A year ago I met Maitri, then being called Banana, in foster care. In honor of our anniversary, here’s another day of Maitri pictures, along with an excerpt from Layla F Saad’s “Me and White Supremacy.” (Note: DC residents, DC public library has made an unlimited number of e-books available to borrow.)
I walk facing the sun.
Clouds obscure the
Transit of Venus. My
Naked eyes are saved
From temptation.
Peace and light, E — Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.
When I was walking into work in the cold rain this morning, the song “Plastic Jesus” arose in my head. I thought that I didn’t know many of the lyrics, but when I got back and checked for recordings to see just how much I was missing, I realized it was because there aren’t many lyrics. Here is Paul Newman singing it in Cool Hand Luke. The Levellers have a great cover (with some variations on the lyrics–listen carefully), as do the Flaming Lips. The original is harder to find.
With it’s gentle tongue in cheek message, the song invites us to contemplate the real purpose of any spiritual practice (including the yoga — see, for example, Patanjali’s Yoga Sutra, at 2.46-2.48): to be sufficiently full of love and devotion and recognition of spirit, that we are not ungrounded or driven to suffering when faced with discomfort or inconvenience. And if we get really good, freedom from suffering in the face of true pain, loss, and outrage. That is, of course, a key reason for practicing.
When teaching meditation, Paul Muller-Ortega says that we need both to practice with awareness (gain experiential knowledge) and to study the texts and teachings (explore theoretical knowledge).
With the dirt blanketed in snow and ice, it is time for jnana–time to study and theorize about possibilities for the coming gardening season.
Today, if it was still there, it would be frozen.
I went to a Lenten service for ceasefire that was led in front of the White House today. First there was a Catholic Mass and then an ecumenical service.
I sometimes participate in religious rituals outside of my own, as a way of honoring our shared and diverse experience of being.
This is the first time I have gone to a Christian service on Ash Wednesday. No ashes for me. I was willing to, however, to participate in the invitation to participate in a call and response. The speaker listed the heinous atrocities that our tax dollars are funding, and the response was the acknowledgment that “I have blood on my hands.”
I’m still complicit even if I am letting those with power know that I do not agree, although that is better than being silent. One of the religious speakers suggested that repentance does not mean regret. It means acknowledgement and a change of behavior.
