Category: EVENTS
Holding on to Letting Go
MIndful Awareness: The Precision of Openness
We speak a lot about letting go. “I’ve got to let go.” “You should let that go.” “I’m letting go of letting go.” But, at the same time, we talk about mindfulness or holding to the present. “I’m mindful of the moment.” “I’m mindful of my life”. “I’m doing a mindfulness retreat.”
Ah. And what did you learn on your retreat?
“I learned to be mindful of letting go.”
Okay.
But, what does any of that mean? How do we let go and pay attention at the same time? And while we’re at it, how can you pay attention to moments that are rapidly slipping by, without holding on? Grasping and fixation seem posited as twin evils in the church of mindfulness. But, how do we pay attention without grasping on to something?
How can we be here now, when it is gone by the time we get there?
Developing mindfulness and learning to let go are only contradictions to the programmed, conceptual part of our mind. It is the mind with which we create value judgements that allow us to communicate with the world. However, in doing so we also build an identification upon these concepts creating a “Me”construct, which is a compendium of conceptual ideas with no inherent substance. They are simply labels used to identify ourselves to social ecosystems. These concepts reduce the complexity of reality into a two-dimensional flatland of opposites. Good and Bad. Right and Wrong. Heaven and Hell. And while that may make for great rock n roll, or action adventure comics, these dualities fail profoundly as an assessment of reality. To the open, relaxed mind trained in meditation, it becomes apparent that good and bad are just points indicating a spectrum. In fact, they are really just points in an infinite array of possibilities.
In meditation practice we actually do ‘let go’ in order ‘hold to’ the moment. We let go of our personal identification and its attendant gripping in order to rest the mind on the moment. By taming the mind with meditation practice, we slow down assumptive and presumptive mental processing. At the same time, we increase our objective awareness and begin to see the steps beneath the assumption. This fellow is a good man, and will make a great president. But, if we relax into this assumption, we may see that we don’t know this person at all. We may see that our assessment is colored by our fear of certain beliefs he stands against. We may see that our assessment is persuaded by societal pressures. When we relax beneath the labeling process, we can see the energetic exchange below. Relaxing may be a more accurate designation for letting go. Wze may see that much of our thinking on the subject is prejudiced by fear and, in fact, we have little knowledge of either the person, or the office. By relaxing, we loosen the fear based grip. We can look more deeply and objectively at the situation. We might even go beyond thinking and feel into the situation. Far from eliminating or eradicating the moment, we are opening to the moment. With meditation, we relax past designations and loosen the grip of our our identification in order to access the moment more objectively.
Problems arise when people either believe their assumption of reality or go to the other extreme and believe they are letting go of the moment itself. This is the linear mind of opposites. There is this and that. We are either believing our superficial mental designations, or letting go of the moment into a blank space. In meditation theory, we talk about the middle way. In our flatland way of believing the surfaces, we think it’s either gorge or purge. We believe that a middle way is a small theoretical point on a line of opposites. In truth, the middle way is the spectrum of possibility available in the moment. The middle way is multidimensional and those dimensions become more apparent as we relax further into the moment. We are letting go of mental judgements in order to fully realize the moment. Meditation can be seen as a process of training the mind to ‘open to’ rather than ‘close down on’ an object.
Mindfulness: Agency in the Moment
Mindfulness meditation is using an object of mindfulness to stabilize the mind. Mindfulness in action is being able to hold the mind to an object in space or a moment in time (actually, the same thing). With mindfulness training, we are incrementally letting go of panic induced gripping in order to see beyond the constrictions of fear. Gripping is how we attempt to control an uncontrollable world. We grip onto each moment and then conflate a number of feelings, thoughts, memories hopes and fears into a very handy label in an attempt to control our experience. Hence, we would rather be miserable by our own hand, than open up to possibilities which may lead us to being miserable. However, we simply cannot control life by griping to it. We defeat the purpose and actually destroy life by gripping to it. A mind without mindful attention like being in a stuffy room. And meditation is like opening the window. Gripping to that moment is like slamming the window shut in order to keep the fresh air in.
And then when the air is once again stale we will become miserable remembering what we once had. We will imagine a time when there will once again be fresh. We will be lost in the past and the future, we will scheme and cajole, bargain and manipulate, daydream and regret. We will scurry into a cycle of schemes each triggered by the other. We will do any number of things, except open the window.
Until we it happen again randomly, on its own. This is likely, because the window represents our natural inquisitiveness. And, the space beyond the window, our very life. Whether we know it or not, we are naturally present in that life. But, although life is always out there, and the fresh air is limitless, when we forget we are alive in our life, we are effectively shutting it out. We are preferring the laundry in the closet to the trees, mountains and the rivers outside. So, windows open naturally all the time. Only, each time we ascribe a meaning to this and credit the book we read, the person we loved, or drug we ingested, we again shut the window. We confuse the ‘finger pointing to the moon’ with the actual moon. We will lose the object to the method and surely the window will shut again. Then we may hate the book. We may toss the book across the room. And, in a borderline show of swinging opposites, switch our drugs and throw our lover out the door, as well.
And, when we open the door to throw them out, and the fresh air gets in, we may mistake that again. It’s a common rookie error to blame the messenger. We’ll be at the bar and everyone we buy drinks will agree, all we had to do was get a new book. But, maybe someone who doesn’t drink will risk suggesting a way of giving up the control game in order to gain access to our life. They may suggest an actual path to discovery, rather than a placebo or panacea. A way of giving up control and gaining agency in our life. There are those darned opposites again. Giving up control, but gaining agency in our life. We may actually learn about the window and our tendency to look at easy surfaces instead of the complexity of truth. We may learn how to open the window for ourselves.
In time, and perhaps more importantly, we will learn that we have been the one closing the window all along. The fact is, open windows are frightening. Anything can get in and close off our life again. And so we will seal the window shut ourselves just to have control. We will throw the lover out, in order to get a jump on them dumping us. We’ll stay in and read a book. An old book, of course. a nice musty one. New books all disappoint. They are not like they were back in the day. They are definitely not what they could be. We might sit a while and imagine the book we will write someday. It will be a book much like the way they used to be. And, WE WILL BE IN CONTROL.
Lucky for us, as the of fresh air of the outside life is our natural state, eventually some neighbor’s kid will toss a rock through the window. Or, maybe after repeated disappointments, at some point, it will click. We can learn how to open the window on our own. We can learn why we close it sometimes, but we can develop along a progressive path toward opening the windows more and more. And then, once the windows are open enough, we can enjoy closing them now and gain, as a respite from life. But we know it’s our decision. We have agency, and we have gained that, by giving up control. We can’t gain access to the mind by controlling it. We gain access by working with it. We can’t gain access to the moment by clamping onit. We gain access by opening to it. And when we’ve done that enough, we can choose to close off for a while. It can be our choice.
Awareness: Access to Life.
When we can train the mind to ‘rest’ in moments without gripping, we gain a deeper access to life. In time that resting mind allows us to naturally activate a different kind of memory. WE connect the dots – not conceptually – but in experience. Our ability to access the timeline of experience grows, and we actually increase the awareness of now. Now becomes a larger – and less defined – arena. In this way, non gripping mindfulness allows us to let go into a larger field of awareness. Instead of a pinpoint designation, “now” becomes a larger field of possibility, history and potential. Sakyong Mipham translates this as “Presently Knowing”. We are presently knowing our life when we are resting in the present, not carried away in judgments of good or bad, pulled by this and that. We may be aware of references from past experience, or a view of our future, but it is all regarded in the present, without conflating it into the personalized miniature of projection.
We have trained the mind to see what is, and trained our emotions and body to allow us the contentment to relax all gripping. With meditation, we train the mind to open to the moment and rest there long enough to let go into an awareness of life.
Mindfulness is the tool by which we open TO an event, rather than close in ON the event. Thus letting go and resting on are complimentary, and necessary components of the path to awakening. During the path of meditation, we train ourselves to let go of its stages even as we render them into language to better track the process. We come to understand that labels are provisional titles pointing to deeper interpenetrations of experience. In this sense, as it clarifies itself, meditation practice uncovers a fundamental truth below our conditioned existence. In order to see beyond the limitations of delineation and gain a deeper, more organic connection to life, we train the mind to loosen its grip and feel below the labels. As the mind naturally becomes more present, and more comfortable with its experience, we gain an internal confidence in ‘not knowing’ and a willingness to lean in and investigate further. Eventually, we relax our grip on this and that. Which is to say, we release our grip on separating ourselves and everything else. Apparent logical discrepancies become complementary and reality becomes unified and possible.
In the seminal manual on meditation “Turning The Mind Into An Ally”, Sakyong Mipham refers to ‘resting’ the mind on an object. Of course, “resting” is itself a conflation and a designation. But it is more subtle and energetically accurate in terms of opening to and contacting the object. The more we grip, the more the object changes and the less we actually see the object. Complicating this our personal evaluations and judgements further confuse the process. When I say resting is more energetically accurate to mindfulness, I mean it is closer to what the mind does in order to see an object clearly. It is inquisitive. It opens to the object without preempting experience with assumption. Therefore, rather than ‘focus’ the mind on the breath, Sakyong Mipham urges students to ‘rest’ the mind on the breath, and to open to the experience of breathing. This points the mind toward looking beyond the conceptual index and into an actual felt sense of a purer access to reality.
When we rest the mind repeatedly on an object, gently training the mind to return again and again to present experience, we develop the confidence to further relax the grip of our personal identification and its attendant histories and associations. The process is like raising a child, I suppose. The more our personal agenda comes into play, the more the child resists and the less accurately we see the child. This engenders a certain panic that increases our identification and gripping. We begin to conflate a miraculous human being into a limited dimensional thing, a “child”, a “daughter”, a “son” that belongs to us. And while those designations are provisionally accurate, they evoke all sorts of assumptions that may have little to do with an actual person. This becomes particularly complicated when we say “my” daughter. We automatically assign personal judgements and assume patterns of behavior. Much of it is well intended, but sometimes the more we love, the more we fear. And, the more it we are instigated by fear, the greater our tendency is to panic and grip. The more panic and grip the less awareness we have. Expectation is the death of accuracy. When we expect a living, changing, dynamic being to remain faithful to our provisional designations for their lives, we rob them of self-agency and the confidence needed to live an independent life.
But does this mean we just let the child “go” and refuse to guide them or protect them? This would not be a very mindful upbringing. The key is learning to ‘guide’ the process. We are not gripping out of personal panic and its attendant delusions of the ego, but are letting go into the process of ‘seeing’ who this person is, and how to help them open to their true potential. In this way, we are actually paying deeper attention who the child is, rather than preconceptions of what she should become. Because we are giving the child space to be, we can better understand and appreciate the child. In this way, instead of letting go, perhaps we are letting be. We are gaining distance in order to become closer. We are opening to life by resting our mind on the moment rather than stomping all over it, appropriating it, or truncating it into a label. Therefore, we discover that there is simply more to life than we can imagine. In fact, our imagination is limited in comparison to the true complexity of life. If we are open to discovery, we will use a gentle touch in our investigation, honoring both the perceiver and perceived in an increasingly informative exchange.
By doing this we are letting go of the “Me” construct and opening up to everything else.
VIDEO: Meditation. Consciousness and Clarity of Mind
Giving Peace A Chance
The city that loved Lennon came out to commemorate his legacy by creating a human peace sign in central park. John may have died here, but he also lived here and the activity of his heart continues. And people continue to love him, and his ideals. John wasn’t a saint. But neither are we.
He was brave enough to be who he was, and to tell the world what he felt. What we share is a need to live in a world that is safe and sane and our fear that that will never transpire. Our world seems to move simultaneously toward and from an ideal of world peace. There is so much possibility. But there is less time. And even less ozone. The wealth of the world is bound and diverted into inconsequence. The Humanity that each of us is born with, and that is our given birthright, is subsumed by defensiveness, competition and material greed. And, yet we love and are loved. We are capable – all of us – of great things. It is our destiny to lead the world from harm, but we are frightened to do our part, and understandably so.
The Shambhala teachings encourage us not to run from fear, but to look into it as a means of connecting to ourselves and the present. 
When we deny our fear, and act out of panic with little regard for the world around us, it is a self-denial that leads to a schism in our being. Fear is human, natural and has great wisdom. However, if we are to move forward in life, we must not cave in to the fear but, as the teachings say, to use that fear as a stepping stone to greater openness. We can embrace the sadness, embrace the hurt, embrace the pain in what Chogyam Trungpa referred to as “the cradle of loving kindness.” Loving kindness is an extended hand, an open arm, and a giving heart. It is a physically open posture. It is not giving in to fear, by clenching around it. It is not lurching past trying to prove something to the world. “Placing the mind of fearfulness in the cradle of loving kindness” is opening to our pain, and having the courage to let it be as it is. Our pain is universal. It is the common language of humanity. We all suffer. By opening to our suffering, we can begin to understand the suffering of others. The Path, altogether, is the personal journey from boundaries to bridges.
Meditation is the core of a wisdom path. In the Shambhala tradition we instruct a grounded and honest practice called Shamatha. Shamatha is the cultivation of peace. It is the simple returning of the mind from disconnection to its rightful place in the present. It is the understanding that we abdicate our power when we succumb to fear, and let the mind wander toward distraction or temporary balm. The practice of Shamatha, or peaceful abiding, is to gently train the mind toward the courage of staying in the body and in the present. This calms the deeper and more reactive parts of our psychology. We begin to calm down as the urges inside us give way to surrender and ultimately insight. We begin to see how running away from ourselves is only creating more suffering. In this way, we begin settle further, and begin to develop true peace within ourselves.
The peace we develop through our meditation practice is unconditioned. It is not reliant upon externals. It needs nothing but the bravery to stay. It is the connection we have with our true warrior heart. It is the courage to be exactly who we are without apology. It is a calm that completes us as our understanding becomes manifest. We have travelled the path, we have seen and learned and felt the truth of our life. And, we have developed the honesty to know when we are here and when we are not. It is available when we see ourselves and are willing to rest in being here without struggle, manipulation or apology.
This peace is not devoid of panic. It is not separate from pain. In fact, it is because of our pain. It is the full acknowledgment of our suffering and a willingness to remain in any case. It has manifested in the core of our being. Inner peace. Our daily practice is giving peace a chance to pervade our system, to grow within us and to deepen into our core experience. We have the confidence to remain, unswayed by the turmoil of the world. We can then be its witness, and be witnessed. As thoughts of materialism, anger, frustration, panic and doubt arise, inste
ad of acting on them, we can bring them back to the steady rhythm of the breath. Calm our heart and begin to wake up to our world. This radiance cannot be denied. It is seen by others. And, in this way, we instill peace in our world. By learning to love ourselves, we can radiate that love to the world.
Lennon was a great sloganeer. And Give Peace A Chance was one of his most resilient mottos. It worked for me, because of the guileless and simple way of presenting the idea of peace. Rather than a banner of aggression, or a slap in the face, as it was used often in those days, it was a simple thought: Why not peace? It was almost acknowledging that it isn’t easy. It was acknowledging that we will, again and again, long to take refuge in aggression. But, why not try? Just try. When we are hurt, broken, doubtful, angry, lonely or sad we need look no further than simply loving ourselves in the moment, as we are. Giving peace a chance to grow. It might change everything. For each breath we return to, is another statement of willingness to be here, in the struggle, in the heart, in the present in the world that so desperately needs us. Giving peace a chance might change your heart. And that might change the world.
The Courage To Come Screaming In
The bombs rattled through the week.
The worst bombing of the war. German hate rained from the sky. Slamming, explosive, percussive. This once proud port city, now battered in ruin. Mortar and brick reduced to gravel and dust And blood. And, more pounding. More than sanity could endure.
And then, one night, abruptly a gap.
On October 9th, 1940, an uneasy calm fell over the night, and soon Mimi got a call. Julia had given birth to a son. She came as soon as she could to meet her sister, and the boy who would change their lives forever.
I was writing in my girlfriend’s kitchen. She and her children were visiting her parents in Shrewsbury and I had the place alone to finish a presentation for a class on “Myths and Legends”. It wasn’t a theater or radio class, and so held little interest to me. But, there’d be no passing without the project so, never one to easily relent to pressure not of my own making, I was stuck. The Pats were on tv in the other room. Game to the wire. I was writing at the kitchen table. Words cane out they landed nowhere, stubbornly refusing sentence structure. I would write, and then pace. Write and then Grab a beer, check the game on TV, then back sporadically to write words that meant nothing to any of the others on the page.
I heard Howard talking from the TV in the other room. It sounded like something had happened. I walked in to find the score tied and John Smith lining up to kick with seconds left on the clock. Then the phone rang. I dont remember how it fell. There were shards everywhere. My girlfriend on the phine. “Did you hear?” The game was coming down to the wire, but the world was only hearing one thing. “John Lennon … shot twice in the back, rushed to Roosevelt Hospital, dead on arrival.” My girlfriend telling me he was wounded. More calls. Rumores, conspiracies, bargaining, denial, rage. The game in overtime. Howard reiterating “dead … on … arrival.”
I read my paper aloud in class that next morning, still drunk, with no sleep. I said there were no heroes left. No myths or 
legends left. Everything we believed had been shattered, slammed, broken and discarded. Did we have a God? Did we have soldiers to admire? Police to trust? Laws to believe? Reasons to be, other than to simply breath through another day of pollution in the stench of a dying world? Were we here to move through a rote existence as fodder for the grind? What was left for those with imagination? What was left for those who longed to believe? What was left for those whose spirit yearned toward a greater cause? Dr. King, John and Bobby, Malcomb X. Any ray of hope, condemned for the sin of shining.
The pounding relentless, percussive existence, the wars, the traffic, the hatred. People living on the streets of the most powerful societies on earth. People with so much, feeding off those who could not feed their children. All of us huddled together under the savage canopy of an unjust heaven. I looked up from my presentation and saw tears in my friend Keira’s eyes. Her over-mascaraed face streaming. Tears in a few others. Embarrassment and shuffling in some. The usual sleepy college drift in most. But, tears welled in me. And anger. Alive with the death of anger, I rained hatred and spoke more lucidly than I ever had in that class, the words having finally joined in a chorus of disappointment and rage.
I got a D on the assignment. It bore no relation to the class, they said. Nor were the teachers, both two generations older, particularly moved. Another of the punk generation, railing against the supposed ills of a society from which they nonetheless fed. The world was shattered that day. But they had grades to keep, and a reputation to uphold in this fucking school that taught the worst conformity in the guise of artistic creative expression. I walked broken through hallways unslept and unkempt hugging, crying, raging. There was a vigil that night. All of us packed into a cold wet night holding candles, singing his songs, which were our songs. There were punks, hippies, business folk, students and workers. I saw a man in a suit with his arm around a pink haired girl. It was a strange mix and spoke to the universality of love that comes from music, and came from this man. There was a commotion behind me. I turned and someone’s dog was excitedly wanting to play, trying to pull his family away, unsure why he was at the park if not to play. No one was upset, and we all took turns playing with the dog. It was incongruous to the mood and a perfect counterpoint to our feelings.
At some point I had sung myself out, was freezing and hadn’t found the solace I wanted. I just gave up and made my way to Alan and Donny’s and sat and stared at the television for a week.
It It seems strangely fitting that many of the progenitors of the rock generation were born in the rattle and rubble of war. The worst bombing anyone had ever known. The relentless pounding of the cities, buildings shaking, the streets rattling beneath. Mick and Keith, Ray, Pete and Jimmy all born amidst the rubble and sludge of war. The rocks of war. Kids who grew up in broken fields, playing in the rocks, eating rations.
England had nothing then. Well, nothing except a bumper crop of babies. Babies no one knew what to do with. So, they sent them to school. The good students were packed away to what was left of good schools, keeping the upper crust flaky. The lesser were sent to technical schools trained to support the rebuilding. And the rest, those whose minds worked in less linear ways, who were battered inside, were poor or sickly, or could actually draw were sent to art school. Sure. There’s no economy. Give em some quills and call it a day.
Rattled loose from the moorings the Rock generation came of age hiding transistor radios under tattered covers in bed, listening to transmissions from pirate stations that played music from America. Black music from America. The same music Bobby Zimmerman listened to under thicker covers in iron belt Minnesota. The same music stolen from the slaves, stolen from Africa, that Keith was hearing in Dartford, and Ray on Muswell Hill and John up north in the forgotten hash of Liverpool in a house called Mendips on Menlove Avenue. All lost in the trance of ancient drummers calling from the dark continents of the heart. Songs of pain and misery that rose up in the glory of God and love and sex and sex and sex. And, just as the boys were old enough to begin to stroke their own night rhythm, came a king from Memphis. And, that just shook their world open. And soon those boys would burst from their covers and reenact the percussive pounding of their birth. They’d steal and plead and cry to have some uncle, mother or friend fork up for a mail-order guitar. And out they rode into the night to bang their choruses of rage and love and hormones through garages, back lots and empty rooms across the country.
Rock was forged from the rubble of war, and would, in turn, unleash its pounding fury on the world. A music born of anger and fueled by the rebellion inherent in the self-hatred of a race born into an exploding world. And John was the heart of that rhythm. His Irish sea captain’s ferocious drive, the incessant strumming of his guitar. His ability to lead by the brute force of a will to survive. John butted his way through schools, and created bands around him to play skiffle, and a new music mash up of rhythm and blues, soul, jive, folk, skiffle, country, rock-a-billy, rock n roll and pop. His Beatles became the first and ultimate punk band. Leather clad, slicked hair, amphetamine fueled adrenaline, hammered into shape in strip clubs on the Reeperbahn in Hamburg, where they learned to “mach show”, pete best hitting the bass drum on every beat in order to pound the rhythm into the hearts and minds and night. Coming back home after these excursions, they were welcomed and tempered by the girls who adored them and nurtured by their mothers – Pete best’s mom who had the club that they played their first domestic residency, george’s mom who would make them food and offer a place to rehearse.
In the Tibetan Buddhist tradition it is said that women, or Dakinis which represent the feminine principle, call forth the teachings, nurture them and bring them into corporeal form. When it comes to magic, women always lead. Men follow, grudgingly, to church, or war, to work and to the dance floor. The Dakinis loved John. They adopted him, and fed him and adored him and his band until the men had to join in, and the world around them could no longer ignore the din. Most of their contemporaries at the time regarded this period as their greatest. They hadn’t had a hit yet, but their reputation resounded before them.
When that fist hit came, the entire country opened to them. Three hits later, and it was the world. And, again it was the girls who screamingly heralded the arrival of a new wave of human thinking.
But, world dominance comes at a price. And the leather clad punk band gave way to cheeky lads in Edwardian suits. The tightly honed fusion of beat, and rhythm and audience, gave way to a screaming spectacle. “The fans gave their money”, George Harrison was said to quip, “but the Beatles gave their nervous systems.”
Other than delivering milk for his uncle, John had never really had another job. He was a millionaire at 21. He was the oldest and first of his generation to open the doors of the heart of the world. Soon, the Rolling Stones, Kinks, and Yardbirds followed bringing American music to America and re-establishing British honor, financially and culturally. You cannot overstate the role the British invasion played in reestablishing Britain’s self-respect, economic stability and cultural integrity on the world stage. The Beatles were controversially awarded the MBE in recognition. They were invited to play for the queen, at which point Lennon famously quipped “would the people in the cheaper seats clap your hands and the rest of you, if you’d just rattle your jewelry.” The world was in love and hate with his arrogance and brilliance. Though he did what he could to squeeze his enormous passions into a commercially suitable box, John continued to head butt his way through life accruing the adulation of fans, the respect of peers but also enemies, great controversy and death threats.
The band ended touring, and went on retreat in India with Maharishi Marahesh Yogi. That relationship was eye opening, and I think had karmic effects for the band, who were to begin disintegration into the separate facets of genius from which it was comprised. Lennon wrote some of his most wonderful songs there, and shortly after: “Happiness is a Warm Gun”, “Dear Prudence”, “Across The Universe” and most notably “Sexy Sadie” which was initially entitled “Maharishi” (“what have you done? You’ve made a fool of everyone”) and the line “you came along to turn on everyone” was perfect double entendre, and a beautiful example of his acerbic wit. But, the band fell apart.
And, then came Yoko. And then came the most public courtship, relationship artistic statement, which became a life screaming out loud in public. At one point in the sessions for the movie “Let it Be” (then titled “Get Back”), Lennon sits with Yoko at his side, and asks Ringo to crash the cymbal to “give me the courage to come screamin’ in.” And then they began “Don’t let Me Down” a song which is a perfect example of the harsh, rugged savage grace of the man, still frightened, still honest, and despite being one half of the most successful songwriting partnership in history, willing to ask his partner for a cymbal to give him courage. I hear the Irish shanty troubadour in him. His relentless drive, imploring the world to listen.
And Yoko Ono, avant guard Japanese underground New York art celebrity either pursued, or ignored him; manipulated or liberated him; enslaved or nurtured him, became his port in the storm. They bonded with a fierceness that consumed both of them, and eclipsed his all boy world. He said, being with Yoko was like being with my mates, except we can go to bed together. In interviews with the two of them he is at one admiring, in love, amazed and also rudely dominant. He interrupts, criticizes, cuts her off, as well as agrees and supports her, sometimes in the same sentence.
He begins a life in public, in bed with her, in bags with her, merging art, pop, communication and activism. He is narcissistic, self-involved millionaire whose genius was to be as he was, and turn it all to promote the good in society. He had a political sloganeer’s knack for a great line, and some of them – “All You Need Is Love”; “Give Peace a Chance”; “Imagine”; “War is Over (If You Want It)” changed things at the time, and have lived with us for a long time. Lennon felt a responsibility to himself to live honestly. But, he also had a genuine love of the world, and the need to use his good fortune and high visibility to help that world.
In 1975, that came to rest, as John settled in to New York City, a regular fixture on the Upper West Side. He turned his business over to his wife, who employed an astrologer to help turn his earnings into millions. Lennon believed in astrology, studied Tibetan Buddhism and UFO’s. They were passions of his, along with wife and child, his box of incredible weed and a television he would surf through endlessly in his Dakota mancave. Some say he remained a junkie. Others claim that those days ended with marriage. Some claim he was bisexual, or even gay, that he used people, that he squandered fortunes even as he pretended to care for the downtrodden. He was violent, chauvinistic, boorish and, at least when Paul met him at Woolton Fete in ’57, had bad breath. What is clear is that he suffered from depression, and a need to isolate. The man never had a job, except to have every word he uttered become a significant statement. He never had a childhood, except the one he was never released from. He never had a life, except that of the biggest rock star of his generation. Whisked away into the bowels of the machine, he never knew normalcy. He was never able to process wounds and heal the hurt that remained so alive within him. So, was he a junkie? Or, was he scared of the world he had helped create, and lived in a cave of his own sequestering, only to emerge butterfly forth at 40 to begin starting over. And then 5 shots rang out and ended that.
The shooter crouched in military stance, about 6 feet behind him, and fired 5 shots into his back and, and as he turned, into his side. Any 4 of those shots would have been fatal. John was killed on his doorstep after he’s returned home from an interview to promote his newly released album. Killed just as he came out of hiding. As soon as he was free again. As soon as he could speak free of the shrouds of heroin, depression and secrecy. As soon as he began “Starting Over”, it was gone for all of us.
I believed then it was an assassination. And, I believe that now. I’m not a flake. I’m a triple Taurus, have a capricorn moon 
and practicality runs engrained in my DNA. But, I believe he was assassinated. Call me a stooge. I believe John Kennedy, Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King were murdered. Sounds like I’m nuts right? But, whether or not its true in fact, it says something very true about our view of society. We don’t trust it. We don’t trust ourselves. You can’t trust something you don’t believe.
What is it we believe?
In one of his last interviews, he discussed his violent days, and the few times he took it out on the women he knew. This was an intense admission. Naked, as he was. Imperfect and embarrassing. How did this stand with his pleas for peace and love? “Its the violent ones that know how important peace is”, he said. During the inevitable backlashes that seem to rise against his legacy, like mother waves every 8 years, when people then look for arcane scenarios to defrock him, they will claim that his pleas for world peace and invocations of a very practical common kitchen sink version of sanity, were fraudulent. He is routinely discredited because he was violent, rude, hurt people and smelled badly. Well, you know what? I believe that those are exactly the reasons his statements are valid. He understood the hurt the world suffered. He experienced it from both ends. He was imperfect, flawed, and had a heart only an Irishmen could bear. And bear it he did. In public, learning as he went. Learning as we all went. We grew up together. We hurt and loved and laughed together. The pain that made him flawed, made him human, made him genius and made many of us love him.
During one of his last interviews in 1980, Lennon was asked if, in light of the drastic political swing to the right under Reagan and Thatcher, and the gross commercialization of music, art and life, if he looked back on his days espousing peace and love with any regret or embarrassment.
Lennon replied, “If you smile and someone punches you in the face, it was still a smile. You can’t take that away. The smile has always been there.”
And the smile will always be there for those with the courage to come screaming in without embarrassment, with their full heart. And, for those of us who need it most, the idea of imagining peace is most important and real.
Waking The Warrior
Each morning we seem to arise to a pre-scripted litany of complaint. But there is a moment before the deluge, before the bones creak and the muscles scream, before the flood of responsibility strikes like lead clouds pressing down upon us. There is a moment before we drown our fearful footsteps into a cold shower and hot coffee. There is a nano second, a moment, a gap of openness. And through that slight aperture a vast open space is glimpsed and forgotten.
If we had the mental clarity in this moment, we might see our true nature. Open, reliable, awake. In that moment of purity, we are as we are, a warrior without doubt or confusion. We are as we have always been, but have forgotten to be. Throughout our day we have these opportunities to wake up. And, we do. Frustratingly the mind of wakefulness passes by us again and again. Sometimes unnoticed. Sometimes seen, but not believed. And then, in an instant, we retreat. We forget our true nature and choose (albeit blindly) to turn back to a hackneyed world of habit, abuse and recrimination.
But, what if we choose not to forget? What if we choose to wake in the face of a turning earth and roaring like a lion inside, meet the day with a humble gentleness that defies the gravity of our expectations? What if we chose to wake up tomorrow morning, and instead of sleepwalking thru our day, vow to remain awake, alive and present in our life? What if we choose to wake the warrior within?
This might sound like carpe diem. But what is that? Seize the fish?
No, its not about “killing it”, “bringing it”, “Rocking it”, or any of that rah-rah sis-boom kind of coaching that work for a few days before we fall back to the solace of indolence. This is about a real life change. And that change is as near as the next moment. In fact, it is available in each moment. Its about opening up to life, seeing through the cracks in our confusion and beginning to take ownership of our lives one breath at a time. Its about returning to awake and it is what we call Warriorship. It is the bravery to be gentle, the strength to remain open and the honesty to simply be as we are.
Ok. I’ll admit this isn’t fast and furious. In fact, its more slow and peaceful. However, while the former admittedly makes a better fiction, the latter makes a richer and more rewarding life. The Warrior’s view is sustainable, as it sees beyond the aggression of blind appropriation to the panoramic awareness of awake appreciation. But, we must be willing to look at our world BEFORE we choose complaint. We must be willing to chose the uncomfortable space of awake. In order to do that we must be strong. And in order to be strong, we must learn to love ourselves.
Warriorship is not building walls, defining affiliations, or designating easy enemies to rally our ignorance. It is not grabbing the first excuse to accuse others. It is taking responsibility for being awake and accepting the mantle of one whose life is dedicated to helping the world. Sakyong Mipham says, “the warrior is kind to themselves and merciful to others.” His point is that we actually do treat others as we treat ourselves. The Golden Rule, it turns out, is quite true and it is actually as much a curse as a blessing. When we are embroiled in inner conflict we are training the mind to see the world as hostile. When we fight ourselves we cannot help but turn friends into enemies and allies into adversaries. On the other hand, when we rise to the occasion of our moment and respect ourselves by bringing awareness to that moment, we come to see the world as amenable, compliant and ultimately workable. We are able to treat others with the same regard and self-respect as we treat ourselves. With that cooperative, mutually supportive relationship to our world we can be a benefit to ourselves and others.
Being hard on ourselves might seem like a method for self improvement, but it actually erodes self-confidence, ultimately making us weaker. Being kind to ourselves is learning to support ourselves. This makes us stronger. In time, our self-identification shifts from a litany of complaint to the strength of compliance. We learn to become our own support. And, in so doing we become strong enough to help others.
The development of Warriorship is a return to our natural state. Humans were meant to stand erect and see around them. We are designed to reign over the earth, and turn our world into a place of beauty and nourishment for our family and clan. Compassion, caring and kindness are natural human characteristics. But, our capacity for them is easily eroded when we fail to care for ourselves. When we are under great duress, we learn to ignore our natural confidence and begin to doubt ourselves and attack our world. We choose to rape the earth and grab all that we can for ourselves. This is very shortsighted, and frankly in no ones best interest. Everyone knows this. But, what are we waiting for? Who will be strong enough to stand up to the tide of cruelty that we accept as our Human legacy?
Cruelty is not our legacy. it is our choice. Blind, though it may be, we have been making that choice for our lives and it may now be time to wake up to the choice points, and choose an alternative.
The world is changing rapidly. It has grown smaller and there are more humans living on a decreasing amount of arable land. We are reaching a singularity of purpose and survival. Perhaps it is time to see ALL of humanity as our own clan. In order for humanity to survive we may have to turn from grasping at survival and learn instead to thrive. And what denotes thriving as succinctly as generosity and compassion. Perhaps it is time for us to choose cooperation rather than competition. Caring rather than condemnation. Perhaps it is time for us to stand upright, survey our world and begin to see all of the earth as our mantle, charge and responsibility. This is not pie in the sky. This is bread on the table.
But, how will this happen? Will the world figure it out? Will the ancient aliens come to 4settle our old scores? Or, will we each begin to realize that living a life of ignorance and greed is not living at all. Will each of us, or one of us, or any of us choose to turn from this reptilian stubbornness and stand for themselves? This is Warriorship. The willingness to do what needs to be done without without help. And, this will take great strength. And great strength needs cooperation with ourselves. The warrior has far to go, but they must begin with themselves. And, they must begin alone.
This covenant of daring does not need a movement. The Warrior trusts themselves and acts out of a natural care and affection for their world. The Warrior does not need to follow the tide. But, if the warrior is to protect the world, the warrior must first stand for themselves. This takes careful, determined and dedicated training.
Chogyam Trungpa has said that everyone should have an art, a martial art and a meditation practice. In this way, the Warrior is training their body, spirit and mind. A martial art is a way of developing true confidence devoid of dependence on external conditions. Art liberates the spirit. And, self-regard and respect are the natural outcomes of a regular meditation practice. Thus, we have the basis for great strength in our life.
The Warrior’s Body is firm. The warrior should have a martial art. Not just random exercise, but a progressive development of the body, to give us a sense of strength and purpose. Strength and purpose allow the reptile mind to relax and the impulse associated with fear and defensiveness can abate, as the bodily confidence develops.
Sitting up straight in meditation changes brain chemistry, increasing testosterone, and decreasing cortisol. As well, the awake posture calms the deepest part of the mind. It relaxes the animal impulse to attack, retreat or burrow and allows a general sense of calming the reactive mind, because its apparent someone is now watching the ship. Thus, sitting up straight is the Warrior’s posture and the Warrior’s sword. Without this we are so easily swayed.
The Warrior’s heart is open. Although strength males us safe, vulnerability, caring and concern make us human. What is the point of life, if we are not alive. The Warrior’s Art should be something that has limited commercial value. It is creative expression, so missing from our lives today. Drawing, dancing, music, automatic writing, anything that allows the soul to move and to play. Without this we are brittle and so easily broken.
The warrior’s mind is awake. Clarity is the warrior’s sword. Having seen the morass of indecision and doubt, the the warrior develops the strength of inner resolve. The warrior relies on the view and constantly hones the blade of valid perception in order to see clearly beyond the constraints of ego and self interest that only erode confidence. Thus the warrior’s mind is not searching for answers, enemies or blame. The Warrior’s mind sees, feels and knows. Just so. Without this all the strength in the world will only lead to its own self destruction.
Unconditioned confidence. The warrior develops what Sakyong Mipham calls unconditioned confidence. This is an indomitable sense of well-being and of being well, that stems from a familiarity with oneself developed in meditation. It is a confidence rooted in our basic goodness. This confidence is not dependent upon anything outside of itself, hence it is indestructible. It is a confidence that does not fall into complaint. It is a confidence that buoys awareness and allows us to have the larger view, which is our destiny as humans.
In this manner, Warrior learns to love themselves and care for their world.
The Fires of Baltimore
Baltimore burned last night.
Ravaged neighborhoods long left for dead lie in the shadows of the award winning, highly praised, renovation of the waterfront, the jewel in Baltimore’s charm bracelet. The influx of money, people and life that filled the harbor and its adjacent neighborhoods, had faltered by the time it reached its east and west flanks.
As if to safeguard this precious revitalization, a “zero-tolerance policy” toward crime was initiated. In time, these neighborhoods of hope squandered in neglect became little more than internment camps where residents were guarded and intimidated into compliance. The blind eye of justice turned, and allowed black to kill black, as the runoff from the massive influx of heroin from the docks held families enslaved. I‘ve traveled through the neighborhood that erupted in flames last night many times. Once, I saw a police car with flashing lights stopped in the street and I turned the corner where, in plain sight, drugs were being sold only feet away. Police cars, searchlights from police helicopters, the ubiquitous “blue lights” demarking crime zones, sentries like shadows, the gangs and the kids are all common, and commonly intermingle, here. Less seen, but very much present, are the grandmothers. With their Sunday hats and lace, they the Baptist churches they attend and the clergy are the heart of these communities, reminding us that people live here. People love here. And people do their best to live the best lives they can.
The message in those churches is of non-violence, community and love. If God is love, then love is our only option. The message given by Dr. King and the leaders of the civil rights movement was of assertive nonviolent engagement. Violence, whether it be the violence of the streets, violence within the home, or violence toward oneself can only destroy. But, love can communicate. Compassion understands and so creates a deeper bond than intimidation. Dr. King famously told his followers, that the bible said to LOVE your enemy. But, it didn’t say you have to LIKE your enemy. So, even with those for whom we have little trust, love is the best means to communicate. If we attack them, he warned, they will win.
From a Buddhist perspective, each of us is love itself, and each has an inalienable right to life. Yet, each of us is interconnected to everyone else. So, while we have a personal right, our life affects those around us. We are all in this together. So, when we learn to love ourselves, we learn to love others. And, we can do that, even if we fear them, or are angry. In fact, as love is the basis of empathy and understanding, it is imperative that we love that which we fear.
The funeral for Freddy Grey brought city state and federal dignitaries together in a service filled with hurt, love, faith and anger. Rep. Elijah Cummings was quoted as saying “I’ve often said our children are the living messages we send to a future we will never see, but now our children are sending us to a future THEY will never see…. There is something wrong with that picture.” And, the messages became clear. It is time to stop. It is time to regard all life as sacred. It is time to respect that black lives matter, because ALL lives matter.
But, for too long, too many black lives didn’t matter enough. The “lets go get some scumbags” mentality of an understaffed, poorly-trained and ill-equipped police force fostered the dehumanization of a populace they were conscripted to protect. Often they did what they could with what they had. An impossible task, they almost had to objectify the populace as the enemy. So, who were the police protecting? Perhaps things have devolved to the point where police are, in fact, only safeguarding wealth. It seems that much of the world has adopted a corporate mentality. Corporations have no inherent conscience. Its up to the people within to add the humanity. The corporate structure itself lacks empathy. Its purpose is to provide for its shareholders. These structures are fiercely powerful, and while they may be very sophisticated in their acquisitional efforts, they are ultimately very crude. They act primarily for their own advancement or protection. They run much of our world and, in so doing, have created a world much like they are: benevolent as it serves them, but protective against danger and largely ignorant of things that don’t further their charter. Many of us stay out of their way, stepping in the shadows between their lumbering legs. We snuggle up to our flat screens and pretend the world out there is someplace else.
In this way, entire communities are ignored and locked into combustible environments that inject aggression internally. Held in place by a force that uses the crime inherent to that situation as justification for using whatever means is expedient, the point isn’t to communicate, but to control. Young men, who in another world would be rising up into the prime of their life, walk with eyes down bundling that energy within.
Unfortunately for Freddy Grey, he looked up. Unfortunately for Freddy Grey, he made eye contact.
So, it seems the seams in the machine broke open last night. The ill-fitting dissonance of the protectors and those they claim to protect, clashed and Baltimore burned. The wounds opened into the streets. And, now the Governor is here like a dad home from business to scold mom for being too lenient with national guard take control of this family. And now we all get a time out. And, there is blame, not the least between the Governor and the mayor, and there are shouts and there are schisms between haves and have nots, between while and black, between social conservatives and the socially conscious.
But, so many of us feel that this could be – perhaps MUST to be – the pivot point of change. In the churches there were calls were for “justice, not vengeance”. Vengeance is short sighted and acts to obscure reason, while justice might presage a change that enables communication and understanding. Perhaps this is that point.
But, justice is not passive. Justice CANNOT be passive.
And while we now wait, will the world slowly turn back to business as usual? The news outlets are describing a death from “mysterious circumstances” while videotapes clearly show a man severely injured, dragged and pushed unsecured into his unpadded steel battering cell. As days pass in this “thorough investigation”, we wait until the shouting dies down, until the mothers stop crying, until the state decides as it did in Ferguson, as it did in Staten Island, as it has done repeatedly in Baltimore, not to prosecute. And, the system decides, as it has many times before, not to change. The national guard will be in place more quickly then. And, good people everywhere will go on believing their lives matter. And others, whose lives matter a little less, will go back to holding eyes to the ground, holding down the rage, until it blows open again.
And there’s the rub.
Three years ago the ‘Arab Spring’ caught world leaders off-guard. The NSA, with fingers in so many pies, were unaware of the significance of the movements stirring beneath. Will we learn from this? Or instead, will we do business as usual until something blows open things to restore the balance? Until we meet the next Arab Spring in the form of a much closer, and more immediate Black Dawn?
I’m sure there are neo-cons planning to further secure our borders. The NRA claiming the need for the populace to arm themselves from the threat. But, the threat here cannot be met with violence. The threat is a lack of empathy. And, while it falls on both sides, it seems like the onus would be in those with the guns to lay down their arms. The onus is on the leaders to lead by understanding. Empathy is what makes us human. Resilience, firepower, intelligence, strength and adaptability have allowed our species to thrive. But without empathy, compassion or understanding we are standing at the top of a junk heap. Compassion is the flower of evolution. Once we understand the other and begin to see their humanity, we proclaim our own. Opening to our world in strength and dignity, and doing the work within, BEFORE we expect others to follow.
Compassion need not be weak. The time for weakness is well past. Compassion simply rests on the premise that if God is Love, then love is our only option. From a Buddhist perspective, if we are fundamentally good, and goodness is our birthright, then understanding the goodness of others is the only option. But love can be strong. It can be true. It can go right up into the danger and not flinch. It can hold itself to itself as it is stronger than hate, it is deeper than hurt, it is greater than fear. Compassion is not weakness of giving in, or relenting, or surrendering. It is standing up and proclaiming. It is saying I am alive and I matter. And you are alive and you matter. And together, we can build a work that makes a difference to ALL of us.
And, in order to do that, we have to let go of our Darwinian impulses to take only for ourselves. We have to let go of our pain and fear and be willing to see clearly, without flinching. For, the truth is NO ONE here is without blame. We have all compounded the problem with our ignorance, or greed. So, we al do the work of opening and the work of remaining open through the change. And the change will come. Oh, yes. Its up to us to wake up and guide the process toward the light, to stand with our hearts open and strong in the face of the clampdown, to open to others and learn from their struggle and to return the planet to those who matter. The people.
It is a stunningly beautiful day in Baltimore today, the day after the fires. Among the many images in the paper this morning, the most powerful for me was of the Pastors and congregation facing the police after the funeral. After leaving the church, they walked in line toward the police. Then they stopped and knelt in prayer for a moment. It was a gentle and definite assertion that love, contemplation and connection to higher principles are what is important. Yet, we know that. We know that that is what they, and many of us, believe. But, what happened next was amazing. The congregation rose without hesitation, walked up to the police and just stood there face to face. Look into my eyes. I am human. Look more closely and you won’t see the skin, you won’t see the home I live in or which school I send my children. Look closely enough and all you see is me. And we are all the same. We are all frightened, unsure, doubtful and capable of great understanding. We are human. And we matter.
This is where compassion begins.