Violence

I had the displeasure of viewing Mel Gibson's "Passion of Christ" last evening. I also listened to a story this morning on National Public Radio about the sentimental and commercial issues of civilians in a military town in the South. In both situations, I was appalled by the lack of understanding that violence is the enemy of human progress. Gibson promoted a lascivious orgy of violence with graphic special effects in his idiotic retelling of the Christian myth. These same sobbing patriots in the military-base story are those who promote war and violence which causes their histrionic grief over "our lost loved ones". The problem is the assumption that violence is an acceptable human behavior on a national or individual level. If violence were surgically removed from society by the elimination of guns and weapons, the human species could get on with the work of conscious evolution. And that would be miraculous.

Pruning

I like to prune plants in my garden. In fact, in order to maintain a natural look, I must restrain myself from pruning too precisely and too often. I am not aiming for topiary bunny rabbits. I will leave that to Ms. Stewart. I find pruning satisfying, because I often feel the plants are better for my attention. I feel the act of pruning, during which I caress stems and leaves and dead flowers, is a time of connection with the living beings in my garden, whose lives are so different from mine. I once conversed with a spirit about plants through a medium. Many years ago. The spirit spoke of having lived in one incarnation as a tree for over two hundred years in a forest where he never saw a human being. I have always remembered that conversation and the awe it inspired in me. I know gardeners who are shy of pruning. In my experience, they have been people who are themselves very afraid of loss. I have lost enough to see loss as a part of the cycles of life, along with gain and death. So, pruning is part of my meditative practice, and I am grateful for this chance to be happy in a garden where I belong.

Teachers

Life brings teachers to me regularly. I admit to being on the look-out for them. Recently, I decided to read the memoirs of a deceased British film star, whom I had always regarded with fascination in his films. He wrote four books about his life and several novels. He was also in 60 films. And, though the memoirs were about a very different lifestyle than my own in many ways, I found both a soulmate and a teacher. He quoted Colette at one point. The quotation, paraphrased, went like this: One way of staying young is to continually be astonished by new things encountered in life. This summed up one of his discoveries about his own life. I have taken it in, and I plan to carry it with me. There is so much more to teaching and learning than the classroom or the textbook. Teachers are everywhere. And so are students.

Kindness

Kindness is more than nice words. Kindness is a commitment. Kindness is rooted in patience and generosity of spirit. These are times of false kindness in many respects. Superficial lip-service to politically correct causes is not kindness. It is insincerity. A big lie. Giving individuals the benefit of the doubt is kind. Allowing unkind people to take advantage of you is just plain stupid. Living well entails balancing kindness with wisdom.

Flowers

My new bulb garden is in bloom. I had forgotten how exciting a bulb garden can be. Suspense and wonder, as things come up. The pictures in the catalogue have faded in memory. The planting map is lost in the file cabinet. Every morning I look forward to stepping out onto my stoop, two feet above the garden. I peer through the lattice of the small front porch. Anything new? These days the answer is always "yes". I open the picket fence's gate and step onto the paving stones I laid in late Summer. Hyacinths (grape and miniature), tulips, Grecian wild flowers, daffodils, crocus. I confess to having planted the bulbs a bit too neatly. My pattern is all too obvious, but I am very happy with it. My Chinese-American neighbors are tending their jasmine vines and peach tree with heavy doses of lethal insecticide. My neighbor across the lane sits on his stoop to admire the new leaves sprouting on his ornamental dwarf apple. Spring is bringing us out and bringing us together. And the flowers, always shining and always dying at the same time, bring us a common joy.

Lapses

I have come back today from a place far removed from writing and meditation. I was immersed for several days in what most people call day-to-day life. Funny how short the days seem in that frame of existence. They whiz by. Nights become dreamless blanks as the weary body repairs and reboots. I prefer the usual practiced pace of my life. It is very difficult to stay on the middle path without writing and meditation. I realize that the middle path is easily overlooked by those on the fast path of material life. It is part of my practice to try to point out the middle path to those who may have overlooked it.

Community

Community is an elusive thing here in car-dependent America. Community used to be somewhat interchangeable with neighborhood as a concept. Not now. I begin to see my role in a community here where I moved one year ago. I am having routine and regular interactions with members of the neighborhood. There are my fellow walkers, who stroll around every day, as I do. Gradually, looks of recognition are exchanged with smiles and simple salutations. The neighbors across the lane, an elderly woman and her bachelor son, are part of most of my days in some form. One police officer, who often patrols my neighborhood in a car, frequently waves. My mailman and I have regular encounters which are quite jovial. The Russian immigrants down the lane have become quite vocally friendly. Initially, they were very wary. Community isn't like a club you just join when you enter a neighborhood near a major city as a middle-aged man, living alone. There have been no welcome wagons. It is part of my practice to seek community as a method to maintain my compassion for and mindfulness of those around me.

Writing

Writing has been an important activity in my life. I write lists, which are crucial in my efforts to remain productive and organized. I write ideas down as they come, if I'm near paper and pen. I haven't entered the realm of the Blackberry. I have written 5 novels and scores of short stories and essays. I've written poetry, but I will be the first to admit it is not my form. The process of writing, of externalizing feelings and ideas, is uniquely human behavior. I believe a person's level of maturity is easily discerned in his/her writing. Yet, writing is in balance with experience in my world. Sometimes my need to experience life, mundane as it is most of the time for me, supersedes my need or capacity to write. I am confident I will return to writing when this happens. Writing has become a part of my practice. Through it, I often return to mindfulness from a place of distraction.

Space

I have been working with the space in my home. I have an acute awareness of space and dimension. This awareness has increased with my practice. I do not like wasted space. I have also tried to avoid being wasted space in my own life. Awareness of the value of personal space is associated with mindfulness. Living in chaos makes mindfulness much more difficult. Maintenance of personal space, the personal environment, is an external practice which parallels maintenance of internal, psychological environment. Japanese Buddhism has a famous saying, "Person (and) environment (are) one." My practice includes routines of clearing my environment and keeping it clean and organized. I truly feel this part of my practice enhances my personal evolution.

Work

I recently watched a report by CBS-TV on the new American work ethic, as practiced by young entrepreneurial and mass-educated Americans. The workers interviewed were proudly proclaiming their seven-day work week and ten-hour work days. "I love what I do, " beamed one young woman, with the look of a trauma victim. And she is a willing victim. Human societies have evolved for centuries to the point of allowing a significant portion of humanity to have a life with ample time for recreation and personal evolution. In one decade, the corporate Fascist leadership of America has sabotaged that progress by indoctrinating the younger population to believe that they must sacrifice the leisure which allows for thought, personal growth and idealism. The threat of terrorism and the use of war, ancient methods, were used effectively in mass media to this goal. Now these automatons are joining ranks with exploited illegal aliens to support a wealthy and bloated upper class, which lives in total leisure and materialistic hedonism. The work of greed is never over. The work of living well with consciousness is over all too soon.