Dreaming of the Good Old Days

The Temple is quiet this morning. These stairways and halls that have been the site of so many Zen retreats stand empty. I rise early, take a shower and walk down two flights of stairs to put my laundry in the washing machine. If we were in retreat and if we were not in the middle of a pandemic, this place would be filled with the silent sounds, smells and the bodies of dozens of people—bleary and quiet in the early morning. The wooden block would have just sounded its drawn out rhythmic pattern to call us to the first meditation session of the day.

Usually, in the early morning, a few days into retreat, I’m wondering how I’ll be able to keep going. I’m bleary and discouraged. I am quite familiar with this landscape. I don’t like it, but it doesn’t scare me like it used to. On retreat, we get a little less sleep than usual and Zen meditation is actually an incredibly tiring activity. Though in our tradition we only sit for 25 minutes and then walk for 10, we do it pretty much throughout the day. Silence and stillness is a wonderful thing, but in the seemingly endless ongoing nature of retreat—in the silence and structure—a space is created for everything to come forward.

The first time I remember having to deal with being alone with myself for an extended period of time was on a solo hiking trip in the Beartooth Mountains of Montana, just above Yellowstone Park in Wyoming. I had hiked above the tree-line to a gorgeous lake filled by glacial melt higher up. I pitched my tent, slept the night and decided to spend the day doing nothing. At first it seemed a spacious luxury. But by the afternoon I was bored out of my mind. I had no problems, no one to disturb me, nothing to do and I was very agitated.

It was then that I realized why we all keep so busy. We often feel so harried, rushing from one thing to the next, but in the end our busyness is a protection to keep us from having to confront the deeper fears and unknowns of our lives. The busyness and the pressures and the worrying are great distractions and even protections from our larger existential issues. We are, most of us, quite attached to our busyness.

Fundamentally, we human beings are uncertain about our existence. The Buddha observed that at the center of our lives is a sense of dis-ease—a sense that things are not right. The word he used to describe this, the Pali word dukha, is often translated as suffering, but also means unsatisfactoriness and difficulty.

On the one hand, this feels like a pretty obvious observation—that pain and discomfort are an unavoidable part of life. But to actually acknowledge this sense that things aren’t right can be a huge shift in perspective. Usually, when we are feeling bad, we try to do something about it. This is normal and healthy behavior. Many problems that arise in our lives provide the opportunity to do something—to make a change, to have a conversation, to find some new way forward.

But there are some problems that don’t go away. Among these problems I would include the fact that everything is continually changing, that the people we love do not stay with us forever and that the person we imagine ourselves to be is not nearly as solid or reliable as we would like. These are the conditions of human life. We can like them or not like them. We can admit them or pretend otherwise. But, in the end, we cannot avoid change, loss, sickness and death.

The value of the Buddha’s teaching is that when we acknowledge the unavoidable nature of unsatisfactoriness, we can abandon our endless patterns of running away and fixing and continually trying to make things different. We don’t have to take everything so personally. Life is continually shape-shifting, one moment we are at ease, the next moment we are anxious. One moment signs for a peaceful transition of the Presidency are obvious, the next moment I am caught in fears and struggling once again against lies and half-truths.

But at some point, each of us come face-to-face with the uncertainty and the pain that are part of being human. Even surrounded by beauty in the Beartooth Mountains, or in the warm protection of fellow Zen practitioners on retreat, these vast and fearful states arise.

The good news is that there’s nothing to do. When boredom, anxiety, fear—or any other difficult emotional states arise—the instruction is to let them be. Of course, if there’s something that can be done, do it. But when you’ve run out of things to do to feel better, perhaps you can settle by the lake of yourself and just feel whatever is present in the moment.

I miss the hustle and bustle of Zen retreats here in the Temple. I miss the bells, the exhaustion and the wild energy of human beings sitting together in silence and stillness. We still come together on Zoom and even do retreats together in our own homes. I suspect that one day we will be together in person again. These halls and stairs will once again resound with the padding of slippers and sox and I will once again be bleary and discouraged as I walk into a meditation hall filled with my brothers and sisters.

But for now, I remember the good old days and smile.

Active Engagement Still Required

I am troubled this morning. On the one hand I feel it is important to ‘lower the temperature’ and to end the ‘era of demonization’ as Biden eloquently said in his victory acknowledgment speech the Saturday after the election. On the other hand, Trump continues to use the power of his office to spread lies and undermine the credibility of our systems of government. Republican Congressional leaders, for the most part, remain silent—I presume in fear of Trump and in fear of the fears he has roused in his devoted followers.

Trump has tapped into a deep reservoir of fear and resentment. Many of us are puzzled by and have the urge to understand the antipathy he has aroused. But how do we live out an ethos of mutual respect in the face of one side’s blatant disrespect and refusal to be moved by facts on the ground? How do we stay open while we also claim the political victory that we have just won?

Rebecca Solnit addresses this question in her powerful (and evocatively titled) article On Not Meeting Nazi’s Halfway:

‘Some of us don’t know how to win. Others can’t believe they ever lost or will lose or should, and their intransigence constitutes a kind of threat. That’s why the victors of the recent election are being told in countless ways to go grovel before the losers. This unilateral surrender is how misogyny and racism are baked into a lot of liberal and centrist as well as right-wing positions, this idea that some people need to be flattered and buffered even when they are harming the people who are supposed to do the flattering and buffering, even when they are the minority, even when they’re breaking the law or lost the election.’

Powerful language and powerful ideas. Trump’s intransigence does indeed present a real threat to our country. Is it possible or necessary or even helpful to respect a position that does not value consensual reality and the democratic ideals and processes of our country? These days, I keep going back to Martin Luther King, Jr and the Civil Rights movement of the 60’s for wisdom and guidance.

King was committed to standing against racial bigotry and violence. Many of his liberal allies were against his decisions that led to confrontation. Many urged him to be patient, to be in dialogue and to not stir up trouble. But it was precisely King’s willingness to visibly and vocally stand against oppression that brought real change. He did not change the minds of the virulent racists of the south (or north for that matter). But the courageous actions that he led woke up the hearts of the rest of the nation—north and south—and led to significant steps forward.

King also spoke often of the need to avoid closing our hearts to the humanity of the other side. He was very alert to the danger of becoming like the enemy. If we meet bigotry with bigotry, disrespect with disrespect, the enemy has won for we have lost our principles. He exhorted his followers:

‘As you press on for justice, be sure to move with dignity and discipline, using only the weapon of love. Let no man pull you so low as to hate him.’

Trump is not an aberration. He has illuminated the fears and grievances—the racism and nativism that are woven into our history and are ongoingly present in the institutions and people of our country–and that, in some way, includes us all. The web of lies Trump and his allies knowingly spread has nurtured and enflamed the worst instincts of many.

But Trump has also disturbed and inspired many of us in a positive way. We have seen that the democracy and free society we take for granted is fragile and requires our ongoing engagement. We must work actively against the forces of separation and violence against the ‘other.’ We must stand up for facts on the ground and an information environment that does not prey on peoples worst fears. We must protect the vulnerable and strive to dismantle the institutions that have marginalized and harmed so many.

Republican Michigan lawmakers are defying Trump’s pressure and have said they are committed to following the law and certifying the votes in that state as they were counted. Georgia has certified Biden as the winner after a hand recount of millions of votes. Even Tucker Carlson, the Fox News host, has come out against the latest far-fetched fraud theory. But there is a long way to go.

Let’s be resolute and open-hearted as we continue to grow in understanding and commitment to create a society for the benefit of all.

Practicing the Undivided Life

Yesterday I wrote about closing the gap between ourselves and ourselves—the gap that finds us living at some distance from our true life. This morning, I’d like to offer a few practices for moving in this direction of an undivided life.

I use the word ‘practice’ with a very particular meaning. A practice is any activity we can do repeatedly in order to move toward a desired goal. But practice is also a way of life not simply a task we do to accomplish something else.

When I was a boy, I played the saxophone in my high school band. I liked being in the band and I liked the idea of playing the saxophone, but I never really enjoyed actually playing the saxophone. I rarely practiced and I never got very good. (The highlight of my musical career, in retrospect, was the day the band director, Mr. C, stopped the entire band rehearsal when I had just muffed a solo, turned directly toward me and said: ‘Rynick, stop sucking that horn and start blowing it.’ He was really upset but was not malicious. And I, somehow, I knew what he meant—knew he was inviting me to show up in a world of vivid experience—even if I couldn’t do it at the time.)

On the other hand, I had a friend whose brother loved to play the trumpet. Playing the horn was his escape from a chaotic family life and from the overwhelming demands of everything else. My friend’s brother would go to his room and play for hours ever day. Needless to say, he got to be a fine trumpet player and, last I knew, had built a life of playing for himself.

So it is with practice. If you do it as an obligation and just to get something else (praise or achievement), you will not be present enough in the activity to learn what you need to learn. And you will not have fun.

I’m coming to believe that having fun is essential to productive activity. If it’s not fun, we can do it, but we won’t do it very well or effectively. Having fun is being fully engaged and feeling alive in the doing. Fun can be hard work and fun can be challenging. We human beings love an engaging puzzle or game, one that requires our full attention and rewards us with the satisfaction of accomplishment even as we fully lose (and find) ourselves in the activity itself.

These following practices are invitations to move closer to yourself, to close the gap between the one who watches and the one who does. But the practice itself is not something other than what you are doing in the moment. The practice is the time to be doing what you are hoping to learn to do. Picasso is quoted as having said: ‘I am always doing that which I do not know how to do in order to learn how to do it.’ So it is with all of us.

Practice #1: Sit quietly and breathe. Find a quiet place where you can be undisturbed for several minutes. (In a pinch, a bathroom is a great option.) Come into an upright and dignified posture—feet resting fully on the floor and your weight balanced on your sits bones. Take a moment to notice whatever sensations are present in your body. No need to relax, just notice. Then turn your attention to the sensation of your breath coming in and out of your body. Long or short breath, easy or labored breath is fine. Just be with the breath you are in this moment. Don’t work hard. (Remember, this is so easy you can do it in your sleep.) Do the best you can to rest your awareness in the physical sensation of the breathing. Do this for a minute or two, a let that be enough.

Practice #2: Investigate the gap. Next time you are aware of watching yourself—of standing back from whatever you are doing and judging how well you are doing—stop for a moment and ask yourself who it is who is watching? Who is doing the judging? Who is the one who is making these certain pronouncements of your inadequacy? Who is sure you can’t or shouldn’t have or musn’t? These voices in our heads often boss us around with such an air of authority or pretense of helpfulness that we rarely question their provenance. So ask: ‘Who is the one who is making the pronouncement?’ If the answer comes back ‘Me.’ or ‘I am.’, keep asking. Who really is this ‘me’ who is judging? Keep asking and asking and see what you learn.

Practice #3: Give yourself to what you are doing. Pick a relatively simple repetitive physical activity. Washing the dishes, vacuuming the floor, walking, driving the car are all great possibilities. Decide to use this activity, for a short time (five or ten minutes) as a practice. Then, as you do this activity, allow your focus to be on the activity itself rather than on the outcome of the activity. In the washing of the dishes, give up the idea of ever finishing and allow yourself to be present to the sensations and actions of the moment. Touching each dish. Water splashing out of the faucet. The slippery soap. The sounds of squeaky hands on plates or the gentle sound of each dish as it touches the dish rack. Really notice what is going on—as if you were someone washing dishes for the first time. Join in your life and appreciate the time for what it is.

These are all practices that move us toward an undivided life by inviting us to be what we long for—right in this moment. No need to wait for some other time. Do the best you can. Don’t worry if you are doing it right or doing it well. As my QiGong teacher always said “Better to do it wrong than not to do it at all.”

If you do any one of these activities on a daily basis for thirty days, your life will be forever changed.

I’d like to close this morning with one of my favorite poems by the great Portuguese poet Fernando Pessoa:

To be great, be whole; exclude
Nothing, exaggerate nothing that is you.
Be whole in everything, Put all you are
Into the smallest thing you do.
The whole moon gleams in every pool,
It rides so high.

Closing the Gap

My Zen teacher often said that meditation is about closing the gap between ourselves and ourselves. This teaching has always been resonant for me. Especially as a young man, I was painfully aware that while part of me was living my life, some other part was standing aside just watching and judging. James Joyce caught it exactly when he wrote in The Dubliners: ‘Mr. Duffy lived a short distance from his body.’

This sense of separation—from ourselves, from each other, and from the world—is one of the great gifts and great challenges of being human. On the one hand, this separation is the source of the awareness that allows us to wonder and appreciate the immeasurable mystery of life. One image in the Sufi tradition is of the globe surrounded by throngs all-knowing souls who are eager to be born human. For only by being born human can they have the sense of separation that allows them to perceive, delight in and sing praises to the wonder of life.

No other life form we know paints paintings or sings songs of love and praise—or writes a daily reflections in their blog. Though other life forms certainly have awareness—even some of the simplest single-celled life forms have the capacity to move toward what they ‘want’ and away from what is harmful—the capacity for self-consciousness seems to be limited to humans. Other life-forms communicate (see the wonderful new research on the multi-modal communication of trees and other members of the plant kingdom), but we humans are the only ones with this added layer of awareness of our awareness.

But this awareness comes at a cost. Many of us feel separated, divided from ourselves. From our earliest records, humans have been troubled by loneliness and isolation. This sense of disconnection has direct and serious implications to our mental and physical well-being. These dangers of disconnection have all been exacerbated by the necessary physical distancing in this time of coronavirus pandemic. The number of individuals suffering with serious mental health issues is climbing, reaching and exceeding the limited mental health resources available. Forty states have reported a rise in already high rates of opioid-related deaths. And while some of worry about the danger of armed conflict that is rising with the record number of gun sales over the past three months, our past history shows that these guns are a greater danger to those who have access to them than to those around them. In 2017, 60% of gun deaths were suicides.

So there is some urgency in closing this gap between ourselves and ourselves. It’s not just a matter of spiritual or intellectual debate, but a matter of meaning and of life and death—for ourselves and for those around us.

And now, after the election, the internal gap many of us feel is mirrored in the outer world. The gap between huge swaths of our population feels larger than at any point in my memory. We are a country divided between red and blue—each side fearful and suspicious of the other—each side convinced of their own righteousness.

How do we cross over the divide to touch again our common interest as fellow human beings? How do we hold to our integrity and begin to have new conversations that, as Joe Biden says ‘lower the temperature’?

….to be continued

The Viruses: COVID-19 and Disinformation

My COVID-19 test came back negative, but new cases, hospitalizations and deaths continue to climb. Biden spoke on Monday about the necessity of federal action to coordinate and lead a response to the growing pandemic. Trump, with the support of his Congressional allies, continues to exhibit no interest or capacity to coordinate and lead a national response—even as the viral numbers continue to reach new heights.

The good news is that two drug companies, Pfizer and Moderna, have completed large-scale trials for vaccines for COVID-19 that have both exceeded 90% effectiveness. Numerous other companies are also working on additional vaccines with promising preliminary results. A highly effective vaccine is now a reality, not just a hope. Moderna predicts that if their vaccine receives approval, they could begin distribution for people at high risk by the end of the year. Widespread availability in the US should come sometime in the spring or summer.

Also in the news this morning is Trump’s expected firing of Christopher Krebs, the Homeland Security official who had overseen election cybersecurity efforts for the recent election. Krebs’s failing was doing his job and then having the courage to actively dispute Trump’s bogus claims of election fraud. By most accounts Krebs had led a successful effort to defend the integrity of the election. The New York Times reported today:

Mr. Krebs, 43, a former Microsoft executive, has been hailed in recent days for his two years spent preparing the states for the challenges of the vote, hardening systems against Russian interference and setting up a “rumor control” website to guard against disinformation. The foreign interference so many feared never materialized; instead, the disinformation ultimately came from the White House.

Such a time we live in—where the President of the United States leads the initiative to discredit the very processes that have secured our country for 250 years. And even as he acts as a petty dictator, firing any civil servant who dares to contradict his obvious lies, he continues to be supported by his political allies as well as a broad swath of the country. I do believe that a huge number who live within Trump’s information bubble really do believe him. I suppose they are to be forgiven, but the Congressional leaders who clearly know he is delusional, how can we justify their continued enabling of this destructive behavior?

Terrible and malicious lies are not new in American politics, or the politics of any other nation. General Washington’s rivals were actively undercutting his integrity even as he was out in the field with his rag-tag army trying to avoid being swallowed up by the overwhelming forces of the British army. Jefferson and Adams hated each other with a vitriol matched by the invective that passed between them and their followers. Ever has it been so.

We human beings are sensitive social creatures. We long for safety and security in a world that is ultimately unreliable. We tell terrible stories about one another – each of us projecting the fearful and unacknowledged onto the other in a bid to avoid knowing our own darkness. We all sometimes act in hurtful and heartless ways while holding fast to the transparent garment of our virtue and righteousness.

How do we fight our tendency to fight each other? How do we stand up for what is true and good without getting carried away in the exact same delusive certainty as our so-called ‘enemy?’ Purity of position is a poison that affects both sides. Progressives compete toward ideological purity and then silence voices that speak unwanted points of view—all in the name of democracy. (See Bret Stephen’s thoughtful op-ed Groupthink has Left the Left Blind.) Trumpers claim to be fighting for freedom against the incursions of the deep state and refuse to admit any evidence or reporting that contradicts that organizing principle.

Mahatma Gandhi lived in such a time as this. He was obsessive about his personal practices—his meditation, prayers and religious observances were a central part of his life till the very end. He was also willing to talk endlessly with people who disagreed with him. Sometimes he met for days with one official or another—often with no appreciable impact.

As I try to think of some way forward, I’m reminded of Angeles Arrien’s wonderful advice that a friend shared with me many years ago. There are only four things we need to do: show up, pay attention, speak the truth without judgment or blame, and don’t be attached to the results.

May we all join in the ongoing and impossible dance with as much joy, acceptance and courage as we can muster.

Can of Worms

In any situation, getting more information is often a helpful strategy. Learning more about wherever we are allows us to have more options and to be of more use to ourselves and options. Continual learning, whatever our age, affords us the pleasure of being in touch with this dynamic world that is always renewing itself.

While this sounds like such a great idea, I’ve recently been noticing all the barriers that get in my way of going beyond what I already know. It turns out we’re quite attached to the world we think we live in and this very attachment makes it hard to see what is right in front of us. This question is, as one of my former students so vividly put it: ‘How do we get out of the snotty-nosed neighborhood of our mind?’

Let me list a few of the things that I have noticed about what gets in my way of the genuine curiosity that is so natural for us human beings:

1) I think I already know what’s going on. Our human minds are structured in such a way that we are unaware of our own active participation in creating the world we perceive. From inside my experience, ‘I’ simply see what is ‘out there.’ I can’t see that I am only perceiving a small portion of what is going on. Without any conscious awareness, I assemble bits of information into a representation in my mind that feels ‘real.’ I naturally and unconsciously fill in all the gaps and simply do not perceive what I do not perceive.

2) I’m attached to how I think things are. All human beings I know rely on a relatively stable sense of ‘how things are’ to navigate the world. ‘How things are’ includes a story about myself and a story about the world. These stories can be negative (I’m a troublesome person) or positive (I’m a very helpful person) but they give us a stable sense of ourselves. Though these stories are always partial and often inaccurate, they give us a secure sense of at least being somebody. We all seem to have a primal fear of being nobody and are always, in some way, trying to make sure we really exist.

3) I’m not sure I really want to know more. This is a corollary of number two. Every situation contains ambiguities and unknowns. When we actively seek more information, we don’t know what we are going to find out. In relationships, we tacitly agree about what we won’t talk about. It’s too painful or too confusing. We avoid certain subjects to avoid ‘opening a can of worms.’

But now I can’t resist wondering about the potential joys of a wriggling can of worms. Aren’t the worms delighted to be released? Maybe we’re the worms and opening the can is the mercy that finally frees us. And wouldn’t it be a pleasure if you opened the can in your garden and all the worms escaped and then lived happy lives forever after; enriching the soil, nourishing the plants and living full and dark little wormy lives?

I suppose it all depends on your perspective. From my small sense of self, I mostly want to keep all the worms in the can. But it’s hard to fish with no bait. And maybe I’m the worms and not just the one who opens the can. And maybe this metaphor has already done more than its fair share of lifting this morning.

As usual, I would encourage you to see for yourself. The great American poet William Carlos Williams used to carry a notebook with him on his daily visits as a family doctor. The open page was always titled: What I have never noticed before.

Personal Practice: When you’re in some familiar situation today—with yourself or with someone else—try stepping back a little and just being curious. It’s not about trying to do something or make something different. What is there here you’ve never noticed before? What aspects or feelings or subtexts or unknowns are subtly or glaringly present? It may take awhile. Be patient. Just observe.

I guarantee that the world is bigger and more wondrous (and more self-revealing) than you could ever imagine.

Trying Not To Worry

Last night, lying awake in the darkness again, I wondered if I might not be suffering from stress. I fully expect Joe Biden to be sworn in as President on January 20. Republican lawmakers in contested states have come forward to side with reason and democracy rather than Trump’s delusional plans. Officials from Homeland security have issued a memorandum that this was the most secure election in our country’s history. Most of our allies from around the world have acknowledged Biden’s position as President elect. Even the Pope gave Joe a call.

But still, I’m worried.

I appreciate Biden’s diplomacy and confidence. He refuses to be drawn into outrage or to be distracted from the task of preparing to govern. When asked about the Congressional Republicans who are not yet acknowledging that he won the election, instead of railing against their treasonous lack of integrity in protecting the democratic process, he just smiled and said ‘They will. They will.’ I hope he’s right. Of course, refraining from calling your opponent names is time-honored strategy for moving away from antagonism toward respectful collaboration.

I guess that’s where I’m stuck. The Republicans seemed to spend the eight Obama years in full obstructionist mode. I believe it was Mitch McConnell who was quoted as saying early on that he would do everything in his power to see that none of Obama’s legislations was passed. In a system where elections are just two years away, there is strong incentive for the non-Presidential party to undercut whatever the President is trying to accomplish, regardless of its merit for the country. If Republicans control the Senate, I find it hard to imagine them doing anything but trying to make Biden look bad.

Republican Congressional leaders are still under Trump’s thrall. Trump cares about one thing only, totally loyalty to him and his interests. And Trump’s power has been carefully honed through his constant appeal to the fears and grievances of his loyal following. In a rapidly changing world where many of us feel less and less control over our lives, it’s easy to imagine that someone or someones out there must be doing this to us. There must be some kind of deep state conspiracy. Trump positions himself as the one to stand up for the interests of the common person at the exact moment he is doing everything in his power to consolidate and use the levers of government for his own enrichment and personal gain.

Trump has carefully cultivated a paranoia that is self-justifying and uses all evidence to strengthen its claim on truth. Evidence and fact-based reporting are easily consumed in its great maw. When everything is crooked, straight talk is just another kind of bent truth. It’s a dangerous bubble with no way out.

And now I’ve worked myself up again.

I’m reminded of a wonderful new trilogy of books about FDR and his leadership from the late 30’s until his death in 1945. He faced a nation in denial of the growing threat of war, then had to lead an unlikely alliance of partners to defeat the greatest military forces the world had ever known. Again and again he was faced with impossible situations and insoluble problems. Often times his strategy was to work on the thing that could be worked on and actively avoid talking about the rest. He focused his time and energy on whatever step, small or large, that could be addressed at the moment. And let the rest be.

I suppose that’s good medicine for us all now. I don’t know how we re-start our civil discourse based on facts rather than on accusations and vilification of opponents. I don’t know how Democrats and Republicans in Washington can begin to work for the good of the country rather than simply to preserve their power and prestige.

Our best option is to follow Joe’s lead and focus on moving forward. Rather than continue to call each other names, let’s focus on the team that Biden is assembling and the transition that is already taking place. We should all do what we can to support the Democratic candidates in Georgia to keep alive the possibility of a Democratic Senate. And perhaps, most importantly, we should forge relationship with people different from us—not starting with our points of disagreements, but beginning where we can find common ground.

As one lifelong peacemaker encouraged: ‘Make an unusual friend.’

Minister-For-A-Day

This morning, I’ll be offering the sermon at the on-line service of the Unitarian Universalist Church of Grafton and Upton. Having been very involved in the UU church here in Worcester in the past and continuing my involvement with UU’s through the institutional connections between Boundless Way Zen and UU churches, I occasionally get asked to be a guest preacher at different UU churches here in central Massachusetts. (On January 3rd, I’ll be preaching at the UU church in Harvard, MA.)

Being a guest preacher is getting to play minister-for-a-day. As a PK (Preacher’s Kid), being in front of a congregation and leading worship stirs up powerful associations. Some of my earliest memories are of sitting the back pews of a small Presbyterian church in northern New York as my father stood up front in his wonderful black robes.

I remember my brother and a friend and I passing Canada Mints back and forth as we tried not to crinkle the cardboard box. The mints were big and chunky and didn’t taste very good, but were a real treat for two little boys growing up in farm country. Mom would sit with us and supervise and as long as we were quiet we could draw on the bulletin with crayons she kept in her purse.

I didn’t really get what was going on, but I was wildly proud of my father. He was there up front and everyone was listening to him. Being a minister allowed him to be his best self. He was kind and warm. Wise and funny. Leading worship was something he clearly enjoyed and did well. His favorite part and the part where the whole congregation came alive was in the children’s sermon. My Dad was a wonderful storyteller.

For my brother and I, he told stories about Tuffy and Spence – two dashing adventurers of the ‘Beau Geste’ type who were always rescuing people in need, getting into terrible messes and generally having a wonderful time. They made plenty of silly mistakes, but in the end they always found their way through. We didn’t get a Tuffy and Spence story every night going to bed, but when we did, it was a good night.

It took me many years to realize that he made these stories up on the spot, I always assumed there was a compendium of traditional stories that he drew from. I suppose many of the plots were borrowed from different sources, but my Dad had a lively capacity for improvisation. Perhaps listening to those stories of twists and turns and encountering the unexpected was part of my earliest training for the dance improvisation I practiced and performed in my young adulthood.

In church, the children’s sermons were almost always stories about our Boston Bulldog, inspiringly named Myles H. Himlay, III. Myles was a small, friendly and inspiring bulldog. We all loved him. He must have died when I was three or four because I’m not really sure if I remember him in person, or just in the pictures of the two cute little boys cuddling with this small black-and-white bulldog—and the decades of stories.

Myles was my father’s alter-ego. He was the underdog with common sense that came through in the end. My father was small as he was growing up and often told the story about being picked on by bullies until he surprised them by fighting back. After that, they left him alone.

Once, in Sunday school in the third grade we were asked what we should do if someone hit us. I blurted out that my father said we should hit them right back—not exactly where the teacher was going. The encounter got back to my father who told me I was right, but that I should be more careful about who I say that to. Myles, however, didn’t have to worry about being appropriate. He was never afraid and stood up to bullies and also specialized in rescuing those in trouble.

Thinking about it now, I can’t remember a single story, nor how my father pulled off making these stories feel engaging and true. But I remember everyone in church listening with rapt attention. Even when we were the cool high school kids sitting in church until we were released to Sunday school, we stopped poking each other and flirting with the girls when my father told the children’s sermon story.

I won’t be giving the children’s sermon today, just the main event. I won’t get to actually be in the small white New England church with the many kind faces looking up at me, but I’m happy to remember this legacy and offer whatever I have to invite people deeper into their own lives and experiences. And to be minister-for-a-day.

The Things of My Life

1.
Is everything I own
growing legs or
is it just me?
These days when
I set something
down like my pen
or my watch
or my keys, some
universal force
of dispersion or
attraction seems
to lure it somewhere
else and I’m left
on my own searching
for what was just here.

2.
Like a game of
hide-and-seek
the things of my
life wander away.

I try not to take
it personally as
I’m sure they delight
in their liberation.
I like to imagine their
breathtaking adventures—
unburdened by reason
and responsibility. They
must giggle quietly at
our mutual escape from
necessary purposes.
Then, with no witnesses,
I’m sure they begin
dancing their secret
unclothed dances while
ominously intoning the
ancient incantations of freedom.

I’m happy for their
independent escapades
but sometimes I start
to worry and I wander
back to the point of
last contact. I look again
carefully and call out
softly. When they still
don’t come I have learned
to pause and breathe
so as not to raise my voice
in regret and frustration.
(That just encourages
their bad behavior.)

Eventually, most things
choose to return. I don’t
ask too many questions or
make a big fuss when
they sheepishly reappear.
I’m just happy to be
together again. Yet
the increasingly frequent excursions of the things
of my life remind me
of the days to come
when our mutual
wandering will certainly
increase toward full entropy.

I suppose in that future
illuminated darkness
we will all dance endlessly
together without containment.
But for now I’m happy
with our limited partnership—
temporary though it may be.

*Revised and renamed from 7/17/20 ‘Universal Movement’

Covid Comes Knocking

On Tuesday I went for a walk with a friend I hadn’t seen in a while. We’ve been walking occasionally since the pandemic began and have done our best to maintain our distance despite our close friendship. But he has since moved away and it was especially nice to see him so I had to work hard to keep myself from hugging him when we met. In retrospect, I am grateful for my restraint.

Human beings are such lovely (and troublesome) creatures. I really miss being close to them. I miss the feeling of casually passing near someone on the street or being in a restaurant with the warmth and quiet hubbub of scores of simultaneous conversations.

I especially miss the days of people coming in and out of the Zen Temple where I live. It used to be a daily occurrence – sometimes just a handful and sometimes several dozen. We would smile and chat a little, then get down to doing nothing—but we would do this nothing together. A little chanting, then silence and stillness. Sometimes a talk was given and we would have a group dialogue about the teaching presented, but mostly it was just sitting. It turns out that just being in the company of other humans is a big deal for us upright bipeds. Every spiritual path I know places a great value on being part of a community—showing up with and for each other. We really need each other’s support, in words and in silence, in order to be fully who we are.

One of the worst punishments we inflict on each other is solitary confinement or, in a communal setting, social shunning. We have this ancient capacity to turn away from each other – to pretend another person doesn’t exist. He’s dead to me—is the ultimate social punishment. We close our hearts and move on as if that person was no longer walking the earth. But there is a terrible cost to this—both for the shunner and the shunnie.

In some ways, keeping our physical distance is a form of intentional and well-meaning shunning. I mean we can still talk across the six feet, but the physiological message of maintaining distance is one of distrust and danger. Perhaps none of us fully appreciated the nourishment we received from simply walking by or walking close to another human being until we learned to keep our six-foot distance. But as a country, we not been able to learn or remember consistently enough.

The COVID-19 contagion is spreading. On Thursday, we hit a new national number for cases diagnosed – 150,000. This comes just a week after we first experienced 100,000 in a single day. Hospitalizations and death rates are also rising. Hospitals are reaching capacity and sounding alarms all around the country. The upper mid-west has been hit especially hard, but it’s all over. The New York Times reports:

Case numbers are trending upward in 46 states and holding relatively steady in four. No state is seeing cases decline. Thirty-one states — from Alaska and Idaho in the West to Connecticut and New Hampshire in the East — added more cases in the seven-day period ending Wednesday than in any previous week of the pandemic. Vermont, Utah and Oregon were among at least 10 states with single-day case records on Thursday.

And one of those 150,000 cases diagnosed on Thursday was the grown son of my friend—the son with whom my friend had had breakfast before our walk on Tuesday. At breakfast the son was asymptomatic, but by the afternoon had lost his sense of taste and had a slight fever. He was tested on Wednesday and was diagnosed on Thursday. He called his father and his father called me. As I texted my friend after he left a message informing me: YIKES!!!

Suddenly, Covid feels much closer. My friend, who I have known for decades and is a part of my most intimate support circle, might have been contagious. The likelihood is low. He was exposed for forty-five minutes in an indoor setting (long enough to transmit), but I saw him just an hour after that. The contagion appears to spread through a ‘shedding’ of the virus after it has built up in someone’s system. You definitely are contagious before you have symptoms, but once exposed, it seems to take some time before you yourself, if you do indeed contract the disease, are contagious. My friend and I were outside all the time except for a three-minute tour of the new addition to our house where we wore our masks. We kept our distance. I’m probably OK, but there’s a chance…so I’ll be very careful and get a test in a few days.

A scientist friend who studies these things says my current odds of contracting Covid are probably about the same as they were before the walk.  But, this morning, I’m more vividly aware of how close the virus really is. Contact with one known and trusted person exposes me to wide swath of others who may or may not be practicing precautions and may or may not have come in direct contact with someone who has the virus. YIKES!!!

It’s hard to keep keeping our distance. We all miss each other terribly. But one good thing about this virus is that even though it’s invisible, it’s also quite predictable. No one catches it randomly and there are simple measures—mask wearing, physical distancing and hand washing—that are guaranteed to make your risk of infection practically zero.

May we all continue (or begin), with easeful care, to practice the precautions necessary to keep us all safe.