A Moment in the Life...

Getting ready to go to the gym with Mr. CFP, the phone rang and I, perhaps mistakenly, answered it. Tearful voice on the other end of the line. Life is changing and no one has control. These are things that happen and even knowing these days will come, we find them hard to accept. I can do nothing. I can't change the circumstances, and it seems, I have no influence on another's determination to not accept what is.

I hung up the phone and rode to the gym, once again ruminating over the future, once again not being able to figure out a picture that can look anything but dark gray.

As soon as I was at the mat to stretch, my left foot felt on the verge of cramping up. It wasn't long until muscles contracted into painful, contorted ostrich toes. I don't really know what ostrich toes are like, but my foot looked as I imagine an ostrich foot would, all gnarly - plus pain.

Stoically, I rode the recumbent bike as fast as I could for 15 or 20 minutes - I can't even remember how long - before I gave up and started walking around, thinking that bodyweight pressure would at least give some relief. But noooooooo!

On the way home, the right foot, also started to cramp up. I guess it had felt left out of the drama. I hobbled into the house, ate a banana and took a potassium tablet. I ran a hot foot bath, which did nothing. I whined, gave up on the hot water and stood on a towel.

This is where it gets good...

Mr. CFP knelt before me like a knight in shining armor and almost kissed my feet. What he really did was, he used his hands to put pressure at the base of my toes. It was almost an ahhhhhh moment. But just almost. Then he told me to visualize roots going down into the earth. Having been a bodyworker, having received acupuncture for years, I've done this a gazillion times. This time, though, I put out all kinds of branches going this way and that. Instead of just seeing my roots going deep into the earth, I experienced them. I felt the cool, moist earth around them, I took in the nutrients that were bathing my roots.

And... I'm not kidding. The cramping and contortions stopped within a few minutes and I've lived happily ever after since then.

I could speculate on a lot here.

But I'm not going to.

I'm off to stand with my Women in Black vigil on this sunny, almost February day.

The Odd Trio #2

We met again, the three of us. Kind of impressive - the dedication. The belief that this might turn into something bigger than us - in some ways it already has. Actually, everything is already and always bigger than us.

We make time for this like it's important, this idea of creating a group composed of people from all religious/spiritual walks. So far it's just the Jew, Buddhist/Jew, and me, the Sufi/Questioner/Whatever-unveils-truther. We are pregnant with ideas, we are taking the time to incubate and delivery will occur when the time is right. Delivery meaning opening up the group for others to join us.

I'm finding some hard places in me and it doesn't feel good. I think that it doesn't feel good because I make the judgment that I shouldn't have hard places. Investigate the hard places. Hmmm... not truly hard. Fear there. Standing on a cliff and someone else over there has a different way of navigating it. Does that mean my way is wrong? Dammit! I must be right! But what if...??? Being right, being wrong. Neither feel so good. Gotta laugh at the strange notion that, ultimately, there even is a right and wrong way to navigate this journey.

Mostly it's amazing that the three of us move through the hours together, sharing diversity, learning, banging up against things and trying to figure out whether to go through, around, or over. Not feeling beat up at all, but instead noticing we're somewhat bigger than before.

Accepting Various Truths

Wow.

That's all I can say about it.

Wow.

Helen Thomas wrote an article titled Accepting Various Truths in the Albany Times Union that just really said the unsayable. I mean, we all know it, but it just hit me over the head.

The United States spends more for its arsenal than any other 10 countries combined. According to the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute, the U.S. accounts for more than 40 percent of the world's total military spending. China is in second place, at a relatively puny 5.8 percent.

If the U.S. defense spending bubble were ever to deflate, domestic job losses would be catastrophic, a stunning fact that raises the question of whether we can ever afford peace.

I guess there's the possibility that we could slowly reduce the military spending while increasing our spending to for renewable energy and humane efforts.

That will take a very big paradigm shift.

The Odd Trio

Yesterday afternoon I met with two men.

One is an old lover who has been a good friend for many years. We are like brother and sister - we can get on each others' nerves, but there is an underlying love and respect.

The other man and I were classmates through part of junior high and all of high school. Even with spending day after day in the same building for all of those years, we never met until a couple of weeks ago.

The three of us are starting up an interfaith dialog group - kind of like, but not really like, The Three Amigos.

We are a Jew, a Jewish/Buddhist, and a Whatever-I-Am.

I am a follower of the Sufi Way, a student of the Open Path.

Yesterday we practiced the structure that we want to use in the near future when we have a flourishing group of people from all walks of life coming together. We want to get the bugs out before we bring together people of many faiths. The topic that we each talked about yesterday was "Holidays". Through our time together, I learned new things about the Jewish holidays and I heard of holidays I'd never known existed, but mostly I learned about things dear to the hearts of these two friends. It was beautiful. Intimate. Heart-opening.

I saw the thread of commonality that weaves its way among our very diverse holiday observances - or in my case, a lack of observances. The common place isn't found in appearances, holy books, or practices. It seems to be woven from the common human need for connection to something bigger and the innate draw to natural rhythms. Holidays are also times for exercising our spiritual muscles, to help us "remember" as we go about our lives.

I truly believe that the way to peace in the world is through deep listening and understanding - seeing how we are all so much alike, even though our outerwear comes in many colors and sizes. I hope that this project that the three of us have started will be one little way that we can contribute to peace in the world.

My Jewish ex-lover/friend/brother and I have had some hard moments when discussing the Israeli-Palestinian problems. At this point, we don't really go there, even though he completely supported me in my now-aborted trip to Gaza. Who knows the amount of healing that may take place here!

Out of the Cave

Or maybe...

Off of the Chair


With the death of Ms. Kitty this past July, a big area of my office - the area where her dinner table and bathroom were nicely guarded by a baby gate so that a Buddha dog couldn't barge in and interrupt important matters - was left vacant. Since nature and my office both abhor vacuums, Ms. Kitty's area became a dumping ground for ThingsWeDon'tKnowWhatToDoWith. But NO MORE! Thanks to the wonders of CraigsList, in the space that was Ms. Kitty's home, there is now a big, spiffy, comfy chair and humongous ottoman in which to contemplate, luxuriate, cogitate marinate, and appreciate.

And...

With the death of my plans to go to the Middle East this past December, this week was left vacant. Since nature and my life both abhor vacuums, I grabbed this week by the, um, reins and claimed it as MINE. And throughout the week, I sat A LOT in my big, spiffy, comfy chair with its humongous ottoman and I contemplated, luxuriated, cogitated, marinated, and appreciated.

For Five Days!

It was wonderful.

I still haven't figured out the answers to some questions

But answers don't seem too important right now.

Things I Would Have Said

Last night, instead of partying or going out to a fancy dinner for New Year's Eve, over a hundred of us gathered in a local Unitarian Universalist church for a vigil in solidarity with the Gaza Freedom March and the people of Gaza. We listened to a speaker, some poets, and a musician. Instead of paying for alcohol to deaden our entry into the new year, we put our money together for aid to Gazans.

I was asked to say a little something at the close of the vigil. Below is what I thought I was going to say - until I changed my mind a few hours before the vigil. I dropped it all when I realized that I am not meant to say words that I have prepared. I can read something (which I didn't want to do) or I can just speak what comes up out of me, but if I want to say something, sans notes, that I've prepared, I will mess up big time.

So instead of telling the lovely story that I had prepared, I winged it last night. I said that the thousands in Gaza and Egypt who were bringing light to the situation in Gaza, the HUGE blue moon, and the people sitting there before me on New Year's Eve all gave me hope.

Here is the story that I didn't tell. I think it's a story worth sharing:

Starhawk is an American writer and activist who is in Cairo now as a part of the Gaza Freedom March. She tells of an experience that I think is a demonstration of the way to peace. She found herself in front of a line of Egyptian police officers who were standing arm in arm to block the marchers from moving. Before her trip, she had learned a few Arabic words, including the numbers one to ten. As she stood before the cops, she held up one finger and said the Arabic word for "one". The officer in front of her made eye contact and smiled. Soon, he and other officers along the line were teaching and encouraging Starhawk until she had counted to 100 in Arabic. She said that they changed from scary potential torturers to "men who were gazing at her with fond, paternal eyes like a father looks at a promising child. They became sweet young men doing a job that wasn't really their choice to begin with."

Starhawk built a bridge between the label "Egyptian cop" and the reality of "just another human".

Tonight on this last night of the year, the night of the blue moon, may peace come through our remembering that separateness is only an illusion.


(Photo from WorldBulletin.net)

The Last Day of 2009

Mr. Carol For Peace gave me the book, Sunbeams, A Book of Quotations, for Christmas. I like quotations and that word is starting to look mighty strange as I type this. Does that ever happen to you?

Anyway, here are a few short ones that stood out today:

Empires rise and fall like the abdomen of God.
It's just the universe breathing.
- Scoop Nisker

The moment one gives close attention to anything, even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself.
- Henry Miller

Freedom breeds freedom. Nothing else does.
- Anne Roe

Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you.
- Jean-Paul Sartre

I refuse to be intimidated by reality anymore.
What is reality? Nothing but a collective hunch.
- Lily Tomlin

Be kind; everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.
- John Watson


And lastly, when I Googled "Scoop Nisker", I found his site which has the following quote at the top of the page:

Happy 200th Birthday to Charles Darwin! The greatest gift of evolution is a spiritual message: You are not your fault!
- Scoop Nisker


Oh, what a relief!

May 2010 hold much love and many growth-producing adventures for you!

Lost in Space

I know today is Tuesday, but I don't know the date. I'm not going to look at the calendar to find out, either. It doesn't matter.

I was to be in Gaza right now, but I'm not. I'm in a big, blank square on that calendar on my shelf. There is nothing written on that square because I reserved the day for visiting Gazans, and the vacuum left by the cancellation of the trip has not sucked in any new activities.

It's two minutes until noon and I haven't dressed myself or combed my hair. I did make a gluten-free, sugar-free dessert because the fruit that was thawed for it would go bad pretty soon if it wasn't used.

I've also been thinking about what I am going to say at this Thursday night's vigil which will be held in solidarity with those who are in Cairo attempting to get through the border into Gaza. I thought about it yesterday evening and during the night when sleep left me looking at the ceiling. This morning I read an email and, like that (she snaps her fingers), I knew what is asking to be said. I guess it takes awhile to prime the pump for these things...

Hmmmmm... I wonder if I should go take a nap now. I'm likin' this empty calendar stuff. Whoever it was that insinuated that it's good to be busy and productive at all times had to be a very sick person.

Before I go, here are photos of some very cool Christmas presents I received:

From my super awesome in-laws.

A three-record set. RECORDS! Not even recorded in stereo!
My son finds the best stuff.
I haven't been able to find anything about this album on the internet.
All I know from the cover is that it was recorded in 1969 and the cover art was done in 1973 - I'm assuming '73 is the year the album was created.

Good thing I still have my old turntable!

This would be day three of my Cairo experience if had gone on my trip. I would be surrounded by people from all over the world, along with Egyptian police officers about now. I had planned on interacting with many of the over 1300 people from around the world, but I hadn't planned on the police officer part.

Now that everyone has arrived in Cairo, Egypt has stated that no one is getting into Gaza. There are checkpoints along the road to the border so that anyone attempting to get through will be stopped. Permits for events to be held in Cairo have been reneged on by the government.

So the marchers are not allowed near the border with Gaza, and they are blocked by police whenever they attempt any kind of event or demonstration in Cairo.

What is left to do?

Well, tourism is always an option.

Or people can respond in order to put pressure on the Egyptian government and to bring attention to the situation.

Some activists, including 85-year-old Holocaust survivor, Hedy Epstein, are participating in hunger strikes.


Hedy says that she has never done this before, so she doesn't know how her body will respond. Still, she will do "whatever it takes".

For her sake and for the sake of the marchers and the Palestinians, I hope her actions are effective.

We don't want to see the headline, Woman survives holocaust, but dies trying to prevent more ethnic killing.

Now, at the one year anniversary of the war on Gaza, I'm finally seeing some significant news coverage of the horrific conditions of that area. Thanks to those who trekked to Cairo with hopes of marching in solidarity with the people of Gaza, the world will no longer be able to pretend it doesn't know.

A More Excellent State of Being

An outstanding article from the Wall Street Journal:

What My Daughter Taught Me About Compassion

By DAVID HOROWITZ

President Barack Obama has been in office nearly one year, making it two since my late daughter Sarah trudged through a freezing winter in Iowa to help him win the nomination. According to a Gallup poll conducted on the anniversary of the presidential vote, only 28% of Americans still believe that Mr. Obama will be "able to heal political divisions in the country." A year ago, 54% felt he would be able to do so.

When I read those figures I can't help thinking about Sarah. For the two of us reflected the country's political divisions in our own relationship—a case familiar to many American families. As a conservative and an active participant in political conflicts, I am acutely aware of how difficult it is, despite best intentions, to change the tone in the midst of debate, and how many otherwise thoughtful people can be swept up in its lower passions.

Despite our political differences—and the painful distances and predictable frustrations they created—Sarah and I ultimately came to the point where we were able to avoid the rancors of these public imbroglios. By the time she was overtaken by medical complications that derived from a birth defect, and which made efforts like her Iowa campaign extraordinarily difficult, we were quite close. Sarah and I were able to be respectful not only of the fact that we had such differences, but of the reasons why we had them. After her death in March 2008, I decided to write a memoir of her remarkable life, and to include the story of our estrangement and reunion in the hopes it might be helpful to others facing similar divisions.

My daughter was largely responsible for our reconciliation. She wanted to change the world—yet she knew this could only be accomplished one person at a time, and only by respecting the dignity of others.

Despite her physical disabilities, Sarah traveled on buses and on foot across San Francisco to feed the homeless. Even though she was a vegetarian herself, she learned to prepare meat dishes for them, because that was what they wanted. She stood vigil in bitter winters at San Quentin prison whenever there was an execution. But she did not think the criminals on behalf of whom she protested were innocent. Nor did she think they should be released. Sarah just felt that it was bad for the nation's soul to take a life.

Over the years, I came to realize that while some of my daughter's views were different from mine, the values they reflected and, most importantly, the estimates of human character on which they were based, were not so different that I could not recognize them. This recognition and the love I felt for her allowed me to open my heart and to learn.

A particular bone of contention between us had been over the Jewish concept of tikkun olam, which means "repair of the world," and is often wrongly conflated with the left's quest for "social justice." My life experience had led me to conclude that not only was changing the world an impossible dream, but the refusal to recognize it as such was the source of innumerable individual tragedies and of epic misery that human beings had inflicted on each other in my lifetime through the failed utopianisms of Nazism and communism.

For more than a decade, Sarah and I argued across this gap with much disappointment until I came to realize that I was missing a crucial element that connected her view and mine. This realization was crystallized in an exchange we had over a book I had written called "The End of Time." In that book, I observed that while the prophets of all religions taught us to love each other as we love ourselves and to think that "there but for the grace of God go I," this advice was ultimately imprudent.

Is it wise, I asked, "to put our trust in strangers, or to love our enemies as ourselves? Would we advise our children to do so?"

Then came a passage to which Sarah took great exception: "I cannot embrace this radical faith," I wrote. "I feel no kinship with those who can cut short a human life without remorse; or with terrorists who target the innocent; or with adults who torment small children for the sexual thrill. I suspect no decent soul does either."

Sarah took these words as an attack on the very rationale of her life, and responded at first with anger. But she relented and then wrote me this: "My objection is that you're confusing compassion with gullibility. I do visit prisoners and I think it matters to make that human connection. That doesn't mean I'd necessarily trust them with my purse. I wouldn't let the State execute them in my name either. I don't think kinship with people who've crossed the line blurs my own morality. In fact, it gives it more clarity. If you see someone in the fullness of their humanity, you see how they are acting out their own confusion and suffering.

"This does not justify hurtful or evil acts. It doesn't even always inspire forgiveness. But if you see someone this way, you respond more in sadness than in anger. And that is simply a more excellent state of being."

A more excellent state of being. My daughter not only understood the limits we face in trying to repair the world, but she had taught me that compassion like hers could be informed by a sense of these limits as well. "Even if you've never had this experience," she continued, "respect the experience of those who have. I'm not talking about an idea either. This is a full-bodied understanding of another person. This practice has in fact transformed all my relationships, including ours by the way."

—Mr. Horowitz is the author, most recently, of "A Cracking of the Heart," a memoir about his daughter just published by Regnery.