I think one of the greatest gifts of doing this blog has been the sense of connection is had provided. And, as may have happened with others who blog too, I don't think I realized how isolated I was feeling or what an impact that connection would have on me until it was there.
Social interest and social connection are a big thing with Adler, who is one of my favorite theorists. It goes along with the ideas espoused by Bronfenbrenner, Buddhism, the Unitarian Universalists, and other systems/social thinkers or movements... the idea being: connection to, interaction with, and mindfulness of others in our various contexts provides a sense of meaning, purpose, and joy.
Sometimes I think a lot of what ails us individually and as a society/culture/world population is too strong a sense of social isolation and assumed necessity for independence (rathern than interdependence). Mind you, more collectivistic cultures may not struggle with this internally - but often there is still an interior focus that prevents or shies away from embracing a sense of responsibility to, similarity with, or appreciation for other cultures.
So... as I again remind myself of what has been a lifelong lesson to reach out more and find ways to authentically bond with the people around me, I offer the same invitation to you. It's so hard sometimes to let other people in, particularly strangers or those who feel foreign or different or other from us. But the more we strive to incorporate the experience and worldviews of everyone around us into our lives, the greater our capacity for compassion, growth, peace, and joyfulness.
Showing posts with label Buddhism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Buddhism. Show all posts
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Thoughts on Words (and words for thoughts)
I am praying for the people of Cuba.
I am praying for the people of New Orleans.
I am hoping the city stays safe, stays dry, stays livable
in the wake of yet another storm...
too close on the heels of the first.
I read an article today in the UUA magazine (UU World) written by UUA President, William Sinkford, entitled "Our Calling." There was a section of the article wherein he called on Unitarian Universalitsts to be as accepting of and open to Christian ideologies, rituals, beliefs, and semantics as UUs tend to be with religions such as Buddhism, Judaism, and Native American spirituality.
As someone who grew up in a very non-religious household and who tends to cringe when I hear the word "Jesus" invoked in prayer, I took his message to heart and have chewed on it, pondered over it, and let it roll around my gut for a good part of the day.
His point, or one of them, was that - at its core - one of the most important messages of Christianity (love they neighbor as thyself) is also a basic tenant within the convenent of the UU faith and its seven principles. The UU commitment to advocating for others, seeking justice and equity, respecting all people and honoring the divine and sacred in everyone around us is quite connected to the Christian concept of treating others as you would wish to be treated, honoring the "God" - the power, the oneness, the whateveryouwishtocallit - that connects and binds us all.
And so... no matter what words one might use, I imagine we all pray for the safety of those in the path of danger. Our blessings, compassion, and love are expressed in a multitude of ways - but within them is the common seed of acknowledged humanity and interconnection, and the fervent hope that no one may suffer needlessly.
For the in the celebration and protection of one, is the triumph and salvation of many.
I am praying for the people of New Orleans.
I am hoping the city stays safe, stays dry, stays livable
in the wake of yet another storm...
too close on the heels of the first.
I read an article today in the UUA magazine (UU World) written by UUA President, William Sinkford, entitled "Our Calling." There was a section of the article wherein he called on Unitarian Universalitsts to be as accepting of and open to Christian ideologies, rituals, beliefs, and semantics as UUs tend to be with religions such as Buddhism, Judaism, and Native American spirituality.
As someone who grew up in a very non-religious household and who tends to cringe when I hear the word "Jesus" invoked in prayer, I took his message to heart and have chewed on it, pondered over it, and let it roll around my gut for a good part of the day.
His point, or one of them, was that - at its core - one of the most important messages of Christianity (love they neighbor as thyself) is also a basic tenant within the convenent of the UU faith and its seven principles. The UU commitment to advocating for others, seeking justice and equity, respecting all people and honoring the divine and sacred in everyone around us is quite connected to the Christian concept of treating others as you would wish to be treated, honoring the "God" - the power, the oneness, the whateveryouwishtocallit - that connects and binds us all.
And so... no matter what words one might use, I imagine we all pray for the safety of those in the path of danger. Our blessings, compassion, and love are expressed in a multitude of ways - but within them is the common seed of acknowledged humanity and interconnection, and the fervent hope that no one may suffer needlessly.
For the in the celebration and protection of one, is the triumph and salvation of many.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Looking Back to Look Ahead
There was a second story I heard yesterday on NPR that also has stuck with me. It featured the life and work of Japanese artist, Ikuo Hirayama, who survived the 1945 atom bomb drop on Hiroshima.
Hirayama was 15 when the bomb dropped, and he has chosen to explore the devastation, sorrow, rebirth, and aftermath of such a traumatic event through his artwork - both on a personal level and a more cultural and national level. Many survivors deeply connect with his paintings, and Hirayama's path out of the ashes, past radiation sickness and the death of friends and family, included the study of Buddhism, which lead to a very successful career as a painter of well-known Buddhist images.
They story described one of his largest and most famous works, "The Holocaust of Hiroshima," a replica of which is on display at the Hiroshima Atomic Bomb Memorial Park. The painting not only seeks to visually depict his own experience on August 6, but also the overall effect the flash and fire of the bomb had on the city. The incorporation of Buddhist images speaks to his desire to see the city reborn so that it may rise again... hopefulness in the wake of true devastation.
It reminded me of a book I read a long time ago called Requiem by Shizuko Go. It is no longer in print, and my attempts to find it so I may give it as a gift to others ended, for years, in failure; however, you can now find used copies available on Amazon.com.
It follows a young girl through the dropping of the bomb and its aftermath upon her home, her family, and her friends. I think I first read it in high school, and I remember being so moved by the story. No history class or textbook had ever delved into the human cost and traumatic aspect of the event, and it helped me to see and contextualize that part of my history as an American much more fully.
I am not nearly as adept with history as I would like to be. I'm always amazed at the way Andy can remember important facts and figures and can contextualize history across decades and centuries, countries and continents, so that he sees larger patterns and parallels. People who are able to do that always amaze me, and stories like the one featuring Hirayama remind me how important it is to remember our past and the ways in which our cultural heritage informs our future self.
Hirayama was 15 when the bomb dropped, and he has chosen to explore the devastation, sorrow, rebirth, and aftermath of such a traumatic event through his artwork - both on a personal level and a more cultural and national level. Many survivors deeply connect with his paintings, and Hirayama's path out of the ashes, past radiation sickness and the death of friends and family, included the study of Buddhism, which lead to a very successful career as a painter of well-known Buddhist images.
They story described one of his largest and most famous works, "The Holocaust of Hiroshima," a replica of which is on display at the Hiroshima Atomic Bomb Memorial Park. The painting not only seeks to visually depict his own experience on August 6, but also the overall effect the flash and fire of the bomb had on the city. The incorporation of Buddhist images speaks to his desire to see the city reborn so that it may rise again... hopefulness in the wake of true devastation.
It reminded me of a book I read a long time ago called Requiem by Shizuko Go. It is no longer in print, and my attempts to find it so I may give it as a gift to others ended, for years, in failure; however, you can now find used copies available on Amazon.com.
It follows a young girl through the dropping of the bomb and its aftermath upon her home, her family, and her friends. I think I first read it in high school, and I remember being so moved by the story. No history class or textbook had ever delved into the human cost and traumatic aspect of the event, and it helped me to see and contextualize that part of my history as an American much more fully.
I am not nearly as adept with history as I would like to be. I'm always amazed at the way Andy can remember important facts and figures and can contextualize history across decades and centuries, countries and continents, so that he sees larger patterns and parallels. People who are able to do that always amaze me, and stories like the one featuring Hirayama remind me how important it is to remember our past and the ways in which our cultural heritage informs our future self.
Monday, May 12, 2008
2012 and beyond...
Today held an alarming number of stories about natural disasters across the United States and in other countries. Wildfires in Florida, a sinkhole in Washington, D.C., tornadoes in Missouri and Oklahoma, an earthquake in China, volcano activity, and - of course - the cyclone in Myanmar.
I'm not sure where you sit on the whole greenhouse/2012/sea level rise thing. Andy and I tend to be a little worried about it and spend a lot of time debating whether or not we wish to make safety from natural disasters, potential pole shifts, and/or a crash in the economy a priority when plotting our next steps.
Although I don't fully buy into the prophecies of Nostradamus, Edgar Cayce, and the like... it is somewhat higher than coincidental those two men and the Mayan calendar all put the world falling apart around the same time. I suppose I buy into it enough to be vaguely concerned and to begin to think about things like paring down on my possessions, living a more sustainable lifestyle, and wanting to build or buy a green home of some kind in a relatively safe area.
Be it driven by external concerns or an internal call to a more peaceful and simple life, Andy and I both have noticed a pull and shift toward a new type of living. I see it as a blend of spiritual needs and practical considerations... something seeking to balance the ascetic qualities of monasticism, the theories of detachment so prevalent in Buddhist philosophy, the social action and humanist commitment of Unitarian Universalism, and the social interest of Adler.
It all seems to coalesce and make sense on some days. I would love to know where the end is, which I think is one of the greatest lessons I've yet to learn: process before content, means rather than end, the journey above the destination.
And so, it is not so important to know where I will end up as it is to know how I want to get there. To ensure authenticity and compassion en route. To follow dreams and strive toward improvement and seek out positive change in the best way I know how.
Some days, the fear and sadness feels a bit more prevelant, but most of the time I simply wish I could do more to help those affected by these many disasters... and I pray the whisperings of darkness to come are simply the anxious worries of mistaken sayers seeking to make sense of the complexity and confusion that may inevitably arise as we move through life.
I'm not sure where you sit on the whole greenhouse/2012/sea level rise thing. Andy and I tend to be a little worried about it and spend a lot of time debating whether or not we wish to make safety from natural disasters, potential pole shifts, and/or a crash in the economy a priority when plotting our next steps.
Although I don't fully buy into the prophecies of Nostradamus, Edgar Cayce, and the like... it is somewhat higher than coincidental those two men and the Mayan calendar all put the world falling apart around the same time. I suppose I buy into it enough to be vaguely concerned and to begin to think about things like paring down on my possessions, living a more sustainable lifestyle, and wanting to build or buy a green home of some kind in a relatively safe area.
Be it driven by external concerns or an internal call to a more peaceful and simple life, Andy and I both have noticed a pull and shift toward a new type of living. I see it as a blend of spiritual needs and practical considerations... something seeking to balance the ascetic qualities of monasticism, the theories of detachment so prevalent in Buddhist philosophy, the social action and humanist commitment of Unitarian Universalism, and the social interest of Adler.
It all seems to coalesce and make sense on some days. I would love to know where the end is, which I think is one of the greatest lessons I've yet to learn: process before content, means rather than end, the journey above the destination.
And so, it is not so important to know where I will end up as it is to know how I want to get there. To ensure authenticity and compassion en route. To follow dreams and strive toward improvement and seek out positive change in the best way I know how.
Some days, the fear and sadness feels a bit more prevelant, but most of the time I simply wish I could do more to help those affected by these many disasters... and I pray the whisperings of darkness to come are simply the anxious worries of mistaken sayers seeking to make sense of the complexity and confusion that may inevitably arise as we move through life.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Suffering, compassion, and the power of expression
The Buddhists believe suffering is an inevitable part of life. Different braches of Buddhism seek to address that suffering in different ways, but all three incorporate concepts of compassion and detachment as methods to alleviate suffering.
Of course... we all define suffering differently. But one thing that really stood out for me this weekend is we all do indeed have something going on which we might term as pain, sadness, loss, anxiety, insecurity, or disappointment. Suffering. And... one of the things that seems to be effective for a lot of Westerners is to have a space or time within which we can speak freely about that suffering and share our story with other people.
It's the basis of therapy or counseling. Having someone who can actively listen to your story can be very powerful. And sometimes simply sharing your story... saying things out loud, naming your suffering, and letting it transition from thoughts and feelings living alone in you to an articulated concept and inner life made tangible through language can lessen its power over you.
It's as if we remove the option of remaining hidden - even from ourselves. By speaking suffering aloud, you share the burden of that suffering and place it into a larger context from which perspective is possible.
Suffering can be short and simple, complex and lengthy, or anything in between. It is as changeable and impermanent as all other things in life... but it can often feel as if we are stuck inside of it or trapped by it and cannot see a clear way out.
I think sometimes it is easy to remember to practice compassion for others - to provide a source of love and understanding to help ease another's distress. It is sometimes harder to remember to be compassionate with ourselves. To encounter fear or insecurity with kindness and gentleness, to respond to anxiety or pain with attention and calm, to treat depression or grief with patience and understanding.
To be positive in our attitude, long-viewed in our perspective, and tender in our approach. Even - and perhaps especially - with ourselves.
Of course... we all define suffering differently. But one thing that really stood out for me this weekend is we all do indeed have something going on which we might term as pain, sadness, loss, anxiety, insecurity, or disappointment. Suffering. And... one of the things that seems to be effective for a lot of Westerners is to have a space or time within which we can speak freely about that suffering and share our story with other people.
It's the basis of therapy or counseling. Having someone who can actively listen to your story can be very powerful. And sometimes simply sharing your story... saying things out loud, naming your suffering, and letting it transition from thoughts and feelings living alone in you to an articulated concept and inner life made tangible through language can lessen its power over you.
It's as if we remove the option of remaining hidden - even from ourselves. By speaking suffering aloud, you share the burden of that suffering and place it into a larger context from which perspective is possible.
Suffering can be short and simple, complex and lengthy, or anything in between. It is as changeable and impermanent as all other things in life... but it can often feel as if we are stuck inside of it or trapped by it and cannot see a clear way out.
I think sometimes it is easy to remember to practice compassion for others - to provide a source of love and understanding to help ease another's distress. It is sometimes harder to remember to be compassionate with ourselves. To encounter fear or insecurity with kindness and gentleness, to respond to anxiety or pain with attention and calm, to treat depression or grief with patience and understanding.
To be positive in our attitude, long-viewed in our perspective, and tender in our approach. Even - and perhaps especially - with ourselves.
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