Café Consciousness

Five years ago I entered a Buddhist Sangha. The concept was extremely simple. You sit, walk, sit, and drink tea. It wasn’t overly difficult but given time back then and I could turn the melody of three blind mice into Beethoven’s 9th. One aspect of the gathering that terrified me was the possibility of committing idolatry. By bowing to the Buddha, the dharma, and to the Sangha, I was certain that I would burn in hell. I’m completely serious. The graven image of the Buddha really sent me over the edge; nothing like being soiled by the regurgitations of a toxic faith. Ironically a year later I would venerate icons at an Eastern Orthodox Church, so to say its funny how rationalizations can justify behavior is an understatement.

Today I sat across from two of the core members of Eastside Sangha, Marty, who was a co-founder, and Paul who took over the group when Marty left. It was amazing to see each of us a little older and thankfully a little wiser from our journeys. The conversation was just as deep as any dharma discussion we’ve ever had with one huge difference, the edge of judgmental bias had dulled. I remember watching a National Geographic program that showed a group reaction of chimpanzees when a stuffed leopard surprised them. The chimps screamed and touched one another’s mouth as a symbol of unity and assurance when faced with a threat. I can recall a time when my affiliations were only with others of like mind and our conversations resembled the chimpanzee’s reaction as we huddled together against ideological threats.

The last five years have seemed to mellow us all. Hills we chose to die on then seem comical now. The box I crafted to hold the ceremonial tea set is still in use and I am honored they think of me when preparing refreshments. It felt good to exchange ideas without the compulsion to change my entire wardrobe of thought. Years ago it had to be black or white, no middle way for me. Today I’m able to appreciate the beauty of different paths having suffered the ridicule for such ventures. Empathy is rarely offered until we are affected personally.

Walking to our cars afterward I confessed to Paul that I searched my heart in preparation for our meeting to see if I owed him any amends. We were all passionate about our beliefs and each couldn’t be confused with facts because we already made up our minds. After a long period of contemplation over coffee this morning, I couldn’t remember what the rifts were about. He too had forgotten our differences or his graciousness has reached a level I’m not yet familiar with, I’m not certain of which. If I were to venture a guess it was probably over religion, war, or politics. Some in the Sangha are recovering from all three.

I was genuinely happy to see the humorous spark in Paul’s eyes hadn’t diminished. He confessed that he was practicing an “I don’t know” meditation which is driving his wife crazy. When she asks about the certainty of a particular subject that he seemed so versed in before he has to respond, “I don’t know” because there may be other avenues of thought he hasn’t considered. It would seem the lightening strike of possibilities has struck him as well. I confessed that the interconnectedness of all things was a little overwhelming to comprehend five years ago. It took time and a whole lot of arguments to propel me into acceptance that we are all struggling and in need of each other’s assistance. Science has proven through testing of 43 women on different continents and of different races that they all share a single source female DNA. So not only are we all connected but we’re also all related. Perhaps interconnectedness is not simply a state of mind?

I didn’t feel the need to mention my Catholic pursuit to Paul. Marty knows of my decision because he’s my sponsor having made the step to convert a month and a half ago. I don’t think it really matters one way or the other now to Paul. Sure we still extended a toe to test the waters of acceptance with our stories disguising our beliefs, but we spoke with mutual respect and enjoyment having left the baggage that divided us in a room over tea five years ago. We are brothers on the same journey.

Perhaps Tuesday evening I will sit, walk, sit, and drink tea?

Being the Dharma

Devotion, scholarship, and meditation can all be empty rituals, and whether these devotional acts or any other practices are in fact Dharma depends solely upon one's motivation. . . . Our initial attempts at spiritual practice tend to be very self-conscious. We want to overcome the distortions of our minds and cultivate such wholesome qualities as kindness, insight, mindfulness, and concentration; but as we engage in practices designed to cultivate these, at first they appear to be only mental exercises. Dharma seems separate, something adopted from outside. But as we go deeper into the practice, this sense of separation begins to disappear; our minds become the very Dharma we seek to cultivate.



--B.
Alan Wallace, Tibetan Buddhism from the Ground Up
Posted by: LINELLA BRECKENRIDGE

Changes

There are days when my nerve damage allows me to walk with minimal frustrations. On these rare occasions I usually take advantage by walking the community in which I work. One day I happened upon two individuals sipping coffee and enjoying the sunshine. You could tell by their clothing that they were passing through since everyone around them looked like an L.L. Bean catalog. I don't know why but my mind drifted back to simpler times when I enjoyed being. I had casualness about the day and thought anything could happen and it usually did. My clothing was simple, my meals were simple, and my desires were simple. Funny how torn jeans can remind you when a cup of coffee and a camel cigarette would start out the day quite nicely. Success is determined by our income and soon keeping up with the Jones's chokes out spontaneity like weeds overcoming a garden. When we determine that enough is enough the Universe seems to co-conspire with Fate and change happens. How that change affects us is contingent upon whether we look at it as opportunity or further disappointment.

I know change has occurred at the molecular level because I walked through Half Price Books and left empty handed. I don't believe I have ever visited a book store without walking out with hope in hand just knowing that the next paragraph I read will change my life. The realization that all the surrounding books were just other people's opinions struck me silly. Apparently my subconscious had already determined this because before I knew it I was musing it would be a long time before I purchased another book.

The majority of my life's changes have been surprises that were actually premeditated actions carried out while in denial. I'm not sure how many times I swore I would never do, say, or become a particular mold only to end up knee deep in it. This is a curious spot for me. I have always relentlessly pursued any and all spiritual and paranormal matters with a vigor and determination. Now I am more than happy to just experience whatever Providence assigns to my path. I look forward to investigating with an openness of possibilities instead of predetermined dogma in my arsenal. The simple act of being present in your own life really does allow appreciation for the small, overlooked happenings. A child's drawing, a dog's happy dance, or a wave from a neighbor can compliment a day. I think of times when I asked my daughters to play quietly while I read a book on how to experience happiness. If I would have just been present in my daughter's presence I would have heard the stories and shared in their laughter. For so long I looked only to the end result that I deemed appropriate instead of allowing what is and what can be to unfold on its own.

Many moons ago during a Dharma discussion I made the comment that I continued to build shelves in my garage for boxes containing contents that I hadn't seen in years. The discussion was centered on our Western culture and consumerism. I thought it curious that I maintained these possessions but was unwilling to let go. I was thinking of that discussion when for the first time yesterday I exited my car without reaching for several books, pamphlets, or documents that I was sure would shed a light on the How's and Why's of this life. I stepped from the car free and light and liked the feel.

It reminds me of a story an old man in Memphis told me. He asked if it made sense for a drowning man to cling to a sack full of rocks. I responded no. He pressed further, "Even if he thought they were the most important items in the world?" Envisioning the silliness of losing a life over possessions I still responded no. He sat back smiling and stated, "All he has to do is let go."

You're Worth The Print

Tuesday I was spending my lunch break in a chic yuppie watering hole called First Watch. The ambiance is nice and the organic ingredients allow me to eat waffles without feeling guilty. It’s a step up from my usual haunt where the bus boy uses so much bleach your eyes water and the waitress hardly has any teeth.

As I was waiting to be seated a gentleman next to me began to read the paper. I don’t enjoy reading the news but I have a bad habit of reading over other people’s shoulders when they do. I noticed that the articles were on the local story of Matt Maupin, a Glen Este native that was the only MIA soldier in the Iraq until his remains were found March 30, 2008. I started thinking about the last four years and what the community has gone through as we hoped and prayed for his safe return. Soon after Matt’s capture, Keith and Carolyn Maupin opened a Yellow Ribbon Support Center in Eastgate, Ohio. July 10, 2006, a memorial garden was dedicated in honor of Matt by well known local gardening author, Becke Davis. She designed and constructed the garden at Glen Este High School, Matt’s alma mater. I attended that ceremony and it was evident by the signs and ribbons that this small school had been profoundly affected. Just two days ago Matt’s parents were in the Cincinnati Reds Opening Day Parade having only learned of their son’s fate the night before. What an emotional roller coaster.

I was snapped back into reality by the gentlemen’s remarks after viewing a political cartoon depicting Matt walking into heaven with a Welcome Home banner overhead. He wanted to know what the big deal was because it’s been four years since his disappearance and basically who cares. The lady with him stated that they just found his body. The guy had the nerve to shrug and shake his head as if this was all a waste of good print. I felt like back handing him, but since I was there to discuss Buddhism with a fellow traveler I decided against it.

Twenty two years ago I swore this oath just as Matt did.

"I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God."

It was one of the proudest moments of my life. I fully trusted that the country I served wouldn’t command me in harms way recklessly and without merit. In return I would fight to the death to preserve her. I am now more cynical and a bit jaded as years gone by. It still saddens me to know that there are individuals who take their anger towards an unjust war out on our men and women who are serving with our best interest in mind. Our opinions may vary concerning the war but I believe you can support the troops and still be against the war. My wife and I have done just that since the invasion.

To date over 4000 U.S troops have given their ultimate as well as over 100,000 civilian Iraq’s since last count in 2004. I don’t think we can simply shrug and shake our heads when any life is lost. I would like to see that man explain to Matt’s mother and father that it’s been four years and it’s time to get over it and stop peppering his precious paper with redundant print.

We think you’re important Matt. You were dearly loved by your family and well liked by your community. Thank you for your service. You will be missed.