our own lives, the Bengali tea boys are the people who, when you let them through the front door of your house, go right down to the basement where you store the things you’d rather not deal with, pick out one of them, bring it to you, and say “Is this yours?” “Be grateful to everyone” means that all situations teach you, and often it’s the tough ones that teach you the best.

So, be wise, change yourself. Be grateful to everyone, even – maybe especially your very own Bengali tea boy.

Watch out for Silver Lamps

On By MaryIn growth into humanity, stories for social changeLeave a comment

Over the course of time any relationship will develop its own package of quirks, oddities and idiosyncrasies. If the relationship is happy and healthy it will grow inside jokes and code words. One of our code words is “silver lamp” and the story of how that came to have its meaning is kind of funny and maybe worth retelling – maybe.

So, way too many years ago when we were just getting to know each other, when we were newly living together, a couple of young beginning professionals, we were in circumstances that we described as “Champaign taste and a beer pocketbook.” It’s an odd reference in itself, since we don’t especially love Champaign; our tastes run more to red wine, maybe cabernet sauvignon or merlot. But, the image is apt enough – we liked nice things, but we were young and new in our professions and so – well we needed to be careful about budgeting.

We had been living in a very (VERY) small one bedroom apartment. The apartment had a hallway that we called the kitchen because that’s where the sink, stove and refrigerator were located – a person could be there and do some cooking, but two people in that space was more than a little tight. There was a living room where all of the living happened, and that was about it. The living room was interesting in its own right though because the building was old, the apartment was on the second floor looking out over the river, and the foundation was sinking ever so slowly and slightly on one side. So, anything set down in one place would be found a few inches away soon enough because of the slope. Cat toys were great because they very fluidly rolled across the floor with no help from us at all. I still miss the quirks of that first apartment. But more space is even nicer.

Because we were indeed careful and plan-full about budgeting we finally saved up enough to move into a condominium. The condo was still one bedroom, but it had a real kitchen (not just a hallway with appliances), and a dining room and living room! The square footage we were going to be furnishing grew exponentially, as did our furnishing needs.

We needed to get a good bit of new furniture, and we were committed to our budget. So, off we went to shop – furniture stores, department stores, all kinds of store. We found most of what we needed/wanted – a dining room table and chairs, comfortable chairs for the living room, proper desks and bookshelves, lots of stuff.  We settled in to our new space, and life was sweet. We were happy. And, then as we actually settled in, we (mostly I) realized that we really did not have a comfortable reading space. We had wonderful chairs and a nice sofa. But the light was just not good. So, after looking, thinking and processing the situation for a good bit (remember two women can process anything for ever).  We had just spent a lot of money. The condominium was starting to look good and was feeling comfortable. All we needed was one more lamp.

So, back to the stores we went – furniture stores, department stores, lighting stores, all kinds of stores. We saw lots of lamps – most of them where just not quite right, and the ones that came close didn’t fit the budget. So we kept looking. And then we discovered Ikea. What a find! Great furniture (well, OK, lots of furniture some of it great) at very reasonable prices. What a find. So, we shopped for a floor lamp. We each had an image of what we were looking for (not necessarily a good thing when you are talking about two women who took 8 months to find the ‘right’ white shirt). So, we looked. We had seen some lamps that we liked quite a lot, but they were a good bit more than we wanted to spend, so we kept looking. Then, there we were back at Ikea. We had already scoured every other store we could envision. So, we scoured the lighting section at Idea and found a lamp that pretty much fit the description of what we were looking for, it was kind of alright. It wasn’t exactly what either of us wanted, but the color was right, the shape was in the right family – white shade, silver pole, white base, simple, clean Scandinavia style. Not quite as upscale as we wanted, but upscale costs and the price was right.

We both stood there looking at it. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know what do you think?

“Well … I asked you first.”

“OK, but I’m not sure. Do you like it?”

“It’s OK, I guess. What do you think?”

“It is the size and color we want. Silver [chrome really, but the color was silver looking] will go with the colors in the sofa.”

“And it’s not expensive.”

“And we need a lamp.”

In all of that conversation, you will notice the lack of enthusiasm. Never a good sign. But there was nothing exactly wrong with the lamp. So we bought it, and brought it home.

Once we got home, I unboxed it, put it together (yes, I am one of the few people in the world who can actually understand and follow Idea directions. And, on the second iteration of assembly I even get things put together correctly.) So, the lamp is now together and in place in our new living room. And it was – well, it was kind of OK. It was just missing a bit  of, well of je-ne-sais-quoi. It shed light well enough, it was quite functional. It just didn’t have that something that makes things right. Once it was put together and in the right place, plugged in, and turned on .. well, it worked. We both looked at it, and while we didn’t hate it, we didn’t love it either. But, we had it, Ikea was a long drive, the price was right, so we decided to live with it. And, as we lived with the silver lamp, we learned to tolerate it. That was my first lesson that tolerance is not good enough. Whenever I am doing diversity work and someone advocates ‘tolerance’ of a group that is different, I remember our tolerance of the silver lamp, and I know that I don’t want to be tolerated, and I don’t want any of my friends to be tolerated.

Back to the lamp.  Well, sooner rather than later, we saved up a bit of money, went out shopping again and found the right lamp, one that really looked good, one that we both really liked. The new lamp was brass, and we came home feeling like we had caught the brass ring on the carrousel. Yes, the new lamp cost a little bit more than the ‘silver lamp’ but if we had saved the money we spent for the silver lamp and just put that on the brass one, we would have saved money in the long run.

So, a ‘silver lamp’ for us is something that looks like a bargain, but winds up being unsatisfactory and costs more in the long run. And, tolerable really isn’t all that acceptable or endurable. Good enough is only good enough if it is great.

Have there been silver lamps in your life? come on, share!!

What are some of the code words that have developed in your relationships?