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    “Reality is Unforgivingly Complex”

    Yesterday, the first of the year, I pulled off the shelf and opened at random Anne Lamott’s “Bird by Bird.”  I’d found it used some time ago and was interested,  but other things got ahead of it on my reading pile.  The page to which I opened seems highly topical for what is coming this year:

    For instance, I used to think that paired opposites were a given, that love was the opposite of hate, right the opposite of wrong.  But now  I think we sometimes buy into these concepts because it is so much easier to embrace absolutes than to suffer reality.  I don’t think anything is the opposite of love.  Reality is unforgivingly complex.

    May we find enough love to suffer well the complexities to come this year.  For me, I know that deepening and recommitting to my practice will help me find what more I can offer.

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    On the Bus

    on the bus 2Shortly after I took this picture, a young couple came and sat down in the two seats in the photo, which are at the back of the bus — they were the only seats together.  The couple just sat down quietly and held hands; they weren’t even talking.  The woman in the corner immediately sat upright and began cursing at them.  She threatened them with calling the police because they were harassing her by following her.  The bus driver, who was having a hard enough time dealing with cars cutting in and out of lanes in the stop and go traffic jam created by the Marine Corps Marathon street closings, advised her to calm down.  She got louder and louder.  The woman in front of me kept turning around to stare.  I sat quietly, trying to send soothing energy.  The bus driver suggested to the woman that the police were located just around the corner.  He said he’d stop so that she could go get the police.  “No, no,” she cried, “we are almost at my stop.  I’ll be quiet,” and she became completely still and quiet.  At the next stop, she stayed on and a few other people got off, so that the couple was able to find a seat elsewhere on the bus.  For the rest of the trip, even with people standing, these three seats stayed open.  Later, I went up front to ask the driver what exactly was the route for the marathon detour.  It turned out to be a good detour for where I was going.  I commended the driver on how quickly he calmed down the woman, acknowledging what a challenge it is to be a metrobus driver.  He obviously appreciated my simple gesture (mostly people just criticize bus drivers) and shared a few recent stories.  When I got off, I thanked him and wished him a good day.

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    The Parable of the Guru, the Disciple, and the Mad Elephant

    It is a constant dialogue that arises for me with others in my various communities about the place of political discussion in a spiritual community.  Is there a place for examining the state of the world, calling for action, and trying to change things when we believe (or are seeking to understand) everything as being at its essence infused with the light?  I just happened to read this parable today, after being advised that spiritual and political dialogue have no place being conjoined (today, it was about the budget and the war; it could just as easily have been about how to address from a place of spirit the complexities of how to shift and respond to the Gulf oil spill):

    “RAMAKRISHNA: … [W]ater remains water, whether it stands still or breaks into waves.  Divine Reality remains exactly the same when one is silent and one speaks.  Relax your mind a moment and consider this parable.  A guru teaches his disciple that every being and event is simply God.  The ardent disciple, while walking home meditating on this truth, encounters a mad elephant.  The elephant-driver, who has completely lost control of the animal, shouts to all who are in the way, warning them to run.  But the stubborn disciple refuses to deviate from his path.  He continues his contemplative exercise, regarding himself as God and the elephant as God.  The crazed beast picks up this foolish man with its trunk and dashes him to the earth.  The guru, famous for his healing powers, is called to revive the unconscious victim.  After certain prayers are recited and holy  water is sprinkled, the young man regains consciousness.  He is surprised to find his guru gazing at him.  When asked why he did not run from such evident danger, he replies:  ‘Why should I run?  My guru, you teach that all beings and events are God.  I have implicit faith in your inspired words.’  The venerable master then addresses his immature disciple:  ‘But my child, why did you fail to heed the inspired words of the elephant-driver, who is also God?'”

    Lex Hixon, Great Swan:  Meetings with Ramakrishna (Shambala Publications 1992)

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