OnLine With Zoe

The Suffering of Change

Friday I went to hear His Holiness, the Dalai Lama speak and to receive the Amitabha Buddha Initiation.  The Teaching was very complex, as Tibetan Buddhism always is.  There is a form of Buddhism for everyone and if you like complex diagrams, higher math and puzzles, Tibetan Buddhism may be the right one for you.  HHDL talked about the Four Noble Truths, the three turns of the Wheel of Dharma, the eight fold path, the three vehicles of Buddhism, the six transcendent perfections, etc.  After sitting in meditation halls, listening to complex Tibetan teachings for many, many years I know the best thing to do is to let it all pour through me, around me and not bother trying to keep careful score.  It is much more interesting to wait a bit and see what surfaces above the rest.
 
Embedded in the talk was a long section on the three forms of suffering, the second of which is the Suffering of Change.  It is my take-away.  Change is a central linchpin in my life.  Personally, I am not a fan of change.  I feel like I am hanging off a cliff at any given moment, testing the limits of social convention so when I am asked to change, yet again, I really dig in.  But I am persistent asking others to change.  Mostly I ask by just being in their vicinity.  I look like a big old nun (until the tattoo shows and no it is not a pin-up) and then I make sure to use a word or two that ruffles; queer, abortion, atheist, pacifist.  I like watching them adjust, like someone squinting on a bright afternoon exiting a dark movie theater.

I find it is interesting to mess with the lines of social convention ~ touching the border, reaching over the border for a split second.  When I was seven or eight and not allowed in my big brother’s room, I would stand at the line in the carpet, dabbing my big toe on the forbidden side for half a shake of a lamb’s tale, singing, na, na, na, na, na.  And then run for my life back to my room, throwing myself on the bed as if I had shattered a window or robbed a bank.  My brother appeared entirely bored but I was certain he was pretending.
 
Usually when I talk to a group, I gage my language, measure my anecdotes, jab a bit, push a little; test them for tolerance and me for good judgment.   It’s a skill figuring out how much you can ask of people before they can’t hear any more.  And recently it sure seems that a lot of people are freaking out.  Every day there are news stories about people working to stop change; unprecedented numbers of organized protesters outside of over two hundred Planned Parenthood clinics, anti-health care reform demonstrators with anti-etiquette acting out, neo-nazis in Riverside exploding over immigration laws, tea partiers brandishing posters of the president as an African cartoon or dictator icons.  Conservative Americans are flailing at sea.

They are up to their elbows and earlobes in the Suffering of Change.  Society is changing; that is the fact.  As society advances, people want to be paid, be well, be equal.  Today, humanity, in all her variations, is demanding and, occasionally, seizing equality.  The US government is on the brink of joining the rest of the Western world in caring for all citizens, well and sick.  Women are ascending, ever so slowly.  Wages, weather, weapons, vehicles, riches, taxes; change is rising above the surface and cannot be ignored.

Conservatives are drowning in the Suffering of Change and one way or another they are going to find out that the Suffering of Change is relieved by detaching from the familiar or by embracing the unknown.  The worst possible thing to do is try to stop the change; it is a sure fire failure.
 
Watching people work so hard to resist these modern changes is sort of painful.  I do not celebrate that people are frightened by the changes that are unfolding, inevitable, well under way.  I find it truly sad and so upsetting that they are torturing and killing changemakers.  Like my brother sitting at his desk in his room, while his obnoxious little sister taunts him at the threshold, it is best to not run out yelling, throw a few slaps, slam the door; better to endure, feign indifference or, better yet, just realize that this is what kids do as they grow up and become responsible adults.

Magdalene, Feminist & Inspiration

From Two Pilgrims, the travel blog about my trip to Provence in Fall 2008.  Because of the news this week about the ERA/WEA, I missed Mary Magdalene's feast day, July 22. 

Though I have had an inexplicable and strong magnetic attachment to Mary Magdalene my entire life, after visiting Provence I am certain that it is not to validate, or even investigate her marriage to Jesus or authenticate their children’s bloodline.  Validating any “relationship” is not my primary or spiritual interest.  I do not care if Black Sarah of Saintes Maries de la Mer is her daughter, if thousands of devotees were murdered over the centuries to erase her legacy or if she was the “Apostle to the Apostles.” 

All of these inquiries, while historic, academic and intriguing, are merely architectural components to building a community, a theology and, ultimately, a church albeit an alternative church to the Vatican variety.  Even if it is matriarchal and establishes a bona fide bloodline to Joshua ben David, whom many believe to be exclusively divine; it still is not my pursuit or desired outcome.  Frankly put, even the titles of widow, wife, mother, aunt or “Apostle” are entirely relativistic and bear no possibility unless you are a widow, wife, or apostle to one who is established as, at the least, superior or, at most, divine.

In my journey to “re-step” Magdalene’s trail in France, it was the cave that spoke to me.  It was not her being discarded, de-famed or newly discovered that is my listing mast.  It is her practice; her 30 years in Ste Baume that is my oceanic interest.  In Provence, she was not sitting at the feet of a master or documenting the life of another.  She was not building a following for her deceased husband.  She was not building a building at all.  She was a mystic practicing self-discovery.   

Since myth making about Magdalene seems to be open for one and all,  I choose to make my own.   That is not to say that the unpeeling of Mary Magdalene serves no purpose or isn’t exciting.  I am suggesting that as it becomes more and more irrefutably clear, to the point of being obvious, that union is sacred, Jesus and Mary were partners and they had at least one child; people will become loosed to question papal succession, infallibility, and a celibate male-only priesthood. 

I believe, I will continue, I will press to dispense with all of that entirely.  A woman does not have to be the brave sacrificing partner, thinking only of her man to be worthy of reverence.  Furthermore, I would contend that the path unfolds even further ~ through the practice of meditation and self-discovery. 

To me, the interesting thing is that once consciously afoot on the path of self-discovery; there are no relative ideas or positions.  Each person is their own master.  Each person is without rank.  Each person sits under the tree, crosses a river or retreats to a cave.  Metaphor, myth or real is completely irrelevant.

Paths are Single Lane; Diamond or Otherwise

Every year, on July 6, I post a birthday hello to His Holiness the Dalai Lama.  I love him and hold him lightly, as one day he will be gone and I won't be able to post a birthday greeting with the same feeling as I do now. 

Usually I am writing about women, the arts, feminism, politics but, to my surprise, a couple times a year I have to acknowledge my love for some influential, special men.  Dec 25 & October 2 are  such days too.  So what's the dif when the ratio is 3/365. 

I do feel a sense of judgment about my attachment to these men and, if you hear me speak, I do go on and on about the women in their lives.  Magdalene is the main figure in my hagiography.  I can also report in on Kasturbai Gandhi, Lydia Emerson, Betty Shabazz, etc.   Besides, I may incarnate as a man next time and I need the research on some male role models.    

Besides my apology for lapsing on my gender bigotry, there is a real difference in holding these men in esteem and relying on them to actually do something besides inspire.  I hold no intention, expectation or, even hope, that loving them lifts me out of my path.  To me paths are single lane; diamond or otherwise.

One real deal-maker with His Holiness happened a  few years back.  I sat in a room with 600 Americans awaiting his entrance.  I was personally excited and feeling downright giddy with the group energy.  He came in, took the microphone and laughed.  “You all want me to be your Teacher and tell you what to do.  I will not.”  He continued telling us that he would be our Spiritual Friend (a true term in Tibetan lexicon).  Now, I will give you my teaching; “ Warm Heart, Open Mind, Small Steps.”  That is so rich, radiant ~ seriously, joyfully ~ isn’t that just the best? 

Happy Birthday, My Spiritual Friend.

Eulogy for Dr. George Tiller

DELIVERED AT CONGREGATION KOL AMI, WEST HOLLYWOOD, JUNE 3, 2009

Thank you for this opportunity to speak in this meeting of the spirit.  Most often we are speaking at political events, when we make a point to not mention the spirit and soul.  Now, here at this beautiful Synagogue, Congregation Kol Ami, we can talk of the spirit. 

First I want to tell you that when I was forty-four and my reading eyes weren't what they used to be, I missed the tiny stamped expiration date on a birth control product that had been in my drawer for over ten years and, to my surprise, I found myself pregnant.  I went to a clinic in New York and, as required by law, was counseled by a health care worker who happened to be half my age.  I had to tell her that I had used my birth control but did not know that it could expire. 

The next day I came back to be assisted by women, at the door, at the desk, in the OR.  When the procedure was over I put out my hand and said thank you.  The doctor, a bit bemused, removed his glove and shook my hand.  I explained that I had been a free clinic director and I know the danger they live in every day.  I wanted to thank him for his service to women. 
 
I am telling you this to encourage you that if you have had an abortion; please talk about it, give others the opportunity to ask you about it.  Take the opportunity to tell them that it has not destroyed your life.  The decision was neither tragic or trivial.  Peel off the stigma and shame.  Openly discuss that all facets of reproductive health are part of every woman’s life. 

Second I want to tell you in this ecumenical gathering, I am a Buddhist and I do not believe in heaven or hell.  (That’s a relief!)  That doesn't make abortion easier ~ just different.  I believe that an independent soul enters a human body with breathe, as most scriptures describe.

Also I believe in reincarnation. I believe that people are born to the next life based on what they designed through their previous life and the circumstances of their death.  (It is not lost on me that another great soul died in prayer, by a point blank shooting, M.K.Gandhi.) 

I believe that George Tiller’s soul is in that place between the worlds planning the next life.  This is one daydream I hold about Dr Tiller’s soul ~ Sometime in the future a little girl will be born.  She will be healthy and smart.  In  her world, women will have irrevocable domain over their bodies, birth control will be free and reliable, women who become pregnant will be able to make private informed choices with safe, loving care by well-paid professionals.

As a life-long activist, the question always arises, “what is our action item?”  Today’s action item is to create such a world so this American Mahatma, this Great Soul, deserves to come back to. 

What then must we do?

I sit, close my eyes and try to count my breathing.  I am conducting the same wave of fear and uncertainty that is washing through the neighborhood, the city, the county.  The fact that I am fine does not make me immune.  I sit on the couch, watching American Idol, speeding through the commercials with dog asleep on the left and cat asleep on my lap; I am fine. 

Despite the steady stream of my life, I feel the earth tremble just enough to make steps tentative.  Sleep is not business as usual, instead it is dreams of loss and limitation.  It makes me wonder how it must be for a family on their last paycheck, their trip to the market with the last cash in hand.  This is what is happening for families across the country, my country.

It makes me wonder what is happening in war torn places, where doors are kicked in and the sound of gunfire is common.  Or where there is no water or crops.  Where the losses cannot be counted on a calculator.  How can they sleep?  The fact is I have no idea.  I am thirsty and, while checking the dog bowl too, I turn the faucet handle releasing the abundance of my life. 

What can I do?  That is my unraveling thread.  Distractions are losing their strength.  I don’t care about the Bachelor, Limbaugh, Jindal.  All of the reasons I got on the Obama bandwagon have been shelved way behind AIG, Northern Trust and GM.  The Portuguese Water dog is not enough.  What will it take?   No on 8, Yes to Milk Day, repeal DOMA, ERA, 50/50 by 2020, end war, (oh yeah – what is this holocaust they are planning for Afghanistan).  It is Women’s History Month and where is Hillary?  What terrible calamity is demanding all of her attention.  I miss my dailies on Hillary – her tweet is not enough. 

I feel like I want to apologize.  Or do I want an apology.  I just don’t know.

Mary Magdalene & Me.

Though I have had an inexplicable and strong magnetic attachment to Mary Magdalene my entire life, after visiting Provence I am certain that it is not to validate, or even investigate her marriage to Jesus or authenticate their children’s bloodline.  Validating any “relationship” is not my primary or spiritual interest.  I do not care if Black Sarah of Saintes Maries de la Mer is her daughter, if thousands of devotees were murdered over the centuries to erase her legacy or if she was the “Apostle to the Apostles.” 

All of these inquiries, while historic, academic and intriguing, are merely architectural components to building a community, a theology and, ultimately, a church albeit an alternative church to the Vatican variety.  Even if it is matriarchal and establishes a bona fide bloodline to Joshua ben David, whom many believe to be exclusively divine; it still is not my pursuit or desired outcome. 

Frankly put, even the titles of widow, wife, mother, aunt or “Apostle” are entirely relativistic and bear no possibility unless you are a widow, wife, or apostle to one who is established as, at the least, superior or, at most, divine.

In my recent journey to “re-step” Magdalene’s trail in France, it was the cave that spoke to me.  It was not her being discarded, de-famed or newly discovered that is my listing mast.  It is her practice; her 30 years in Ste Baume that is my oceanic interest.  In Provence, she was not sitting at the feet of a master or documenting the life of another.  She was not building a following for her deceased husband.  She was not building a building at all.  She was a mystic practicing self-discovery. 

There many legends, dozens of churches, countless paintings and statues of Mary Magdalene/Madalene.  There are images of a boat with no oars and debatable passengers.  There are ideas about where she landed, did she teach, did she travel but I am not Mary Magdalene and, more personally important, she is not me.

Susan Haskins, China Galland, Margaret Starbird have written brilliant books about her.  Holy Blood, Holy Grail is an astute book about the blood line of Jesus.  Dan Brown entertained everyone on the subject.  But until women stand unattached in their own enlightenment there will always be an association pressing in on them; either taking credit for their advancement or diminishing her importance.

At one of the many magnificent churches we visited some angelic Dominican nuns were singing.  Mass was being held and one of the sisters was directing the congregation but it was the pure voices of the women in the sacristy that filled the dome to the door.  Then when the real action began, consecrating the eucharist, a priest stood and officiated at the altar, (notice it is clear that priest = man).  That will be the case until women are their own salvation, ranking below no one or, may I say, without rank.

Since myth making about Magdalene seems to be open for one and all,  I choose to make my own.   That is not to say that the unpeeling of Mary Magdalene serves no purpose or isn’t exciting.  I am suggesting that as it becomes more and more irrefutably clear, to the point of being obvious, that union is sacred, Jesus and Mary were partners and they had at least one child; people will become loosed to question papal succession, infallibility, and a celibate male-only priesthood. 

I believe, I will continue, I will press to dispense with all of that entirely.  A woman does not have to be the brave sacrificing partner, thinking only of her man to be worthy of reverence.  Furthermore, I would contend that the path unfolds even further ~ through the practice of meditation and self-discovery. 

To me, the interesting thing is that once consciously afoot on the path of self-discovery; there are no relative ideas or positions.  Each person is their own master.  Each person is without rank.  Each person sits under the tree, crosses a river or retreats to a cave.  Metaphor, myth or real is completely irrelevant.

To read about the whole trip - visit Two Pilgrims 

An Iconic Event

There is a very interesting post on Feministing.com asking readers to vote on feminist icons.  And they ask the question, do we even want icons?   Do they serve a purpose in this vast ocean of information we swim through every day?  I sat and really thought about whose picture on the cover of a magazine would instantly relay to me that this is a feminist and a champion of feminism.  From Magdalene to Ginsberg, from Sappho to diFranco, from Gentileschi to Kahlo, Cleopatra to Maloney - I have hundreds in mind whose lives advanced gender equality whether they meant to or not. 

But today I think it is not icons we need but an iconic event.  We need to shift the expectation of inequality; the natural acceptance of less pay, less respect, injustice, poor education, diminishing reproductive freedom, sexism in all its forms.  We need to admit that it is both an impossibility and unreasonable request to put this all on a single human being or even a group of people.  Yes, it can begin with a small group of people but now we are tilting at a tipping point.   

Feminism has reached as far as it can on the shoulders of individuals and now we must, as a collective consciousness, call for all genders, in all its variations of expression, to offer our services to Mother Earth and manifest equality.  Our minds must hold full pictures of the world as we want it to be.  As we travel, work and simply live ~ we must posit equality in each step, each action, each intention. 

You may recall that Gandhi believed that the will of millions of Indians could not be permanently neutralized by 100,000 British soldiers.  His teachings are that when enough injustices had been made visible, imperialism would lose its strangle hold.  As the British oppression became increasing intolerable, Indians' belief shifted, they reclaimed their autonomy in their minds and, ultimately, the British walked out of India.

So let us all agree today ~ enough is enough.  I am going create a world of equality through my will, my mind, my intention.  Breeches will be instantly recognizable because they clash with my direct belief.  Lets start each day expecting justice, holding the intention by saying, "I am grateful that today there will be more justice in the world."      

Happy Birthday to His Holiness!

Happy Birthday to His Holiness the Dalai Lama!

In the land encircled by snow mountains
You are the source of all happiness and good;
All-powerful Chenrezig, Tenzin Gyatso,
Please remain until samsara ends.

The best humanity has to offer

So long ago, 1982, I just joined a few women to fast.  Dick Gregory flew to town, sat with us, fasted on air and told us that he made a primary commitment to fasters around the world.  He explained that only the side of right, the side of light and truth could fast.  Hey, lets be honest, I was thinking what is this grandstanding anti-gay black man doing here sitting with us?

Oh do I get it now.  Fasting is simply irresistible.  Once you have put the body at rest (not processing food) and listened to the interior whispers of your own spirit, you know.  You know where you have been.  You know where other fasters are.  Maybe it is like that surfer who found that perfect wave and its memory is a polished jewel of a thought in a perfect storm of thoughts. 

For the last nine days, there are fasters on campus at Columbia University.  It is occurring because of many grievances against the administration and the blatant racism practiced on campus.  I would not presume to know the nuance of the protest.  I do feel confident in saying that Dick Gregory was right ~ in all the fasts I have known of ~ they are always shining light on the advancement of humanity.  They are always asking the observer to liberate themselves from the darkness of oppression.  They are the best humanity has to offer. That is why I want to thank these fasters.  Because of them, I ask more of me.

If you want to read about the fast at Columbia, leave a comment of support and track their process, visit their blog. 

A Proud Day for America

Today, George Walker Bush met with His Holiness the Dalai Lama.  Tomorrow, Congress will bestow upon His Holiness, the 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet, the United States Congressional Gold Medal of Honor. 

In recognition of his enduring and outstanding contribution to peace, non-violence, human rights, and religious understanding. webcast.  For once the US is doing the right thing and I want to pause, breathe it in and be glad that I am an American ~ and its been a long time since I have felt that way. 

My heart just may burst.  You can watch the whole event live on a

Tuesday, China issued a warning that we better not honor the Dalai Lama.  They do not want HHDL to be recognized as a leader, welcomed to Congress and given an award.  They have said that it will have “an extremely serious impact” on relations between the countries.  Gee, ya think?  Maybe more lead on the toys, poison in the food and toothpaste?  This from the country that has murdered, tortured and raped the most peaceful people on the face of the earth ~ the Tibetans.

On the day this picture was taken, this esteemed exiled Tibetan leader walked into the room of excited American people.  He stepped up to the mic and said that he was not our teacher but he would be our spiritual friend.  For those of you who do not know, that is an actual relationship among Tibetan Buddhists.  He went on to say that he brought us a very special teaching, one particularly for Westerners.  The room was a buzz as if something most esoteric was about to transpire (for those of us who read too much Castaneda).

Warm Heart

Open Mind

Small Steps

And then he giggled like you wanted to but had become too sophisticated somewhere along the way since age 5 to that day.  In case you don't know - I love him.  I really love him.  Don't know why and don't really care.  He makes me happy - MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.