Another Secret

(Blame it on Fran Lebowitz and Christopher Hitchens – May God Bless Them)

 

Absolute honesty? No secrets? Is that any way to live? Or rather, is there any other way to live? As in all things I can only speak for a party of three – moi, myself and I. And, as usual, I am not sure of the answer. Secrets can easily become a poison in my brain; seeping into my heart to destroy all hope of happiness. Does that mean I would never keep any secrets? Never is a pretty big word. I hope that I would have avoided telling the Nazis that Anne Frank was hiding upstairs in her house. But most secrets in my life are not of the Anne Frank variety. They are about things that would embarrass me or others. While embarrassment can sometimes feel like death, its consequences are far less permanent and it's a lot less expensive since it requires no priest or ceremony.

Should I reveal secrets about the details of my personal life as I often do on this blog? Obviously, I have decided to do so. My justification is survival. I try to avoid hurting people, but not to the extent that I present a false picture of my thoughts and actions. It is very important that I try to live a life as free from illusions as possible. Illusions and hallucinations have kept me locked up in mental institutions – a reluctant denizen in the land of "mental illness". Every recovery from a mental crisis has been due to a willingness to be completely honest, to let go of all my delusions and face the realities of my life. Focusing on concrete thinking and actions has been vital to recovery, and maintaining the little "sanity" I have found.

Unfortunately, I often hurt others when I try to be honest about myself. I regret this, but I am not sure what to do about it. I try to balance my need to be honest with the practice of kindness and consideration of other's feelings. Often I fail, and reveal or say things that hurt others. I don't like hurting other people, but to be frank and very politically incorrect, I like hurting myself even less. I selfishly want to live and to be free of mental institutions – both states of being require me to have as few secrets as possible, especially secrets that include lying to myself about who I am and what I believe. In the past, I told people that I believed in the divinity of Jesus Christ and the Holy Trinity. I worked very hard to act as if I believed the party line in the hope that one day I would be graced with true belief. It didn't take.

Now, at this late stage of life, I am tired of the charade. I didn't truly believe that Mary gave virgin birth, that Jesus arose from the dead or that all of us would be able to sing in heaven. I only believed this a tiny bit as a child, about the same way I believed in the tooth fairy. I knew the tooth fairy probably wasn't real, but if somebody was going to give me a quarter, I was all for it. I knew that Jesus probably wasn't real, but if I got lots of presents on his birthday, who was I to quibble? No, I never fully believed the Jesus story then and I don't have a shred of belief in it now. I have been and remain agnostic, or perhaps even atheistic on the matter. I choose to say agnostic most of the time because that tends to upset people less. If I really want to be safe, I just call myself a non-believer. People will hang an atheist given half a chance. A non-believer generally can skate by with a good talking to.

Before I continue, let me say I am not one of those dogmatic atheists or agnostics. To me the difference between atheist and agnostic is not worth quibbling over. In my opinion atheists and agnostics arguing over who has the right kind of disbelief is like Catholics arguing with Lutherans about transubstantiation or some such. The participants may find it entertaining but the rest of us will be better served if we just go have a snack, take a nap and come back when they are finished.

I was very sheltered as a child. I didn't know what an agnostic was. I needed to fit in. I lacked the strength and courage to say what I truly believed. I wish now that I had said, "I don't know" when someone asked me if I believed in the Bible and Jesus. That would have been honest. That would have been real. But it wouldn't have been prudent. Many people would have hated and judged me for expressing my uncertainty. So, I took a deep breath and shouted along with the rest that I did believe; that I truly, truly, truly did believe. In fact, I often thought of Jesus as the loser of the Christmas duo – Santa got milk and cookies, Jesus got whips and nails. As a reward for belief, give me milk and cookies any day.

I worked very hard at being a "model" believer. I smiled at church. I spoke up frequently; clarifying other's points of confusion about the Bible's meaning; steering them on the correct path to salvation. Being a natural born liar, it was easy for me to make up meanings and rationalizations on the spur of the moment. When others nodded at the wisdom of my fabrications I came to believe them myself. I slept well. I was confident in my ability to answer any and all questions. I knew that when challenged by a "heathen" I could easily grab a Bible verse, and with a little elaboration, fit it to the question at hand. Once, I was even asked to deliver a sermon. But it was no use. In my heart I knew my "answers" came from inside the brain of Mr. Dale Hankins, no matter how often others told me I was inspired, or that the Holy Spirit was speaking through me.

Over the years, the internal conflict from this deception became increasingly excruciating. It is very hard to live as if you believe something when in your heart you know you're lying, even if you truly love your work. I considered going into the ministry and was telling others of the joys of salvation, but inside things were unraveling as I had more and more questions. As instructed I went to the church elders.

I asked, "Why do we serve grape juice at communion rather than wine? Why don't we follow Jesus' example from the Last Supper?"

The answer came. "Because we don't want to tempt alcoholics; Jesus hates alcohol."

I continued, "But it doesn't say that anywhere in the Bible does it?"

The answer, "Paul tells us not drink much wine."

"But much wine isn't no wine," I said.

They answered, "Well, they had to drink wine; the water is bad over there."

Like a deer hound on the scent I asked, "But many cities in Israel were situated near artesian wells. Besides, if Jesus didn't want people to drink wine he would have just purified the water at the wedding rather than turn it into wine."

"Well young man. Clearly you are having a crisis of faith. Please pray on this. Continuing to question only hurts your faith and the faith of those around you. You don't want to hurt others do you?"

Dejected, I took my questions as evidence of my hatred of Jesus, or of the Devil's influence on my life. I have no direct proof, but I am relatively certain that deluding myself and others about my true thoughts was and remains, the chief conflict at the root of my "mental illness" - a secret lie that can cause me to mistrust everything I say and do. Well, it could have had something to do with all the drugs I did back in the day as well, but let's not quibble.

I blame no one. I am able to make an ass of myself without any assistance. I've had years of practice. All of us face challenges in life. All of us make choices. All of us face consequences. Sometimes the choices we make as children have disastrous consequences later in life. When that happens, we have yet another choice – change, adapt and move on, or build ourselves a little cage of prejudice and dogma. We must chose a life of growth or become rigid and inflexible. I cannot say for others, but rigidity and I are not happy campers. You might even say that I am inflexible about my desire to remain open rather than rigid in my beliefs.

Does this mean that I might come to believe in something like the divinity of Jesus? Yes. I suppose that if he were to appear before me in the flesh, if I were granted Thomas' experience, I might reconsider. However, barring that eventuality, I believe that a divine Jesus is just as likely as a divine Gaia. I have equal amounts of concrete evidence for the divinity of Jesus and Gaia, which is to say none, or at least none that I have been able to decipher. Gaia at least, did me the honor of sending an apparition of herself to me while I was withdrawing from psychotropic medications in a Japanese hotel room. Rather than face an extended period in a mental institution, I declined Gaia's kind offer of a commission as the world's newest savior and ascension to the ranks of godhead. Thus far, the triune Christian God of Jesus, Yahweh, and the Holy Ghost, has left me with a somewhat darker alternative – accept their existence on blind faith or burn in hell.

Some will say that I am just being stubborn, that I am refusing to believe even though there is ample evidence for belief contained in the natural world. "Look at how wonderfully it is designed," some will say. "Isn't that enough evidence for you to believe in Jesus, his virgin birth and his resurrection from the dead?"

No. I do not see nature as proof of Jesus' and Yahweh's existence much less their divinity. To me, the beauty and wonder of nature are just as much evidence for Rama, Shiva, Zeus or Thor as they are for Jesus or Yahweh. Come to think of it, Yahweh's portrait on the Sistine chapel bears a striking resemblance to Zeus and Thor. Are they related?

The scientific method has been far more useful to me than religion in understanding and appreciating the beauty and wonder of nature. To me, when I do not understand something it makes more sense to say "I don't know" or "Let's see what we can find out about that" than it does to claim that there is no need for further study, that we can find the answer to all things worth knowing in an ancient holy text. I like not knowing. I like uncertainty. I like continuing to learn from many, many books – some of them with no pictures. What wonder is there in a world whose full meaning can be contained within a single holy book like the Bible?

I speak of Christians because I am most familiar with their faith, having been taught it as a child. But all religions seem to have one or more holy books that they claim to be the fountainhead of all knowledge and wisdom worth having. This level of certainty frightens me. If every religion is certain of the accuracy of their book above all others, then what hope is there of peaceful coexistence? If every religion acts as a barrier to change how can we deal with the challenges facing us? How can we survive? What sort of programming can we expect on television in the future? Who wants to watch 3D reruns of David and Goliath forever?

This is why the scientific method of knowledge is more helpful to me. I resist using it to the fullest possible extent but eventually I come around. The scientific method requires me to make predictions based on my "belief", idea or hypothesis, to test it and then adjust it based on the outcome. The scientific method requires me to listen to and address questions from my peers. The scientific method requires me to admit the possibility that new evidence will require me to change my ideas especially the ones I hold most dear. There is nothing like watching a long held belief twist slowly in the flames of new knowledge before vanishing in a whiff of smoke. It's almost as good as sex. Wait a moment, I overstate the matter. It's almost as good as sex with myself.

I've never encountered a religion that encourages the same level of questioning, examination and revision as science. All religions evidently require, or at a minimum encourage, their followers to accept with minimal or no question that theirs is the true or preferred path. All of them seem about as open to change as a practicing alcoholic. This is only natural. If you've had the main stage for millennia you likely will retire only with the greatest reluctance, cursing the new actor as you do so.

I know there is no reason for me to hold a grudge. I know my limits and tendency toward grandiosity far too well to assume I have a right to judge others (I'll leave that to nature herself). I've even mastered a modicum of kindness during this life. For a time I was angry at church members. Today I bear them no ill will. They are doing as they believe, and many are among the kindest most generous people I know, especially if you agree with their faith. I ask only that they grant me the courtesy of letting me believe or not believe as I see fit.

If you practice religion remember that it is a practice and that none have mastered it. Please do not judge me too harshly for my moments of fun at your expense. You are welcome to share and poke fun at any aspect of my life as you see fit. Believe me when I say I have been there before you and have beaten you to the punch. I have jabbed at my faults to the point of bleeding many times before. You may raise a twinge or two if you are particularly violent, but you are unlikely to do any permanent harm.

So there it is, yet another little secret revealed. Another fig leaf removed from the enterprise known as Dale Hankins. I mean no one any harm (Please pardon my little jabs, it is difficult being so clever and having so little opportunity to express it). I have found, and continue to find, many powerful teachings in religions. I don't know if Jesus existed, but his existence is not required for me to appreciate the wisdom of, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." Similarly, I do not know if Socrates really existed. Yet his teaching that "The unexamined life is not worth living," has proven true time and time again in my life. I will continue to question and explore life. Asking questions and continuing to learn are the most human things I know how to do. I'm content to leave the religious practice of "blind faith" in the hands of those with stronger constitutions. When I have tried it I ended up in the hospital eating mashed potatoes with a plastic spoon.

A Few Photos

You Hurt

You hurt when you imagine him saying, "I am so disappointed in you that I could cry."

You do not know what to say, so you don't. You see the hurt in his eyes. Dark brown, they tear up a little, but not enough to let you truly see how deep the agony goes. Emotions are not easy for him. You would rip off an arm if it would ease his pain, but his torment is beyond the reach of such feeble gestures. You feel his writhing sadness within you. It has no place to go. It cannot be expressed so you bury it deep. You must not let it escape or else you will hurt him even more. A hurting machine, you turn to leave. He stops you.

"Why have you done this? How can you do this to me, to our family?"

He who was your God has become mere man. Shocked by the transformation, you halt; ready to receive whatever else he delivers, willing to be tortured for your sin, longing for the punishment you deserve.

You say, "I am just trying to be honest. I never meant to hurt anyone. I never meant to hurt you."

His jaw clenches. He watches a murder of crows land in the yard. It is a large yard, big enough for a homestead in many lands. The soil smells of your ancestor's sweat. Ancient oaks rise from earth made bare by timeless mounds of leaves that have devoured every hope of grass. Acorns roll among tiny islands of moss. You long to join the crows and moss; to be free of the guilt and judgment blazing from the eyes of the one who stands before you.

He is right of course. How can you turn away from all that you have been taught to cherish? What perverseness of spirit led you to this place? Certain that you are willful, selfish and sinful beyond redemption; your shame steals your breath. You beg the dirt to cover you, to shield you from the stare that once more turns your way. The dirt ignores your plea. You stand naked as his rages rises.

"That's hard to believe," he says. "You are deliberately choosing this. You want to do this. You have a choice. We always have a choice."

Once upon a time you also believed life was a clear choice between the right and wrong of things. Certainty about good and evil was a cornerstone of the rosy Never, Never Land of childhood. Now, the true north of the good has been dulled. You have seen "the good" sew evil and confusion. You have heard "teachers" twist words of love into hate and judgment. The once certain happiness of Never, Never Land has faded. There is no Peter Pan to whisk you away from it all if you are a "good" boy. Captain Hook is alive and well. He smiles as you hear the tick tock of the alligator's clock. Not content with a hand or arm, the toothy salamander is here to take your heart. You cling to kindness not to be "good", but simply to live.

He that was God, who now is man, speaks again.

"You know the difference between good and evil. You are consciously choosing to serve evil."

There it is; the ultimate condemnation. You are excommunicated, without any hope of salvation - unless of course you repent. Repent for saying the unpardonable. Repent from being the unimaginable. Repent from contemplating the heretical love of both women and men. Return to the fold or burn in the lake of eternal flame.

He stares, waiting for a response. There is none. He walks away.

You watch him leave. Your legs long to run after him. You want to grab his shoulders, turn him around and convince him of your love. Your heart screams.

"I love you. Don't leave me. Please don't turn away from me."

The words of your heart do not pass your lips so he cannot hear. His steps are cast in the path of the prophets. He is certain he knows the immutable truth of God's heart. He can no longer see you. He can no longer hear you. Even if he turned and spoke, he would speak to a ghost, a wraith already in its grave.

His form shrinks into the distance. You sit on a rock and breathe deeply. You exhale love into the vacancy that the God man has left behind. The sun still shines. The wind yet caresses your skin. The trees have no judgment in them; they wave and sing as they have since before there was anyone like you to hear them. You stand. You sing. You dance. Mother earth meets your feet with perpetual peace. You do not hurt. Others may pick up the hurt, but it is no longer yours. It is well. It is. And you are.

 

 

 

 

 

I AM GAY

I may be gay, or I may not be. Mostly I am confused.

When I reflect on it, I can recall numerous instances of being attracted to men; young, beautiful men, older rugged men; men with definite character and the courage to display it fully. Yet, when I have thought of expressing my attraction physically the best I can manage is a hug. When I was younger, sexual acts with men were not one of my fantasies. True I did on occasion envision a soft skinned bottom to be penetrated, but I did not know if it was male or female. When I had such fantasies, the butt typically was disembodied, floating free from any face or distinguishable other body parts. I did see women attached to the bottom sometimes, and when I found out that women had vaginas as well as anuses I was shocked. Having only learned of female anatomy from my cousin’s Barbie doll I thought women only had one hole down “there”. When I first began having sex, I found the female vagina alternatively beautiful and disgusting. In fact I found all sex alternatively beautiful and disgusting. I still do much of the time.

I explained to a friend recently that when I engage in sex it is as if I am an observer. I have virtually no sensations of arousal. I am able to successfully masturbate but when confronted by the real thing my body shuts down; most of the time. When I used to smoke pot sex felt wonderful. I had trouble with premature ejaculation at times but the feeling was there. Unfortunately, hallucinations and paranoia also accompanied my use of pot and alcohol. Once I got sober, sex lost its appeal. I found myself performing because it was expected of me; except for one time. I recall that when I returned from Japan after a failed attempt to become a Zen priest sex was very exciting, every bit as exciting as when I used to be high. I felt free of guilt and fear for one of the first times in my life. I wanted to continue on my sexual high and travel the world forever. Unfortunately, as diagnosed by very knowledgeable physicians, my exuberance was mania. I could scarcely argue since during my entire “episode” of sexual “liberation” I was certain that I was being filmed for a movie. Once my mania subsided, so did my sexual desire.

Today, I have returned to the land where sex is unimportant, or at least much less important than friendship and kindness. I would use the word “love” rather than kindness, but the term is so overused it has ceased to have much meaning for me. Kindness, gentleness, compassion; these seem more real and concrete than love and romance. And, they are much more precious to me than sex. If it were possible to have both kindness and sex I might reconsider things. But, I have not mastered this art. When I engage in sex it inevitably feels as if I am “performing”, trying to make sure my partner is pleased and that I am pleased in turn. The goal of climaxing overrides all else. Kindness seems to be replaced by lust and desire. The result is that I feel very sad afterwards. The same way I feel when I am selfish with money or other material things.

I am not saying that I no longer masturbate. I do. But it is primarily for relief of stress or to counteract boredom. I enjoy it. I truly do. When I masturbate I do not feel like I have to perform or be successful. I can take care of things and go on about my day.

Also, I am not saying I do not feel sexual attraction during the day. The beauty of the human form does not escape me as I engage in my pastime of people watching. I daydream about sexual encounters with both men and women, sometimes both together. Then I return to the reality of my experience. I am open to change. I truly am, but I will not waste anymore precious moments of life “wishing” and “desiring” change or trying to twist myself into changing. I will not hold my happiness hostage. I will not play the “I will be happy when” game. If change comes simply by being open, then it will come. If it requires endless fighting and struggling then I prefer to enjoy the day.

Thankfully, most of the guilt about sex has left me; at least the guilt that can be accessed by an honest attempt to face my fears and review my past behaviors. A friend has told me that I act as if I “were emotionally castrated at some point at life.” I do not know. There may very well be deep seated, repressed unconscious sexual feelings that I simply cannot access. To paraphrase Robert DeNiro’s character in the movie Awakenings, “I cannot tell anyone about the things of which I am not conscious.” I write. I draw. I share. Thanks to these efforts I can confront and discount guilt put upon me by other’s religious and political views. I am very thankful for this freedom. It allows me to candidly ask myself, “Am I gay, heterosexual or both?” I kind of like the idea that I may be both. At least that it is interesting.

Regardless of the fate of my genitalia, of one thing I am certain - whatever sexual activities or fantasies I engage in (or choose not to engage in) my first motive must be kindness. I can celebrate. I can fantasize and play roles. I can even be a little bit “kinky” in my dreaming – sometimes this is the most fun. But I must never force anyone to do things they are not comfortable doing. And equally important, I must not force myself or allow myself to be forced into doing something sexually that is uncomfortable to me. When I do this I give up all hope of seeing sex as a cause of celebration, and turn it into nothing more than a duty. I do not know how to enjoy sex, and perhaps I never shall. But I am fairly certain that any hopes of sexual enjoyment must begin with honesty.

So, I guess I AM GAY if the definition of gay is that I can think of men who are sexually attractive to me. Some of them are very attractive. But I can think of women who I find very attractive as well; many of them. So I guess the real truth is that I AM GAY, I AM HETERO, I AM BISEXUAL, I AM A REPROBATE – A CELIBATE BISEXUAL REPROBATE. I may be celibate for the rest of my life, but I still am Dale even if my sexual status is ambiguous. Perhaps this is why my Grandmother Hankins wanted me to have an ambiguous name, a name that could be male or female, pink or blue, but in the end mostly just purple. Today I am content with this thought; very content, because I am speaking from my heart as clearly as I know how to speak. I know there are family and friends who will not be comfortable with my words, if they ever happen to read them. I do not know what to do about that. My words would be true even if I had never written them. I hope that anyone who is offended will forgive me for any pain I may cause them. I certainly mean them no harm and I wish them well. Perhaps they can do the same for me.

I Will Fight No More Forever

I woke this morning with a stuffy head. I blew my nose. My nose cleared but my head remained stuffed. I had made the mistake of turning on the TV and listening to the 24 hour chatter about politics, the fate of our nation and the state of the world. The calm of sleep was quickly replaced by the turmoil of fear and anxiety. One well coifed pundit claimed that all the evils of the world are due to governments and regulation; that unless we return to unconstrained free enterprise all of us face a future of perpetual poverty. Another claimed that large greedy corporations are the root of all evil; that unless we constrain greedy businessmen we will soon find ourselves in chaos. Neither side seemed willing to claim any accountability for the world's condition. Each claimed to be the victim of the other; loudly proclaiming how others were making their lives miserable. I barely managed to pull on my clothes and stumble out the door without losing consciousness.

The rhythm of my strides and breathing restored a little serenity. As usual questions came. Why did such things disturb me? Why was the world the way it was? Why do people scream at each other? Why does each side believe their path alone is best for the world? The only answer I could find was that people are afraid and that I am easily infected by their fear. I have been infected by fear so long that sometimes I believe my natural condition is to constantly fight to survive in a dog eat dog world. When in this state, I can easily justify seeing myself as a victim, a prisoner in a cruel and heartless world – a world that requires me to hate and even kill others before they have a chance to kill me. In such a world I can easily justify hating and fearing those that look and behave differently. In such a world I can easily justify preemptive wars. In such a world I can easily hate myself for not thinking the way that I am "supposed" to think. In such a world I can soon find myself wondering if life is worth living.

Thankfully I know that my "dog eat dog" model of life is based on false assumptions. While it is true that I can easily find "dogs" to fear in life. It is equally true that I can face these "dogs" without being ruled by fear. I know this is true because I have done it and I have seen others do it. Most people are terrified of the "dogs" of poverty, loneliness, illness and death. These things cause me fear as well. I take action to avoid them, but I try not to be ruled by them. I have lived alone and still been surrounded by many friends. Before I die I may be very poor but I have lived on very little. I certainly will face the pain of illness and death, but I do not need to let this fear poison every moment of my life.

Some people claim that we may soon be able to eliminate virtually all illness and that we may even be able to "live" forever. Perhaps they are right, but I see little evidence that we would know how to live free from fear even if we lived forever. Others claim that there is no need to worry; that a supernatural being watches over all creation and will save the "worthy" ones, taking them to a special place of eternal and joy. Perhaps they are right. I see little evidence of supernatural beings who place man's wants and needs above all else in the universe, but I acknowledge the limits of my understanding. I do not have the answers to such weighty questions. What I do have is some experience facing my fears, and the witness of others who have faced theirs.

My most fundamental fear seems to be that I am separate and alone in a vast uncaring universe. In this view, my fellows seek to embarrass me and harm me because they hate me. When engaged in such thinking, I imagine that the world is against me. I imagine that I am but a tiny and insignificant fragment that by itself is worthless and powerless. To counteract this fear I act out in anger. I puff myself up, claiming to know more than I do, claiming to represent the "right" way of living so that I can rationalize my attempts to control and convert others. I become addicted to being "right". I erase my doubts by coercing you to agree with me. Often the best way for me to "convert" you is to incite fear within you, and then to offer you my "right" way of thinking as the answer. I become an evangelist of fear. When you accept my solution to the fear you have caught from me, you reinforce the correctness of my views. Your reinforcement gives me comfort for then I have company - there are two of us. Together we can incite more fear, helping to expand the circle of people who accept "our" true path. I have been caught up in this cycle so many times it is difficult for me to remember them all.

How can I fight against becoming part of such a cycle? My experience has been that fighting is not the answer. If I become fearful, angry and fight then I simply continue the cycle. The only peace I have had from this pattern is to do my best to act with kindness, even in the face of anger and fear, or perhaps especially when faced with anger and fear. If I "fight" the world's fear and anger then I become its victim. I must follow what seems to be the kindest course of action or face a life of unrest and unhappiness; a life where I despair; a life where I question the value of life itself.

Do I believe I have found the true, correct path? Of course not. Believing I have found "the truth" would encourage me to simply repeat the cycle. I likely would end up trying to make the world follow my particular view of kindness - repeating the very pattern I am trying to avoid. What others do is their business. I will not fight them. I will not ask them to pick up my fears and my way of dealing with it. And the good news is that no one can make me pick up their fear and anger unless I let them.

True, I often find myself filled with fear and anger. I often fight vainly against the world and those who hold the "wrong" point of view. As Dylan Thomas said I "rage, rage against the dying of the light", the fight for what I believe is right, fight for my life at any cost. This is only natural I suppose. Yet, when I have followed this path it has given me a "sickness unto death".

What about fighting for the life of others? Surely I must fight for social justice and world freedom. Perhaps, but I know of no case where fighting brought lasting justice and freedom. Even in societies claiming to be just and free, there is ample evidence of inequality and suffering. I have always found the idea of fighting for peace and equality something of an oxymoron. What happens to the fighters when they win? In seems the winners in any "fight" inevitably victimize or at a minimum demonize those they were fighting against. I only need to look at the political cycles in my own country to see evidence of this. Thankfully, we have not yet turned to violence; but there are those who advocate it.

What about fighting for the life of my family and loved ones? Surely I must fight those who would harm them. Surely I would kill someone who was trying to kill my grandchildren. I cannot answer such a question. I might very well kill such a person. Doing so would solve nothing. My grandchildren might live, but the grandchildren of the one I killed likely would seek revenge. Who can say when that cycle would end? I hope that I would place myself between my grandchildren and harm. I hope that the one seeking to harm them would be satisfied with my death and cease fighting. I hope that my friends and relatives would not seek revenge.

I am not saying that I chose to die. Far from it. I love life. The wonder of leaves rustling beneath my feet, the smile of my grandchildren, and the feel of air as it fills my lungs, all of it, all of the million and one little things of life fill me with great joy. I plan to enjoy them as long as possible; as long as holding on to them does not require a life of perpetual fear and anger. Why? Simply because when I live in fear and anger I cannot taste life, so in effect I am already dead. So I will hope to avoid raging and grasping life by the throat, practicing the dogmatic principle that the "ends justify the means". I hope to practice not fighting those who are different or who threaten me. I hope to enjoy the turning of the universe as it wheels on its unknowable path, and not waste time trying to control and manipulate it. I hope to cease looking for reasons to fear the thoughts and actions of others; looking instead for the kindness within them. In the words of the great Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce I hope that I will learn to "…fight no more forever."

Who Is Trash?

"It's like taking out the trash," he said.

I said, "Taking out the trash?"

"Yes. Like paying someone to do something I don't want to."

"Killing someone is like taking out the trash?"

"If they're evil, yes. Yes it is."

I could not respond. I sat across from an old and dear friend at a table in one of the finest restaurants of a large city. We had just finished a wonderful meal of sushi. As often happens when we meet, we were discussing the world and its troubles, solving each and every dilemma with the wise sagacity that comes with a full stomach. We agree on many things yet on this topic my friend's words sent a chill through me. Did he truly believe that taking a human life, regardless of the reason; was nothing more than removing garbage? To me there is a qualitative difference between taking a human life and taking rotting food, old newspapers and other refuse to a landfill.

The death penalty is a very controversial issue, but in the U.S. most states have death penalties and have used them since the Supreme Court restored the constitutionality of the death penalty in 1976. Texas leads with 464 executions. Virginia has executed 108. Combined, these two states "disposed" of over half the "trash" (572 of 1015 people) in the USA. Countries like China, Saudia Arabia and Iran execute more people per year than the U.S., but we tend to look down on them as less civilized.

I understand that we must protect innocent people from harm. However, I worry about our decision to kill people, particularly when it is done in a cold antiseptic fashion like "taking out the garbage". I say give the accused a fair trial. If they are convicted, and a death penalty is handed down, then those who support the death penalty should view the proceedings. Otherwise, we may simply equate taking life with removing garbage.

When I hide from the impact of my decisions I fail to take responsibility for them. I come to view life like reality television with an opportunity to relax and get a snack during commercials. I am not saying I would never want to kill someone if they harmed someone near and dear to me, but I am certain that doing so would make me miserable for the rest of my life. Thus I am very uncomfortable with the idea of hiring someone else to do the killing for me.

Some say that the death penalty deters murder, some say it doesn't. I don't know. Intuitively and in the minds of many, fear of death should make people pause before they commit a crime, yet in 2009, the seven states with the highest murder rates all had the death penalty. Regardless of the effectiveness of the death penalty, viewing executions as taking out the trash sickens me. I don't want to treat or see anyone as my death "trash man".

A potentially horrible outcome of the death penalty is the possibility (some say fact) of occasionally killing innocent people. The U.S. has released 15 prisoners since 1992 when DNA mapping was allowed as evidence. What if one of these had been executed? There are reports of innocent people who actually were executed. What if I was the trash man who executed one of these people? As I said, I may get angry enough to kill someday, but I am uncomfortable with hiring someone to kill for me. What right do I have to ask them to endure the suffering that must come from killing someone, especially if the someone is innocent?

Wait a second; don't I hire people to kill for me every day? Don't my taxes pay for policemen and soldiers to protect me? Don't these people have to kill others sometimes? What of them? How must they feel if they end up killing someone innocent of any crime other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time? I don't know the answers to these questions. To me it seems that killing ends up fostering more killing – if I kill you, your friends and relatives will want to kill me; if they kill me, my friends and relatives will want to kill them; on and on and on – a perpetual motion machine of death. But maybe everyone must have their own answers. If you catch me on the wrong day maybe I will view you as trash. Now that's something to think about; something to guard against. But right now it's time for green tea, oatmeal and a walk. Maybe when I am finished I will have the answer to who is trash and who isn't.

Adore Me

Please. Pretty please. Pretty please with sugar on top. Adore me. By the way, I'll adore you if you adore me. If I adore you, will you adore me?

Sometimes it astounds me how much of my life has been dominated by this kind of thinking. How many hours have I spent contriving ways to get attention? How many hours have I spent feeling depressed when I was ignored? Still, when I look around it seems that I am not alone in this perpetual desire for attention. Apparently, I live in a world that is driven to be adored and to practice adoration of others – preferably engaging in both activities simultaneously. My recognition of this fact is neither new nor profound. Oh how I wish it were. If I were the first to stumble on such a fundamental truth then I truly would be adored.

As usual, I was surfing the internet this morning. I ran across a video of someone who was lecturing on a new model for personal success. I also found a page for a consultant claims to help organizations become more courageous. I almost choked on my coffee. Both individuals clearly were at great pains to represent the proper models for adoration – money, fame, power and influence.

The model for personal success revolved around the proposition that, "You can be whoever you chose to be." I have yet to see evidence for such a remarkable claim. Quite the contrary, I see many people bravely living within the real world constraints life places on us. Ed is a friend of mine who has cerebral palsy and this places limits on his "success". He can "choose" to be free of cerebral palsy until the "cows come home" as we say in Arkansas. It will have little effect. He can, and indeed has, chosen to be a warm and caring person despite his difficulty. Unfortunately, this type of victory often is overlooked by those selling books or programs that claim, "You can be whoever you want," or "The only limits to your success are your lack of will and proper planning." Ed does not model the wealth, power and beauty required for recognition much less adoration in the world of personal success consultants. His is a world they (and most of society) would rather ignore.

The "courage" consultant claimed cliff diving as evidence of his braveness. His site says that he has dived many times from a cliff over 100 feet high. I am sure the experience was exhilarating but for me this is evidence of foolishness not courage. The courage I admire is shown by people like my friends David, Tom, Tony and Barry. David is fighting for his dream of a new life in a strange city, despite the challenges of being abandoned at birth and spending years in state institutions. Tom, Tony and Barry have often put their personal lives on hold to reach out and help others. They have given freely of their time and money to help others. I don't think David, Tom, Tony and Barry have jumped off any cliffs lately, but their courage is the lasting kind, the kind that truly reshapes the world.

I can fall into the adoration trap when I discuss people Ed, David, Tom, Tony and Barry. Sometimes I try to help myself feel better about myself by idolizing those close to me – the old, "Look at me, I must be cool because I have such cool friends" phenomenon. Following this path can lead to problems when one or more of my friends fails to act like an idol; when they fail to act like the object of adoration I want them to be. It is healthier when I see them as they are with all their strengths and weaknesses loving them not as imaginary monuments of perfection like Michelangelo's David, but as jabbering little naked apes like me. Making them into objects of adoration leads to blindness and fosters the illusion that I cannot be happy unless I also am adored.

If I adore anything these days, it is life itself. When asked how I am doing I often say, "Loving life and living large." I also tell friends "there are worse things than death". The seeming contradiction of these two statements confuses some people. To me they are in perfect harmony. I love life because there are worse things than death. Often I look around and see people living in constant fear of death; to me this state is worse than death itself. I try to focus instead on the simple joys in life: the leaf I found on my walk this morning, the feel of cold air on my skin, feeling my legs carry me quickly toward my morning cup of coffee, the hug I got yesterday from one of the best friends I have ever had, the joyful anticipation of writing these words. I adore these things. Not because they will return my adoration. Not because they require adoration from me. I adore them simply because they exist. I adore them because I am lucky enough to share an instant of eternity with them.

Stars and Carbon Forever

"I'll be with you when the stars start falling…" Eric Clapton, The Cream

I hurt others sometimes by simply existing. I help others sometimes by simply breathing in and out. As I walked this morning, an almost countless number of carbon atoms bombarded me. Some of them were shed yesterday by friends and family around the planet. I inhaled some. Some became part of me in a process that has been going on since before the beginning of the idea of "time" as it exists in my carbon based brain. Sometimes I forget this simple fact and feel very, very alone. I can treat others as objects in an attempt to overcome this sense of loneliness. When I do this I become an object.

Recently, I mistreated someone I love deeply. I would travel back and undo the act if this were possible. Unfortunately, I cannot. Hope springs eternal, but I must accept that for now I am locked in the eternal present. I must feel the pain of having caused pain in another, accept it, and try to be more conscious in the future.

Perhaps someday I will be free of my brain's notion of time. Perhaps I will experience the freedom of a carbon atom; no longer seeing myself as separate from life but always as an integral part of it. I will not ask my fellow atoms about their politics. I will not ask them about their sexual preferences. I will not ask them about their god. I will pass from form to form; perhaps be buried for eons as part of a limestone cliff; perhaps fly into space to become part of a star; perhaps to become part of some creature or place I have never yet imagined. Regardless of the destination, and whether or not I will be conscious of it, I will be one with all the other atoms on a timeless journey. What an exciting adventure that will be.

Ancient Ants

In the 60's and 70's I knew nothing of ants. In the 60's and 70's the Beatles and the Spencer Davis Group were pounding in my brain. In the 60's I saw a man land on the moon. In the 60's I saw half a million people dance in the mud to music our parents were sure would turn us into raving lunatics. In 1970 I heard that Jimi and Janis were dead; a year later Morrison took the final trip on his Crystal Ship. Jesus may not have wept. I did. In 1970 I attended a memorial service for students killed by the National Guard at Kent State. Police attacked the peaceful rally and many students ran wild in the streets. I was one of them. I dreamed that I could force the world to change, make it to conform to my dream, persuade it to fulfill the destiny I had in mind. My dream was in the sky. Ants crawled about my feet. I ignored them as I operated on a "higher" plane. Unfazed, the ants moved the earth one grain at a time.

In 1970, miles south of my university dreamland, a young man was suffering in a mental institution. Abandoned at birth and then ripped from his foster parents at age seven, David Young had no time for dreams of making a better world. Like the ants, he navigated his world one grain at a time. His dream was to survive each day. Making slow, steady progress he taught himself to read and studied the world of ants. His passion for the very small kept him safe in the land of the very painful. "Freed" in the 80's he found a nest and built a new world, a world much larger than his bed at the institution but still small in the minds of many. He began to dream. Many of his dreams were frightening. But some took him to lands he had only read about in books.

Like an ant navigating pebbles and leaves of grass, David traveled west, finally coming to stand in "the Mother of Waters". I was blessed to travel with David as he explored the California "land of fuzzy hills" seeking a new nesting site. He found it in the Bay Area in the spring of '09. Soon we will rise, a swarm of two, and head west where David will build a fresh nest. Our dream buddy Barry will help, but David is the navigator - following the compass of his passion. Once trapped in an institution cell, now he flies toward his true self. Who has not had this dream? I lost it by dreaming of what others thought I should be. David held true to his course like the ant; patiently moving past each obstacle; persistently navigating challenges as his heart guided him onward. He has shown me that each of us carries our own unique dream; a path that often reveals itself only one grain at a time. No one can say how the dream journey will end but my money is on David. I will fly to many places as David creates his new nest. Sometimes I fear my journey, but thanks to David, I know that ants place no limits on success. Perhaps by moving the grains of my dream I will help change the world. I know that David, Barry, Tom and many others have changed mine.

Not Broken

I ask for help. You place your hand in mine. I get better. You will not let go of my hand. Stop. I am not broken. No further help is required. Please pass your way and let me be.

I get sick. You give me treatment. I get well. You tell me I am not well. Stop. I am not broken. I know the facts and figures. Please heal yourself and let me live.

I seek guidance. You show me a path. I learn and find my own path. You tell me I am still lost. Stop. I am not broken. I am no longer confused. Please open your eyes - I can see.

 

Broken? Not broken? Please help when I ask. Please stop when the need is past. Do not break that which is not broken.

 

You ask for help. I tell you what I would do. You get better. You keep asking. Stop. You are not broken. You can help yourself. Please know I care even though I must travel on.

You get sick. I share what made me well. You heal. You imagine you are still sick. Stop. You are not broken. Think of what made you well. Please let me see the joy of your healing.

You seek guidance. I show you my path and tell you there are many more. You find your path. You tell yourself you are still lost. Stop. You are not broken. Walk your path. Please know I hope our paths will cross again.

 

Broken? Not broken? I will help if you ask. But I will stop when the need is past. I will not break that which is not broken.

My Friend?

A friend said to me, "You are not praying so you do not belong to our group." I felt sad. I have shared much of my life's story with this friend, even the bits I am not proud of. I wanted to be part of the group. They have been part of my life for many years. Ageless feelings of loneliness and inadequacy surfaced and I was overwhelmed with guilt and shame. Why didn't I pray with the group? Was I just trying to be different for the sake of being different? Was I simply a willful child refusing to grow up and accept my responsibilities in the society I had chosen? What was wrong with me?

I suffered about this for several days. My friend may have had a role in the initial pain, but the continued suffering was largely due to factors that had nothing to do with my friend. Old and imagined hurts kept me imprisoned. My expectations of myself and others kept the prison locked tight. I felt angry. Who was my friend to question me? Why was what I believed so much more important than what I did? My internal musings took me away from interacting with others and being of use to my friends. Eventually, I returned to my daily routine of giving people rides, sharing conversations, buying a meal or two, just being there to participate in life with kindness. Eventually I realized that there was no suffering. Pain may come and it will go, but the suffering is optional – at least in part.

I don't know if I will return to the group. The group strongly insists on a particular pattern of belief. Lately, I have had more and more trouble buying into the idea that I honor one practice above all others. There are some beliefs that I find truly admirable, like the idea of being kind regardless of the personal consequences. There are some that I find truly detestable, like the idea that some people have more legal rights because of their creed, sexual preference, color, ability or economic status. Other than that, there is a huge middle ground of beliefs that I can pick and choose from. The more effort any group spends in trying to convince me of the rightness or exclusiveness of their view, the more nervous I become. Why all the insistence of conformity of belief? Why the fear of different beliefs? Who truly can judge the beliefs of another? Actions yes. We have rules and laws to limit damaging or hurtful actions. But beliefs?

I probably will return to the group. Without being egotistical, it probably needs at least a few weirdos like me if for no other reason than to inspire others to greater fervor. I would like the group to succeed. I know that its success will require balancing the competing practices of being open to new ideas while honoring traditions. I think in the end, like all groups I know of, it will succeed or fail based on its actions not its beliefs. Some claim prayer can only be given with a bowed head and beautiful words. I think even more wonderfully it can be lived as an act of kindness to others.

Last night, the moon was large and bright. It has watched over the rise and fall of all of mankind's beliefs. It has not been moved. It has gone about its business of passing through phases, raising and lowering tides since before there was a man to have beliefs. May I be like the moon. May my shining be free of fear. May I act consistent with my beliefs without having to justify them or seek approval of them from others. May I seek to protect the rights of others to do the same. May I resist anger without being a "sunshine patriot" to the goal of acting with love and compassion regardless of how others view me. If the only way I can be your friend is to share your fear and judgment of others then I may not be your friend. But even then I will strive to treat you with kindness and respect. I can stand and be myself even if others think I am broken or wrong. I can be free. I am. Free.

Now it is time to go call David and eat at the Chinese Buffet one more time. I hope they have octopi for him. God how tired I am of eating at that place. J

Me Against The World

I spoke with a friend yesterday. I was upset about the rampant idiocy I see in this world. I felt I was very persuasive with my arguments and facts.

"Did you know?," I began, "Nearly 40% of Americans are on an anti-intellectual crusade? When we learn something new in physics, astronomy, meteorology, geology or biology that does not agree with their religious views they cast it aside or try to co-opt it as evidence for clinging to the existence of a supernatural sky father."

My friend smiled at me as I paused for breath. I continued, "They claim that religious practices yield a better society. With the possible exception of Ireland, America has the highest level of belief in God and Jesus of any industrialized nation, but the United States has far higher homicide, poverty, obesity, and homelessness rates than any of its more secular peer nations."

I am sure that my eyes were bulging and that my face was red by this point. "The fact is that extremely secular nations such as Japan and Sweden are much safer, cleaner, healthier, better educated, and more humane." (Reference 1)

Spent, I waited for my friend's response.

"Well, what do you think?"

"Not much," he said.

"What? Aren't you afraid of what will happen if the religious wing nuts gain control of the world?"

"Not really," he said.

"How can you know that?"

"I don't know that. It's just that I don't see any evidence of anyone or anything being in control."

I took a breath. "I guess I was speaking politically."

He laughed. "Politicians have the least control. They are so busy chasing the illusion of power that they cannot even control their personal lives. Seems to me, most of them live in misery."

"But what about Hitler, Stalin, Caesar…people like that?"

"Where are they now?"

"But while they were alive they had great power."

"Only over those who feared them, those who forgot how to think for themselves."

"What about freedom of speech?"

"Freedom of thought is more important. Without that I have nothing to say anyhow."

"Guess you're right."

"Why?"

"But you just said…"

"I know what I said, why did you agree with me?"

"It sounded persuasive."

"Why?"

"I guess it felt right."

"So if it feels right then it is right?"

"I see where you're headed."

"Where exactly is that?"

"Let me see if I can put it together…Accepting something as true just because it agrees with how I feel is not a good reason for believing it. I should ask for more."

"Got it in one."

"Maybe I should ask for even more proof if it an idea agrees with something I truly, truly believe in."

"Absolument, mon cherie."

"So the real threat to me is my hatred of what I call idiocy."

"Yes, in part. There may be a real threat to freedom there, but the first step to fighting it is to apply critical thinking to your own prejudice."

"Like why do I think it's idiotic to believe in a sky father?"

"Or more to the point, why are you angry at those who do?"

"I'm afraid of what they may do to me and the future of the country."

"What is the best way

 

 

 

 

 

The Sun Never Sets

The sun never sets. The earth may turn but the sun never sets. The moon never rises or changes phases. Tides may rise but the moon never does, moon and earth merely dance together. Every sunset, every new moon is an illusion; fig newtons of my imagination, mere artifacts of how I see the world from where I sit. My ancestors took this evidence as proof certain that the sun does in fact rise and that the moon does change phases. Often, they killed or cast out those who tried to say otherwise. They acted on incomplete information. Clearly the truth requires more than the evidence that is readily available to me. Clearly my perception of things is limited. Clearly, if I am to see beyond the illusion of sunsets and moon phases I must begin by accepting nothing on face value.

I think life is like that. I assume that I can tell living (sentient) from dead (non-sentient) things in the world. I see a rock and say, "That is not sentient, it is a dead thing," so I feel no remorse when I kick it down the road, forever separating it from the place it has occupied for days, weeks, years or even longer. Based on current evidence, the probability is that the rock is in fact not sentient. It has none of the basic requirements necessary for it to be classified as a feeling being. But stating a probability is the best I can do. I am still learning. Someday, I could look back on my act of kicking the rock as a thoughtless crime against a sentient being. Looking at things in today's view, it seems very unlikely that this is the case but I must remain open.

The same goes for the question of when life begins and when it ends. I see a baby and rejoice at the beginning of new life. I see a corpse and I mourn the death of a loved one. But I'll bet that is simply my take, my point of view once more. The real phenomena of life and death likely are well beyond my poor ability to perceive them. I can watch a baby being born, or if I am lucky be there to participate in its conception. But this experience is not proof certain that the beginning did not come earlier still. I can watch a "dead" body decay into its component parts, smaller and smaller pieces breaking down into yet smaller ones until eventually only atoms are left. Even these at some great distant day will become sub atomic particles. My perception of this broad play is limited to tiny sliver of time. And my perception of time itself is only partial.

My ancestors were certain that the sun set and that the moon went through phases. They were right, and they were wrong. They were right to take action using the best information they had at the time. Their information was wrong. This is natural, but some of them refused to accept new information when it became available. Some of them fought against learning more about life. I have done this. I have held onto old beliefs and actions long past the time when they were useful to me and those around me. When I did so I became more and more closed in, more and more afraid of change, less and less tolerant and able to show compassion. For me, being human, being alive, requires me to question, verify and question again. Some tell me that I should accept things without questioning them. I do not understand this point of view. It seems guaranteed to keep me in ignorance. Perhaps that is a state of bliss for some, but it is not helpful to me. Ignorance did not cure my cancer. Ignorance did not give me the cup of coffee I drank this morning. Ignorance will not allow me to reach out and embrace the wonder and diversity of life.

Monkey Dancing

In any absolute sense of the words I have stolen, I have lied, I have cheated. In any absolute sense of the words I will steal again, I will lie, I will cheat again. I once believed the only path to peace was to find some way to totally free myself from stealing, lying and cheating. Like a little monkey, I danced from religion to religion from faith to faith from philosophy to philosophy, from cause to cause hoping for relief. I hopped and leaped about, hard to catch, impossible to pin down. Each time a religion, faith, philosophy or cause "failed me" I became depressed and angry at those who offered their path as the only "right" dance.

Lately, I am enjoying all dances. Each "dance" has merit, if only that created by those who find it valuable. I am not a Christian, yet I saw my Grandmother MacDaniel dance what she saw as Christ's waltz and display the finest grace and charity I have ever seen. I am not a Buddhist, but I have watched a Zen master glide through the chasms of mind to light up corners of consciousness hidden to others. I am not a Muslim yet I have twirled like a Sufi in my mind as I read the words of Rumi, "Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it." I am not a Hindu but I have visited India and stood in awe at the power of Shiva's dance of simultaneous creation and destruction.

I am not a Social worker, yet I have seen their compassion and clapped my hands as one played country and folk music (even though country and folk music normally makes me want to pull out my hair). I am not a Scientist but I love science's dance of eternal questioning and learning about the wonderful world in which we live. I am not an Addict or Alcoholic, but there was a time when drugs led me to ecstasy, burning a hole through some old prejudices. I am not a Businessman, but there was a time when I boogied to the rumba of enterprise and fame; creating wealth - sometimes wisely, sometimes not.

To be a happy monkey and create my own dance, I have had to learn a few steps of all dances. The trick is not to be trapped by memories of past dances; to be honest about how they have helped or caused me to stumble, but to avoid viewing them with pride, regret, or guilt. They were just dances using the music available to me at the time. I can use what I learned from them to make a new dance. Now that I am an old monkey, I sometimes manage to jump and leap for the pure joy of life. I dance an ever changing dance. Each day reveals new steps, but my dance is always complete while I dance it. How can it be complete and still benefit from change? Even the Monkey doesn't know that. Rock on Monkey.

Homecoming

I am home. I opened the door for someone, they passed through and said, “Thank you.” Yes. This is Iowa City. I am back from a trip to the South, but it might have been pretty much anywhere where people do not know me. In the outside world, diversity seems much more of an issue than it is here. I have let my hair grow long, something that evidently is not as well accepted in parts of the outside world.

As I walked down the street of a "foreign" town an African American gentleman whispered, “Can’t tell him from a goddamn girl.” It was uttered indistinctly, more like a spit or hiss than a sentence. But the message was very clear. “You are not welcome here. We do not like people like you. We do not really know you, but we know enough about people who look like you to say that we do not like you. Accept our ways and be like us or leave.

Later, I was getting a cup of coffee at a gas station. I offered an elderly white man, a lid for his cup of coffee. He pushed my lid aside and took another. As I was leaving, I held the door open for another older white gentleman. He would not meet my eyes and went in a different door.

It felt like this was due to the fact that I have long hair and a beard. I feel like I am back in the 1960’s. Yet as I read this I see that I am guilty of the same prejudice I see in others. Why was it important for me to mention the race and age of those I felt were discriminating against me? Clearly, I am not free of prejudice. Perhaps no one is totally free. Perhaps it is unreasonable to expect to live in such a world.

Luckily, saving the world is not my job. I need only try to be kind. This works for me. Even when I notice the differences between us I can try to overlook those that disturb me. I can make an effort to treat you as I would be treated; to treat you with respect. Why is this so difficult? It may be because we evolved to use discrimination for our survival. Determining tribal membership was vital when we were still wandering the plains of the Serengeti. Make a mistake and you could be dinner. Perhaps we still live in such a world. The rage between our racial, political, social, economic and religious tribes seems stronger than it has in a very long time.

Hopefully, we will tire of this soon and realize that in the end there is but one tribe. It is called the Earth. Our land is this “tiny blue dot” we live on and share with all the other life we know. Even more broadly, there may be but one tribe within all the universes that now exist or that ever have existed. I can add to the kindness and joy of this tribe or detract from it. The choice is mine.

Maybe I will shave my head and cut off my beard the next time I travel out of Iowa City. I can do this much to reduce the chances of creating unease in others and encountering their prejudice. But what of those who encounter prejudice because of their skin color, size, intelligence, abilities or other more permanent features? They cannot change their color, suddenly grow a new limb or become more intelligent. I cannot imagine the challenges they face. In fact, I cannot say I truly understand the challenges and prejudice anyone else faces. Thankfully, I don’t need to. I can continue the practice of kindness without such knowledge. This is enough.

On second thought, I think I will let my hair grow so long that I can sit on it. Then when I travel outside of my town, I can wear long robes and carry a staff (and of course wear my sunglasses). Perhaps those who bear prejudice will think twice when presented with such an image. Or perhaps they will beat me silly. In either case it will simply be yet another chapter in what has already been an interesting and wonderful life. Whatever is left after the beating will either continue the wonder of this life or release its resources to be used by others. Regardless, life and its wonder will continue. At least that is how it seems to me. Other’s views may be different. In the end, differing views are not important. What is important is that I not be distracted by differences, no matter how long my hair, the color of my skin or my lack of wisdom and “common sense”.

Clearing My Brain

The brain goes where it will. Yesterday a man appeared who I had not seen before. He shared that he had been sober 27 years. There was no reason for me to doubt his word, but something about the way he said it made me wonder if it were true. He shared that he knew God’s will for him was to help drunks. He said this as if he were on a great mission.

I too have thought this. I no longer do. I do not know what “god” is – there are so many definitions it is impossible for me to find a consistent view. Even if I was sure who god was, the only way I would know his will is if he were to communicate it to me. There have been times when I was certain god was talking directly to me. As it turns out these were very dangerous times, times when I was so into my “vision” that I overlooked the beauty of life, times when family and friends did not exist – the only important thing was my communication with god.

When I am “communicating with god”, seeing a vision, or accepting a great mission, I have no way of telling if I am experiencing a hallucination or having a revelation. I don’t deny anyone else the right to have visions or “talk” with god. I wish them well. So long as they do not insist that I join them on their journey or they do not prevent me from following my own path we can live in peace.

Life is beautiful. Life is precious. Life is real. I no longer need, nor can I safely indulge in visions of god or a precise definition of god’s will. Simple kindness is enough for me. More than enough. I have yet to exhaust its potential for bringing me peace.

For me, kindness requires no vision. Kindness requires no interpretation or special training – only continual practice with a heart that seeks to be honest, open and willing to change. I study kindness by cleaning the toilet at the gas station. I understand kindness when I open up and let others hold me, hug me and love me. I practice kindness when I turn aside other’s requirement that I pick up their fear, hatred and judgment in order to belong to their clan, tribe or church. I master kindness when I recognize that I cannot practice it perfectly, that for me there is no perfect kindness; only a simple plan of trying to be kind to the next person, place or thing I encounter.

I destroy my practice of kindness when I make it exclusive to “drunks” or any other group, including my family. If I try to practice kindness only in special cases or with particular people I begin to experience judgment and fear – the things destroy any joy I may find in life. But that is my path, and as it has often been said and is well documented: I am insane.