sitting with fear

The recent election has me very afraid. I am scared that we are headed in a dark direction, and that many people will suffer as a result. I am also, frankly, frightened of change for the first time in my life. I have always sought change out, and drawn energy from it. Now I see an element of risk with it, that change could involve loss and diminishment and even pain.

When I sit in meditation, the fear is palpable. I have been exploring it, trying to not run, not let distraction pull me from that feeling. But is is hard. So much harder than sitting with racing thoughts, with distraction, with pleasure. Because fear feels imperative -- I should DO SOMETHING. RIGHT NOW. It is so uncomfortable, and so primal. RUN. ATTACK. TAKE CONTROL. 

I feel an urgency that doesn't exist, except in my own mind. There is time to breathe, to pause, to reflect, to decide. I can take thoughtful action, or take no action at all. I know that intellectually, but it hasn't yet sunk in to my core. My body still doesn't recognize any sort of space for . I feel all the places that are tight, tense, the fast paced breath, the quickened pulse. Breathe it in, breathe it out. Try again.

There is also an energy there, with the fear,  an undercurrent. Like it could be transformed into something positive, if I could just understand how to tap it in a skillful way. 

Fear is in the driver's seat right now, for many many people, on both sides of the current divide. People voted for Trump because they feared loss, they feared change, they feared the OTHER. People voted against Trump out of fear of hatred, of bigotry of violence, of what it would mean for each other. We have fear in common, and we need to understand it, and to master it. 

Our challenge is this - fear is a teacher, but we have to be willing to sit and listen and learn.

Up and Down, Ebb and Flow

It's been a busy time. Lots of work, lots of play. We added a dog to the household, and that comes with an inevitable bit of upheaval as our routines change. She's a joy, but she's also a rescue with issues we need to work through. I stopped going to school, for good this time. I think. That leaves me with time to do other things, but I am usually so brain-dead after work that I watch a lot of TV, read a lot of junky books.

Its all up and down, ebb and flow.

We went to the beach a couple of weekends ago, for a long weekend. I got to walk on the beach, watch the waves. Same thing, ebb and flow. The tide come in, the tide goes out. The wind moves the sand one way, and another. We're all caught up in the same dance. 

suffering of our own making

This has been a month fraught with anxiety for me. Our car was stolen on the first day of the month. It was no prize -- a 2003 Honda SUV with almost 170,000 miles on it, with the scratches and nicks and dings that a city car invariably acquires. But it was paid for, and I was flat broke. So I worried.

Fortunately, we have insurance, and we never skimp on coverage. So by the 3rd, I had a rental car. A brand new GMC SUV with 2000 miles on it. It's shiny, a huge silver thing with tons of chrome. I hate it. It is really stupid engineering -- nothing about it makes any sense. It's huge, but has no room inside. I can't find a place to put my purse. I could barely fit my groceries in the way back. Still, it has heated seats, a nice stereo, a backup camera.

We went car shopping, test driving new cars. We found a car we love. It's perfect! It has none of the ugly unattractive qualities of the rental. It drives like a dream. We waited the 21 days the insurance company required. We were set -- suddenly overjoyed that we will have a new car. Except.

Apparently our car was recovered. It had been at the city impound lot since the 15th. So now I have a new wave of anxiety. How bad will it be? Do I want it to be okay? Do I even want our old beater back? or do I want it to be totalled? I go to the impound lot and they take me out to the car. It's not so bad. It's got a broken rear window and some jerk tried to scrape off the bumperstickers, doing some real damage to the paint in back, It's full of trash -- pizza, drinks, loose tobacco everywhere. The front seats are fully reclined.

I find out that the car sat, and we didn't get a call because the police made a mistake on our paperwork and so the incident number they recorded was an old one. So our car wasn't listed as stolen. Had our insurance not found it in the impound, lot database it would have been auctioned off in a couple of days. I fumed and fretted and spent some useless time being irked.

And then we waited. We had a lovely Thanksgiving. We waited some more. I called the adjuster and he said the car isn't totalled. It will be repaired. So no new car. And I have to wait some more, driving around in the perfectly decent, intolerable rental car. I almost cried. I felt thwarted and disappointed.

I have spent the month being irritated. I've been anxious. I've pouted. I've been spoiled and entitled. I've coveted. I've been dissatisfied. I've worried about money. Every bad moment I've had this month has been generated by my own thinking, by my own mind.

What really happened -- I had my car, then I had a different car. I have a different car and then I'll have my car back. My insurance company is paying for everything. Poor little me. I had some inconvenience. That's really ALL that happened.

A little dharma lesson, wrapped up in a Baltimore City bow.

mourning for Paris, mourning for all of us

The attack on Paris made me weep. I love Paris -- the cafes, the art, the history, the style, the people. If a place can be deserving of special grace, I would say that Paris was that place. But all places, and all people, should be safe from bombs, from guns, from hatred. No place deserves what happened on Friday. People eating dinner, dancing, watching a soccer match -- there is no place where this should end in blood.

I mourn for Paris. I mourn for all of us.

In the aftermath, people are calling for war. People are asking that we turn away the Syrian refugees, close mosques, bomb Syria back to the stone age. I have seen such astounding amounts of  bile, vitriol, just pure undisguised hatred in the last few days, directed mostly toward "muslims". People are afraid, and channeling all that fear into a single target. That the vast majority of Muslims have nothing to do with terrorism has not diminished the anger.

The more we hate, the more we engender hate.

I mourn for Paris. I mourn for all of us.

a convert to quiet

For most of my life, I have been immersed in sound. When I was small, our house had five people in a two bedroom space. It was never really quiet. When I was 10, I discovered AM radio. I listened as often and as long as I could. I even recorded American Top 40 onto cassettes, so I could replay it during the week. When I was 15 and started driving, I had an FM radio in the car. I would drive places just to have the music going. When I was 20, music was a large part of my social time. Music videos with friends, music when we would just hang out, music while I studied, music while I wrote my papers. As I got older, I swapped in TV for background music. Listen to the news while I caught up on work, or endless student, while I wrote papers or read for class. I had a stereo in my office, and couldn't get through the day without my tunes.

I literally couldn't work without the noise. It was never quiet. I live in the city, and even the nights are filled with sound - cars, racing dirt bikes, sirens, cats in love, dogs barking, foxes with their unearthly cries.  When I began meditating, I was really uncomfortable with the quiet. No music, no talking, nothing. Just me breathing. Now I really enjoy it.

I dive into it, submerge, let it lap over me. I bathe in it. And I find that it nourishes me, fills me to the brim. And slowly, in impossibly gentle increments, I begin to hear the softest of sounds. But now I notice them, really hear them. By becoming a convert to quiet, I have gained the ability to really and truly hear.

seemed to have mislaid my outrage

Sunday our car was stolen from in front of our house. We forgot to lock it when we came home from the grocery store. Our street is normally pretty busy, with lots of foot traffic, people walking dogs, neighbors going in and out. For whatever reason, Sunday was quieter than usual. There must have been a window of opportunity for someone to take a couple of minutes to open our car door, and hotwire our car.

The car was no prize -- a 2003 Honda Pilot with 170,000 miles on it. It was beat up, with lots of dings and scratches and issues. I repaired our side mirror with tape. In short, it was a car only an owner could love.

I should be outraged. And I was, for an hour or so. It just seemed so unreal. I mean this is my HOME. And it was Sunday afternoon. I don't live in a "dangerous" area. I do live in the city, but in a neighborhood of single family homes, with trees and sidewalks and kids and dogs and all the things that are usually found in neighborhoods. And the car was MINE. MINE. I worked for it. I paid for it. We took our son to school in that car. We went on car trips. That car went to Nova Scotia, to Montreal, Tennessee, Michigan, Maine, New York.

But the anger went away. And I think I should be pissed. I really do. I just can't seem to sustain it. It seems to me that people steal because they've given up other options. I had a car; someone else didn't. It's really that simple. Maybe instead of moaning because I don't have a car I should wonder why EVERYONE who needs one doesn't have one.

I will be happy to get another car. I'll really enjoy it, I think. But I might just look at it differently.

two feet planted - the value of sangha

In Buddhism, the sangha is a spiritual community. It is one of the three pillars of Buddhism, along with the Buddha and the dharma (the teachings). For me, it has been the most challenging part of my path.

I came to Buddhism as an adult. I already had a life built apart from my practice. I feel stretched thin, between work and family and friends. It's a good problem to have, to have so many people I cherish and want to spend time with that I can hardly squeeze it all in, but it's a problem nonetheless. To add another community, is to somehow carve a small pie into even smaller pieces.

I think though, it is what I need to do. Because I am coming to see the wisdom in that third pillar. It is hard to practice in a community of one. To respect your own journey, you almost have to see someone else's. There is a huge relief in the feeling that you are not the only one experiencing something. Other people have felt the same leg cramps or the same irritation or the same peace or joy. Sometimes you need a reminder, or encouragement or even a correction from someone who has been in your shoes. You need an example, for good or ill. The sangha provides all that and more. Sometimes you need to be an example for someone else, or the only way forward is to help someone else get something they need. There are lessons in the reciprocity of community, in the give and take among like minded folk.

II am not solely a spiritual being. I need my non-spiritual community, my loved ones, as much as I need a sangha.  I have two feet planted firmly, one in each world.  The two provide balance and strength and keep me on the middle way.

making lemonade

I've been trying, of late, to turn minor annoyances on their heads. If I have to do something over and over, why shouldn't I find something I can get out of it, that I can enjoy or feel good about?

For example, passwords. I hate having to remember 15 different passwords just to navigate my day. But I do. I have 5 or 6 passwords at work. I have passwords for banking, for social media, for school. So I've started using my passwords to commemorate events, or to remind me of something I want to think of multiple times a day. I've used my mantra as a password, I celebrated a big birthday with a password, used song lyrics, lines of poems. Something that makes me pause, be awake and aware, put a quick smile on my face. Suddenly setting a new password is a chance to express myself. And as an added bonus, I rarely forget one.

I used to trudge through my short walk from the car to work, and from work back to the car. I didn't see anything, I was just absorbed in whatever mood had taken over. Then I decided I would do a sort of walking meditation instead. I notice my breath, the way it feels to be walking, the colors, the smells, the sounds, the feel of the sun or the wind or the rain. I start every day feeling good, and I end every workday the same way. I try not to rush it, even if it's freezing or raining. I don't always succeed -- I admit to a real struggle with icy sidewalks.

I have to fit exercise into my day. I hate it. So I decided to make my time on the exercise bike my reading time. Now the time goes by a little faster. I still hate exercising, but I do love reading, so at least I get something out of my effort.

It isn't earth shaking stuff. It isn't a new idea. But it works for me.

politics on the side

It is amazing to me how political "diet" has become. Last year, I gave up pork. This year, I am giving up eating beef. Both of those things should be fairly personal decisions. Other than my immediate family, I can't see what impact my decision has on others. But people have been weighing in, sometimes quite vocally.

Why would you do that? What are you doing that for?Are you going vegan? I am mostly doing this because my conscience bothers me. When I think about eating pig, it makes me feel bad. It didn't use to, but it does now. I used to call cows "steaks in leather coats", now I feel gross when I think about eating beef.

Of course, there are more reasons, intellectual reasons. Ethically, I think it's the right thing to do. This is horribly inconsistent -- I still eat chicken and fish. Ethically, that's wrong too. But I have justified it, for now. From an ecological standpoint, it is a no-brainer. It is horribly resource-intensive to produce beef and pork, and very damaging to the planet.

There is, for lack of a better word, religious reasons. I am a Buddhist. I took a vow to not harm sentient beings. Deciding where that line falls, between sentient and non-sentient, is a difficult one. Pretty much I have come down on the side of -- if it can form friendships, it is sentient. Not a perfect definition, but something I can work with.

There are health reasons. My family has a history of heart disease. Lots of it. My doctor recommends I follow a hearth-healthy diet. I should limit red meat, eat plenty of veggies, whole grains, healthy fats. If you are over 40, you have heard this spiel or a variant of it before. I also eat oatmeal several times a week, but no one seems to find that offensive.

But people do take offense. They loudly proclaim that they will never give up meat. They spend a lot of time telling me how delicious bacon is, how wonderful steak or hamburgers are. I know that. I love the taste of meat. This has not been an easy choice for me to make. I get how good what I am giving up tastes.  Apparently my decision makes people feel I am questioning their choices. I'm not. It makes people defensive. Relax -- I am not judging what you eat, only what I eat.

My choice is not prescriptive. You do not have to follow my lead. Eat what you want. Just let me do the same.

the size of my life

When I was little, I was always told I would do big things. My teachers would predict a great future. Maybe I would be a writer. Or president. Or famous. It was undefined, but HUGE. Because I was smart. I was a really good student even though I didn't study, and I didn't work hard. I just had a terrific memory, and a quick mind.

I did almost as well in junior high. My teachers no longer predicted the future in such glowing terms, because by then I had also become a pain. I was a smart-ass, and I was clearly coasting through my classes doing the bare minimum necessary to stay on the honor roll. Not a teacher's dream. It didn't matter -- I had been so indoctrinated by other people's visions of my future that I didn't really give it much thought. I was going to be a huge success some day. Details were irrelevant.

I got to high school, where I thought I had life figured out. I was cynical, a bigger smart-ass than before, and was always playing the angles. I could work really hard and get an 'A' , or I could do almost nothing and get a 'B'. I would take the 'B' and laugh at the suckers who worked so hard for so little return. I was going to be rich someday, and hire grinds to work for me. Or so I thought.

Made it to college, although not the Ivy League that I somehow thought was in my future. My worldview took some serious hits, pretty quickly. There were people at school who where smarter than me. And there were tons of people who worked harder than I did. And I began to realize that my future was not so rosy. I still expected that someday I would work my way into fame and fortune; maybe I would write a best-seller, or work my way into the C-suite. But I began to realize that I might have to put in some work to make that happen.

I worked hard over the years. I went back to school. Got bigger, better jobs. Added credentials.  We moved, and moved again. Moving up, I thought. At some point, though, I began to understand what worked for me. What made me truly happy. And doing "big things" wasn't part of it.

Now what I want most of all, is life on a small scale. I want to sit in the sunshine with a good book. I want to walk by the water holding my husband's hand. I want to have dinner with my kiddo and hear how his week was, or what great movie he saw today. I want to hang out with friends and drink a few beers. I want to take a nap on a Sunday with a purring cat by my feet. A hot cup of tea on a cool morning. Blueberry pancakes on Saturday. A new song on the radio that makes me sing along.

I'm not dissing ambition. The world needs the people who do big things. I just don't need to be one of them.

My life is finally just the right size for me.

why do I celebrate Christmas?

Someone asked me the other day if I celebrate Christmas. It's a fair question -- I am an atheist, and a practicing Buddhist. It would seem not to be a holiday you would find on my personal calendar. And yet I love it.

Part of it is this. I grew up rootless, tradition-less. My parents immigrated from Europe and all our other relatives were still there. So we didn't have grandma's pumpkin bread, or great aunt Tillie's eggnog, or stories of Christmas past that it seemed everyone else had. So I wanted all of it. I wanted Christmas carols, stockings, the tree. I would have wanted a Christmas goose or figgy pudding, if I had known what those were. I told Santa my Christmas wishes and worried that we didn't have a chimney. I loved all the Christmas cards that would arrive.

As an adult, with a child of my own, I wanted tradition. TRADITION. We carved out a few of our own, and we made sure the grandparents and aunts and uncles were part of every Christmas. I wanted our kid to feel a sense of family, of history, of belonging someplace.

But now the kid is mostly grown. And I still adore Christmas. I love giving gifts, finding the thing that will make someone light up, or just feel loved and remembered. I love how people express their feelings during the Christmas season. Hugs, kisses, warm wishes, it's all okay to share on Christmas. There are no strangers on Christmas. Everywhere there is kindness. People share what they can, give what they can.

Christmas gives me hope. If we can all be like this for a day, for a week, we can be like this always. We can live with open hearts. We can take care of each other.

May all beings be at peace. May all beings be free from suffering. May all beings be free from the causes of suffering.

Merry Christmas, every one!

taken to school

I got taken to school today. My 20 year old son took exception to my use of the word "thug". Actually, he took exception to my purchasing Thug Kitchen, a cookbook I actually hoped he would use and enjoy. He was offended by the title, and by its use by two white authors from California. After an hour of arguing back and forth, I have to admit he's right.

"Thug" is a label, and as such, once you have pinned it on someone, it dismisses any hope of seeing that person as human, as an individual. The kiddo pointed out that labeling someone is counter to my values, and inconsistent with my world view. Score one for the kiddo -- he is absolutely, painfully, correct.

His other argument was a little harder to deal with. He feels that the word  is increasingly used as a nice way of avoiding the "N' word, while still getting the point across. In his view, it is racism, but of a more socially acceptable flavor. I argued vehemently, because, you know "I'm not a racist". But. In doing a little uncomfortable introspection, I've gotta say I've come to use the word the same way Fox News uses it -- to group people who look and act a certain way, and say that they are trouble. It is a subtler variation of the old "good" blacks vs "bad" blacks labeling of the civil rights era.  It is scary how easy it is to fall into this way of thinking. It was wrong then. It is wrong now. And I had no idea it had crept into my thinking.

It is hard for me as the mom, to have my kid pointing out my flaws. It is painful to have my behavior scrutinized. But it is also wonderful. My kid is his own person. He thinks about things. He can spot hypocrisy a mile away. He speaks his mind. And I can learn from him, just like he did from me. 

recursion

I didn't meditate today. Every now and then, I take a day off from practice. I want meditating to be a choice, not something I do on auto-pilot.  In this, I am practicing a little recursion, being mindful about my mindfulness.

Skipping a day here or there reminds me how much I get from practice, how much I benefit. And yes, it also reminds me how much I need it. I am not as centered on days I skip. I am, for lack of a better term, crankier. I have more hard edges. I don't move as softly or easily thru the world.

Tomorrow, I will go back to the cushion, with a renewed sense that it is what I want to do, what I need to do, what I should do.

with gratitude

Gratitude is a hard thing to talk about. Too often, it ends up sounding like bragging. You know, the whole "I'm so grateful for my wonderful husband, kids, house....perfect everything". Or it sounds like something you should be saying. "I'm so grateful for the opportunity..."  but it somehow rings hollow.

The thing is, we should be expressing gratitude. Loudly, often, repeatedly, with total sincerity. Every day we wake up, it's a gift. No bullshit. Every day, everywhere, some people DON'T wake up. You woke up, drew a breath. That is amazing. 

I'm not singing a chorus of "everything is awesome". I'm not a pollyanna. Life is full of hard things, difficult things, impossible things. But there are golden moments in every day, if you are open to them. And if you can't find them, well still, you were there, right? living, breathing, with the prospect that things could improve.

Gratitude is a way to acknowledge the importance of others; it can be an exercise in humility. You don't really accomplish anything entirely on your own. Acknowledging that can be hard -- it's so counter to the American ideal. 

Gratitude is the antidote to grasping. If I am full, content, replete in myself, I am not wanting, chafing at lack, jealous, bitter, angry. 

Gratitude is the key to empathy. It opens your heart to all the connections that exist between you and every other living thing.

I am grateful for love, for family and friends, for the world and everything in it. I am grateful for life, for death, and for everything in between.

sitting in judgement

I used to find it easy to judge people. By judge, I mean I would weigh their worth. Sum them up with a word. Asshole. Idiot. Jerk. Crook. Thief. Thug. As I practice more, I find I can do this less.

This doesn't mean I don't see the same behavior I saw before. I do. I know when someone is cheating me and I get angry about it just like anyone else. I'm not a fucking saint. I just mean that I can't DISMISS someone for it. I end up wondering what its like to be them, what happened to them that makes them the way they are. I start to see how it could happen that they ended up that way.

I can get angry when someone is an asshat. I just can't STAY angry.

Yesterday, Marion Barry died. He was the truly shitty mayor of Washington, DC. 4 TIMES. He is famous for his "the bitch set me up" line, uttered when he was caught with both crack and a woman not his wife, in a hotel room. He was a crook, a dishonest politician, a philanderer, a drug addict. But he was also reputedly a loyal friend. He worked his way up, from a boy picking cotton to a man with a masters degree in chemistry, from a tiny town in the South, to a civil rights activist, to mayor of a large city. No one is all bad, or all good.

I said as much in a FB posting and was astounded at the angry reaction. Because he was a bad man, who abused his power, most folks thought he should be written off. He was a crooked politician, and that was the sum of it.

I used to feel the same way. Sometimes I wonder if it's a bad thing that I don't anymore.

small changes in view

I have had a love/hate relationship with my body my whole life. I don't think I am alone in this.

I love that I am fairly healthy. My legs are strong and get me where I want to go. I may need glasses, but I don't miss much. My hearing is exceptional. I struggle with my weight but truly I have no complaints. My body has been a source of incredible pleasure, for which I am very grateful. My senses have never let me down. When I clean up and dress up, I look okay.

For all that, rarely do I look in a mirror and not immediately think something critical or judgmental. My hair has never once looked like a shampoo ad. I still have acne, at 52. I've needed glasses since 2nd grade. I started wishing for boobs when I was 5 or 6, and I never quite got what I wished for.
My shape is not the shape they design clothes for, and it's not the shape I see in magazines.

Until recently. I have been seeing small signs that maybe we are making progress on the media front. Calvin Klein has a size 10 model. Big deal, you might think -- the average woman wears a 12. But when all their previous models were size 0 or size 2, it seems revolutionary. We have Viola Davis on a hit TV series, stripping off her makeup in a scene that was powerful mostly because we got to see a woman as she REALLY is, not how 3 hours of makeup can make her look. And we have Orange is the New Black.

I practically cheered the other night, watching an episode of this show. Not for what was happening, but for this: a line of nude women, fat women, skinny women, short, tall, young and old. My god, I saw a gray haired fat old lady naked on TV! FINALLY. REAL BODIES ON TV.

It was so damn refreshing. Affirming. Yes, we actually do come in all shapes and sizes. There is an infinite variety and beauty to the human form. Maybe if we see it more often, we'll begin to believe it.

calling in lazy

We can call in sick when we can't work. Why can't we call in lazy? My mental health should be as important as my physical health. I know that if you are lucky, you have vacation days that you can use. But those are planned in advance, scheduled. I'm talking about something more spontaneous.

There should be room in modern life for days where you don't do much of anything. As I write this, I am in my pajamas, with a nice warm fleece robe wrapped around me. I have a cup of hot tea, my feet up on the coffee table. The bright sunshine is streaming in through the windows. It's chilly, but the hiss of the radiators promises warmth to come. I've just finished a leisurely breakfast, the kind I don't get to have during the week -- perfectly fried eggs, toast, veggie sausage, more tea. I read the paper because I had the time.

I don't have to do a damn thing today. Nothing. I can take a walk if I want. Or not. Maybe read a little. If it warms up I might throw the ball for the dog. Or not. It might be a great day to make a pot of soup or bake some bread. Or not.

What lazy really means is that I have the luxury of taking the day as it comes. No goals. No agenda. I can waste time, squander opportunity, live large or small. I can allow for serendipity, for the happy accidents that normally pass by unnoticed, for chance and circumstance. There is space for life to happen in its own way, outside of time.

Would it be so bad, if we just took a lazy day when we felt the need?

so much in a cup of tea

I have been a major tea addict for many years. I usually have 3-4 cups of caffeinated black tea a day, and then several cups of green tea on top of that. I thought I was addicted to the caffeine in the tea, but now I am not sure.

For the last month, I have been caffeine-free. Because the doctor thought I had gastric reflux, she prescribed a new diet -- no caffeine, no booze, no spicy food, no citrus. My heartburn symptoms have gone away, and I have started drinking a beer or two (or shots when my trivia team is playing) during the week. Other than that, I have kept to the diet. I had crushing headaches for the first three days, but those went away as I got used to not having the caffeine.

What surprised me is that I still drink as much tea as before. I have caffeine-free black and green tea, as well as some herbals. I suppose I wasn't as addicted to the caffeine as I was to the whole process of tea.

It's the warm cup in my hands. It's the reciprocity of it -- the teacup warms my hands, and then the warmth of my hands keeps the teacup warm. It's the colors, the white cup, and the beautiful amber or black or green liquid. How each type of tea has its own beautiful shade. It's the steam and the heat rising off. It's the aroma, and how each cup is different. It's the time that it takes, the process. I have to walk to the coffee room or the kitchen. I have to make the tea. I have to take the mug or the cup back with me, holding it's warmth in my hands as I anticipate that first sip.

For the time it takes me to drink my tea, it is all that I am doing. It isn't something I can gulp down while I read that article, or work on that software issue. I can't enter numbers in a spreadsheet while mindlessly sipping. Hot tea demands attention, a certain level of care, if just to avoid spills and burns.

Tea is meditation.

it's hard out there

We're tough on ourselves. We're tough on everyone else. We're tough on the planet. Life is rough enough without all this. You would think by now, in our evolutionary journey, we would finally have adapted to not having armor plates. You would think we would have come to terms with our softness, our relatively defenseless selves.

And yet -- we posture, we strut, we bare our teeth. Snarling, growling, nipping at each others heels, just to show we aren't easy prey.

We could do better. Once in awhile I even believe we WILL do better. We could be gentle with ourselves, kind to others, and walk softly on this earth. 

I think that's the real display of strength.

bringing talents to bear

 For all of my life, I have been about me first. Then family and friends. And everything else a distant third. My career has been about making the most money that I can with the least discomfort for myself. This means working in an industry that I think is doing some sort of good, because that makes my conscience happy. It means doing something that I am good at, because I don't like to do things where I fail. It means being where I have some input into decisions and operations, because I like the illusion of control and it feeds my self respect. I have done well, and have been pretty smug about it.

My meditation lately has brought up all sorts of thoughts. A recurring theme, on the cushion and off, is entirely new to me. How can I serve? What should I be doing that would be of help? And when I say new, I mean I have never ever given it a moments thought. I didn't grow up with a tradition of service. We didn't do volunteer work, we didn't have vocations. You worked for a paycheck, unless you lucked into winning the lottery.

I have no idea what to do. What are my talents? my abilities? is there something unique that I could bring to bear to make positive changes in the world? I have a feeling that these are questions I probably should have asked at 18 or 20.

I guess better late than never....