Hitching Rides with Buddha

I just finished reading Will Ferguson’s book Hitching Rides with Buddha. The book chronicles Ferguson’s journey to follow the cherry blossom migration across Japan. Ferguson wanted to experience the essence of Japan so he challenged himself to complete his journey only through the benevolence of others by hitchhiking the entire way.

Ferguson’s travels highlighted his emerging sentiment of isolation. Will Ferguson lived in Japan for five years but yet no matter how integrated he was with the country, he could never belong. He would always be classified as a foreigner, an outsider. In Japan people are often referred to not by their name but by the role they play. Mr. Policeman. Mr. Post Office. Mr. Foreigner. Such broad classifications can border on racist but it is a tendency that is not unique to Japan. It transcends cultures.

How many people do we dehumanize by our broad classifications? How many conflicts do we perpetuate through the polarization that these broad classifications encourage? What do we do with the fringe elements that fall outside these broad classifications?

These broad classifications, and their associated issues, are more common today than any other time. It is impossible to be an environmentalist without immediately being classified as left wing. It is difficult to mention gun control without it being assumed that you are against all guns. If you find yourself from a fringe element such as someone suffering from a mental illness, be prepared to be ignored or pigeon holed into a mainstream group that will ensure you do not get the help you need or deserve.

Imagine if we all chose to stand down and pause to think about an issue with an open mind. Would our values really be as far out of skew as our labels suggest?

“Once you label me you negate me.” - Soren Kierkegaard (1813 - 1855)

Calm Reflection

Political rhetoric on both sides of the gun control spectrum continues to dominate the internet. It is easy to let emotions blind us to the problems we face as a society. These problems are not going to be solved by banning all firearms or, heaven forbid, bringing even more guns into the equation. Quiet, calm reflection should point the way clear.

Below is a letter that was shared by the Parallax Press that I feel has hit the nail on the head.  I am copying the letter below:

Brother Phap Luu, a monastic at Plum Village, grew up in Newtown, Connecticut. He has written an amazing, heartfelt letter to shooter Adam Lanza, that you can read here:

Saturday, 15th of December, 2012
Dharma Cloud Temple
Plum Village

Dear Adam,

Let me start by saying that I wish for you to find peace. It would be easy just to call you a monster and condemn you for evermore, but I don't think that would help either of us. Given what you have done, I realize that peace may not be easy to find. In a fit of rage, delusion and fear—yes, above all else, I think, fear—you thought that killing was a way out. It was clearly a powerful emotion that drove you from your mother's dead body to massacre children and staff of Sandy Hook School and to turn the gun in the end on yourself. You decided that the game was over.

But the game is not over, though you are dead. You didn't find a way out of your anger and loneliness. You live on in other forms, in the torn families and their despair, in the violation of their trust, in the gaping wound in a community, and in the countless articles and news reports spilling across the country and the world—yes, you live on even in me. I was also a young boy who grew up in Newtown. Now I am a Zen Buddhist monk. I see you quite clearly in me now, continued in the legacy of your actions, and I see that in death you have not become free.

You know, I used to play soccer on the school field outside the room where you died, when I was the age of the children you killed. Our team was the Eagles, and we won our division that year. My mom still keeps the trophy stashed in a box. To be honest, I was and am not much of a soccer player. I've known winning, but I've also known losing, and being picked last for a spot on the team. I think you've known this too—the pain of rejection, isolation and loneliness. Loneliness too strong to bear.

You are not alone in feeling this. When loneliness comes up it is so easy to seek refuge in a virtual world of computers and films, but do these really help or only increase our isolation? In our drive to be more connected, have we lost our true connection?

I want to know what you did with your loneliness. Did you ever, like me, cope by walking in the forests that cover our town? I know well the slope that cuts from that school to the stream, shrouded by beech and white pine. It makes up the landscape of my mind. I remember well the thrill of heading out alone on a path winding its way—to Treadwell Park! At that time it felt like a magical path, one of many secrets I discovered throughout those forests, some still hidden. Did you ever lean your face on the rough furrows of an oak's bark, feeling its solid heartwood and tranquil vibrancy? Did you ever play in the course of a stream, making pools with the stones as if of this stretch you were king? Did you ever experience the healing, connection and peace that comes with such moments, like I often did?

Or did your loneliness know only screens, with dancing figures of light at the bid of your will? How many false lives have you lived, how many shots fired, bombs exploded and lives lost in video games and movies?

By killing yourself at the age of 20, you never gave yourself the chance to grow up and experience a sense of how life's wonders can bring happiness. I know at your age I hadn't yet seen how to do this.

I am 37 now, about the age my teacher, the Buddha, realized there was a way out of suffering. I am not enlightened. This morning, when I heard the news, and read the words of my shocked classmates, within minutes a wave of sorrow arose, and I wept. Then I walked a bit further, into the woods skirting our monastery, and in the wet, winter cold of France, beside the laurel, I cried again. I cried for the children, for the teachers, for their families. But I also cried for you, Adam, because I think that I know you, though I know we have never met. I think that I know the landscape of your mind, because it is the landscape of my mind.

I don't think you hated those children, or that you even hated your mother. I think you hated your loneliness.

I cried because I have failed you. I have failed to show you how to cry. I have failed to sit and listen to you without judging or reacting. Like many of my peers, I left Newtown at seventeen, brimming with confidence and purpose, with the congratulations of friends and the approbation of my elders. I was one of the many young people who left, and in leaving we left others, including you, just born, behind. In that sense I am a part of the culture that failed you. I didn't know yet what a community was, or that I was a part of one, until I no longer had it, and so desperately needed it.

I have failed to be one of the ones who could have been there to sit and listen to you. I was not there to help you to breathe and become aware of your strong emotions, to help you to see that you are more than just an emotion.

But I am also certain that others in the community cared for you, loved you. Did you know it?

In eighth grade I lived in terror of a classmate and his anger. It was the first time I knew aggression. No computer screen or television gave a way out, but my imagination and books. I dreamt myself a great wizard, blasting fireballs down the school corridor, so he would fear and respect me. Did you dream like this too?

The way out of being a victim is not to become the destroyer. No matter how great your loneliness, how heavy your despair, you, like each one of us, still have the capacity to be awake, to be free, to be happy, without being the cause of anyone's sorrow. You didn't know that, or couldn't see that, and so you chose to destroy. We were not skillful enough to help you see a way out.

With this terrible act you have let us know. Now I am listening, we are all listening, to you crying out from the hell of your misunderstanding. You are not alone, and you are not gone. And you may not be at peace until we can stop all our busyness, our quest for power, money or sex, our lives of fear and worry, and really listen to you, Adam, to be a friend, a brother, to you. With a good friend like that your loneliness might not have overwhelmed you.

But we needed your help too, Adam. You needed to let us know that you were suffering, and that is not easy to do. It means overcoming pride, and that takes courage and humility. Because you were unable to do this, you have left a heavy legacy for generations to come. If we cannot learn how to connect with you and understand the loneliness, rage and despair you felt—which also lie deep and sometimes hidden within each one of us—not by connecting through Facebook or Twitter or email or telephone, but by really sitting with you and opening our hearts to you, your rage will manifest again in yet unforeseen forms.

Now we know you are there. You are not random, or an aberration. Let your action move us to find a path out of the loneliness within each one of us. I have learned to use awareness of my breath to recognize and transform these overwhelming emotions, but I hope that every man, woman or child does not need to go halfway across the world to become a monk to learn how to do this. As a community we need to sit down and learn how to cherish life, not with gun-checks and security, but by being fully present for one another, by being truly there for one another. For me, this is the way to restore harmony to our communion.

Douglas Bachman (Br. Phap Luu)
who grew up at 22 Lake Rd. in Newtown, CT., is a Buddhist monk and student of the Vietnamese Zen Master and monk Thich Nhat Hanh. As part of an international community, he teaches Applied Ethics and the art of mindful living to students and school teachers. He lives in Plum Village Monastery, in Thenac, France.

Why

It is impossible to make sense of the killing of twenty-six innocents in Connecticut this week. As a parent myself, I can’t begin to imagine the horrific pain the parents of those twenty children are experiencing. It seems so senseless.

It is easy to let our emotions dictate our response to a situation like this. It is almost impossible to not do so. It is important that we all remember that this is not the first time an atrocity like this has taken place nor, unfortunately, is it likely to be the last.

Mental illness is not something that we can will out of existence anymore than we can will cancer eradicated. The sooner we remove the stigma surrounding mental illness, the sooner we can start finding solutions to a problem that affects over 60% of us. Only through understanding will we begin to be able to address these problems we face as a society.

Our world is a little less bright today. My heart goes out to the families who suffered such an inconsolable loss. As much as our curiosity draws us to make sense of what could cause a person to commit such an atrocity, let’s not let our curiosity 'glorify' the individual. Sick or not, no one deserves that. Remember the victims.

“Mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of, but stigma and bias shame us all.” - Bill Clinton (b. 1944)

Because

I have been thinking a lot lately about why I do what I do. Not thinking in terms of wondering why, but rather in terms on how to logically and concisely convey my thoughts about this to others. This has always been a challenge for me. My thought process barely ventures beyond the abstract. This can make it difficult to get others on to the same page as myself.

I have strong feelings about activism, freedom, and human rights. My opinions obviously conflict with those of many people. Yet despite philosophical differences, there should be common ground in which we all can find instances where we agree. Whether or not you agree with your leader’s actions, you should never allow freedom and the democratic process to be compromised - no matter what. Once accepted, any compromise becomes the norm. Are you sure you are willing to accept that norm when you don’t agree with your leader’s actions? Or better yet, are you willing to accept this autocratic power to reside with the future leaders who are, as of now, an unknown quantity?

It is disheartening to see how much people are willing to compromise on their values as long as they feel the ends justify the means. If we are willing to give up our values for any reason, can we really consider them values?

“All compromise is based on give and take, but there can be no give and take on fundamentals. Any compromise on mere fundamentals is a surrender. For it is all give and not take.” - Mahatma Gandhi (1869 - 1948)

Acts of Kindness

As the Year of the Dragon enters its final months, my Year of the Snake I Ho Chuan team is gearing up for their UBBT challenge. As has been the case with all previous student UBBT teams, the acts of kindness log continues to be one of the most vexing requirements for my students. This requirement seemed somewhat redundant to me when I first challenged the Ultimate Black Belt Test but by midway through that first year, acts of kindness became the flagship requirement for my entire challenge.

I am a kind person. I tend to do kind things. Logging these kind acts seemed somewhat superfluous and perhaps a little narcissistic. Why would I take the time to write down an act that is just second nature?  Does not the benevolence of the act become somewhat tarnished if I am keeping score? All these questions and more went through my head as I prepared for my first UBBT. Since I had a gajillion other requirements to track and log I decided to stop thinking so much about the acts of kindness requirement and just do it. That’s when something wonderful happened.

The act of logging my kind acts made me much more mindful of the acts of kindness I was performing everyday. I was confirming what I knew all along - I am a kind person. Yet while I was busy patting myself on the back over my keen awareness of these kind acts I was performing, I became aware of all the opportunities to be kinder that I was missing. The simple act of making eye contact with a convenience store clerk and smiling could have a positive impact upon both of our days and yet this simple act was not something ingrained in my daily repertoire before I started logging my acts of kindness. Taking a moment to appreciate the sorry state of health of the cat that was harassing the fish in my fish pond before chasing it off, brought a new friend into my world and changed my life forever.

Logging my acts of kindness have made me a kinder person by keeping me aware of how my actions affect the world around me and directly impact the quality of my life. Happiness is found in a single moment. Awareness is the key.

“Those who make compassion an essential part of their lives find the joy of life. Kindness deepens the spirit and produces rewards that cannot be completely explained in words. It is an experience more powerful than words. To become acquainted with kindness one must be prepared to learn new things and feel new feelings. Kindness is more than a philosophy of the mind. It is a philosophy of the spirit.” - Robert J. Furey