One foot in front of the other

Message in a Bottle

2008-07-24T13:30:00.001-04:00

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Farewell

2008-02-28T12:16:00.002-05:00

Going on a journey
leaving behind everything
even myself

daiku

2008-02-28T11:31:00.001-05:00

by Lauren Singer*

i am learning that you were stronger
than you ever told any of us.
that what you couldn't say with your sparing voice
you screamed with your fingers.
that you were wiser in your modesty,
in your hesitance, in your truths and muted angers.
that you touched people you never knew,
that you touched all of those you did,
and asked for nothing.

i am learning that fear is braver than acceptance,
that saying nothing in earnest is more profound than empty offerings.
that healing doesn't mean getting used to it
and that moving on does not mean letting go.

i am learning that grown men still play with toys,
and that you were no exception.
that six year old boys
would have been jealous of your action figure collections,
and that teapots and ceramic cats could mean more to me
than diamonds and new cars.

i am learning that you were more perceptive than you let on,
and that you lived inside your head;
created a masterpiece there.
that your books were your life partners,
and your camera was your mistress.
that not all pictures speak a thousand words,
but that yours could break a thousand hearts.

i am learning that you lived more than most of us will understand,
that you taught more than you could possibly have realized.
and that you spoke less than you acted.
that those who knew you as a good man,
now realize you were exceptional.

i am learning that you loved beer as much as sake,
ground beef as much as miso soup.
that you inspired us to be forthcoming and adventurous with our ideas,
and judged no one based on their inhibitions.
that you were forgiving, humble, and tactful
as much as you were intent on speaking your mind.
that you are as much a part of me
as you are a part of the great sky.

i am learning that you are never really gone
because you remain as you lived; everywhere in each of us.
that you are japan, st. marks, london, teaneck, freeport and philadelphia;
and every other place that you were moved, or moved someone else.
that winning the battle does not mean surviving,
but being survived with so much admiration.

and i am learning what you taught me:
that if you go fishing
you catch fish.

and you did, too.

*Michael’s niece

Thinking about my brother

2008-02-28T11:09:00.002-05:00

Thinking about my brother Michael’s life, I am reminded of the book, Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl. Frankl, an Auschwitz survivor and psychotherapist, believed unconditionally in the meaning of life and he described three ways in which this meaning could be realized.

The first way is by accomplishing or creating something. Michael’s creativity blossomed over the last two years of his life and stayed with him until his final days. His unique vision could turn a photograph of a washing machine into a work of art and a subject for poetry. Wherever he happened to be – in Japan, suburban New Jersey, or New York’s East Village – he paid attention to things most people would pass by and showed they were worthy of notice. Above all, he was in search of the authentic – in the world and in himself. In photographing people, Michael captured their essence. He approached his subjects humbly, without artifice, and they responded by revealing their inner natures. In his blog, Michael revealed himself in the same way and touched readers all over the world. Michael had to stop taking pictures when his cameras became too heavy for him, but he continued writing until the night before he moved to the hospice. His last blog entry was the moving poem “Fatigue” in which he said “I see the steady progress of death…But, blessing of blessings I can still feel the life spark.”

The second way of finding meaning in life is by appreciating something – a work of nature or culture or a person. Back in 2005, Michael said, “Sometimes, I look upon this disease as a blessing because it has forced me to appreciate things in my life I used to take for granted. Simple things. I still take these things – time, friends, the physical ability to pursue my livelihood, interests and hobbies – for granted. But now, I often catch myself in the act, slow down a bit, and appreciate more. I see the joy in just being able to enjoy a cup of tea. Or having an especially rewarding workout in karate class. Or not feeling guilty about doing absolutely nothing on a Saturday afternoon.” Toward the end of his life, Michael wasn’t taking anything for granted, but what he appreciated above all were love and compassion.

The third way of finding meaning in life is through suffering. Frankl says that when a person is confronted with a terrible fate that cannot be changed, just then, he is given a last chance to actualize the highest value, to fulfill the deepest meaning, the meaning of suffering. The way in which he accepts his fate, the courage he shows, the dignity he displays, is the measure of his human fulfillment. I was with Michael when his doctor told him there was no more that medical science could do for him. Afterwards we went to lunch in a favorite Japanese restaurant where Michael ordered his usual soba noodles. We didn’t talk much. We drank tea. That night, Michael wrote a powerful blog entry. He said, “I need to live this, and to know that I'm living it. I need to be aware. This is important.” The attitude Michael took towards his suffering – his acceptance, courage, and dignity – inspired everyone who came into contact with him. Even those who knew him only in his final days were stirred by his spirit.

Michael’s life was rich with meaning and in living his life the way he did, he taught us all a lot about the meaning of our own lives.

I’d like to close with one of Michael’s poems. It’s called “Reminder to myself.”

Living life to its fullest isn't about
checking off thrills from a list;
It's about being fearless in following my dreams,
courageous in accepting
that some will go unfulfilled
and taking the time to savor
something as simple
as a cup
of tea

Beyond words

2008-02-28T10:40:00.012-05:00

Thank You

2008-02-28T10:33:00.004-05:00

Thank you to everyone who has sent messages of love and compassion for Michael and his family. Your thoughts have been a great comfort to us.

On February 23 we held a memorial service for Michael to celebrate his life. Family, friends, and colleagues gathered to share their thoughts about Michael. Buddhist chants, music, photographs, and karate conveyed those things beyond words.

March 23, 1962-January 15, 2008

2008-02-06T22:37:00.000-05:00

My brother Michael passed away on January 15, surrounded by his family. Though his decline after Thanksgiving was precipitous, his life spark glowed until his final moment. He continued to work until Christmas eve. Christmas day, which he spent with my husband, myself, and my husband’s family, was probably his last good day. We worked with him on making all sorts of necessary arrangements, including finding a good home for his two cats. One of the most harrowing days was December 31, when we struggled and finally succeeded in getting him a prescription for the painkiller he needed. Beginning on January 1 until the end, we were with him virtually 24 hours a day. On January 2, with immense effort, he went to the office of the newspaper where he had worked these past nine years. Confined to a wheelchair, he said goodbye to his awed colleagues. He had told us he couldn't just disappear without a word. We got him home hospice care in his apartment on January 3rd. That was the day Michael wrote the poem “Fatigue” and posted it to his blog.

By January 5, it was clear that Michael needed 24-hour care in a residential hospice. We moved him to the in-patient unit that night, but not before he had his Jukai ceremony, which had been planned for the coming Sunday. Jukai signifies a serious commitment to Zen Buddhism, to the main precepts of Buddhism and to the salvation of all beings. Michael could scarcely lift his head, but he was determined to fulfill this commitment. The priest, friends from his meditation group, and I crowded around his bed. Michael's Dharma name Daiku, which he was given that day, means Great Sky.

Michael wanted to be aware and in his "right mind" until the end. By an amazing force of will, he achieved that objective too. It was only in his last two days that the drugs got the better of him and he slipped into another reality. The hospice care was amazing and inspiring. Caring for Michael through his last days was one of the most profoundly meaningful experiences of my life. But I was far from the only one he touched. Literally hundreds of people were inspired by his spirit, including many who knew him only a brief while.

While he lay dying, the newspaper mounted an exhibit of Michael's photography. The last really happy moment he had was the Thursday before he died. My husband and I went to the opening reception for the exhibit. Along with the photos, there was a beautiful picture of Michael on a huge piece of paper where his colleagues wrote their comments about his work. We brought it back to Michael and he positively glowed when he read it.

It was Michael's wish to be cremated. My husband, I, and Michael's Buddhist priest participated in a simple and beautiful service at the cemetery before the cremation. The rest of the immediate family and many friends participated from their individual homes or wherever they happened to be. Sometime in the spring, my husband and I will be going to Japan to scatter Michael’s ashes according to his wishes.

Daiku

2008-02-06T22:34:00.000-05:00

At his Jukai ceremony, Michael’s Sensei gave him a card inscribed with his Dharma name, Daiku, and this poem:

Do not cling to
This small mind,
This bag of skin.

Open to the great sky
Where there is no birth
and there is no death.

During the Jukai ceremony we all chanted the Gatha Of Atonement:

All evil karma ever committed by me since of old
On account of my beginningless greed, anger and ignorance
Born of my body, speech and consciousness
Now I atone for it all.

We have now atoned for all evil we have ever done, ever spoken or everintended. Through atonement, we are at one with all that exists and we simultaneously forgive all those who have ever harmed us by action, by speechor by intention. We travel forth pure in body, speech and mind.

This chant carried great weight for Michael. And when he saw the pictures taken after the Jukai ceremony, he said, “Those pictures show every good and evil thing I have ever done in my life.”

Fatigue

2008-01-03T22:57:00.000-05:00

Looking in my bathroom mirror
I see the steady progress of death
as he moves like an eclipse
across my face

My skin grows more taut
my beard is shot through with gray
my eyes are increasingly bloodshot
I can't recognize this person staring back at me --
in fact
this stranger is scaring me

My physical weakness astounds me
my arms don't listen anymore
my sense of balance has forsaken me

But, blessing of blessings
I can still feel the life spark
I can still feel the life spark

Progress

2007-12-29T22:15:00.000-05:00

What an extremely difficult, draining night.

I had a great chat with one of my bosses at a diner before he began his shift at the paper this afternoon. I had some Buddhist statuary and a few books I wanted to give him. I also wanted to express in person what a pleasure and privilege it has been to work with him for the better part of a decade.

Then I stopped at the paper for a brief visit to say goodbye to colleagues who work irregular schedules or only on weekends. Toward the end of the visit I was overcome by weakness and lightheadedness. What made it scary was the complete sense of helplessness that coursed through me. I met a friend for pancakes and bacon, of which I ate practically nothing.

When my father's 95-year-old sister lay dying a few years ago, her mental faculties were stunningly sharp. My mother remarked, though, that she seemed to be floating between worlds, that she was aware of but not absorbed in the circumstances of this one. She was waiting to let go.
And that's precisely how I felt tonight.

My cats are being given a new home tomorrow.
Things are moving along.

The Raj

2007-12-28T23:46:00.000-05:00

I dozed off this evening while watching a beautiful documentary on India on public television.
As the show delved deeper into India's enduring British legacy, my eyes began to grow heavy.

As I lay floating between the dream world and the real one, India was turned into a metaphor for my life in the sort of magical transformation that can occur only while between those two worlds.
As long as I could keep from falling asleep, my dream narration told me, I would live forever, enjoying all the riches and pleasure deriving from this wonderful jewel in my metaphysical crown.

My shock and disappointment were great when I discovered a few minutes ago that I had awoken from a dream.

Untitled

2007-12-28T13:31:00.000-05:00

In younger days
I created
a rite of passage --
a silver-dollar-size tattoo
on my left bicep
of the Chinese ideogram
for "double happiness"

Done in reds and greens
it now looks like a rheumy eye

How silly it appears
on my toothpick arm

Love

2007-12-28T12:42:00.000-05:00

I had the best Christmas I've had in years thanks to the hospitality of my brother-in-law's cousin and his wife, two of the most compassionate and warmhearted people I've had the pleasure of knowing.

About nine of us -- an assortment of siblings, extended family and their children, and friends -- gathered for a Christmas dinner that soothed the stomach and the soul.

I cherished the long talk I had with the host. He's an emergency medical technician who has restored life and hope to people in the most desperate of situations. And as a result of his past health issues, he has come face to face with death on three life-changing occasions. We related to each other that evening in a way that transcended words.

Life pretty much boils down to love, we concluded. Love, and compassion.

***

The Oxycodone I was prescribed is working with just mixed success now, and this after less than a week. Under a new strategy, it seems I'll soon be taking OxyContin twice a day, with Percocet interspersed as needed to deal with "breakthrough pain," as the nurse calls it.

I feel myself getting weaker, but I'm trying to continue as many elements of my regular routine so as to keep my spirits up. A lot of the time, the simple task of sitting down at the computer to add to this blog seems insurmountable.
But then, I'm typing now, so ...

I'm turning in my disability paperwork today, thus making pretty much official my decision to leave work -- not that this decision is a surprise to anyone. But turning in the forms is a big psychological step.

I'm enjoying a cup of my favorite green tea as I type this. I haven't had this tea, one of my life's true simple pleasures, in a week or more.
I had forgotten just how good it is.

Merry Christmas!

2007-12-25T11:23:00.000-05:00

Happy holidays to all of you who mark them!

The Oxycodone pills allowed me to sleep last night, though they leave me a little unsteady on my feet. It was a gift, though, to be relatively pain free.

I left work last night after just two hours, unable to find a comfortable sitting position. In the end, the discomfort in my legs won out.
I was supposed to work today, but I just don't feel up to it.
In calling in sick today, I told my supervisor of my doubts that I'll be able to return to work. He has been incredibly supportive of me during my health struggles, as has everyone at the newspaper, The Record of Hackensack, N.J.
I'm very proud and grateful to have spent nearly nine years of my life at that paper. I have learned much there and have grown immeasurably, personally and professionally. It has been the best job I've ever had, and the people I've worked with have made it thus.
Two of my best friends, who just happen to be Record colleagues, have eased my burden tremendously by offering to do my laundry and hiring someone to clean my apartment.

My family and friends couldn't possibly be doing more for me, and this is so humbling that it's impossible for me to put into words. Any expression of gratitude on my part seems so inadequate.

I'm the first to admit that I can be a very difficult person to deal with. I can be stubborn, sanctimonious, arrogant, unfairly critical and judgmental, hypocritical, and a host of other things. I've alienated people at work and in my personal life because of these traits. But, in spite of that, to still be the recipient of such kindness ...

In a beautiful confluence of circumstances, all this is happening during the holidays. I can't think of anything that embodies the spirit of the season so purely and so well as this soothing stream of support that is washing over me.

New prescription

2007-12-24T13:47:00.000-05:00

My leg pain last night was unbearable.
I was literally moaning and screaming, which I can do without alerting the neighbors because my home is relatively secluded.
I got a new pain prescription today, which I'll take when I get home from work. Percocet, taken even two at a time, weren't at all effective.
Tonight should be a quieter night.

I spent a good part of the day today napping. I think getting a full night's sleep may leave me with more energy for tomorrow.

Untitled

2007-12-23T19:48:00.000-05:00

I've trapped myself
into sniffing out death
around every corner
and when panic attacks
reveal a minuscule glimpse
of what I most fear
I recoil in terror
and scream "Oh Shit!"

Am I the pursued
or the pursuer?

I'm learning
that if you go fishing
you catch fish.

That was scary ...

2007-12-23T15:10:00.000-05:00

I was in the shower not 20 minutes ago when I experienced the weirdest sensation.

I was a little unsure of my footing, and then I felt what I can describe only as an electric pulse passing through my body. My legs lately have been excruciatingly painful below the knees. In the shower, this pulsing affected the same part of my right leg, but there was no pain. It just tingled. My leg felt as if it weighed nothing. It felt as if a current were passing through it, and also through my body, from my head to my feet. I felt manic, as if I were being invigorated by a surge of energy.

I could feel my pulse accelerating wildly (in fear), and I worried whether I would be able to breathe. I wanted to jump out of the shower and call one of my sisters because I felt sure this was the end. I started to panic, but there wasn't any pain.

I probably was just feeling a bit woozy after having slept a good part of the day. And if not that, then there's some other physiological (or psychological) explanation. I don't go in much for mystic bullshit, even though I sometimes would like to.

But it was an odd sensation -- noteworthy enough to write about.

Update at 5:30:

I had another, much more powerful sensation about a half-hour after the first. A friend of mine is sure they were panic attacks, and I'm inclined to agree. It has been so long since I had one, though, that I forgot what they were like.
It seems that I'm so preoccupied now with waiting for the end to arrive (I know I'm being a fool) that I'm misinterpreting things and giving them meaning they don't have.
Going back to counting the breaths is what I need to do.

Loose ends

2007-12-21T23:13:00.000-05:00

Ahhh, so much to share.

First, thank you all for your recent comments.
I haven't had the energy or focus to answer them in the timely manner to which I'm accustomed. I just haven't been at the computer much these past few days.

I'm not going to try to describe all of the recent events and feelings in perfect chronological order.
It has been a mishmash of emotions, and I suppose this post will reflect that ...

On Thursday, I met with one of my surgeons -- my first surgeon, actually. We were discussing palliative care as my illness enters its final stages. He joined in consensus with my other surgeons and doctors that I have just months at this point.

I have been experiencing excruciating pain recently in both legs, from just below the knees down to the ankles. The pain, tolerable during the day for the most part, hurt so much that I had been unable to sleep for several nights and was suffering for it. The surgeon on Thursday prescribed Percoset, which helps a lot but sometimes takes longer than I would like to take effect. I don't think I would be able to cope without it.

The painkiller prescription brought me face to face with an issue I had been reluctant to confront. I want to preserve my natural state of mind, such as it is, to the greatest extent possible. That is, I want to be aware of what's going on around me and inside me. I was worried that narcotic painkillers would dull this awareness, and this nearly lifelong fear was keeping me from doing the right thing. But I don't want to be in pain, and I need my sleep. So, I'm taking Percoset without hesitation.

A dear friend in Kyoto admonished me during a visit there four years ago that I should let flexibility become my most important weapon. She said it would help me confront this illness and adapt to it, rather than become mentally, spiritually and physically rigid to the breaking point. I see that she is right.

Given that toxic levels of calcium in the bloodstream can have far-reaching effects on a person's brain chemistry, I consider myself pretty blessed to have my faculties at this point. So, I think I should try to enjoy them pain-free.
As my aches and pains increase, it's amazing how quickly stoicism flees my body.
There are no brownie points in being a martyr.

I'm finding it difficult to live on my own now -- coping with the stairway to my apartment while carrying laundry or groceries, trying to keep the place clean and so on. My doctors are imploring me to be careful because a fall could be catastrophic.

Soon, I'll be moving in with my brother in New York. I'll have my own room, the tremendous help and comfort that he'll provide, a visiting hospice service, an instant circle of new friends (my brother has lots) and a simplified lifestyle.

He graciously is allowing me to bring my two cats with me. I've declined the offer and instead have found a new home for them. My brother isn't a cat person. And frankly, it's time for me to let go. If I wouldn't be seeing to the cats' future now, then it would have to be done for me soon enough and the timing won't be the same.

I'm going through my possessions now -- books, to start -- and am earmarking things for family and friends. The trash and treasures I have accumulated over a lifetime have given me much joy, and I want to share that joy now. I think it would be a great emotional burden on my family to try to distribute things the way they think I would've liked.
I am taking indescribable pleasure in this process of giving. Truly, I want for nothing.

On Wednesday, I called my karate teacher to tell him that I can no longer study my beloved martial art. I told a friend of my decision. "Sure, you need to stop if you're no longer getting anything out of it," she said. I corrected her: It's not that I'm no longer getting anything out of it. It's just that I can't bring any more into it. Classes were leaving me feeling as if I were coming apart at the seams.

I visited the dojo Saturday with bags of books for my teacher. The morning's class had just ended and most of the students had gone home.

Sensei invited me out onto the floor. "Just follow me as I do these moves," he said. "We'll do them slowly. Don't do what you can't."

He led me in very slow, measured, gentle steps through three kata. I knew these were advanced, black-belt-level kata but I can't recall seeing them performed in the dojo and I'm not even sure of their names. I am a brown belt. Were I to continue studying karate, I wouldn't have been taught these kata for several years to come.

I was overcome with emotion at the profound emotional and spiritual meaning of his gesture of symbolic instruction.
Words won't work.

Thursday, I visited my mom.
Of course it was great to see her, but I was arriving just two days after my eldest sister and her husband told her of my medical situation. I'm sure my physical appearance when I walked in the door provided all the details she needed to know.

The lighting in my apartment is very forgiving, very flattering. Facial shadows and lines are softened. Harsh angles are mitigated.
It's photographer's light.
The lighting in my mom's house is bright, all-revealing, unsparing. When I undressed to shower, I saw myself in the bathroom mirror as if for the first time. I was shocked. Frightened.
My ribs are painfully well-defined.
There's very little meat on my bones.
Muscle tone is nearly vanished.
I weighed about 155 pounds when my fight with this illness began six years ago.
I'm 116 now.

But, the day before I went to my mom's, I had a massage of my legs, neck and shoulders, which really helps with the pain, at least while the massage is being done.
I asked the masseur -- a genius of intuition and healing -- if my energy level felt as low to him as it does to me.
"No," he said. "It's actually quite strong."
He went on to relate a story about one of his clients, a woman in the final throes of lung cancer. "It made me want to cry," he said, "because when I placed my hands on her body I felt nothing. No energy. It was as if she was hollow inside."
So, I suppose I'm luckier than I think.

And finally, I have learned that my blog has been linked to the Tricycle magazine editors' blog. In the brief blurb about me, I'm described as a Zen practitioner. How ironic: A Zen practitioner without a sitting practice to speak of. I don't know whether to laugh or cry and, in fact, I did both.
I'm not sure what the hell I am anymore.
And I want to work on accepting that.

***

You know, my blog posts these days add increasing levels of doom and gloom.
It reminds me of a Daffy Duck cartoon that I particularly enjoy.
Bugs Bunny and Daffy are in the circus and are pitting their talents against each other.
Bugs, the consummate showman, repeatedly towers above Daffy's attempts to outdo him.
Daffy gets desperate.
He devises an act he's sure will outshine Bugs'.
He begins swallowing every explosive, every flammable substance he can lay his hands on.
Then he lights a match, swallows it and is blown to smithereens.
"You were excellent!" raves Bugs Bunny. "That was great! They want an encore!"
As Daffy's spirit ascends to heaven, he says ruefully, "Sorry, but I can only do that trick once."

"Let's go Outback tonight ..."

2007-12-18T09:09:00.000-05:00

You declared open hunting season on the adults
stole the children from their parents
to "save" and civilize them
and now you use
their sacred images
and music
to sell your goddamn steaks
you piddling, unprincipled cowards
"No rules, just right"
you glibly promise;
no rules, indeed
especially where
remembering history is concerned

Secrets

2007-12-17T22:49:00.000-05:00

Today was a very difficult day psychologically.
Today the realities of my health situation were shared with my 87-year-old mother.

My eldest sister and her husband thought it would be easier to deal with all around (but particularly from my perspective) if they went out to my mom's house and delivered the news face to face. This way, my mother's reaction could be guaged and the flow of details could be adjusted accordingly and conversational detours made.
I would then call her on the phone (we live about 50 miles apart). I had already made arrangements today to visit her Wednesday.

My prognosis was shared in a way that didn't mention death outright, but she is under no illusion that the outlook is anything but discouraging. Things were put in such a way that rays of hope were allowed to shine through. Thank God for rays of hope.

My sisters and my brother and I all were worried about how she would handle the news, about how she would bear up under the stress of hearing the worst news a mother can receive. But, not surprisingly to us, her example instead has revealed our own weaknesses, not least of which is underestimating her exceptional ability to handle crises with grace, compassion, love and calm. You would think we would know better by now.
And besides, she already had a very good idea of what was going on. Underestimating her maternal instincts was just another well-intentioned foible.

So, now, I have precious few secrets left.

Untitled

2007-12-17T13:32:00.000-05:00

Facing death
recalling the "virtues" of my life
(why am I keeping score?)
letting the foibles haunt me
Who am I trying to please?
What am I measuring up to?

Untitled

2007-12-14T23:24:00.000-05:00

I'm curled up on a bed in an ER exam room. An elderly woman lying on a gurney rolls by my door.

The gurney stops for a moment.
She turns to me and her tired, sad gray eyes meet my tired, sad blue ones.
Whisper acknowledges whisper.

Then she slowly turns away as the gurney moves on.

I've been tagged ...

2007-12-11T11:28:00.000-05:00

I've been tagged by a man called Zen to share seven "random or weird things" about myself, and then to ask seven blog friends to do likewise. I'll leave it up to you if you want to participate.

As for me:

1) I always feel at home in houses of worship. The denomination is of no consequence.

2) I talk to myself -- and sometimes answer back. This keeps my cats amused. They thought they were the centers of attention.

3) I wanted to be a paleontologist when I was a child. The family freezer was filled with clay models of dinosaurs buried in the permafrost. Luckily, the family didn't mind. I also wanted to be an astronomer but the math skills just weren't there. (I was a poor student; see No. 6.)

4) I am fascinated by insects but have a hatred of flies, mosquitoes and ticks.

5) I think one of the most beautiful tableaux in all creation is the winter nighttime sky spangled with stars. (Talk about being made to feel very small.)

6) When I returned home from living in Japan, I was jobless and nearly penniless. I took a substitute teaching position at the high school from which I had graduated about 20 years earlier. I was now a colleague of the teachers to whom I had given so much grief during my school days. I also was subjected on a daily basis to the same kinds of grief I had dished out from students who thought I was just as clueless. Thus, I learned the meaning of karma.

7) My house is very old. It was a stable a long time ago. Thus, it's drafty even at the best of times. One of my life's simple pleasures is to turn off the heat at night in winter and snuggle under the blankets. The simplest pleasures are the best ones.

Now it's your turn, if you choose ...

Kindness

2007-12-10T17:54:00.000-05:00

Worried friend stops by
with a hearty meal
"Enjoy these blessings while you can,"
says I to me

Moving closer

2007-12-09T22:31:00.000-05:00

This weekend, the Zen Buddhist community to which I belong held an intensive three-day period of zazen, or sitting-zen. This event, which in Japanese is called a sesshin, was held to commemorate the day on which tradition holds that the Buddha achieved his breakthrough to complete and perfect understanding, which many call enlightenment.

I joined the group, or sangha, today, the final day of the sesshin. After a closing meal, my teacher presented me with a kit to sew a rakusu. Rakusu are the bib-like garments that symbolize in vestigial form the robes worn by Siddhartha Gautama, who would become the Buddha, as he set out on his journey of spiritual and self-discovery.

Sewing the rakusu is in preparation for the February ceremony in which I will receive the Buddhist precepts and publicly (and internally) proclaim my commitment as a lay practitioner.

My spiritual searchings have led me over varied and beautiful terrain over many years.
Have I arrived at my "spiritual destination"? I really don't know. I just don't know. I know that I'm afraid of being a spiritual dilettante, but I don't think I qualify as one. It's just time to settle down. And, now that I look back on it, I have been moving inexorably toward this decision for 15 years.

Anyway, these paths I have followed seem to me to be roads leading up the same mountain.