com-passion

As of late, Joseph Campbell, renowned scholar of myth and mythology, has been somewhat of a guru in my own life journey (many thanks to Tom Beaudoin, another of my beloved teachers, for sending me his way).  I have been reading a book, called The Power of Myth, in which Campbell and Bill Moyers discuss mythological themes across time and space, major archetypes common to nearly all of human experience.  This morning, I finished a section in which they discussed possible mythological interpretations of the theme of a virgin birth.  Campbell specifically discusses virgin birth as it relates to Jesus of Nazareth and the Buddha, two of the most monumental spiritual leaders in history of mankind. In the case of Jesus, he is said to be born of Mary, a virgin, by the power of the Spirit (important).  The Buddha, on the other hand, is said to have been born out of his mother's side, emerging from the place of her heart chakra.  This heart chakra, Campbell says, represents the first truly human impulse, as opposed to the first three "animalistic" chakras (nourishment, procreation, aggression) - that of compassion.

Both the virgin birth and the heart chakra birth signify a movement by humans away from strictly animalistic experience and desires.  Campbell says, "Here you move out of the field of animal action and into a field that is properly human and spiritual... it [the virgin birth] is the birth of spiritual man out of the animal man."

What is it about the spiritual/human person that differs from the animal person?  "It happens when you awaken at the level of the heart to compassion, com-passion, shared suffering: experienced participation in the suffering of another person.  That's the beginning of humanity."

These births signify the (from what we know), strictly human experience of compassion.  Broken down, the etymology of the word is com, or together, and passion, to suffer.  It is both a realization of the shared suffering and experience of all humankind, as well as the attempt to enter into the suffering and experience of another.

Now, besides the fact that I am a huge theology/philosophy nerd and am obsessed with human experience and how to piece all these major questions together, why am I writing about this?

On the train ride home from Manhattan yesterday, I had an experience that I would like to reflect on through this lens of compassion.  I was sitting in the handicap section of a LIRR train car, greedily eating my lamb over rice.  After a long day of exploring, life discussion, and beer with my cousin, I was blistered and sore and very ready to eat.  Across from me was a young mother with her daughter.

The daughter was maybe only 6 or 7, very cute, full of energy and funny faces.  The mother was tired looking, and seemingly not in the mood for much of anything.  Nearly the entirety of the hour long ride we shared together, the mother spent fiddling around on her phone.  The daughter, on the other hand, continued to talk to her, make faces at her, dance around in the seat, make annoying noises, and generally seek to get attention.  I thought the girl was so funny and adorable - mom on the other hand, only pried her eyes away from the phone to chastise her daughter, threatening to smack her if she didn't stop acting up.

In my mind, it was clear - she just wants attention!  Take your head out of your ass and give your kid some attention!  There was immediately and association, and identification on my part with the little girls situation.  I understood (on some level) why she was seeking attention, why even the negative attention was better than nothing.

But, this morning, I realized, that isn't compassion.  Identifying with someone is the easy part.  Those are the people whom it is easy to show compassion toward, because we are already disposition to do so.

After reading Campbell this morning, I had to wonder - what about the mother?  The act of compassion has to have some measure of intentionality.  Not only is it easy for me to identify with daughter (as a son, and recent young person myself), but it also reflects my bias.  I can't identify particularly with the trials of a mother, big or small, because I have not been in that position before.

I started asking myself, why is it that she looked so annoyed?  Long day of work making not enough money?  Visiting parents or in-laws that were draining?  Just the daily weariness that comes with the trials of traveling with a young child?  What was she doing on her phone?  Facebook?  Paying bills?  Talking to someone else she was having her own problems with?

I'll never know any of the answers to those questions, but I think that's the point.  I can't make some kind of final judgement on this woman.  How the hell could I?  I have literally no idea what is going on in her life, what the story is that influences her actions.  Compassion isn't about necessarily making a decision, or forming an opinion, or justifying a judgement.  It is about suffering together - with both daughter, and mother.

It is this both/and mindset that I am trying to take out with me into my experience on the Rosebud Reservation (9 days!!).  Both/and is a way towards compassion for as many people as possible because I think it will leave the heart open to experience, whatever that may be.

The Experience Was Worth It

So, tonight marked my final day as a dishwasher (for now at least, until my world travels need further funding).  It was a great experience and I learned a lot.  I learned that as a person, I can do what I need to do to try and make ends meet.  If I need to work crappy hours, or slog dirty dishwater, or come home smelling like - who really knows, but it's awful - I can do it.  I have enough drive to recognize that if there I goals I want to meet, I can do what I need to do to get that done.

That being said, it also gave me an appreciation for how much I enjoy reading and learning and thinking.  To be honest, though, I have read more books over the past few months, and looked forward to learning and thinking more than I have in any single year of my college experience.  Interesting how that works out.

It also taught me that saying goodbye can be tough.  I met some really great people, who I genuinely enjoyed spending time with, joking around, and even occasionally being yelled at by.  It is good to meet people from all different walks of life - recent high school grads, immigrants from El Salvador and Honduras, recent college grads - who all have something valuable to contribute to my worldview and education.

It has also taught me the tension that exists in my desires.  I long for movement, for change, for the kind of motion that lets one be immersed in the moment, totally aware of who one is and what they are living for.  At the same time, I enjoy the peace and comfort of stability, of community, of relationships.  It is a tension I have tried to reconcile throughout the last few years, sometimes with more success than others.

I think it is one I will have to navigate for the rest of my life, because in reality, both desires are authentically me.

West

West.

A word with legendary connotations, deeply ingrained in the ethos of America since it's conception.  Since Europeans first landed in America, the West has stood for all things wild, all things primal.  With  it's purple mountains and deep river canyons, great plains and wooded forest, the West, pure and simple, has long been associated with wilderness.  And the wilderness has a deep hold in the hearts of Americans.

Where this came from I couldn't say - but the West, and the road that leads there, is a theme found throughout American literature.  From Into the Wild's Chris McCandless to Jack Kerouac in On the Road, the journey West holds almost mystical significance.  It is a journey of danger and difficulty, of discovery, or challenge, a road that will push a person to their limits in order to break through these limits, or else kill them in the process.  It often is an extremely personal thing to set out on the road West, a journey that forces one to take stock of themselves, to face their demons and conquer or be conquered.  It is a journey of spirit in which one hopes to be transformed.

In a few short weeks, I will begin my own journey out West, to the plains if South Dakota, to reside among a people older than this country itself.  To the people of Crazy Horse and Black Elk, of the Battle of Little Big Horn and the massacre at Wounded Knee.  It is no longer the Great Plains of old, but there is still some sort of mystery and wild about it.

I have in my heart longings of adventure, of the road.  To travel and see what there is to see.  To meet who there is to meet.  To experience for myself what is necessary and what is not.  What a person can live with and without.  What sort of heartbreak one can live with.

 I hear the world calling out to me and I can't help but want to answer, not with words, but with my life.

The Key

A few weeks ago, while roaming around Manhattan with a friend of mine, I decided that it was time for a break.  We had been wandering around in 102 degree weather for nearly 3 hours, scouring the canyons between the cities massive buildings for signs of life and adventure.  Fairly dehydrated after a long night of music and cheap beer with my band, it was time for respite from the brutal heat and unforgiving blacktop.

We steered into Central Park in search of shade and a grassy patch on which to lay down and cool off.  As soon as I planted down and laid my head on my bag, I was asleep.  An hour later, I awoke refreshed and ready for more adventures.  As I gathered my things and prepared to head out, my hand brushed against some metal object in the grass.  Curious, I felt around until I felt myself grasping some jagged metal piece.

It was a key.

I pocketed it and took it home, carrying around with me until I was able to place it on my dresser, all the while forming some half-baked idea around in my head about what it mean.

I have since turned the key into a necklace, which I wear around dutifully around my neck.  Why?

Well, I guess because the symbolism is just too rich for me to pass up.  The key seemed to perfectly embody much of my thoughts as of light, seemed to compliment perfectly a portion of my own personal philosophy that has really begun to take hold in the last couple of months.

See, for me, I took finding that key as a sign.  I am a praying man.  To what exactly I am not quite sure, but I am a praying man none-the-less, and I took finding this key as an answer to some of these prayers.  An answer that provided more cause for questioning and seeking than rest and finality, but an answer.

I believe that there is treasure that I am to seek.  I believe that we are all seeking treasure of one kind or another.  Everyone's definition of what that treasure is to them is different.  Maybe it is finding a person whom they can love and be loved by, make a family with.  Maybe it is to write a book.  Maybe it is to be hired at a Fortune 500 company and make lot's of money.  Maybe it is to travel the world and see what it has to offer.  I could not say what each person's treasure is, for I also believe it is up to that person to discover what it is they long for in the depths of their heart for themselves.

All of us are uniquely different.  We were born into specific situations, surrounded by certain people and belief systems.  We experienced unique situations and events, helping us to form a unique perspective.  We have talents and strengths, weaknesses and downfalls.  Desires and dreams.  All of these and more blend to be embodied in each person, different from others.  Alike and similar, sure, but never to be repeated except in each person.

Keeping this in mind, it makes sense to me that each person would have a unique treasure to find, to achieve and seek in their life.  They also have a path to walk that might not look like other peoples, that might not mirror the paths and journeys others before them have taken.

I guess finding that key was a reminder to me to keep reflecting on the things that make me - well, me!  And how that is going to help me go after my own treasure, even if the vision of that is still hazy and yet undefined.  I think we are all called to follow that dream we have in our hearts, that vision that comes to us from the very depths of who we are to give us chills of excitement, to bring us real joy.

I wear my key as a reminder that I need to keep seeking out further and further what it is I am here for.  What it is I exist for.  Who I am and why I am I.  Questions that people have been asking for as long as I can tell.  To keep asking and keep searching.  And maybe in that I will find some meaning.

Mirrors

Late last night, the Trayvon Martin case came to a final, dramatic head, with the accused found not guilty.  The jury claimed they were unable to prove, beyond reasonable doubt, that Mr. Zimmerman could be charged with murder in the second degree.  The case was widely debated, casting light on a number of controversial aspects of Florida state law, as well as bringing racial profiling into the national spotlight.

I do not know yet how I feel about the verdict.  To be completely honest, I did not do a good job of staying educated about the case and following its development.  It would, in my opinion, be irresponsible and juvenile of me to comment on the rightness or wrongness of the verdict. 

I will, however, comment on what this case is doing to me personally as I write this.  Emotionally, I feel lost.  Intellectually, uncertain.  Spiritually, challenged.

As I sit and read Facebook post after post, unable to pry my eyes away, I am assaulted by any number of opinions.  Some ready to revolt, taking to the streets, ready to fight and challenge a system they genuinely see as corrupt.  Others lauding what they see as a just verdict in a case riddled with uncertainty.  Some want blood.  Some want justice.  Some knowledgable.  Some not.  Some tuned in for only this moment.  Some who have been following and fighting for this case since the beginning.

I think, so far, this case has presented itself to me as a mirror - as an opportunity for deep reflection.  To look at myself.  Does my own race, social-class, upbringing, education, etc, influence the way I view this case, influence the way I sift through the various reports I have read?  And if so, what does that mean for me, a person who sees himself as committed to peace and justice?

I hope I will have more to share in the coming days or weeks, but for now, the following poem from the Vietnamese monk, Thich Nhat Hanh, captures the essence of what this case is making me wonder and think of.  



Call Me by My True Names

Do not say that I'll depart tomorrow
because even today I still arrive.

Look deeply: I arrive in every second
to be a bud on a spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, with wings still fragile,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
in order to fear and to hope.
The rhythm of my heart is the birth and
death of all that are alive.

I am the mayfly metamorphosing on the surface of the river,
and I am the bird which, when spring comes, arrives in time
to eat the mayfly.

I am the frog swimming happily in the clear pond,
and I am also the grass-snake who, approaching in silence,
feeds itself on the frog.

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks,
and I am the arms merchant, selling deadly weapons to
Uganda.

I am the twelve-year-old girl, refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean after being raped by a sea
pirate,
and I am the pirate, my heart not yet capable of seeing and
loving.

I am a member of the politburo, with plenty of power in my
hands,
and I am the man who has to pay his "debt of blood" to, my
people,
dying slowly in a forced labor camp.

My joy is like spring, so warm it makes flowers bloom in all
walks of life.
My pain if like a river of tears, so full it fills the four oceans.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and laughs at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up,
and so the door of my heart can be left open,
the door of compassion.

Thich Nhat Hanh

Is More Suffering the Answer?

I have been a book for the last few days called The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society, written by the great spiritual writer Henri Nouwen.  It is a really interesting read, focusing on the condition of contemporary people and how Christian leaders are called to authentically engage with where contemporary people are at.  In short, Nouwen claims that it is from their wounds that people are able to heal.  That we no longer need perfect leaders without blemish to direct us from a distance, but rather, it is those courageous and willing enough to open of themselves and show their own brokenness who will really help to lead.

One of the lines that struck me most while I read today was:

"Who can take away suffering without entering into it?  The great illusion of leadership is to think that man can be led out of the desert by someone who has never been there."

There is a lot to chew on here, and my thoughts on the subject of suffering are varied and often conflicting (which may befit such a daunting subject).  I want to focus in on what Nouwen is trying to point to here, because it is something I find to be both brilliant, and also impossible.

Christianity often focuses on the "broken-ness" of humanity, on our fallen state, on our sinful nature (not that this is necessarily the official position of the Catholic Church or of other Christian churches, but is very much a part of the rhetoric and language of Christianity).  It is precisely this which is said to bring about the necessity of Christ, of God becoming incarnate in man to redeem us.  Now, regardless of what your belief in Jesus is (my own being fairly murky at this point in my life), let's study that model that Nouwen is drawing from.  Himself a Catholic priest, Nouwen is a part of a tradition that believes it was necessary God to be fully submerged and entrenched in the grime and grit of everyday life.   In the Christian understanding, God did not simply snap fingers and fix everything, but rather, chose to do so while firmly within the same situation we find ourselves in.

Nouwen then makes the leap to saying that, since God has become incarnate in humanity, it means that in Jesus we were lead (notice the continuation of that theme of leadership here) out from brokenness and darkness. It is in this event, Nouwen holds, that we are to understand God is tasking US to lead one another, to display our own brokenness, to enter into the suffering of others in order to be truly present with them.  

Does this sound a little too academic?  A little to theoretical?  It does to me, and that is when I move from excitement and wonder at such a novel idea into skepticism and cynicism that it would actually work.

But here is a story from my own life that confirms that, maybe there is profound wisdom to be found in Nouwen's words.  As a junior in college, I lead a retreat for the freshman who I was the resident assistant for.  I had been with these students all year as a mentor, and as such, I often was in a listening role than sharing role.  While on retreat, however, I was asked to tell from my own life story and journey throughout college.  I spoke about my own faults and shortcomings, the struggles I had with self-love and acceptance, the issues of being judgmental and feeling lost and alone.  After the retreat, I received letters from a couple of the people thanking me for what I had shared.  They said that before, they had viewed me as older and wiser, a figure who had answers and who had everything together.  I was a perfect role model - in other words, I seemed something other than human.  In sharing my own brokenness, they said, they were given hope.  They did not lose any respect or admiration, but rather, gained more of both for themselves, despite their own faults and difficulties.

Perhaps there is something to entering into the suffering of others, to being there with them in that.  There is an idea of profound "presence" that I hope to carry with me throughout my year of service next year.  The Franciscans are all about the idea of a "ministry of presence," one that focuses on being with people in their suffering and entering into that space with them. 

Whatever that will look like, I am sure it will be challenging.

"You should know that"

As aways, work again provides an excellent event for reflection and good old fashioned thinking.  While stepping outside to take out some trash and enjoy a moment of sea-breeze (which one appreciates infinitely more after hours in a hot and sweaty kitchen), I came across two gentleman making their way back in towards the bar.  Both were white, probably in their early to mid-fifties, sporting white beards and smartly but casually dressed for waterfront dining.

As I was about to re-enter the back door to the kitchen, one of them says, somewhat indignantly, more so mockingly, "Hey, you, don't ya know you're not supposed to wear socks with those kinda shoes?"  Now, I am wearing a pair of of blue Timberland trail running shoes, not ideal for work in the kitchen, but they were given to me for free and are a little tight on me, so I figured if my shoes are going to be destroyed anyway, why not the ones I won't miss much.  As far as I know, everyone I know who wears trail running shoes wears them with socks.

"Yeah, you don't wear socks with those kinda shoes, look at us, we don't got any, see what we're wearing here, we ain't got socks with em, this is the right way to wear em."  I don't mind the banter, I get this a lot from various customers who will bust my chops and give me a hard time about what I'm wearing or how dirty I look, or whether I am stealing a quick break - usually it is in good fun and I don't mind.  This guy also appeared to be a little intoxicated, so him choosing something like my socks to focus on, when he was in the wrong to begin with didn't surprise, or bother me so much.  Now here is the line that got me thinking.

"Yeah jeez, everybody knows you can't wear em like that.  You must be some kind of foreigner or something, you can't be an American, if you were, you'd know how to wear your damn shoes."

WOAH.  Ok then, we went there!  This post isn't really even meant to try and address any racist undertones that may have been implied (whether it be the assumption that foreigners work in the kitchen and would be wearing a dirty apron, whether it be that being really American means looking like he did, etc.)  What I stared to think on was assumptions, and how those assumptions affect how we divide up the world, especially people, and how we group people as "one of us" or not.

It is a human tendency to divide.  It is part of human rationality to try and split things up, to differentiate.  Part of that probably came with us as we evolved from other life forms, for helping to distinguishing friend from foe is surely on of the earliest distinctions that had to be made.  As we have evolved, however, and as our mental capacities have increased, we have also developed the tendency to split things apart for reasons other than safety (although we may use that as the reason for why we do so).

We group people based on their looks, skin tones, sexual preference, political views, country of origin, city of origin, upon the college they matriculated from, the amount of money they make, their views on war, the types of clothes they wear.  We apply labels meant to represent an entire group - "alcoholics," "gays," "blacks," "the mentally ill," "Republicans," "Americans."  Often times, these labels are vague, not really describing terribly much about a person at all.

Take, for example, my friend with the socks.  His definition of what it means to be American certainly differs from mine.  While mine might be limited to something close to living in this country, being a citizen with all of it's rights, privileges and responsibilities, his might also include know-how on when to wear, or not wear, socks with certain types of shoes.

Now, this is a little facetious, I admit.  But, think through this with me.  What does your belief about what it means to be American entail?  Does it mean drinking PBR and supporting all the wars our country engages in?  Does it mean supporting capitalistic principles and philosophy?  Does it mean attending college and making a 6 figure salary?  Does it also mean one must be Christian and support those values (which many religious groups in this country would claim)?

Let's expand this question to other topics.  What does it really mean to be Christian?  Just looking at how many denominations there are, how many differing opinions theologians have, it would seem that this is a complicated label.  What, or who, exactly is God anyway?  That is another word that clarifies fairly little.

I guess what I am trying to get at here is that the more we simply break things down into "us/them," we need to ask questions and break our complacent habit of generalizing for convenience.  Who is the "we" being spoken of, and would everyone I place in that category agree that they are in that category? Would they even want to be?  Who is the "them," and are the claims I am making substantiated?

As I have said before, I think the world is complicated, and complications require nuance.  Sure, it is annoying - even draining, to seek to give each individual their voice, allow them to speak who they are and tell you who they are.  It is much easier to come up with a general label and lump people under that.

But hell, the world would be one boring-ass place if it was only the colors I painted it.

Besides, then you might end up like my sock-friend, realizing his potential error and asking a few sentences too late - "Wait a minute... you're not cooking our food, are you?"