My New York Trip Part 1

Finally I have some time to tell about my trip, which was absolutely perfect...

First of all, I loved the chance to experience the New York transit system. After a night in a hotel near the airport (6-21), I took the AirTrain and subway to Grand Central Station. Of course I got a late start because noon was my 9 am, but I didn't have to be anywhere until late afternoon. OK, it wasn't absolutely perfect...the hotel only supplied Folgers coffee. I made my first touristy purchase in a little shop at Grand Central when I realized how hot and muggy it was and I hadn't packed any hair sticks to get my thick long hair up off my neck. I put one of the two hairsticks immediately in my hair.

I went to New York to take part in the Buddhist Peace Fellowship's Member Gathering.

BPF booked the Garrison Institute in Garrison, about an hour from the city. It was really kind of funny, this place. It's very beautiful and seemingly serene, but there were little things that were like annoying little gnats: they supplied us with only one towel for 4 days; the dishes all seemed designed to spill; they had a rule about using fragrance-free soaps. I joked that it seemed they wanted to mess with our spiritual practice. (Really, the glasses were narrower at the bottom, and if you tilted your glass just a little the water sloshed like a mini water funnel up and over the side...I spilled more water that weekend....) It was hot and muggy and it was deer tick season and they put us on the third floor, the hottest and no elevator. On the other hand the meals they provided were great, except at the very last when the salad had one certain bitter leaf that made you scrunch up your face. That was pretty much symbolic of the Garrison Institute. Oh, and they also had hot tubs, that was a good thing. The others wouldn't believe me when I told them it helped a person cool off.

In spite of the bitter-leaf-in-the-salad, the 4 days were perfect. I'd helped to plan the schedule, and a couple days before Maia, the director, had given us responsibilities for pieces of the weekend. She asked me to take point on the ritual portions of the schedule. This member gathering, it wasn't exactly a conference, it wasn't exactly a Buddhist retreat, but it was somewhere in between. An Engaged Buddhist Middle Way, of sorts. We'd already established that since BPF is ecumenical and egalitarian in nature, we wanted the ritual portions to come from the attendees and their particular practices. We also knew we wanted the opening ceremony to be something completely reflective of BPF, and not some particular sect of Buddhism. We'd rounded up a few volunteers to lead some ceremony, but I had many more schedule bits to fill.

While on the phone with Maia I'd mentioned to her I was just beginning to think of *my* intentions for the weekend, that until then I'd been focused on what it would be for other people. She took that thought and incorporated it into her idea for our opening ceremony. We had 4 people who spoke of specific concerns that came from the regions they represented, and they offered 4 responses to the suffering. Then we went around the room, when each participant could tell who they were, where they came from, and a succinct expression of their intention for the weekend gathering.

Lance began in the West. He spoke of the war, and our need to bear witness and not just think about the suffering but feel it. He led a tonglen meditation, once a 'secret' practice but made not secret by Pema Chodron. Basically you breathe in the ills of the world, and breathe out healing and happiness. Then Anchalee in the East, originally from Thailand. She has worked with refugees ever since she graduated from college. She especially wanted to mention those who were put into involuntary servitude. The ritual piece she brought was beautiful: homage to the 3 refuges in Pali, and the precepts in Pali. She said it's something one always recites in her Theravadin practice at the beginning of any ceremony. When she was young she didn't understand why but now she realizes it is to set the intention. Then it was to Jose in the South. Originally from Argentina, he spoke eloquently of how people 'were disappeared' in the politics of Latin America. But now, the ways of his country seems to be transplanted to this country, while in Latin America there are indigenous movements that are transforming the politics. He read a poem of Neruda, mostly in English, some Spanish. Finally there was Denis from Seattle in the North. He spoke of the riches we have, but of the suffering we have, war, environmental concerns, people in poverty, without health care. He invoked interbeing, and how we all need to find ourselves in the other. He read a poem by Robert Bly about how two people had no more to do but be, and love that third being in the room that was their connection.

In the go-round, some people expressed some very anguished distress over the state of this country, and the hope they could find some answers in the weekend. That was a tall order, but I think there were some answers found. I certainly found some. My intention had just come together that evening: I wanted to take joy in our interconnections, and help others make their interconnections, and get my self out of the way. In my role as ritual coordinator, that came together for me in a profound way.

Coming in Part 2: What I got out of the weekend
Part 3: Two magical nights in New York City

Happy Interdependence Day

I'm thinking of my Buddhist friends having their picnic at Great Vow Monastery. Every year they host an Independence Day Pan-Buddhist Picnic. Sometimes people have called it the Interdependence Day Picnic. I just traveled across the country and have been busy since I got home, so I've decided to stay home today and get caught up. I prefer to think of this as a day where we remember our dependence on each other simply to exist.

I'm not feeling very patriotic. After 4 years the Supreme Court has ruled the Bush administration has detained prisoners at Guantanamo illegally. We finally get the news that the American people were spied on long before 9/11, so much for that being the excuse for the warrantless spying. We still have soldiers dying in a war that was justified with lies and fills the pockets of corporate giants.

When I went to New York (more on that later) I loved the architectural details. I believe this was on the Rockefeller Center. After I got home I checked out a book from the library: "The Plot to Seize the White House." Back in the 30s, the Rockefellers were one of those super elite families that were friendly to the Fascists, were they not? On the one hand I am inspired by their contributions to our cities, on the other I am appalled at the dirty capitalist machinations that would subvert our democracy. Basically, a plot was conceived to put a puppet dictatorship in the White House, making Franklin Roosevelt a figurehead President. The name DuPont figured heavily. Back then, just as it happens today, the media ridiculed General Smedley Butler, the patriotic man who revealed the plot, and the wealthy industrialists were never prosecuted. Today we have had two bloodless coups, the proof of rigged elections is out there, but it has been ridiculed as 'tin-foil hat conspiracies' and the corporate giants really do call the shots.

I find greatest happiness in celebrating this interwoven network of connections that we have from person to person, affinity group to affinity group. Our families, our spiritual groups, our friends, our activist groups for which we willingly work for free, this is where I find the freedom of America, and I work to preserve it. We Buddhists like to talk up compassion and kindness and giving the benefit of the doubt, but we have real reason to fear in our minority status. In our desire to connect, we cannot blind ourselves to the dangers in the erosions of our Bill of Rights. Our democracy has been eroded on several fronts: compromised voting boxes; criminals in office; propaganda that passes for news; never-ending war that makes the corporate giants even richer and relies upon the bodies of the poor; erosion of the separation of church and state.

So much of this loving connection we have from person to person is lost when power and money get involved. I do not want to celebrate war. I do not want to celebrate nationalism, but I do want to celebrate our interconnectedness. We are a greedy nation, and feel entitled, but we depend on the world to live the way we do.

I have been doing a lot of Bodhisattva work lately, and I purchased my Kanzeon garden statue as a gift to myself to honor that gift in my life. I got her up the street from me, at A-1 Birdbath at 85th and Division, for those in the Portland area who may want to check out their wares. I found the little red Foo Dog at Target, of all places. (Target also had a goofy-looking Buddha, a Manga-Buddha, my friend called it.)

Compassion and love have been strong themes in my life lately, and it hurts my heart to dwell too much upon the violence being done by my government. Kanzeon/Kwan Yin is the One Who Hears the Cries of the World. She responds exactly as needed. When she arises in me, in you, in anyone, she is arising through the natural love we feel when we shed the tendencies of indoctrinated violence. May there be more of Kanzeon energy in the world.

Prize blue vase

When I visited my family in Wisconsin last July I took a bunch of photos and had such good intentions of writing down the stories my grandma had to tell me.

One afternoon she told me and my nephews about the time she won this blue vase.

She decided she would get it out of the back of the closet and show it to us. (Later I noodled around with my new camera and took silly pictures of her with the vase.)

The vase was dusty and she decided she needed to wash it right then.

She won the vase when she was a young mother. My grandpa took her out to the Greenbush Fireman's Picnic. In rural Wisconsin the fire departments are all volunteer. I'm not sure if the Fireman's Picnics are fundraisers for running the equipment, or for thanking the firefighters, or both. I remember when I was a little girl going to the Fireman's Picnic (in my case the Waldo Fireman's Picnic) was a big deal. It was just about as exciting to me as going to the County Fair.

While the County Fair had rides and 4-H exhibits and plenty of carnival games, at a fireman's picnic I always won a prize. It could be a parachute man or miniature plastic doll. I especially liked the fishing game because somehow I always caught a 'fish prize'. I was just young enough not to realize there was a person behind that cloth 'water'. Somehow a lot of the adults seemed to know me, also magical. There were brats and hamburgers, and somehow all the stranger adults were happier and more boisterous (drunk). The one ride that was there at the Waldo Fireman's Picnic was the pony ride, and I knew them! My aunt Jean and Uncle Kenny owned the Sunset Saddle Shop and pony rides. I was disappointed when rides weren't always forthcoming. I couldn't understand why they didn't just offer me a ride, they were family weren't they?

So many years before my grandpa had taken my grandma
to the Greenbush Fireman's Picnic. People would travel from miles around to go to this one. I'm pretty sure Grandma said she won the vase at Bingo. She couldn't believe it! It was the first time in her life she had ever won anything.

Recently viewed movies

Manchurian Candidate, new version.

For a while now, well, let me be honest, ever since GW Bush pulled off two bloodless coups, I've felt as though we were all living in a Hollywood blockbuster, but I keep waiting for the resolution in which the hero saves the day. Perhaps that hero was frightened off by anthrax. I've realized this movie is the one we're living in. Machinating Mama Senator is instead Papa CIA/former president. And in this life the twisted evil corporate cabal is winning. It's a good movie, and has inspired me to see the original with Frank Sinatra.

Take Care of My Cat

A girls coming of age movie...in Korea. I like foreign films because they usually don't fit the Hollywood cookie-cutter mold. They also give me glimpses into another culture. I haven't traveled, but at least I can through arts and literature. Finally, I figure the ones that make it here are the cream of the crop. It was interesting to note that in some ways urban Korean teenagers may share more in common with American teenagers than I do with American teenagers....such as growing up with cell phones as a way of life. A first movie by a female Korean director, I find a sweet, solid dignity in the characters and the story.

Derrida

I don't know anything about Derrida, but as I come from a Liberal Arts college, occasionally the alumni email list talks about philosophers. Derrida coined the term deconstruction, a complex concept that near as I can figure Lao Tzu had figured out centuries ago: The way that can be named is not the true way. Of course everything comes back to Buddhist thought to me. (While not Buddhist, Lao Tzu had an influence on Zen.) While perhaps the documentarians felt they could not show us the true Derrida without showing him getting in a car, going for a walk, getting a haircut...I didn't think it helped me understand him or deconstructionism any better or any sooner. Derrida was reluctant to let go of his writings to an archival library, over one hundred boxes. What is it about Western philosophy and it's attachment to ever more precise details of ideas?

The Grass Harp

A sweet narrative of a boy growing up with his two aunts. While watching I thought the style of this narrative sure seems familiar. Sure enough, the novel was written by Truman Capote, who also wrote A Christmas Memory. (Who knew I could recognize the style of an author?) I saw that as a one-man play last year. Capote does have a way with Norman Rockwell-esque vignettes.

The Closet

Gerard Depardieu was smart and went back to France. In this French movie, a man who knows he's going to be fired from a condom factory comes out of the (non-existent) closet with the help of his new friend and neighbor. Depardieu plays the homophobic comic relief. Just as his new friend predicted, the formerly bland man keeps his job as a gay man, and now intrigues everyone. A predictable but funny movie.

Saving Face

A young Chinese-American doctor deals with her Chinese community's matchmaking on the one hand, and her semi-closeted lesbian romance on the other in Flushing, NY. Some English, some Chinese, no white people unless there were some unnoticed extras. Neat movie.

The Republic of Love

A romantic comedy from Canada with Bollywood elements, directed by an Indian-Canadian woman. There's something charming about that larger-than-life moment of destiny found in a Bollywood movie. I've only seen a few of the crossover movies, such as Monsoon Wedding. The music helps you realize, "Oh, this is a Bollywood moment." There's always mythic elements in a Bollywood movie. (Am I right?) She identifies with mermaids, he had 27 homemaker mothers, June Cleavers all.

Grandma turns 88

I woke up this morning with a dream that my grandma came to visit me and we were at the Oregon coast. A bus arrived, and my grandma realized there was an old friend on the bus, so this old friend (not someone I recognized, a black grandma type) got off the bus to talk to my grandma, and the bus driver pulled up to wait. I was concerned the bus had to go, but the bus driver nodded kindly and clearly indicated that there was no hurry, two grandmas catching up was more important.

I remembered on waking that it's my grandma's birthday, and she has lung cancer, so I wondered if this was a saying-goodbye sort of dream. I know she wants to see me again before she dies. Every time I talk to her on the phone, she asks when I'm coming to visit again.

Of course I called her today. My mom took her out to eat today, and my aunt took her out to eat yesterday. We talked some, and worried together some, about my cousin Tim. I won't pretend I'm close to him. He's a few years younger than me, and I remember the moment when I realized we just wouldn't grow up to have much in common. I think I was in high school, and we were having a conversation about things we liked to do. He liked to play war games and read about the history of the World Wars, specifically the weapons and vehicles of war. I couldn't understand the appeal of wars. Even then I carried the seeds of pacifism in me.

My cousin is a police officer, and is now a Major in the National Guard. My grandma was able to tell me this Friday he goes to train for a couple of weeks, then he goes to Saudi Arabia, then to Iraq. He has a little boy Alex, a little girl Gracie, and another baby on the way. Grandma tells me his wife Kristen is doing pretty well. She got really sick with the start of her first pregnancy, but this third one is not as bad. Tim hopes to be able to return for his baby's birth, but my grandma doesn't see how it's likely to happen. A couple or a few years ago he was sent to Afghanistan, and has been pleased, having a young family, that so far he hasn't been sent to Iraq. When I asked about the sore on his face that wouldn't heal (from Afghanistan), Grandma said she thought that was what kept him from having to go to Iraq, but she hasn't heard anything about that lately.

Grandma still does her laundry on Mondays, and still hangs them to dry on a clothesline outside. I think she has a small electric dryer but she never uses it. She prefers the feel and smell of clothes and sheets off the line. In the winter she hangs it all on lines in her basement. Today she told me she took a vacation, she's going to do her laundry tomorrow. Still, she sorted it today, because she "wants to get an early start."

The other thing on her mind is her roof. She has to get a new one. My brother and my uncle wanted her to get more than one estimate, but she doesn't want to deal with the aggravation. If she gets a decent estimate from the local guy, she's going to go with that, and I say why not? She needs to enjoy the life she has left. We chuckled in agreement.

1001 Details

I've been too busy lately to post something. I led the effort in creating another successful Buddhist Festival in the Park. A lovely friend of Portland BPF took photos that day. For some reason she took several of me. I like this one. Maybe because one gets a feel for the festival, seeing the banner, prayer flags, and park shelter in the background where teaching was taking place, but in the foreground is a colorful booth where people have connected to each other. Plus I guess I never really get to see the back of me, and Reverend Faulconer looks really cool from the back, with his robes filling the center of the photo. Then Jan came around to the front for this one.

Several people said they want to help next year, or help more than they did this year. I will remind them of that. While this is work I gladly do, I don't want to be the one doing most of it, as happened this year. Not only do I feel pressured, I don't think it helps the festival either. I am already thinking about how I can get more people involved in pre-event planning, and get more area groups involved. This is a conundrum of virtual connections. While I can reach many instantaneously and quite a few express enthusiasm, few actually step forward with real-time effort.

People kept asking me how the day was going. Could I tell them that my main concerns were a day starting with no canopy for the info booth, no bathroom cleaning supplies, and no bell? There were a 1001 details: I had thought of a 1000, and there were several that somebody forgot. Instead I responded that they were in a better position to tell me, because while I focused on the details to make the day go smoothly, they were getting to experience it. Several people commented that they enjoyed how peaceful and relaxing it was. People at the booths felt those who stopped by were genuinely interested.

I particularly enjoyed covering the children's booth for an hour. I read a story, giving the boys who were there a choice between two books. (I brought as many Buddhist books for kids that I could get my hands on from the library...a feature of the kids booth that parents especially liked.) The boys chose Little Stone Buddha. We had a good time talking about it as well as reading it. They shared news of their own statues of Buddhas, and we had a little conversation about mudras as well. We noticed the Little Stone Buddha held his hands and arms in a couple of different mudras.

Some of these boys spent most of the afternoon coloring. In this photo I am cutting Buddhist images from a magnetic sheet that they can color with magic markers. This was left over from a Dharma School project. (Yet another thing that's been keeping me busy, but now I have the summer off.) A little while later one boy asked for another story, which tickled me to no end. But I got a couple of pages in, then the others returned to gather him up for a game of tag, which was fine with me.

This was our third year to hold a Buddhist Festival in the Park, and the third year that I did a good bit of the arranging of the teachers who would speak, but did not get to hear them myself. This time though we got a volunteer to record the talks, so I get to hear them after the fact, and so will others.

Yesterday I treated myself to a gift that honors this year in which I feel like I've done a lot of bodhisattva work. I got a garden statue of Kanzeon, she must be about 4 feet high, and put her on a stump pedestal near my back porch. More on that later, with photos.