in the in between

most of my 20s were spent in between situations--in between colleges, in between marriages, in between jobs, in between living in one place and another, in between sobriety and whatever state I was in--so I was often in wandering mode, moving from spot to spot just to keep myself alert. one of the few "in-betweens" I was rarely in was in between girls or boys I could sleep with and it was with one of those, a pretty blond with big glasses named gail, that I was wandering around new paltz one afternoon. it was a sort of cloudy, not-quite rainy day and we had just come from doing our laundry together and taking it back to my place and stopped by another friend's place.

her name was gigi. I knew 3 gigis when I was an undergraduate and I don't think I've met a single one since. I must have met my allotment. gigi was studying for her gre in literature and had quit her waitressing job in order to do nothing for 2 months but read.

she rented a couple rooms off one end of an old 40s style, gi loan, singlestory house that had seen better days. there were leaks everywhere and some windows weren't exact fits for their holes because most of them had rags and washcloths stuck into them. the place smelled of gingerbread, that kind of scent old dried wood houses get in the summer. the panelling on the outside was falling apart although it still looked okay in the front. she led us into the rooms and I noticed she had a small alcove or nook set up for herself in one corner that she must have used to read.

the corner was at a right angle to where the bedroom and kitchen came together and there was a tall, narrow window set in it. this window had no washcloths. there was a big red pillow on the floor directly adjacent to one wall and a trove of books, most of them hardcover, and a steaming mug of tea.

we sat in the kitchen and she fixed us some tea and we talked although about what I don't remember and I don't know if we had a thesis for stopping. I remember the smooth, quiet feeling I had seeing that little alcove. when gigi answered the door she had a book in her hand--I remember it as adam bede--with her thumb jammed about 3 quarters through the pages. when we left she saw us out the sliding kitchen door and in response to something gail said, an invitation to join us somewhere, she said, "god, no, I've got to keep reading."

I have always wanted that alcove. I've had the opportunity many times over the decades since to set up my own and it's never felt the way I imagined. it was always the wrong nook or the wrong season or the wrong book or the wrong something else. the truth of course is that it wasn't any of the physical things that were wrong. the truth is that I simply don't do well when all I have to do is "keep reading."

I read quickly and sloppily and I'm happier at grabbing the stray hour between classes or while waiting for someone or before going to bed. I used to read while walking but age and gravity are preventing me from doing that any longer. when I lived in my car I stopped at least 3 times a day to read or write. I used to keep a novel--the mandarins by simone de beauvier--in my car and if I was stuck in traffic or had to use a public restroom I could read a page or 2. I get itchy sitting in one place very long and fall asleep if I'm comfortable enough.

I've always thought this a kind of unfortunate thing and my only saving grace that I read so quickly. but I'm coming to see it as something else, something of a match with why I don't sit zen well or pray without looking around or meditate in the traditional ways at all. I think it comes from the same wellspring walt whitman was getting at when he wrote, "I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked, I am mad for it to be in contact with me. The smoke of my own breath, Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine, My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs, The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color'd sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn..." such things, while they can be found in books, are also best found elsewhere.

unintentional communities

"'the hasidic movement...teaches that the true meaning of love of one's neighbor is not that it is a command from god which we are to fulfill, but that through it and in it we meet god...it is not just written, "love thy neighbor as thyself," as though the sentence ended there, but it goes on. "love thy neighbor as thyself, I am the lord"...the grammatical construction of the original text shows quite clearly that the meaning is: you shall deal lovingly with your neighbor, that is, with everyone you meet along life's road, and you shall deal with him as with one equal to yourself. the second part, however, adds, "I am the lord..." the hasidic interpretation, "you think I am far away from you, but in your love for your neighbor you will find me; not in his love for you, but in yours for him." he who loves brings god and the world together.'

"[martin] buber finds god in the loving of the lover.

"jesus taught a similar understanding of how authentic religious practice provides a direct path to the salvific experience of god and god's grace. god is met in the authentic and compassionate encounter with the other. he finds god in the person of the one who is being loved...these examples from buber and [matthew 25:34-40]...both understand that it is in relationship that we evoke god's presence and render it accessible...it happens in community. that message sounds familiar and almost comfortable.

"there is a twist to the message, though, revealed in the explications by jesus and the hasidim. the kind of community in which that happens is not what we expect. we are not invited to find god in the presence of those whose thoughts we already know, whose worldviews we understand, whose expectations confirm our own. we are invited instead to find god in the enounter with those who are distinctly different from us.

"these different ones are those whose thoughts, feelings, expectations, and ideas are difficult to understand. often they are so different that we find it difficult to accept the reality of the difference...we find it easier to make attributions about these unknown others, keeping ourselves safely at a distance, thus avoiding the risk of actual encounter. we are not where they are, and we do not know what they know...

"jesus [and the hasidim are] telling us that when we make contact with the one who is different, the one whose world is not like ours, we begin to allow god into our lives. when we let in the one whose assumptions surprise us, whose judgments conflict with ours, whose worldview disquiets us, and when we stop pretending that the differences aren't real, we have crossed the threshold into religious practice. it is in the practice of that kind of encounter that we begin weaving the strands of authentic spiritual community."

--from learning while leading: increasing your effectiveness in ministry by anita farber-robertson (emphasis mine)

despite however hard we try we don't choose our community, only the members of it with whom we associate. to experience the holy we need to open ourselves to discomfort, embarrassment, anger, and maybe the potential to be harmed.

poisoned bread

a few weeks ago I attended the church where a friend of mine is minister and was astonished to hear him preach a sermon that, in its supersessionism ("christians are jews who recognized jesus as the savior") and christianphilia ("christians are not necessarily right but we are the only saved ones"), was breathtakingly disturbing. I haven't blogged about it because I'm still reeling from a feeling I experienced as betrayal: here is a man I count as a friend and a religious liberal and with whom I've had more than one conversation about faiths outside xianity in which he was quick to acknowledge the rightness of their truths preaching a sermon that wouldn't have sounded much out of place coming from the most hidebound stereotypical tentshow.

the story with which he ended his sermon ran something like this: there was a town whose grain supply had been poisoned but the people were starving and needed to eat. the grainhouse manager came to the king and said, "your majesty, anyone eating the grain will become mad. but the people must eat." and the king said, "feed it to my people, but set aside some of us who won't eat the grain and will know the others are mad."

I found the original story in a book I'm reading for class. it comes from the tales of the hasidic rabbi nachman of breslov. "one day the prime minister came into the presence of the king and announced that the grain supply of the kingdom was mysteriously poisoned. all who ate of the crop would go mad. the king ordered that the grain be destroyed. 'but, your majesty,' said the minister, 'then all in your kingdom will starve.'

"'then let the people eat of the grain,' said the king. 'all save you and me. we will retain our sanity.' 'but, your majesty,' replied the minister. 'if all go mad save you and me then the people will think us mad and surely put us to death.'

"'then we too will eat of the grain,' said the king, 'but we will mark our foreheads with a sign so that when we see each other we will remember that we are mad.'"

note the difference between the two endings. in the version my friend told the emphasis is on some of us having the truth (about others) to the exclusion of others. in the original the emphasis is on knowing the truth about oneself.

busted buddha

earlier this year I was introduced to a webcomic called darwin carmichael is going to hell. the titular hero lives in a polytheistic universe where mythical creatures like minotaurs and muses exist and karma is a regulated essence. he's damned because he's responsible, through his inattention, for the mental retardation of the current dalai lama. in the most recent storyline, he comes face-to-face with his victim and is, if not exactly forgiven, given reason to hope for his redemption.

the current issue of uu world, the unitarian universalist magazine, carries an essay by meg barnhouse called "the broken buddha" that touches on exactly this theme. when I was in sesshin, buddhist retreat, decades ago--when I first shaved my head--I had gone there because I'd done an uncharacteristic act of violence and wanted to atone for it. the abbot and my fellow sesshinists helped me to understand that atonement wasn't necessary; what was necessary was my acknowledgement of what I'd done and acceptance for its result. I couldn't turn back the clock so it was as if it had never happened and I could never make up for it but I could behave better. no one said it in so many words but I've come to understand this teaching as "we aren't responsible for our situation but we are responsible for how we respond to it." as barnhouse writes, "sometimes agony is appropriate...life is not neat."

for me, the image is not only of a broken buddha but one that's busted by both the state of being broken and by being found out. one day in my second in sesshin I went into dokusan with the abbot to tell him I had acheived enlightenment. his response: "I'm so sorry." enlightenment meant I had begun to notice the effect I had on existence and my responsibilities toward it. the busted buddha reminds us of the imperfection not only of the people we're responsible to but the okayness of our own recognized and accepted flaws. in 80s terms the busted buddha feels the fear and does it anyway.

I was wrong

this is just plain silly and I suspect even its creators are aware of that. but they're invested in it because it is slowly becoming more apparent that much antipathy--not all, because there are always caveats, but most of it--toward president barack obama* is rooted in his enemies' (and these people do consider themselves his enemies) belief that it's simply impossible for a man with a black father and white mother to have honestly won the presidency. such a thing must be attributable to either satanic involvement or liberal dishonesty or other chicanery.

in the interest of providing an example, I will be the first to admit my own certainty that george w. bush squeaked by retaking the presidency in 2004 through the machinations of the evil republican owners of diebold took a serious nosedive after obama's win a mere 4 years later. if I am person enough to admit I was wrong, can I expect any less of others?

*it still feels good to write that. now I am saying it out loud: "president barack hussein obama." I am proud to have a president with a funny name I never came across while growing up. it says something good about my country. since his election I have returned to saying the pledge of allegiance and saluting the flag. that also says something good about my country.

neat quiz

My Liberal Identity:

You are a Peace Patroller, also known as an anti-war liberal or neo-hippie. You believe in putting an end to American imperial conquest, stopping wars that have already been lost, and supporting our troops by bringing them home.

Take the quiz at http://www.fightconservatives.com/Inside-the-Book/What-Breed-of-Liberal-Are-You.html

burqa update

france's senate has just passed its bill that will make wearing a full burqa a crime. in a world where people fear even things they can see such legislation is understandable but no less wrong. it is not my place, nor france's, to tell someone else what to wear or what not to wear. oddly, some places in france have also reserved the right to ban the traditional patristic right of bare chests. I say "oddly" because france is also renowned for its liberal view of public nudity. there is a schizophrenic mindset in france today: the state wants to tell people to cover up but not too much.