Neti, Neti

To organize is to destroy. ~Lao Tan, quoted by Thomas Merton in The Way of Chuang Tzu

“Neti, neti” is a Sanskrit expression from ancient Hindu texts. It can be translated as “Not this, not this.” The words are meant to express the inexpressible, what the Tao Te Ching calls the name that cannot be named, or the way that cannot be told.

We humans are dependent on language to think and to communicate, at least most of us are. The idea of something that is beyond linguistic representation can be unnerving. We like things labeled and properly categorized, from science to Tupperware containers in our freezers.

Nowhere is this more evident than in matters of faith. We choose one belief and reject another. We seek those who share the beliefs that we have chosen, and we form groups around these beliefs, excluding those who don’t share them. And then we argue, and even fight, to prove by might that we are right. Chogyam Trungpa called it spiritual materialism.

It’s so important to us to believe that we have chosen the right belief that we close our minds, and even our hearts, to thoughts and people who might threaten our inner security. We organize our faith until it’s safe and tidy. Until that which cannot be named or told is lost.

I just finished a book by three women – a Jew, a Muslim, and a Christian. (A Jew, a Muslim, and a Christian walked into a bar.... No, that’s a different story.) These three women, who all lived in New York, were moved by the tragedy of 9/11 to begin a dialogue, a dialogue that was not safe or tidy. It entered the dark shadows of stereotypes and cliches, the Holocaust and the West Bank, the cross and jihad.

They called their group Faith Club, which is also the title of their book. And unlike Fight Club, the first rule of which is not to talk about Fight Club, they talked not only to each other but to their friends, families, and faith communities about Faith Club.

And what they found was their deep and true faith, not in a set of beliefs, but in the openness of their hearts and the willingness of their spirits, in the humility of not having all the answers, and in the grace of knowing that the answers weren’t so important after all.

If you can understand it, it’s not God. ~St. Augustine

related posts: Tapping of the Heart; The Way of No Way

Invest in Loss

If nothing within you stays rigid, outward things will disclose themselves. Moving, be like water. Still, be like a mirror. Respond like an echo. ~Bruce Lee

Invest in loss? That does not sound like wise financial planning! Yet it is a slogan we practice with in martial arts. What does it mean?

If I am sparring with someone who is more skilled than I am, which is almost always, I can take one of two approaches.

I can become stuck in my ego, insecure and nervous. In this case, I’m focused on myself, on my own discomfort. I’m tense and distracted. If my partner attacks, I’m likely to just back up, trying to get away. Eventually, I’ll get backed up against a wall with nowhere to go. Or I might go on the offense, flailing away with false bravado to mask my growing panic. At the end of the match I’m winded and discombobulated. I haven’t learned anything.

My other choice is to become free from my ego, confident and calm. In this case, I’m focused on my partner, on my partner’s energy and movements. I’m relaxed and alert. If my partner attacks, more times than not, his attack will connect. (I should interject here that we use only light contact, so I’m not in danger of serious injury.) I’m more judicious with my attacks, waiting for an opening. At the end of the match, I’m energized and excited. And I’ve learned something.

In his book There Are No Secrets, Wolfe Lowenthal explains this lesson from his tai chi teacher, Cheng Man-ch’ing. If you allow someone with superior skill to attack you 100 times, you can study his technique. Out of the 100 times, you might “lose” 99 times. But you have watched and learned. When your partner attacks the 100th time, you are prepared. You neutralize the attack and your partner is defeated by his own energy.

Easier said than done. Yesterday, I was sparring with a very advanced student. At the end of the match I thanked him and asked for advice. His one comment to me? “Breathe.” Hmm. I will be investing in loss for a long time, I think!

That’s okay. It’s better than okay because I’ve discovered that investing in loss applies to life beyond martial arts. There is so much we can learn when we are not attached to “winning.”

The other day, someone was upset with me. I started to react defensively to what I believed was an unfair accusation, but instead, I paused. I listened to what the other person was saying without getting my ego knickers in a knot. As she vented her indignation, I realized that she was ascribing thoughts and motives to me that existed only in her imagination. I listened more deeply to the underlying fear that created the story she was telling herself.

Because I was willing to “allow” her attack, I learned something about her that opened the door to true communication. Without attacking in return, I was able to “deflect and reflect” until she saw for herself that her distress was unrelated to me. I became her ally instead of her enemy. We parted with connection and friendship instead of separation and pain.

Perhaps, to paraphrase the saying, the best defense is no offense.

I can think of other examples, but perhaps you might share an experience from your own life when investing in loss turned out to be a good strategy. I’d love to hear your story.

First they ignore you, then they ridicule you, then they fight you, and then you win. ~Mahatma Gandhi

related posts: My Half of the Bargain; No One Wins in Court

Thin Places

Bidden or not bidden, God is present. ~Carl Jung

I’ve been reading about the Celtic concept of “thin places,” places where heaven and earth come close together. At first, I thought the concept described an inner place where we feel the presence of the divine. But upon further reading, I now understand that these thin places are physical places, places where we sense the nearness of the other side. Some are famous, like Boudanath, the Tibetan stupa in Nepal, where I had the good fortune to visit during a new year celebration. Others are hardly noticeable, discovered only when we stumble across them.

I think there is a thin place beside the creek at my cabin. When I was looking for a mountain getaway, I had narrowed my focus to two cabins several miles apart. Both were on creeks. One was in move-in condition. It had a spacious loft, and inside bathroom, and a view of snow capped Mt. Hood in the distance. The other one, for roughly the same price, was smaller, run down, dark and musty, nestled deep in the trees with no vista view, and sort of an inside bathroom with an electric toilet which didn’t work very well.

I looked at both cabins several times. I took friends to ask their advice. My friends and my rational mind all told me to go for the nicer one with the view. But my heart kept pulling me back to the other one. There was one particular spot by the creek that I kept returning to. There was nothing visually distinctive about it, but somehow it seemed different than anywhere else. When I sat or stood on this spot, I could hear the creek speaking to me. The trees seemed to embrace me, welcoming me into the secrets of the forest.

Against all advice, I bought that cabin. I fixed it up, but it will never be as pretty as the other one. Nevertheless, it is comfortable and homey. I love to read by the fire in the big stone fireplace. At night, I crawl into the tiny loft and open the skylight so that I can hear the creek. And yes, I have a real toilet, for which I’m grateful.

But my favorite place is that spot by the creek, just a small flat moss covered rock less than two feet square. Sometimes it is simply a nice place to sit with a cup of tea and watch the shadows move or the sun dancing on the rushing water. Sometimes, though, a doorway opens and I am in that liminal space between two worlds. If I can still my inner chatter, the trees share their wisdom with me. Mother ducks show me their ducklings. Salmon swimming upstream pause to greet me. The creek blesses me and guides me, offering me a word or an image in the inner chamber of my soul.

I didn’t know the term “thin place” when I bought the cabin all those years ago. But as I learned about this concept, I understood that my little rock is such a place.

What about you? Have you ever encountered a thin place?

related posts: Eternity in a Dew Drop; The Curiosity of Not Knowing

To Question or Not To Question?

I have a mystery for everyone today, or perhaps a koan. I was joining in a small group meditation a few weeks ago. Before the meditation started, we were all chatting and catching up with each other. I was describing my confusion about something I was trying to make sense of in my life.

At one point, I joked that I didn’t even know what the question was. Someone else piped up with this statement: “Whatever happens is the answer.” The person thought that was a quote from somewhere, but I can’t find it. At any rate, I’ve been mulling it over. Sometimes the statement just seems like nonsense, but other times it seems quite profound!

Toni Packer writes about being open with curiosity to whatever is going on. No judgment, just honest observing. Hmm, look at that. What does this feel like? See my reaction. Tara Brach writes about radical acceptance in much the same way – “A moment of radical acceptance is a moment of genuine freedom.”

In Shambhala training, we worked with the slogan, “Everything is workable.” This means that we bring everything into our practice. Everything and everyone become my teachers.

One of my tai chi instructors brings his dog to the early morning class. There are just a few of us in the room. The dog is big and friendly and mostly lies on her rug. But every now and then she wants to join in. She will walk slowly over to one of us and position herself right between that person’s feet. As the person shifts to the next posture, she will shift, too, staying right underneath. When I am her chosen partner, I have learned to adjust my stepping and my postures to include her in the form. It’s workable. Rather than interfering with my practice, the dog becomes my teacher.

At a certain level in quantum physics, scientists learned that the question will determine the answer in the experiment. Is this energy or mass? An experiment set up to measure energy will find energy to measure. Set up the experiment to measure mass, and mass magically appears, ready to be measured. So which is it? It is whatever the question seeks to find.

So what happens if we don’t question? Ha, that’s a question, too!

Ever desireless, one can see the mystery.
Ever desiring, one can see the manifestations.
~Tao Te Ching

related posts: The Best Exotic Present Moment; Close Encounters of the Brain Kind

One Story -- Many Lessons

You know those stories that you never live down?  We were at the dinner table the other night and got to laughing over a story about my daughter Mia, a story that gets told and retold.  I’ve probably written about it on the blog, but I can’t remember, so here it is again, with Mia’s permission (accompanied by an eye roll).

When she was in kindergarten, the kids lined up to move through the hallways between the classroom and activities located elsewhere in the school.  Every day, someone was chosen by the teacher to be the line leader, which is a big deal when you are in kindergarten.

One day, as the kids lined up, Mia immediately observed that the girl in front was not the chosen line leader that day.  The chosen leader was further back in the line, apparently shirking her responsibility.  As the line moved forward, Mia was looking back over her shoulder, waving and calling to the girl who was supposed to be in front, and telling her to assume her assigned position (telling her in a somewhat bossy way, as the story was related to me).

As Mia became more adamant (it seems the girl was not at all concerned that some upstart had usurped her role), she was not watching where she was going and tripped over a chair right in front of her, falling flat and getting a bit banged up in the process.

I love this story first of all because I love Mia, and this incident so captures the feisty little pixie that she was.  I also love it because it has much to offer upon reflection.

Shall we play a game today?  How many lessons can we learn from this simple story?

Close Encounters of the Brain Kind

I was up at my cabin this weekend enjoying some beautiful fall weather.  I took a walk along a rocky path that I don’t travel often.  Along the way, I decided to try some awareness exercises.  The path ahead was bumpy but without any significant hazards.  I closed my eyes and stepped very carefully, keeping my weight on one foot until the other foot was safely positioned before shifting my weight forward.

I hadn’t gone very far before I stepped forward into mossy undergrowth.  Realizing that I had veered to the edge of the path, I opened my eyes and found myself facing directly towards the side of the path.  Wow, I thought, I didn’t even sense that I was not moving in a straight line.  Believing that I had turned towards the right side of the path, I turned back to the left and continued on, keeping my eyes open.

After a while, wondering why I had not come to the road I was expecting, I started looking around.  Something didn’t seem right.  The path was going gradually uphill instead of down.  The sun was on my right instead of left.  I stopped, completely disoriented.  The faint traffic noise from the distant highway was on the “wrong” side, too.

My brain, which had immediately made an assumption when I opened my eyes that I was facing the right side of the path, insisted that I was going in the right direction.  All my senses, however, said I wasn’t.  Indeed, my senses were correct.  With my eyes closed, I had veered to the left side of the path instead of the right.  If I had paused to get my bearings when I opened my eyes, I would have seen that and continued down the path to my right, instead of turning to my left and going back up the path where I had come from.

What was so interesting to me was how sure my brain was that it was correct, even when all my senses were telling me that it was wrong.  Even when I turned and headed in the right direction, my brain continued to be confused.  Everything seemed “backwards” until I found familiar landmarks and convinced my brain that indeed we were going the right way.  

I wonder how many other assumptions my brain has latched onto without a careful consideration of the available information.  Seeing how much effort it took to change my brain’s orientation made me think that my brain, once having reached a conclusion, is loathe to consider other possibilities, even when conflicting evidence is presented.

I learned two things.  First, my brain likes to have an answer and will jump to one quickly rather than pause in uncertainty.  Second, once my brain has an answer, it will lock it in and defend it against anything that contradicts it.

My brain has given me a lot to think about.  My awareness exercise was a huge success, just not in the way I intended!

related post: The Curiosity of Not Knowing  

My Half of the Bargain

I will fight no more forever. –Chief Joseph

I have read several blog posts in recent weeks focusing on the choice to be right or happy. Then yesterday, I picked up the book I’m reading and there it was again. Okay, universe, you have my attention.

Indeed, once I stopped and thought about it, the relevance of this issue to my life right now became immediately apparent. Since I wrote several weeks ago about an upsetting incident, I have continued to replay the event in an endless loop. Tension remains in my spirit, causing me discomfort, motivating me to explore ways to restore peace, frustrating me when no solution seems available.

The Tao Te Ching counsels, “After a bitter quarrel, some resentment must remain. What can one do about it? Therefore the sage keeps his half of the bargain but does not exact his due.”

Hmm. What can I do about it? Well, I can’t go back and change what happened. I can’t control what anyone else thinks about or does in response to what happened. There’s the rub. I want to restore my inner peace by “fixing” what is out there, beyond my control. So what can I control? My “half of the bargain.” What does that mean?

For one thing, it means dropping labels. In his book, The Ultimate Happiness Prescription, Deepak Chopra says, “No one has ever been made happy by proving that they are right. The only result is conflict and confrontation, because the need to be right always makes someone else wrong.” As soon as I attach right and wrong labels, I have separated myself from the other person. Peace is no longer possible.

For another thing, my half of the bargain means taking myself (my ego) out of the story, realizing that it really isn’t about me. As soon as I react in fear or anger, as soon as my feelings get hurt, as soon as I start trying to fix things or wanting the other person to behave in a certain way, then I have made the issue about me. I have made myself important. And I have made my well-being dependent on what happens “out there.” This only maintains the struggle.

I am reminded of a conflict I was engaged in years ago. Every effort I made to negotiate a settlement was met with resistance and counter demands I was not prepared to agree to. Finally, I gave up, fully expecting to be sued. Miraculously, the conflict vanished. I realized that I had prolonged the conflict by trying to force peace.

A Course in Miracles teaches, “Mistake not truce for peace, nor compromise for the escape from conflict. To be released from conflict means that it is over. The door is open; you have left the battleground.” That’s what I want to do. Leave the battleground. I’m still energetically engaged in a situation now past. I may have left the physical battleground, but the battle continues in my spirit. My desire to be right masks the fear that perhaps I’m not.

Instead, I see that the question of who is right and who is wrong is itself meaningless and only serves to sustain the artificial divide between self and other. I’d rather have an open hand than an upper hand. So I’m walking off the battleground. It’s over.

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid. –John 14:27

related posts: The Way of No Way; Beyond Right and Wrong; No One Wins in Court

Blue or Green?

Since I just wrote about the diversity of bloggers in the last post, I'm delighted that Corinne Rodrigues at Everyday Gyaan asked me to write a guest post for her blog.

When I was a girl, I noticed that occasionally, I would disagree with someone about whether something was blue or green. It didn’t seem to be an issue with other colors, only those two. And in each instance, I was sure the color was blue and the other person was just as sure it was green.

My initial assessment of these arguments was that these other people had not learned their colors properly in kindergarten. I couldn’t believe that they identified as green what was so clearly blue.

Then one day another explanation appeared, first as a random thought flitting through my mind, but then taking hold of my imagination and expanding like a supernova.

Read the rest here at Everyday Gyaan.

A Problem Solver's Problem

I’m a problem solver. For most of my life, I have viewed this as one of my greatest strengths. And it is. Except when it isn’t.

If my problem is that I’m out of clean socks, then I can solve it by doing the laundry. But if my problem is that my son is autistic, then try as I might, and try as I did for years, I cannot solve it. Years of various therapies improved my son James’s life, but they did not cure what I saw as the problem of his autism.

The problem with my problem solving approach in that situation is that I saw his autism as a problem, a problem with one solution which was to make him not autistic. When I couldn’t solve the problem, I saw myself as a failure. So then I had a son who was not “okay” and I wasn’t okay, either.

I’ve come to understand that there are limits to problem solving as an approach to every challenge. As Pema Chodron says, “Problem solving is based first on thinking there is a problem and second on thinking there is a solution. The concepts of problem and solution can keep us stuck in thinking that there is ... a right way and a wrong way.”

Chodron suggests a different approach, one that focuses on “working with rather than struggling against.”

My epiphany regarding this approach came from none other than James himself, who observed one morning, “It’s great to be James!” Wow. James never saw his autism as a problem. He never saw himself as not okay.

Eschewing a right/wrong, problem solving approach to challenges requires a relinquishment of control, a willingness to keep an open mind, a tolerance for not knowing what will happen. And sometimes a humbling of the ego.

I’m still a problem solver. But I’ve learned that my problem solving skills are useful in some situations and not in others. I’m still learning to tell the difference.

Enlightenment is the ego’s ultimate disappointment. –Chogyam Trungpa

related post: Joy in the Morning

Fabulousity Factor

You might not know what that is yet, but I intuitively know that you want to have it! I know this because my intuition has been freed and magnified by reading The Intuition Principle, by Angela Artemis, author of the blog Powered by Intuition.

The Intuition Principle is what connects us to our true spiritual nature. It unlocks our destiny and guides us from the source of our inner wisdom, our global mind or Greater Intelligence. When we live by it, we experience the Fabulousity Factor, where “serendipity and synchronicity are constantly working in your life, producing wonderful coincidences that solve problems or bring answers you need.”

The great news is that this wisdom is innate in all of us. Angela’s book helps us recognize various forms of intuition, expand our own intuitive skills, and apply them in our lives with deep and lasting benefit, to us and to the world.

When I started reading this book, I got chills – no kidding. Angela’s words resonated so strongly that my body vibrated in response. But don’t dismiss this as woowoo magic. Einstein himself, in one of the many memorable quotations in the book, said that our intuition is a sacred gift. Indeed, Angela’s explanation and teaching of the Intuition Principle are impressively grounded in research and science.

But don’t forget the fun! Before I read the book, I understood the connection between intuition and wisdom, but I didn’t understand fully the connection between intuition and joy until Angela explained it. Then is was so obvious. In fact, one of the main benefits to living by the Intuition Principle is increased joy and well-being. The fun starts with a pop quiz to see how intuitive you are. But don’t worry! You’ll see that you already are using your intuition, even when you don’t know it. For example, you might think of someone who then calls unexpectedly, or you make a choice that doesn’t have an obviously rational basis but turns out exactly right. Angela encourages us to view the development of our natural intuition not as a chore but as a great adventure.

So how do we embark on this adventure? The book is chock full of practical exercises and guided meditations. Instructions are clear, and progress can be easily achieved and verified. If you try even some of her suggestions, you will see results. There is no way to fail.

Yet we do encounter blocks to intuition, for example, the need to be right, or the need to control. These jumped out at me because they are also blocks to experiencing joy. These and other blocks are based in fear. Angela gently guides us through steps to acknowledge and release the fear, so that our intuition (and joy) can flow freely.

And once your intuition is flowing freely, it will guide you to your greatest passion, your highest purpose, and your most authentic life. Furthermore, Angela explains how en masse, this will change our world as we evolve from the Age of Technology to the Age of Intuition. As a person still trying to figure out Facebook and my new TV, I can’t wait for that!

So, using my newly developed intuitive skills, here is what I know:

1. You will love this book.
2. It will change your life.
3. After we all read it, our collective fabulousity factor will light up the world.

Click here to buy your copy!

related posts: Falling Away; Mushroom Experience

Ever Smaller

George said, “God is short and fat.”
Nick said, “No, He’s tall and lean.”
Len said, “With a long white beard.”
“No,” said John, “He’s shaven clean.”
Rhonda Rose said, “He’s a She.”
I smiled but never showed ‘em all
The autographed photograph God sent to me.
–Shel Silverstein

We think we know. We think we know what God looks like and what God wants. We think we know where stars are born, and how. We think we know what the stock market will do. Or the weather. We think we know which political party is right. We think there is a right...and wrong.

My mother told me once that something was against the moral laws of the universe. Wow, I thought, how does she know what the moral laws of the whole universe are?

And now I’ve learned that there may be multiple universes, or a multiverse. The cover story in the current Newsweek magazine posits the possibility of billions of big bangs, each creating a unique universe, made up of energy and matter that we might not even recognize in ours. We’ve come a long way from believing that the cosmos revolves around our flat world on the back of a turtle.

The concept of a multiverse comes as no surprise to me. I have known for years about these other universes. That’s where my keys go when I put them down and they disappear.

I marvel at people’s certainty about things. I have friends of different faiths, each so sure that their faith is the only one that leads to, well, wherever it is we want to be. One person’s faith is so detailed that she can pinpoint precisely the timing of specific events lost in the mists of history and myth, and events that will happen in the future. I asked her if it was important to believe in the details. Oh yes, she said. I asked her if members of her faith ever disagreed about any of the details. Oh no, she said. Hmmm.

I marvel at the vehement conviction of opposing political parties. Recent years of politics in the US have led up to an election year that promises little except further polarization. The parties are moving further apart at ever increasing speed just like the galaxies in our universe.

I marvel at the exponentially increasing information that is available to me in seconds with a few clicks on the computer. You might think that knowledge would increase just as rapidly as access to information. And yet, what I know for sure seems to grow ever smaller. As the universe expands my sphere of certainty shrinks until it threatens to collapse into a black hole.

The funny thing is that I’m okay with that. The less I know, the less I need to know. Frankly, it’s a relief.

My mother would probably say that’s against the moral laws of the multiverse.

related posts: I’m Right–So What; The Curiosity of Not Knowing; What I Know for Sure

Falling Away

The named is the mother of ten thousand things.
The nameless is the beginning of heaven and earth.
–Tao Te Ching

This phrase has been playing in my mind the last several weeks. It is often accompanied by a physical sensation of things falling away from me. When I try to describe it to someone, I find myself using my hands the way you would brush leaves or crumbs off your clothes. My hands start near my chest and move down the sides, flicking out near my hips, as though shaking off the last pieces that might be clinging to my fingertips. My hands instinctively do this while I’m searching for the words, but the only words that come out are “falling away, falling away, falling away.”

What is it that I’m shedding? I think back to when the sensation began. What was happening then?

One thing was that I decided to stop a spiritual study I was doing with someone I like very much. I like talking to people of faith, any faith, which includes everyone if you think about it. Even people who claim to have no faith have faith in its absence. I’m curious about what faith means to people, how faith guides them, how it manifests in their everyday lives. So I enjoyed my discussions with this person. It became clear, however, that we were reaching a point where I was being asked to make a choice, to commit to her view of things, to join her community of faith.

I felt sad about this because, as I had explained to her before, I already have a community of faith I am committed to, and I don’t plan to leave it. I also felt a bit flummoxed because declining her invitation seemed like a rejection of her beliefs. By her definition, it was, although I didn’t see it that way. A spiritual koan.

Another thing that was happening involves my recent interest in learning how to use nunchucks, a martial arts weapon made of two sticks joined by a chain. In the first lessons, the teacher showed me specific techniques, but there came day when he turned me loose, so to speak, to use the techniques in any combination I wanted, and furthermore to experiment with other techniques. I was initially paralyzed by the absence of specific instruction, but once I embraced the concept I found great freedom in letting the nunchucks fly, keeping them in motion without a lot of thinking and planning. When practicing privately, I discovered that closing my eyes and just feeling them in my hands enhanced both my ability and enjoyment.

What could these things have in common and how could they be connected to this sense of falling away? I’m not sure, but I keep going back to that passage from the Tao Te Ching quoted above. As a person who has spent waaaaay too much of my life living in my head, naming I’m sure ten thousand things and more, I’ve come to a place where the naming just doesn’t seem so important anymore. I don’t seem to crave that in-my-head rational clarity the way I used to.

Yes, we understand our world by naming it and explaining it, and communication requires common agreement on the meaning of certain words. But somewhere beyond that, or beneath it or inside it or over the rainbow (see what I mean about words?), all the names fall away.

They...just...fall...away.

Ever desireless, one can see the mystery.
Ever desiring, one can see the manifestations.
And the mystery itself is the doorway to all understanding.
–Tao Te Ching

related posts: Spiritual Simplicity; There is No Them

A Free Day!

Today is February 29! It’s just what I’ve been longing for – extra time. Maybe the day still has only 24 hours, and maybe the week still has only 7 days, but by golly, this year has a extra day in it. What a gift!

I’m torn between two options for today. I could use it to get extra things done. Or I could use it as day of rest and reflection. Is it a Mary or a Martha day?

For those unfamiliar with that last reference, there is a story in the Bible of Jesus visiting the home of sisters Mary and Martha. While Martha busied herself cleaning and preparing food, Mary sat at the feet of Jesus, listening to his teaching. When Martha complained that Mary was not helping her, Jesus defended Mary’s choice.

This is a difficult story for many, especially women. After all, someone had to get food ready. Someone had to be sure that guests were comfortable and cared for. Was Martha wrong?

I don’t think it is a story about the right choice or the wrong choice. I think it is a story about the different ways we are mindful, the different ways we show devotion, the different ways we are present.

So what does that mean for me today? How will I use this free day? Maybe I’ll be a little bit Mary and a little bit Martha. But whatever I choose, I will be grateful for the gift of this day.

What will you do with this free day?

Related posts: Butterfly Time

No One Wins in Court

The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers. –Shakespeare, Henry VI*

As someone who spent her career as a lawyer, I’ve heard all the lawyer jokes. Some are actually funny. And while there are lawyers who undeniably give lawyers a bad name, in my career I found most lawyers to be exactly what they should be – healers. That’s right. Healers.

Someone said once that there are three healing professions – medicine heals the body, ministry heals the soul, and law heals society. As a law professor, I had a standard welcome speech for first year students. “Your professional responsibility doesn’t begin when you pass the bar exam. It begins today. The people who will be coming to you for help are depending on your expertise, your integrity, and your effort. Your education up till now has been about you, but beginning today, it isn’t about you anymore. It’s about them.”

Most of the lawyers I encountered during my career had what I considered the right stuff. They served with dedication, compassion, skill, and for the most part, not lots of money, certainly not as much as the general public thinks. I always felt pride in my profession and sober humility with the awareness of my responsibility to my clients, my students, and my society.

One of the classes I taught was a seminar on drafting contracts. Students come into law school full of a lifetime of TV shows about lawyers in court. They think in terms of drafting a contract that will “hold up” in court. Imagine their surprise when I tell them that if their contract ever ends up in court, they’ve already lost. A successful contract is not one that “wins” in court. It’s one that promotes a good relationship between the parties, that allows them to perform willingly and to receive something they value in return. If the parties end up in court, our adversarial system results in a winner and a loser, but both parties have lost the relationship they initially envisioned, not to mention the practical losses in time and money.

The United States is known, justifiably so, as a litigious society. We look to the courts to settle all sorts of disputes, from presidential elections to environmental cleanups to neighbors fighting over fences. All these lawsuits have one thing in common – other modes of resolution have failed. And while it may be true that more often than not, justice is served by the outcome in court, something perhaps more precious has been lost. An adversarial dispute costs us the opportunity we have as individuals, organizations, companies, and governments to find a way to maintain our connection with each other, to have an open hand rather than an upper hand, to find common ground rather than legally superior ground.

Justice is sometimes a sad victor.

Therefore when the Tao is lost, there is goodness.
When goodness is lost, there is kindness.
When kindness is lost, there is justice.
When justice is lost, there is ritual.
Now ritual is the husk of faith and loyalty, the beginning of confusion.
–Tao Te Ching

*This line is often taken out of context and used as a pejorative against lawyers. In fact, the speaker was a follower of an anarchist seeking to overthrow the government and install himself as king. The speaker was not criticizing lawyers. On the contrary, he was observing that any tyrant wannabe would have to eliminate the front line defenders of order and justice, that is, the lawyers, before proceeding with his evil plans.

Related posts: I’m Right – So What, One Hand Clapping, Ego Knickers

Sometimes Right is Happy

Where did February go? In wrapping up our focus on Step 2 this month, deciding if you want to be right or happy, I posed some questions at the end of the last post about whether it is ever right to be right. Thank you for your excellent comments on that post and on many posts throughout the month.

Here are some final thoughts. It seems that when we explore this issue from different angles, there are two kinds of “right.”

There is the sense of right that is ego driven. This might manifest as self-righteousness, when we believe that our opinion is superior. Our egos might react to actual or perceived criticism with a defensive assertion of rightness. We might want to show off by correcting someone or displaying our knowledge about something. In many, if not all, of these situations, there is an underlying fear – fear of attack, fear of unworthiness, fear of embarrassment, fear of failure. The result is that we separate ourselves from others at the most basic level of our shared humanity. By insisting our our rightness, we cause the very isolation that we fear.

There is another sense of right that is driven by lack of ego. This manifests as integrity, honor, and courage. This is the rightness of the Noble Eightfold Path of Buddhism, the rightness of Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr, Mother Theresa, Nelson Mandela. This is the rightness of the child who stands up to the bully on the playground, the homeless person who finds and returns a wallet full of money, a parent who admits a mistake to a child, a friend who honors a promise. In many, if not all, of these situations, there is an underlying peace, even joy. The result is that we connect ourselves to others at the most basic level of our shared humanity. By adhering to rightness, we cause the very union that we long for.

Perhaps George Washington was right (!) when he said, “Happiness and moral duty are inseparably connected.”

Namaste.

PS–And really, y’all know that the toilet paper should roll over the top!

When It's Right to be Right

This month is coming to a close. We have been focusing on making conscious decisions about when to assert our “rightness,” and when to choose instead to be “happy.”

We have looked at situations in which being right is not worth the cost creating unhappiness. For example, there was the waiter who corrected my pronunciation in the restaurant. Instead of letting it pass, I got huffy and corrected him right back (I’m Right – So What!). These situations often involve our ego, which feels embarrassed or threatened.

We have looked at situations in which there is not really a right or wrong answer, just opinions. For example, the topic that seemed to generate the most comments this month was whether the toilet paper should roll over the top or from underneath (One Hand Clapping)! Our insistence on the rightness of our opinions often hinders respectful debate and prevents connection with those who think differently than we do.

We have explored our underlying assumptions about our own knowledge (What I Know for Sure). A better title for that post would have been What I Don’t Know for Sure! Sometimes when I look beneath some unquestioned belief, I find that my foundation for that belief is not as concrete as I thought. I have, on rare occasions (!), even decided that I was mistaken. Or I have at least entertained the possibility, however unlikely (!), that I could be mistaken.

And we have considered the role of fear in our discomfort with multiple right answers (Beyond Right and Wrong).

General Patton said, “Don’t fight a battle if you won’t gain anything by winning.” In many of these scenarios, a quick cost/benefit analysis would suggest that the benefit of asserting our rightness does not outweigh the expense of our happiness or the happiness of others.

Does that mean that it is never right to be right? We considered this topic in The Mask of Happiness. Comments have raised thought-provoking questions about standing up against injustice. The Noble Eightfold Path is full of rightness – right view, right intention, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, right concentration. Was Buddha wrong?

So what do we really mean by deciding to be right or happy? Are these choices always mutually exclusive? Can they be reconciled?

Perhaps we can ponder these questions as a way of bringing our focus on Step 2 this month to a close. I would be very interested in hearing what you think. If you would like to share your thoughts, please leave a comment or email me. I will be away from my computer this weekend (at my cabin that has no phone or internet!), which means that there might be some delay in publishing your comments. Please know that every comment is important and I will publish them as soon as I get back.

The Mask of Happiness

We’re focusing this month on the second step – deciding if you want to be right or happy. We have talked about situations in which asserting our rightness is really about ego, or anger, or fear. In those situations, choosing to step back awakens compassion, and brings inner peace and a sense of well-being. It keeps us connected to the other person in a genuine, loving way.

For example, suppose that your spouse is telling a story and gets some of the peripheral details wrong. Is it better for to correct these mistakes so that the story is accurate, or is it better to let the story continue, to let your spouse enjoy telling it, to let the listeners enjoy hearing it?

That’s an easy one. Choosing to be right in that situation might cause embarrassment or irritation for your spouse, and perhaps discomfort for the listeners. Choosing to be happy allows everyone to enjoy the moment, including you.

But what if you are reluctant to disagree with your spouse because if you do, your spouse is likely to criticize you or to get angry? What if you tell yourself you are choosing to be happy, but you are really making the choice out of resentment or fear or even your own anger? That is not choosing happiness. That is a mask of happiness. It separates us from others and hurts our spirit because it is not true.

When I was a girl, I remember playing a game with a boy at my house. I was winning because I was more skilled at the game. My mother called me aside and told me to let him win because he was a boy. She said he would feel bad if he lost to a girl. I remember thinking that that was a bunch of you know what, and yet I hesitated, unsure how to proceed.

So what does it really mean when we say we want to choose happiness instead of rightness? Maybe it means that we want to be present and mindful of our circumstances, we want to examine our own motives, and we want to choose to act in a way that honors our highest self.

Beyond Right and Wrong

We are so conditioned to think about issues in terms of right and wrong. This can lead to unnecessary anxiety. My daughter is always the last one to order in a restaurant. She is simply paralyzed by the fear of making the wrong choice. Instead of thinking that there might be several right choices, that is, choices that she would enjoy, she is convinced that there is one and only one choice that will make her meal a pleasant experience.

For some reason, we are uncomfortable with the possibility of multiple right answers. In an article in O Magazine, Martha Beck calls this being “on the horns of a dual-emma.” It makes our little synapses sizzle and short out. Our world becomes more fluid. We lose our sense of security. It can be terrifying.

I’ve seen this same mind set in the context of law. Because law is often thought of in adversarial terms due to the pervasiveness of litigation in our American society, we think in terms of winners and losers. At the end of litigation, there is technically a winner and a loser. However, when you think of the time and expense (and yes, those lawyer fees), it often seems that both parties have lost.

What is it about being right that is so compelling? Is it fear? Is it ego? Is it greed? How can we stop ourselves before we get locked into a way of thinking that permits only one right answer? That permits only one person to be right?

When I think back to some times when it seemed most imperative for me to be right, I can, with the benefit of hindsight, see fear. The fear was usually hidden behind anger and self-righteousness. My aggressive assertion of my rightness in those situations was a need to control what felt out of control. I mistakenly believed that what was out of control was “out there,” usually in the form of another person. But now I can see with compassion that what was out of control was me.

When I feel that urge now to engage in battle, I try to pause and look more deeply within. It makes me squirm. I feel so powerful when I am thundering with righteous indignation. I feel so vulnerable when I shine light on the scared places within.

I’ve learned from Thich Nhat Hanh to cradle my feelings, especially the feelings that make me uncomfortable. If I can sit with my discomfort, breathe into it (breathe at all for that matter!), I feel the discomfort soften. My body relaxes. My mind clears. I can see the gray areas. I can see the middle way, beyond right and wrong.

What I Know for Sure

A university professor went to visit a famous Zen master. While the master quietly served tea, the professor talked about Zen. The master poured the visitor's cup to the brim, and then kept pouring. The professor watched the overflowing cup until he could no longer restrain himself. "It's overfull! No more will go in!" the professor blurted. "You are like this cup," the master replied. "How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?"

My mind feels like that cup sometimes. So full. Overflowing full. I have a hard time remembering things. My daughter says I have the memory of a gnat. She’s right. I think it’s because I have so much useless stuff stuck in my memory and I can’t find the delete button. I can remember my childhood phone number, but I can’t remember to pick up juice on the way home. When I try to remember something new, my mind plays a familiar recording. “The message inbox for the number you are calling is full.”

There is just too much information out there that I’m trying to store in here. Not only grocery lists, but also information about truth. I just finished a book by someone who thinks he has God all figured out. The title isn’t important because there are a million books like that. There are a million books like that because there are a million people who believe they know the truth.

Oprah Winfrey writes a column for her magazine every month called “What I Know For Sure.” Whenever I pick up her magazine in the checkout line, I marvel at the notion that at least once a month, she knows something for sure. No wonder she “makes bank,” as my daughter says.

So if these people really know the truth, then why don’t they all agree? Not only do they not agree, but some will argue vehemently about the rightness of their positions. Some will even kill each other.

The Tao Te Ching teaches, “Wise men don’t need to prove their point. Men who need to prove their point aren’t wise.” I must be very wise, because not only do I not need to prove my point, but I’m not sure I even have a point to prove.

You can’t organize truth. That’s like trying to put a pound of water into wrapping paper and shaping it. –Bruce Lee

reposted from archives

One Hand Clapping

Being right is not all it’s cracked up to be. Think about all the things people argue about. Make a quick list of five things. Let’s see – here are the first five things I thought of.

1. Whether we should have a single-payer healthcare system
2. Whether a certain misbehaving NFL quarterback should be suspended
3. Whether any particular religion is the only way to God
4. Who really discovered America
5. Whether the toilet paper should roll over the top or from underneath

Ann Landers devoted a number of columns to this last one. No kidding.

Many questions that people spend a lot of time arguing about don’t have an objectively discernible right answer. Take the God question, for example. How can people be so sure that their way is the only way? My mom said once with great conviction that something was against the moral laws of the universe. Wow, I thought, how does my mom know what the moral laws of the entire universe are?

Sometimes even when there is a right answer, it doesn’t stop the argument. For example, the Nazis really did kill millions of people. And Obama really was born in Hawaii. But the arguments continue.

How can we stop ourselves before we get hooked in an argument that creates a chasm between us rather than a bridge?

For me, I realized that winning an argument doesn’t always make me happy. Being right must be its own reward, because often there isn’t much else to gain from it. At some point I decided that in many instances, being happy was more important to me than being right. Tough on my ego, but nourishing to my spirit.

When poised to do battle, I try to ask myself first if the issue even has a “right” answer. If it doesn’t, then it might be a matter of opinion. Can I listen to other opinions with an open mind? Can I engage in respectful debate without getting my ego knickers in a knot?

If there is a “right” answer, does it matter? If my friend is telling a story and says the event happened in 2004, and I know for a fact that it happened in 2005 (at least I think I know), is the correct year relevant to the story? If not, then let it go.

Not being so quick to argue has helped me live more contentedly in my happy place. Do I put this into practice at every opportunity? I wish. But when I do, there is a shift in my world, a reminder that letting go of being right is often a small sacrifice for living in joy.