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?

My Canoe Has A Hole In It

Cincinnati saw the lowest recorded temperature of -25°F in 1977. I was nine at the time and was ecstatic at the amount of snow, canceled school days, and the witness of redneck antics like driving an Impala across the frozen Ohio River to Kentucky. That summer, fishing on the banks, I wondered what it would be like to see the Kentucky I had been staring at for all these years. If Terry's brothers could do it in a car then I could accomplish the same in a canoe. I was enchanted at how rugged and thick the mountains seemed. A train would split the silence every now and then giving a burst of life to an otherwise unforgiving landscape. I had to go. I boarded a canoe and began my journey unbeknownst to family and friends.

In the middle of the river I came to believe that I had made a huge mistake. The river was much wider than I had imagined. From my perspective where I fished in looked like it would take perhaps as long as eating a Sno Kone. I was wrong. I shared the channel with barges and debris I hadn't counted on. To say I was in a shitpanic would be an understatement. I could feel the deep beneath me and the current pulled at my paddle bringing to mind horror stories of beckoning dead. Having an over active imagination does not help in a time of crisis. Paddling became a chore as my limbs went numb. I attempted to stay on course but the river carried me a ways down stream. This was my first lesson of powerlessness. I wouldn't recommend to anyone under twenty attempting this let alone ten.

I reached the banks of Kentucky and strangely enough it looked the same as Ohio. I found several creeks to venture up and there were otter slides, deer, kingfishers, catfish, carp and all the sounds and smells I had grown to know in my own backyard. Somehow I thought this would be like the Hobbit's adventure outside the Shire. It was beautiful, but not as romantic as I had hoped. It would be a few years from then when I would find my true love in the swamps of Bodcau. I found my way back to where I could sit across the river from where I fished. I would have said my little town looked like a Norman Rockwell painting if I knew who he was at the time. I do remember feeling that I wanted to be back home knowing I was safe. I missed my family. I could see some of my friends riding bikes on Front Street but they couldn't hear me as I yelled and waived. I wanted some kind of recognition that I had accomplished this feat of bravery but I knew the majority would not believe me and if they did they would consider it stupidity. Staring across at the day's activities the river looked quite different now because I knew what to expect. Reluctantly I pushed off the Kentucky banks and paddled for all I was worth. Since I'm writing this at the age of forty it's safe to say I made it.

Internally I have crossed many rivers. I have battled conflicting currents, debris of doubt, and oncoming ships of sabotage. During meditation at a Buddhist Sangha, the reader read a portion from Thich Naht Hahn's writings that stated, with regards to religious pursuits, that "the canoe is not the Shore." Never had such a statement arrested me. Regardless of whether I was in that car crossing the river of winter or in a canoe fighting the waters of summer, we were all headed towards the same destination. Is it possible to find that same acceptance in my brother's Islamic pursuit, or in my sister's Mormon quest? Can I encourage and applaud the Hindu that looks at me with a suspicious eye as I stand three feet higher than everyone else in the temple? As I watched the Greek and Armenian Orthodox fist fight within the Church over bragging rites I had to wonder why? Aren't they in the same canoe headed for the same Shore? I have always pursued religious paths because I saw a distant land that might hold the answer. Romanticizing a practice or belief I would become disenchanted after crossing their mountain of acceptance or navigating their bayous of belief only to find more questions than answers. Could the answer be within the quest and not the destination?

The bearded wonders of The Eastern Orthodox Church taught me that salvation is a birthing process, not a defined singular moment. They also believe that salvation began when Mary said yes, not when a person reads the Sinner's Prayer. Chewing on this for a few years I would say I agree. I don't believe a faith will ever intoxicate me or enchant me as The Way did. But, cultural differences and unyielding requirements forced me to leave the smells and bells. My venture through Protestantism found me in several fox holes firing shots at those I was told were the enemy. I really had no knowledge of which I was shooting at, all I knew was that they were different and that fear justified our character assassinations of them. I had no 'All's Quiet on the Western Front' revelation but I did sense a lot of hype to reassure each other of things we were all uncertain of. Sort of like watching brothers and sisters trying to cope without a father. Buddhism was an extremely refreshing rest area where I was welcomed and tolerated. The encouragement from them to remain a better version of my previous faith or to seek further was not for enlightenment purposes but because I was a guest, not family. Those who have gone deep within this practice know that of which I speak. Hindus taught me that what I seek is the guiding Source within us all. After all these experiences I still find myself on a distant shore wishing I were home knowing that I am safe.

Will I ever be anything but a bastard without a homeland? How many more canoes will I try? I believe I have found an unlikely vessel to reach the shore within the Catholic Church. This Easter I will be brought into full communion with the very place I was taught was the Synagogue of Satan led by the anti-Christ. Catholics are relieved that President Elect Obama has been awarded the title of the anti-Christ so they get a break for at least four years. Still the echoes of a friend's humorous jab left me wondering. Will I again become disenchanted along the way?

At our first meeting Fr. Larry assured me that God would provide answers but that they may not be the ones I'm prepared to except. Once I made the decision to convert he assured me that this was just the first step on my journey. I walked away thinking I came so far to rest only to be told that the journey has just begun. I trust him and that is a big issue with me. When speaking with him I feel like I'm in a Verizon commercial. He would answer a theological question of mine and millions behind would give him a thumbs up saying, "You're good!" How can you argue with such an in depth history? Even if you disagree with some of their questionable practices and minute dogma, the underlining fact that the Church gave us scripture, scripture didn't give us the Church is irrefutable.

Are not the same human issues prevalent wherever two or more are gathered? I have been surprised that this Catholic canoe seems to have more than enough room for my baggage. I have discovered an acceptance among priests that really reflects the teachings of Christ. This has pleasantly surprised me. The parishioners are another matter entirely as I have noticed that many walk the aisle to receive then leave not knowing why they do so in the first place.

This time I think I will 'take the cotton out of my ears and put it in my mouth' as an old man in Memphis suggested. I have my side of the street to keep clean. I wish I could reassure myself but I know the reality of crossing yet another river and it isn't an attractive option. Must be the mountain in me that keeps me wondering what the promise of distant lands will bring. "The way that you wonder is the way that you choose. The day that you tarry is the day that you lose. Sunshine, rain or thunder, a man will always wonder where the fair wind blows." Here's hoping.

Sunday's Gender Bender

Archdiocese stern in its email warning:

"Catholics who attempt to confer a sacred order on a woman, and the women who attempt to receive a sacred order, are by their own actions separating themselves from the church."

Referring to "the loving ministry of Jesus Christ, we pray for those who have willingly fallen away from the church by participating in such activities."

Three women, Gabriella Velardi Ward, of New York, Gloria Carpeneto of Maryland and Mary Ann McCarthy Schoettly of New Jersey, called by God to do the bidding for the people, will experience both joy and sadness within the same moment being ordained as Catholic priests while being excommunicated simultaneously.

This has been a bone of contention within me for quite awhile. I have four sisters and I have witnessed the mistreatment from auto mechanics to "Tin Men" trying to take advantage simply because they're female. So whenever I come across women who are challenging the establishment I pay attention.

I find this interesting that the organization these women belong to, Roman Catholic Womenpriests, have been holding ordinations for women since 2002. The organization reports 28 women Catholic priests in the United States.

"The organization claims its ordinations are valid because its first bishops were ordained by Catholic bishops in good standing. The identity of the bishops is kept secret to protect them from being sanctioned by the Vatican." Just reading this my mind registered "game over." These women abided by the rules, found sympathetic bishops in good standing, were ordained through the appropriate rites and need to be recognized as priests serving their communities in good standing. But no, once again history will side with the power of the Vatican instead of justice; but for how long?

"Historically, the Vatican's position has been that women cannot become priests because Jesus did not have female apostles." Those standards didn't seem to apply in Europe during the Black Plague. Priests were so terrified of being infected that they stopped performing weddings, burials, and especially confession. They posted statements upon fleeing the city that the average laymen could absolve one another of sin and "even a woman will do" if no man is available to perform the duties of priest. I seem to remember women being the majority of support physically, emotionally, and monetarily for Jesus' ministry. I may be wrong but I believe he chose women first to reveal himself to upon the resurrection…even before Peter.

If a whole religion is based on the teachings of Jesus then I think the Church may want to examine some old, tired traditions that are creating more harm than good. A belief process is like a birthing canal that expands and contracts while bringing forth life. The delivery presents a totally different being than the one at conception and the one we hold at birth is still at yet another stage of beginning. Hopefully we'll see our own "flesh and bone" mold and form their own ideas until they venture out into the world to prove their theories. I think that's how God would have it. We take the spirituality we've experienced and make it tangible for our own understanding so how can that process of being be hampered because of gender?

I can't help remembering the entire chapter of Matthew 23, specifically verse 4.

4They tie up heavy loads and put them on men's shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to lift a finger to move them.

Being a second class citizen would be quite a burden. I hope by the time my daughters are deciding a path in life that one of the choices available to them will be Catholic Priest. We have woman such as these three to thank for that day in the near future.

Exerts taken from AFP: Three US women priests to be ordained, excommunicated, by Marcia Scott-Harrison