I got a chill

On the way back to York from a Buddhist meditation class in Lancaster, my companion had the Jeep window rolled half way down as she enjoyed a cigarette. I was chilled, not wearing a jacket. But the heat was on, blowing strongly towards our feet. Yet the cool 50 degree air (which will feel very warm in another month or two) swirled around my neck and made me cold.

I quickly snapped into the thought process of recognizing that I was cold and uncomfortable. Yet there are countless others out there who are much colder than I am. Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could all be free from being cold! Then I thought more deeply about this realization. Yes, I was uncomfortable and chilly. Yet my feet were actually on the verge of feeling too hot with the heat blowing forcefully from the vents. Further, I would be warm again soon. Once the cigarette is out and the window is back up, the rest of the car will warm up quickly. And we were on our way to a diner to get food. It'll be comfortable inside the restaurant surely, and my food will be hot.

At the same time, though, in this little grown-up farm town, there are people out on the street who have felt the cold move in with the sunset and who don't have anywhere else to go. They don't own a car where they can crank up the heat. They don't have a house and warm bed to sleep in tonight. They can't even afford the cheap diner food to warm their belly. Countless beings are experiencing much more suffering than I am. My neck is cold. I'm not as comfortable as I would like to be. But I have no right to complain or to feel unhappy about it. Think about the person who's trying to find a comfortable spot to lie down and rest out of the weather, wearing a worn out coat and shoes with holes. I have a closet full of coats and shoes in perfectly good shape that I don't wear simply because I don't like them any more. Time to empty out the closet and give away those things that could make someone else's winter evening a touch more bearable.


Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.  And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing. Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity. -- 1 Corinthians 13, Paul of Tarsus

The Egg

Ran across this story somewhere (maybe imgur). I did not write this and take no credit, but found it touching. And I thought about several times after I read it, and believe it deserves a wider audience so I'm reposting. The author is Andy Weir and his post can be found here. 

You were on your way home when you died.
It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.
And that’s when you met me.
“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”
“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.
“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”
“Yup,” I said.
“I… I died?”
“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.
You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”
“More or less,” I said.
“Are you god?” You asked.
“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”
“My kids… my wife,” you said.
“What about them?”
“Will they be all right?”
“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”
You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn't look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn't have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”
“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”
“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”
“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”
“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”
You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”
“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”
“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”
I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you've gained all the experiences it had.
“You've been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”
“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”
“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”
“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”
“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”
“Where you come from?” You said.
“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn't understand.”
“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”
“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”
“So what’s the point of it all?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn't that a little stereotypical?”
“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.
I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”
“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”
“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”
“Just me? What about everyone else?”
“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”
You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”
“All you. Different incarnations of you.”
“Wait. I’m everyone!?”
“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.
“I’m every human being who ever lived?”
“Or who will ever live, yes.”
“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”
“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.
“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.
“And you’re the millions he killed.”
“I’m Jesus?”
“And you’re everyone who followed him.”
You fell silent.
“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you've done, you've done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”
You thought for a long time.
“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”
“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”
“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”
“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you've lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”
“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”
“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”
And I sent you on your way.

Random Thought

I am stuck in traffic on the way to the beach. We were heading south, in the morning, as the sun was to left. Already kind of high even though it was still early. But dawn had cracked at 5 am. 2 lanes north and south, both ways clogged up. We were far enough south that the grass had that piedmont close-to-the-beach feel. A little too wide blade, a bit rough, that darker green. Not really any sand in the soil here, but definitely beach type grass. We were getting close. You couldn't smell the salt air yet, but you knew it would be close. Anticipation was high. This was vacation! What would the hotel look like? How would the condo be laid out inside? Would there be a tall counter with stools? What would their plates look like? Would we have a view of the ocean? What table will we play cards at in the evenings? It was all just around the corner. You could almost smell the sea now. Taste the salty waves. Feel the warmth of the sun and smell the sunscreen. It'll be hot, but not too hot. The water will be warm but not too warm. It's all just around the next few turns. Traffic stood still. The cars were late 70s or early 80s. Lots of angles and length. Heavy but not fast. Metal windshield wipers. Lots of reds and browns and whites. Whitewall tires. That warm asphalt smell mixing with gasoline and tires. I was in the back of a white station wagon, with red interior maybe 5 years old. A striped shirt and shorts. I couldn't wear my swim trunks yet - there'd be a ritual involved once it's finally time to change and be ready for the ocean. Or maybe first the outside pool at the condo. Where you could see the ocean over the boardwalk and people walking below. Once the traffic moves, I'll be able to smell the air. To hear the gulls. Open the door and get out because "you're there." Are we there yet? Yes.

 

Check in at the lobby. He does this a hundred times a day, but I'm only here once in the summer. This is my only check-in at the beach. The you get the key. Two. With the number on the brightly colored plastic tag. Do we go up first and see it? Check it all out? Or go back to the car and get a load of bags? But there's so many bags, and the room won't be empty when we bring them in. But we're parked in the way. Other people need to check in. But this is my check in. We can't be in the way, so we get the big rolling thing to carry the bags. You can hang stuff all across the top of the gold arc, but we never had anything to hang. Just stack and stack. Carry a couple of the small ones. Navigate to the elevator. What color will the carpet be? What color are the chairs? What kind of TV do they have? Is there a cabinet full of books and board games? We hog the whole elevator and click the 12. That's pretty high. Not way up top, but above the parking garage and lots of buildings. There's lots of orange and white. White plastic furniture. An orange and white theme. With some yellow in the kitchen. Sunshine colors at the beach. The bathrooms are green and blue. We are ocean view, and we can see the ocean. We're high up to feel the wind and see the waves break, but can't hear them. It's sunny, glaring off the ocean. No wind down there, no whitecaps. Birds arcing listlessly. The carpet is fuzzier than I'd expect for the beach, but it's kinda neet. There is a high counter in the kitchen with white plastic bar stools. This will be home for now. No grass to mow or boring days. Something different every day. Different restaurants. The smörgåsbord, the strange art place on the corner, the noisy bars that overflow onto the boardwalk. The great seafood place that we won't go to. Walking through the hot sand at lunch time to get a pork sandwich, and remember they have sales tax. The post-sun and salt and sand shower. The color develops on your skin in a couple hours. The boardwalk at night. So different. You can still hear the waves, but it's glow sticks and kites. Couples walking in the sand, hand in hand. People are red and brown, but with shirts and dresses on now. But still flip flops. Who would ever even bring sneakers to the beach? The silly T-Shirt shops. The arcade with the same games and same schedule. First to skee-ball, then a little air hockey. Finally we can play quarter video games while they play pinball and laugh.

 

What if a bad storm comes in while you're sleeping? Will the ocean suddenly swell up around the building? Would it collapse? What if it gets really windy when we're this far up? These buildings have been here so many years, I'm sure they'll last tonight. The sun is so low on the horizon. It's such a softer yellow, and so bright reflecting off the water. It's so warm on my skin already, it'll be hot today. Until the one that's different. When you pack up all but one swimsuit and one other regular outfit. For the drive home. The smell disappears quickly, and you're facing the setting sun in the west. We'll be unpacking the car before the blue fades from the sky. Back into my own bed. My sheets, and my clock by the bed. My shower, but no sand to wash off or bathing suits to wring out. The flip flops will stay out. For a few days at least. Until you're outside playing a game and need to run fast. On the softer skinnier grass of home, where underneath it's mud and not sand. Where the roads get just as hot, but there's no salt air moving over you. But it's all worth it. Even if it's over too fast, and you'll miss it later, you have to do it. It's all waiting, just around the next turn.

Head Shaving

A little aside here from my recent posts on life philosophies!

I've been shaving my head for 4-5 years now. Early on, I settled on using a foaming gel by "edge". Since I use an electric razor for my face, I don't have much experience in shaving creams, but this worked pretty well for me.

One annoying bit is traveling with shaving cream. Obviously, it's way cheaper to buy the larger cans - but you're not allowed to take 7oz containers on an airplane. This means also buying a supply of smaller (under 3oz) cans to take on the road. Somewhat annoying is that those cans take up significant space in the 1 quart clear baggies you're allowed to take through security. But most importantly is that you can't see how much product remains in the can!

I was in Boulder early this week for a couple days for work, and when I went to shave one morning I found the travel can only had a single squirt left... Not nearly enough to shave with. Ugh!

I could just go "fuzzy" for the rest of the trip, but that wasn't ideal. So I immediately searched online for shaving cream alternatives. There are some downright silly suggestions (peanut butter!!), but near the top of the list is hair conditioner. I obviously don't travel with this stuff, but the Hampton Inn provides little tubes of Neutrogena products - lotion, shampoo and conditioner. So why not try it?

I was pleasantly surprised! Maybe even amazed at the results. Here's my summary:

1) It doesn't foam up like traditional creams and foaming gels. This was a little disconcerting at first, but I'm happy I pushed through. By the end of the 4-5 minutes it takes to shave, it was difficult to see any conditioner on my head at all. The only real issue here is tracking areas that you've already hit or not. But in a well lit bathroom, it's easy enough to see the stubble (although, maybe an issue for light skinned folks with light hair). The lack of foam actually seems like a positive since there aren't huge gobs of foam all over the razor.

2) You need remarkably little. To comfortably foam up my whole head, it would take a silver-dollar sized blob of gel in my palm to cover everything. With the conditioner, I used something close to a nickel-sized blob. Significantly less.

3) The razor rinses more cleanly. Conditioner is a greasy substance - at least it feels that way to my hands. Rinsing the blade between passes was very satisfying since pretty much all you see in the sink is hair stubble rather than lots of foam. I'd usually have to rinse the blade with a hard stream of water along with some banging against the sink to free it up. With the conditioner, rinsing was much faster and required far less sink banging.

4) After-feel is also very good. My regular gel contains vitamin E and my scalp isn't dry, so I've never noticed a real issue with this. But after shaving and a quick head rinse, my dome felt noticeably soft and smooth. Which means both that the shave was nice and close (even with a blade that wasn't close to new) and my skin felt soft in a healthy way.

I'm impressed. No idea how well this works on a face, for anyone with thicker hair follicles or on other body parts (since I've never shaved my legs!), but for my thin Caucasian hair, I'm really liking this option and may stop buying shaving cream and opt instead for a decent conditioner.

BTW, for aftershave, I highly recommend straight witch hazel. I've tried a couple fancier things made specifically for your head, but witch hazel is very cheap and gives me a nice crisp clean feeling. It travels well with a little 2oz bottle too. Further, before heading out on the town for an evening, a splash of witch hazel freshens you up nicely.

2 Personal Limitations

Yes, I'm sure I have more than two - but two struck me this past weekend. Thinking about your personal reactions to events, reflecting on how you didn't necessarily do the best thing, or that you don't have all the answers after all... these are humbling but necessary experiences.

#1 - A man with mental health issues.
A guy I didn't know showed up at my men's group meeting this Saturday, then Sunday he was at church for the regular service. I am not sure how to "deal" with this person. He admitted to having mental health issues. (I'm no expert, so cannot even fathom a guess or description, but in looking at him, you certainly get that feeling that something is "off" with him.) He's clearly troubled financially and in social situations. The Buddhist in me wants to treat him with respect and compassion, to ease his suffering if I can. But I couldn't bring myself to do that. There's something in me that simply does not trust this person, although I haven't been able to reconcile why. What this means is that I am very hesitant to engage him in any manner. It's quite possible I am in a position to help him out in some ways, such as directly financially or by giving him rides where he needs to be. But my help was not forthcoming, and it has been gnawing at me a bit.

Thinking about the trust aspect of this, it occurred to me that while Love can be unconditional, Trust must be earned. However, my actions this weekend (literally, I was avoiding any direct engagement with him) offered no pathway to building that trust or getting to know him personally. I feel strongly now that I want to make a personal resolution to at least talk to him the next time I see him. That's a start.

Countless beings suffer from metal illness. Many are much worse than this man. It would be wonderful if we were all free from mental illness.


#2 - A cynical teacher.
I have been chatting a lot with a friend about my hippie philosophy. She sees the merit in the path and is buying into the positive reinforcing cycle of a positive outlook on life. The conversations have been good, but one thread stuck out this weekend. She claimed that she is a "realist". I, personally, self-identify as a realist as well, although she seems to see me as an idealist in our philosophical discussions. I explained that I actually am a realist at heart. For example, I know that if I want to retire on a farm on a hill, it will take time, planning, and effort to get there. There's no Prince Charming out there who's just going to hand me a happy ever after.

She clarified with a couple of real-life examples as a grade school teacher. Abbreviated slightly, here are the examples:
a) Parents who sell their kid's ADHD medication so they can buy their own drugs
b) Some kids come to school hungry and dirty because their parents are drug addicts
c) One child always sleeps in class. His mother is a heroin addict who has turned to prostitution, and the child is up all night because men are coming in and out of the house at all hours.

The suffering caused by some parents towards their own children is unfathomable. Drug addicts simply are not capable of being responsible parents. That's obvious and unarguable.

My challenge is that I can wax philosophically about Love and present moment awareness ad nauseam. I do my best to live that philosophy as well. I have touched many minds while traveling this path, and I am honored that more than a few people have looked to me for answers or guidance at various times. But in this case, I had no response. Nothing to say beyond "that sucks".

What disheartened me about the conversation was my lack of words for her. How does one keep a positive attitude and weed out the negativity in their life when they're touched every day by some of the worst elements of our society? And clarify my wording, "cynical" is incorrect, but it fit well enough when I started writing this out. She's clearly not a cynic - you couldn't keep teaching public school in this country if you were.

I'm reminded now of my recent post on Compassion. That you can't stop warmongers from bombing Syria, but you can bring light to wherever you are. Start at the local level, and be that positive person in any room. Then let it rub off and spread. Maybe just add a little bit of light into that child's day of misery. Strive to be that teacher they think of 10 years from now as the one who never needlessly hassled them but instead treated them respect. Let the divine light in you see the divine light in others.

I don't know. I don't have the answers. I wish I did.

The Search for More

Ram Dass tells many stories of people vying for success for the sake of success. Many illustrations are used, and one of my favorites is when an eminent scientist is awarded the Noble Prize. When being interviewed by a reporter, the scientist is asked, "Now that you've won the Noble Prize, what's next?"

One could cynically view this kind of story as "what's the point then?" if all your work is for naught. But that misses the key concept - you still need to do your daily tasks, accomplish things for the good of society - but those accomplishments aren't the goal. Because if you worship success, you're setting yourself up for lifelong suffering because there's no concept of "enough success".

I was reminded of this during lunch today when flipping through the classic Benjamin Hoff book The Tao of Pooh. In that book there's this story of a Stonecutter, attributed to a Chinese fable. Whenever you find yourself envious of another person, or feeling downtrodden in general, it's a good story to think about.

There was once a stonecutter, who was dissatisfied with himself and with his position in life.

One day, he passed a wealthy merchant's house, and through the open gateway, saw many fine possessions and important visitors. "How powerful that merchant must be!" thought the stonecutter. He became very envious, and wished that he could be like the merchant. Then he would no longer have to live the life of a mere stonecutter.

To his great surprise, he suddenly became the merchant, enjoying more luxuries and power than he had ever dreamed of, envied and detested by those less wealthy than himself. But soon a high official passed by, carried in a sedan chair, accompanied by attendants, and escorted by soldiers beating gongs. Everyone, no matter how wealthy, had to bow low before the procession. "How powerful that official is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be a high official!"

Then he became the high official, carried everywhere in his embroidered sedan chair, feared and hated by the people all around, who had to bow down before him as he passed. It was a hot summer day, and the official felt very uncomfortable in the sticky sedan chair. He looked up at the sun. It shone proudly in the sky, unaffected by his presence. "How powerful the sun is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be the sun!"

Then he became the sun, shining fiercely down on everyone, scorching the fields, cursed by the farmers and laborers. But a huge black cloud moved between him and the earth, so that his light could no longer shine on everything below. "How powerful that storm cloud is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be a cloud!"

Then he became the cloud, flooding the fields and villages, shouted at by everyone. But soon he found that he was being pushed away by some great force, and realized that it was the wind. "How powerful it is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be the wind!"

Then he became the wind, blowing tiles off the roofs of houses, uprooting trees, hated and feared by all below him. But after a while, he ran up against something that would not move, no matter how forcefully he blew against it -- a huge, towering stone. "How powerful that stone is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be a stone!"

Then he became the stone, more powerful than anything else on earth. But as he stood there, he heard the sound of a hammer pounding a chisel into the solid rock, and felt himself being changed. "What could be more powerful than I, the stone?" he thought. He looked down and saw far below him the figure of a stonecutter.

---

"Lots of people talk to animals," said Pooh.
"Maybe but..."
"Not very many listen, though," he said.
"That's the problem," he added.