On Being Related

The birds sing enthusiastically in this morning’s drizzle though the skies are still dark. My laptop opened to an op-ed piece in the NY Times by a Korean-American woman, Mihee Kim-Kort, who is a Presbyterian minister, theologian pondering motives for the shooting of eight in Atlanta last week.

Rev Kim-Kort begins the piece by referring to the Korean practice of using filial names rather than given names. As the oldest in the family, her parents referred to each other as “mi-omma” (“Mihee’s mother”) and “mi-appa” (“Mihee’s father”) after her birth. Before Rev. Kim-Kort knew their names, she thought of the Korean women killed in the shootings as Daughter, Big Sister, Mother, and Aunt. Rev. Kim-Kort suggests that this custom of relational labeling reflects the Korean understanding that we are inseparable from who we love and who we are loved by.

All of us are sons and daughters—murderers and victims alike. Many of us have brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles. We may have sons and daughters and non-binary children ourselves. We may still live with or near our parents and grandparents or they may no longer or may never have been part of our lives. But we are all related.

Family is a blessing and a struggle. In close families, we may have to fight for enough space to feel that we can be seen for who we really are. In a distant family, each member can feel alone and cut off. Yet our relationships and the issues of our family of origin are with us through our lives. What we learned, how we were treated, what was acknowledged, what was hidden—all this stays with us as the great source and the great challenge of our lives.

Acknowledging and appreciating our connection to each other begins with understanding our connection with the particular gifts and burdens of our familial heritage. None of us are independently appearing individuals that get to create ourselves ex-nihilo. We are all wired through our biology and through our upbringing to see certain things and not others. Studies show that our capacities to distinguish one face from another is directly related to the faces we see in our world in the first years of our lives. To individuals who have never seen ‘white’ faces as children, their capacity to distinguish one from another is physiologically limited.

The issues of our family come down through us and are our opportunity to make a difference. Each successive generation works the rich soil of confusion and clarity that has been passed on. To work with the legacy of our ancestors requires humility and determination because these inherited forces are both subtle and fierce. Going beyond simply enacting the beliefs and blindnesses of our ancestors requires intention and effort over time.

Rev. Kim-Kort goes on to say that the Atlanta killer was responding to a toxic brew of anti-Asian and anti-woman prejudice as well as to the ‘purity culture’ of conservative white Christian teachings—what she calls ‘toxic theology’ that leads to an ‘extreme fear of God and an equally extreme self-loathing.’ Another perspective is that the Atlanta killer was just a disturbed human being with mental illness. Perhaps the correct answer can only be ‘all of the above.’

But the birds sing undaunted and the morning light gives brings shape and color to the world outside my window. My eyes see and my ears hear. We are all related—to each other and to the calling birds and to the rain that falls this morning to bless and nourish the flowers. Let us not forget.

Going Beyond Limitations

I have a bad memory for names and I don’t do much better with faces. This is why I never became a politician. It hasn’t been a terrible liability, but it is a hindrance in my spring project of getting to know the neighbors.

I already know some of them and have been conversing casually with some for a number of years. The thing is, I don’t know some of their names. I asked them so long ago and have had so many brief conversations that I am now afraid to ask again for fear of offending them. But I’m actually not afraid of offending them, I’m afraid of looking stupid or like I don’t care. It’s very important for me to appear to others as a person who cares.

I suppose I learned from my parents: #1—the most important thing in the world is to care about other people. If you don’t care about other people, you’re selfish, mean-spirited, and not worth very much. The corollary of this is #2—the worst thing others can think of you is that you don’t care about them. And the hidden assumption from which #2 arises is #3—your worth as a person is directly linked to what other people think of you.

This all leads, in a way that makes perfect sense until you think about it in more detail, to a life of spending a lot of time trying to look good. ‘Trying to look good’ sounds pretty selfish and mean-spirited when I put it so bluntly, and I would generally and passionately deny its truth, except that I realize it’s getting in my way of getting to know my neighbors.

My other hurdle is that I’m an introvert by nature. In spite of my wild self-revelations in these small reflections, I don’t generally feel a need that others know how I am feeling or what I am thinking. Not everyone who practices Zen is an introvert, but sitting long hours in silent contemplation is clearly a practice that appeals more to some than to others. One of our standard jokes at the beginning of a Zen retreat is that this is a ‘party for introverts.’ We get to be in close proximity with others without having to talk and make polite conversation.

But my vow is to do my part to heal our divided country by making connections to the people around me. I have the advantage of living in a fairly mixed neighborhood in terms of race and national origin. And, due to my natural reticence and fear of looking bad or causing trouble, I have no idea how most of my neighbors voted in the past election—or the shape of their lives—or the issues that mean the most to them.

So yesterday, I asked the guy who often has the boats in his driveway and who I have spoken with several dozen times, I asked him to remind me of his name as I introduced myself. He said ‘I know who you are, you live up the street and do meditation. I haven’t forgotten.’ I took his implied criticism and repeated his name silently to myself over and over after he said it. Was it Dick? or Richard? or something else? I can’t quite remember.

It’s a shaky start, but a start none-the-less. Note to self: learn how to use cell phone to record all new names within thirty seconds of hearing them.

Too Much To Do

It’s been a squirrely few days for me. While the warm and delicious spring weather has melted all but the most stubborn piles of snow, I have felt overwhelmed and lost amid all the to-do lists of my life. I have lost my sense of what is most important and have been wandering in a world of a thousand equally urgent things calling out to be done.

Of course, there is always more to do than we have time to do.

Of course, this statement is not necessarily true. Or perhaps it is only true when we make certain assumptions. Perhaps any statement that presents itself as presenting the obvious truth should be approached with caution. ‘Of course’ encourages the mind to travel the familiar pathways of opinion rather than consider afresh the matter at hand. A warning sign for the careful traveler.

‘Always’ should probably be another alarm-bell for the aware reader and thinker. ‘Always’ statements can be quite comforting as they lead our mind toward the fantasyland of a dependable world that conforms to our understanding. Nothing ‘always’ happens. Some things, like the coming of spring, may happen on a fairly regular basis—we can safely plant our seeds at a certain time—except that sometimes snow comes in May as it has on occasion.

So then, what is this ‘more to do?’ Is it that my mind can always imagine things I could do? In a split second, I can imagine having breakfast, reading a book, responding to email, having a conversation with a friend and going for a walk. Yet, as I think ahead to this morning, I know I probably won’t have time to do all these things. I will, most likely, have to choose.

And what is this time that I have or don’t have to do or not to do? There is this moment of living action in which I am sitting on a brown faux-leather couch with a laptop in my lap and a cup of tea that sits patiently on the bench beside me. Is this ‘my’ time? And what about all the time I can imagine having or not having?

Today will be a ‘busy’ day. Really?

We order the world with the thoughts of our mind, and then we complain at the order of the world. There are days when I seem to ‘do’ more things than other days. Or would it be more accurate to say that some days I’m more active than others? I suppose some days even have more breaths in them than other days – when I’m moving and my muscles call for deeper breaths at a quicker pace.

But can you find busyness except in some combination of images in the mind and feelings in the body at this moment? The mind in this moment dreams my past and my future—makes infinite predictions of what will happen and what won’t happen. Each instant I am doing one thing and not another.

Now that I have thoroughly confused myself, I feel a little lighter. Today I will do some things and the things I do and the thoughts I think will be my life—the life that I create together with the world that I encounter. Sometimes at ease, sometimes feeling lost. Today, I’ll try to just follow my feet and see where they lead. I’ll ignore the opinions of the many others that reside in my head and trust the emerging moment to lead me truly.

Spring Dancing

Astronomical spring has officially arrived and yesterday’s weather, here in New England, was right on schedule—a cool morning giving way to warm sunshine and clear skies. It was the kind of day where you start off with a light jacket and then, at some point, are compelled to disrobe in response to the delicious and unfamiliar sense of the sun’s radiant warmth.

The clumps of crocus that had the good sense to be planted in south-facing locations have finally joined the snowdrops to be available to the small bees and the other ardent admirers who carefully search them out. Small splashes of purple and gold are the new and welcome decoration to the still mostly gray and brown landscape.

Out for a Sunday morning stroll, two veteran observers of spring and one small rookie ‘keep our eyes open’ and call out the sightings as they come. We walk to the edge of each garden and crouch down for a better look. We’re a good team. We wouldn’t crouch down to look closely if it was just us old folks, and our two-year-old rookie probably wouldn’t think to stop if he were by himself.

Watching for a few moments, we see the nodding white snowdrop blossoms quiver in the light breeze while the crocus stand upright with unmoved intent. Is the movement of the snowdrops a functional adaptation? Is their small white dance on a green stem a necessary device to attract the attention of pollinators (both human and insect)? Or is a slim stem simply the most efficient way to hoist aloft the reproductive organs for better access and all the wiggling without purpose? In either case, we appreciate their delicate and concerted response to the breeze we can barely feel.

Later, sitting lazily on the deck talking about things of small importance, I am overwhelmed by the unfamiliar brightness. Unused to so much warmth and sun, my head begins to ache and I go inside for a nap.

Still later, I give a Zen talk about how the ‘Dharma a thusness has been intimately transmitted by Buddhas and Ancestors’ and illustrate it with a poem by the great Japanese poet-monk Ryokan:

The wind has settled, the blossoms have fallen;
Birds sing, the mountains grow dark—
This is the wondrous power of Buddhism.

The intimate transmission is nothing but the seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, touching and imagining of this moment and all the Buddhas and Ancestors are here with us as the earth once again dances the slow and sensual dance of spring awakening.

Saying the Names

Soon Chung Park, age 74
Hyun Jung Grant, age 51
Suncha Kim, age 69
Yong Yue, age 63
Delaina Ashley Yaun, age 33
Paul Andre Michels, age 54
Xiaojie Tan, age 49
Daoyou Feng, age 44

These are the names and ages of the eight people who were killed by a 21-year old white gun-man in the Atlanta area on Tuesday. Seven of them are women and six of them are Asian-American. On Friday, President Biden and Vice-President Harris visited Atlanta and met with Asian-American leaders in Atlanta, and spoke publically in response to this violent tragedy.

“Whatever the killer’s motive, these facts are clear,” Harris said, “the shootings took place in businesses owned by Asian Americans…The president and I will not be silent. We will not stand by…We will always speak out against violence, hate crimes, and discrimination, wherever and whenever it occurs….Racism is real in America and it has always been… Xenophobia is real in America and always has been. Sexism too.”

The President followed her remarks with messages of sympathy to the families and friends of the victims, but also with a vow: “Because our silence is complicity. We cannot be complicit,” he said. “We have to speak out. We have to act.” Biden

The swirling debate in the aftermath of these killings this past week was: were they racially motivated hate crimes, were they crimes against women or were they random acts of violence? The answer to this question has to be yes. We live in a world where gender, race, and religious affiliation intertwine. There can be no separation, we are all, all of the above.

These terrible murders call attention to the rise in violence against Asian-Americans over this past year and also to our country’s long and shameful history of racism and violence against Asians.  They are also a terrible reminder of the ongoing national and global reality of violence against women. UN Women, a United Nations entity dedicated to gender equity and the empowerment of women, estimates that ‘Globally, 35 percent of women have ever experienced physical and/or sexual intimate partner violence, or sexual violence by a non-partner. This figure does not include sexual harassment.’

Racism is real in America and it has always been… Xenophobia is real in America and always has been. Sexism too. (Misogyny—the hatred of, contempt for, or prejudice against women or girls—would probably be a more accurate term than sexism.) The degree to which these forces and fears limit us all and are embedded in the fabric of our society is becoming more and more evident.

We must stand in solidarity with all of our brothers and sisters, for our wellbeing is directly tied to theirs. We must name hatred and violence wherever it appears and do what we can to publically stand against it. We must continue to raise awareness of our complicity through our actions and inactions so that we can find ways to continue to move toward a safer and more just world for all.