Back to "Somewhere Out There." This time the original: http://youtube.com/watch?v=jhCP40PpW0k
This little mouse is all of us yearning for connection (on any level- human, divine), feeling small, feeling lost, possibly doomed, but yet still able to express hope in a tiny voice. It seems beyond silly to be so touched by this image, like the image I saw a while back of the tiger nursing little piglets (an earlier post).
Silly, but inevitable if I can feel my emotions; necessary, if I am to practice any kind of compassion in the world. I do not mean the kind of "compassion" one expresses with intellectual or political activity. I mean face-to-face encounter such as I experienced in the little church on Hawaii. It is compassion that does not result in analysis or conclusions, just presence.
In zazen, Roshi encourages me to "be there" with whatever state is occurring, not necessarily for the purpose of developing compassion (though that is a possible outcome), but just to learn to sit alongside my various states of mind without having the need to waste energy avoiding them.
I felt I lacked compassion in my drugged state. Thus, this medication issue is a spiritual one. I also feel I had a wake-up call, a reminder, of something missing in my life not just because of medication, but also for lack of a spiritual community. These are things I will be sitting with in my upcoming four day zazen, or possibly laying with, as the case may be.
Showing posts with label compassion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label compassion. Show all posts
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Most Beautiful Encounter
Had quit church-going, I thought forever. Could not abide the endless intellectual and political wanking about things so far removed from the object of worship, that it seemed an offense just going there.
Then, at Donna and Lawrence's invitation, I went to a very small, intimate Episcopal service on the Big Island and had one of the most beautiful church-going experiences of my life. There were thirty to forty in attendance at most, a few singers singing humble but heartfelt songs. The pastor, a woman my age, spoke walking among us, not standing over us. Her topic- just some musings about baptism and the kind of talkstory one might have after dinner with comfortable intimates. At no point did she feel the need to raise her voice or use rhetorical forms.
Commmunion was open, and for the first time EVER, there was a gluten-free host on the tray along with the wheat loaf. After the service, Donna and I walked the labyrinth, while Lawrence sampled the guitar of a choir member.
Then the sweetest moments of all- a truly I-thou conversation with two women completely absent the usual best-foot-forward coffee talk, and placing of oneself on the spectrum of Christian identities. One woman was there from Seattle with her husband, who had decided to spend his last days on the Big Island, for reasons that seem utterly obvious to me now. He has lung cancer. The other woman, a fellow celiac diet observer, had noticed that we shared the same bread preference.
I figure this was a call. I will answer it by venturing out to a small church in Tucson, bringing with me my Hawaii experience and leaving behind my pride and previous memories.
Then, at Donna and Lawrence's invitation, I went to a very small, intimate Episcopal service on the Big Island and had one of the most beautiful church-going experiences of my life. There were thirty to forty in attendance at most, a few singers singing humble but heartfelt songs. The pastor, a woman my age, spoke walking among us, not standing over us. Her topic- just some musings about baptism and the kind of talkstory one might have after dinner with comfortable intimates. At no point did she feel the need to raise her voice or use rhetorical forms.
Commmunion was open, and for the first time EVER, there was a gluten-free host on the tray along with the wheat loaf. After the service, Donna and I walked the labyrinth, while Lawrence sampled the guitar of a choir member.
Then the sweetest moments of all- a truly I-thou conversation with two women completely absent the usual best-foot-forward coffee talk, and placing of oneself on the spectrum of Christian identities. One woman was there from Seattle with her husband, who had decided to spend his last days on the Big Island, for reasons that seem utterly obvious to me now. He has lung cancer. The other woman, a fellow celiac diet observer, had noticed that we shared the same bread preference.
I figure this was a call. I will answer it by venturing out to a small church in Tucson, bringing with me my Hawaii experience and leaving behind my pride and previous memories.
