Resisting Revenge

For decades, Myanmar suffered under the yoke of brutal dictatorships, but from 2011 to 2021, it experienced a brief period of relative freedom. Hundreds of newspapers sprang up, but a military coup ended that era of mental oxygen and drove talented pro-democracy journalists underground. 

The Irrawaddy was one such child of freedom, and now this newspaper still appears daily in my inbox, only thanks to the amazing dedication of its writers and editors who evade arrest and imprisonment by stealth and foreign aid. 

The information they provide is chilling. Every form of genocide and war crime has been committed by the military government, including the torching of 55,000 homes - obliterating entire villages in rapid horrific raids. Across the country, the sanctity of home and livelihood is decimated without the slightest shred of justification.

Myamar's fate is not unique. Every continent on earth has such horrors.

Given the extreme indignities of such treatment, I wonder how people are able to go on living, not only because of the extreme deprivation of resources needed to survive but because of the undeserved injustices thrust upon them. When I feel that I have been treated unfairly, I can stew over events for days, and only with 50-plus years of Buddhist training am I able to rein in those obsessive and disturbing thoughts - and truly letting go can take days. How would I fare under the conditions of the people in Myanmar, or Ukraine, or any other of the blighted regions of this earth?

This is a situation I hope never to have to face. This is a question I hope never to have to answer. Nonetheless, we must all ask ourselves: how resilient are we? How would we react to the horrors of war? Would we become insane, or mad with revenge? Or seek reconciliation and peacemaking?

 

The Addiction to Hopium

Hopium (from the Urban Dictionary)

1. An addiction to false hopes.

2. The state of wallowing in self-pity combined with the delusion of potential fame/greatness. One in this state will hope for others to pity or save them, yet paradoxically romanticize their own struggle, pitying themselves and never moving on to achieve their dreams.

 We dread diseases like cancer or Parkinson's, or the curse of heroin/opioid addiction, but the mental state of hopium is no less debilitating. There are many factors that contribute to hopium, but the bottom line is that one who suffers from this affliction will leave this earth a shell of what they might have been if they never broke the trance.

 What is it that most humans truly want? At the most basic level, food, clothing, shelter, and safety. Earning an honest living, which might lack the glamour of fortune and fame, nonetheless is the foundation of a healthy life and a functioning society.

 Social media, dysfunctional family systems, inflation, war, PTSD from the pandemic - what else could be thrown into this mix to explain the rise of hopium? Lacking any serious studies on the subject, one can only conjecture as to the causes, or hope to find an antidote. Communities with solid life-skills training and therapeutic interventions are potential vehicles for bringing hopium addicts back to reality but these eutopian places are few and far between.

 A more subtle form of hopium occurs with aging and the loss of a partner. Dreams of a life built together, of a peaceful coast into old age, of sharing sweet memories and building new ones, are all shattered with the loss of a life partner. Lingering on what might have been and resisting the new reality are in fact a form of hopium. Not adjusting to reality will also be a pathway to despair.

Behind all of the above is the inescapable fact that we are all just temporary visitors on the planet. No matter what we have built or failed to build, it will all be washed away in the annals of timelessness. So perhaps alittle laughter at the foibles of us humans might be in order?

Zero-Sum Game

Thanks to the mysterious ways of the subconscious mind, I awoke this morning with the phrase zero-sum game dancing through my brain like wind blowing through the leaves of a tree, rustling my thought patterns in an erratic dance. Under the winter weight of my comforter, I ponder, what the hell is a zero-sum game?

Luckily, confused wonderment can be revolved with a few clicks of the keyboard, and voila! Wikepedia resolves the conundrum. "One person's gain is equivalent to another's loss, so the net change in wealth or benefit is zero."

This definition makes no sense at all to my primitive brain. There will always be a winner and a loser in a zero-sum game, and that neutral, amoral no man's land of zero doesn't mean shit to the loser. (Thank you again Chris Rock for giving me permission to be street-expressive.) You have simply lost your shirt to a smug victor.

Obviously, an economist would explain how this is a useful tool for analyzing "growth," a euphemism for getting the most from the other fellow in the greed game, whether on the street corner or inside multinational corporations that extract life force from Mother Earth using the most advanced technologies.

While zero-sum game is an edgy concept that sounds cool rolling off the tongue, it is actually an oxymoron. Zero is the fulcrum between positive and negative, the balance point between minus and plus. When you are on the minus end of the equation, pain and poverty are its fruits. So the use of zero-sum game as an analytical tool actually becomes an insult to the dignity of human beings in their struggle to survive and thrive.

Woke Up , Oh Depressed Ones

For the love of God, how can deeply depressed people get relief? Could God haul them out of the muck of existential blankness? Better yet, up the anty and save them from the whole shooting match? (Chris Rock, I need your help on this one.)

For God to be able to help us, does he depend on us to fulfill his role as "God"? And why am I capitulating to the cultural norm of capitalizing the name of this ineffable good guy, who is deemed ubiquitous, yet invisible and unseen?

I use the male pronoun because everyone who swears fealty to this invisible entity calls it a "he," which reminds me of a joke my atheist father used to tell. A man dies, ascends to heaven, and then by some miracle is revived and returns to earth. A bevy of doctors and his curious family are eager to know whether he has seen God. "Yes, and she's black!" replies the man.

I am a fan of the much-needed woke culture, de Santis be damned, so I must caution all worshipers of this ineffable Big Daddy in the sky. Rather than calling Him "He," how about "Ze?" Or "Them," although using "Them" might mistake you for a pantheist and you could end up getting help from Zeus or Thor instead of Christ's daddy.

As the reader might suspect, I am not only the off-spring of avowed atheists, but embrace Buddhist philosophy, which posits that God is a dualistic fiction. Instead of looking to a pie-in-the-sky father figure, the answer to that depressive state that drowns so many of us is...look within. Uncover the false beliefs that have been thrust upon you from the womb and out. Know that your inherent nature is good, filled with the potential to live in blessed harmony with all living forms. It is our alienation from reality that depresses our body and mind. In the same way that water vapor rises from a cold, wet pavement when the sun shines upon it in the morning, connecting to our energetic commonality evaporates depression.

 

The Chapel of My Mind

 

Rest in the nature of mind

The yogi coaxes

Voice of the ages

Delivered via screen and wit

In the vast chapel of my mind.

Hidden in Plain Sight

Hidden in plain sight

Long-coupled mourning doves returning home to nest

Tiny cactus flowers in magnificent magenta bloom

Lizards fast as lightning traversing the stone terrace

Clear vision awakens my sleeping heart.

Progression

Hot dry air, scorching sun

Sucking silver water from living cells

A drought wrought by the hubris of humans

Invokes the wrath of the Mother

We pray for salvation

And disappear into screens.

Deep Space Peace

 

Resting in the dark womb of transgalactic space

Where silence reigns beyond sound

A shooting star pierces the veil

Signaling birth and death.

Watching Over

Overseeing our planet behind gossamer veils

They stretch into the infinity of space

Goodness is the brand

Kindness the fuel of their intention 

We scurry like our insect brethren

Unaware of the well of healing

That encircles our universe and beyond.

Nothing is Real

Nothing is real
So say the sages
Then where did this
Belly fat come from?


In Dreams

We danced together in one body
Showering in a vortex of golden particles
Love a forcefield of delight
He wanted them to see
How we were blended
Shadows of the dreamtime
Linger in the morning light.

In God's Hands

He was cool

A man of the world

Shrouded in the gold of hip

Until his spine gave way

A universe colliding

An identity collapsing

 

Who will want me now

He cried 

Limp and helpless

 

He died last week

God will have him now.

 

My Garden

 

Thriving in an alternate time-space dimension

The plant beings of my hidden garden

Boogie to the beat of the celestials

Roots entwined, lovers and friends alike

A community of breath givers who

Lovingly display quivering filaments

While the wind gives voice to their effulgence.

Ode to the Noble Warthog

Beware the warthogs

Those savage siblings of bacon bearers

Who confer not sanctity upon humans

But rouse their independence with feral jaws

Partisans in nature's war against the two-leggeds

They flaunt white tusks with deferential defiance.

 

 A distant fire in the night

Unexpected illumination

 

Beware of Fear

"Beware of fear," fear exhorts.

I will tear you to shreds

Take your sanity

Bleed your limbs

Kill your children

 

He smiles with gregarious malice

As the multitudes take flight.

 

"Beware of love," fear whispers

It will extinguish my identity

Melt my presence

Turn me to vapor

And the world will sing.

 

 

Same Earth Same Sky

 An indigo bird ruffles her plumes
Sunshine and rain grace the glistening body
Embraced by the generosity of nature
A cornucopia of seeds and berries
Singing a cascade of melodies
As she lifts from branch to sky.

A bird drab brown, eyes darting
Feathers parched by fractured soil
No green leaves grace this tree
Where predators stalk the ground
Same earth same sky same tree.

Between the Frying Pan and the Fire

When the first inklings of a pandemic started brewing in late January, I was in Bodgaya, India, the place where the historical Buddha attained enlightenment while mediating under a bodhi tree. Around 260 BCE, a few hundred years after his passing, an impressive temple was built on that spot by the Mauryan emperor Asoka, who converted his empire to Buddhism. Today, as one of the most sacred sites for Buddhists, the Mahibodha Temple draws thousands of pilgrims from around the world, particularly during the winter months when the weather is pleasant.

At the beginning of my stay, China was the hot spot for covid-19 and given the official stance of the US government, there was no understanding of an imminent threat. Luckily, I had worn a face mask when submerged in that sea of humanity coursing around the Mahibodha Temple, not because of covid-19 but because my Buddhist teachers warned me of "super bugs" that could invade my system and wreak havoc, given the diverse population converging in that one small area renowned as the cradle of Buddhism.

It was only when my departure date of March 11 drew near that a sense of urgency began to dawn on me. By then, cases of the virus were being reported in Delhi, the hub through which I would pass on my way back to the US. Nonetheless, I did not wear a face mask in the airport, nor did anyone else. There was no such notion of social distancing going through Indian customs, where we were packed in like sardines. And my flight was full.

As a distinct counterpoint, when I landed in the US, customs was deserted and the baggage claim area of LAX was empty, even though it was high noon on a weekday. On March 12th, I had a checkup at my doctor's office and since then I have not left the house. Going from a seven week period of massive immersion in humanity - to quarantine in a very quiet neighborhood - has been more of a shock than expected, mainly because of the situation in which we find ourselves.

On the one hand there is the fire...the spread of a virulent disease that no one has yet to understand and which has the potential to kill off broad segments of humanity. Lockdown is the current solution for containing the fire. On the other hand is the frying pan...we may save lives from the virus but we will lose them to loss of income, loss of safe housing, loss of ability to afford the basics, and the loss of social gatherings of all stripes that are the glue of our cultural identity. In short, a loss of security on all levels will be as devastating as the disease itself.

Thus our choice - the frying pan or the fire. On that external level we are at an historic conundrum. The only thing left is to maintain our basic sanity and will to overcome the tidal wave of  disruption and change. This requires some mighty inner resources, and find them we must.

The Power of "No!"

Our planet is exquisitely designed, an interconnected masterpiece of cause and effect. Recalling an example based on quantum physics, the flap of a butterfly's wings in Rio de Janero can effect the weather in Moscow - and if continued logically, that gentle beating of fragile wing material will effect the "all that is" in this universe and beyond. 

Everything that "is" exists because of a near infinite multitude of factors that support its physical manifestation, albeit a temporary, ever-changing and impermanent existence as that particular form.

The exquisite beauty of Mother Nature brings forth a dazzling display of animate and inanimate forms - many yet to be discovered and some to face extinction. But interconnection is a neutral process; the good, the bad and the ugly all have a part to play in the grand design. Which brings us to this point on Earth, an uncharted time in global history. 

Technology has caught up with the evolution of homo sapiens as we spread across the planet. A message can be sent from one side of the earth and received on the other side in 1 second or less. In a mere 24 hours, a well-scheduled airplane route can drop you on the other side of the world. And if that plane route ceased to exist and ships were moored, you might never get home again, a stranger in a strange land.

The intricate web of technology that allowed for the creation a global village now teeters on the edge. Our vital supplies come from lands near and far. Governments either have fragile alliances, neutral partners, or enemies. The plunder of our Mother's resources has created an unsustainable population of consumers and their insatiable viral counterparts.

It's time to say "no"to all those who use power to line their coffers. It's time to say "no" to all those in leadership who would turn a blind eye to the needs of their countries. It's time to say "no" to people who walk around with impunity endangering their lives and those of others.

When we say "no" to what we don't want it paves the way to "yes," what we do want. It will be up to us to define that future. Those who sit complacently on the sidelines will lose their vision to the more aggressive, restless forces. What choice will each one of us make?

Will the Real Buddhists Please Stand Up?

At the heart of Buddhism is the notion of compassion, balanced with innate wisdom. Nelson Mandela (who is not a Buddhist, at least in name) got it right when he said, "A good mind and a good heart are a formidable combination."

Fast forward to Bodgaya, India, the place where the historical Buddha Siddartha sat beneath a bodhi tree and attained enlightenment. Given that India is an ancient country with written historical records, it is possible this lore is based on a real event.

Every year on a certain date in February, calculated on the movements of the moon, 10,000 Buddhist monks, nuns, lay practitioners and others gather at an enormous temple erected around the bodhi tree to pray for world peace. The spectacle is impressive. Aside from an array of people dressed in robes of many colors, the grounds are adorned with literally thousands of flowers arranged in mandala-like designs, as well as gold statues of Buddhas with attending saints, and an array of traditional Tibetan religious items that are a veritable feast of eye candy.

Upon leaving the sprawling grounds of the Mahabodhi Temple and descending into secular India, one encounters an array of beggars who are counting on the entering or exiting faithful to spare some change. Yes, these unfortunates are the legendary horrors of India. A teenage boy with his hands cut off holding a cup in his forearms. An emaciated man sitting on the ground with a withered leg that runs permanently parallel to his upright torso. Yet another teenager with no legs scraping his torso along the ground, sweat pouring down his face at the effort, pulling at the robes of a monk who pays him no mind. An old woman so thin she looks as if she is about to shatter, being screamed at by an Indian policeman. "Move," he bellows from his tall height as the clearly disoriented woman looks up helplessly. I think to intervene but decide that challenging an Indian authority might not be wise. All the while, a group of Tibetan women look on with sympathy. No one, including me, helps her.

I do give a few of these hapless beings some rupees, but by the time I reach my hotel I have run out...too many on the five minute walk to manage.

The next morning on my way to the temple to film - and meditate, I pass a group of monks eating at a makeshift table by the dusty roadside. Although it is humble fare, they are happy and fresh in the early morning light. I stop to buy a chocolate bar at the store where they eat, and as I unwrap it I notice a small girl in rags looking wistfully at the food the monks are consuming. I take a third of the bar and hand it to her. Then I wonder why none of the monks offer a part of their breakfast -  or even notice this mute wraith standing behind them.

So where is all this going? Not sure. But the complete indifference to these wretched human beings by the seemingly well-fed is shocking. The seeming callousness cruel. Apparently,  overwhelming poverty is discouraging, generating a hopeless inaction, a determined avoidance. Although it is easy to point a finger, in reality they are me and I am them.  

What to do next?