tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-194691292024-03-14T00:44:09.515-07:00A Musing JourneyLife is truly a journey. If it makes you think and makes you laugh, then it's a trip well worth taking.Stechjohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02907059387528435058noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19469129.post-79248082103066292312016-11-02T13:55:00.001-07:002017-04-07T10:46:48.479-07:00Solitary Bodhisattva<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 10.5pt;">I have been what might be termed a "Solitary Bodhisattva."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">AfterEarly in my practice with SGI, I and several other senior leaders were "officially" ostracized by the HQ in Philadelphia for four years, until Pres. Ikeda intervened and made them publicly apologize at a HQ meeting and reinstate our positions.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">AfterDuring that time, I learned a great deal about myself and about having only my twice-daily practice and my innate Buddha nature as my guide.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">AfterAfter finally disaffiliating with SGI, I was fortunate, in that dear friends moved to Sacramento and happened to rent a home next door to a member of Rissho Kosei-Kai. At the time it was definitely to be considered within the sphere of "Nichiren" Buddhism, although that is not so much the case today.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">AfterWhile living in Sacramento, I had a car and was able to drive the 100 miles to Pacifica to attend the RKK Church there. The two different ministers I met there were extremely supportive of the English-speaking members and our group numbered about 25 people.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Thus, when I moved to Long Beach, CA I also drove to the RKK Church in East Los Angeles (dubbed by its members as "Tokyo East") There were two ministers there, one for us English-speaking members and one for the Japanese-speaking.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">AfterWe "Americans" (about 20 of us) were relegated to a third-floor room in an out-building and I was even referred to (behind my back) as a "gaijin" by the Japanese minister. She was nonplussed when I actually understood her insult and confronted her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">After a year, I moved back north, this time to San Francisco and, before I had to sell my car to come up with the $5,200 needed to move into an apartment here, I visited the RKK church was told by the new Japanese minister (who's English was not very good) that there was no longer an English-speaking group.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">That was when I found Nichiren Shu, and was fortunate to find someone in the city who drove the 60 miles to San Jose to the temple there. Unfortunately, after a few years, that ride was no longer feasible so, I decided to rent a car once a month to drive to RKK (only 25 miles away) and much cheaper than driving to S.J. Although I was not able to attend Nichiren Shu services, I never lost contact with my friends in NS.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">The RKK minister at that time, although born in Japan, had been in the U.S. since he was 18 studying in L.A., and was thoroughly "Americanized," although he did suffer criticism from the Japanese-speaking members because he could no longer read Kanji and had to read speeches in Japanese phonetically.Our English-speaking group throve, until he was transferred away and a new minister from Japan, whose English was very good, was assigned to the church.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">It is my opinion that the man was clearly a xenophobe. He moved us English speakers out of the main sanctuary into a conference room in the basement. And, after a number of us had spent two years of intense study to become a "certified" Dharma Teachers with RKK, he announced at our first (and my last) RKK Convention in Las Vegas, that unless we English-speaking people came to Japan and learned to read and speak Japanese, we were not qualified to teach "Buddhism." Further, despite the efforts of English-speaking member having worked on our "Kyoden" daily practice book, he refused to release it to us because he didn't like the translation.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">The fact that the RKK organization allowed that man to remain at that church, despite his xenophobic discrimination against the English-speaking group, simply spoke to the "Eastern" attitude of never bringing disapprobation (or loss of face) against a leader and ultimately led to the destruction of what had been a vibrant English-speaking group.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Probably, the most unfortunate aspect of all this is the fact that the San Francisco Bay Area lacks a vibrant Nichiren Shu group. San Jose is 60 miles away and Sacramento is 90 miles away. Neither the RKK members from the south bay nor the Nichiren Shu members from San Jose will (want to) come to San Francisco to support the establishment of a practice center here. "Oh, it's so far!" "Oh, you can't find parking." Oh, the traffic is awful!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">When I approached the Nichiren Hokke Buddhist Church here in Japantown, the young minister said we all chant the same O'Daimoku and that we few NS members would be welcome there but then he was transferred back to Japan and their headquarters in Japan let me know that we were NOT welcome, because they believed that Nichiren Shu would try to "take over" their temple.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I must ask where is the spirit of Nichiren Shonin, or for that matter Shakyamuni Buddha himself, in these lazy, defeatist and/or obstructionist attitudes?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">The Nichiren Order of North America is developing as an "American" organization, staying true to the spirit of Nichiren Shonin and propagating Buddhism and many of the ranking priests in Japan are very, very supportive of our efforts. The recently elected Bishop of North America is a woman of half Japanese, half African-American heritage and we have more and more U.S. born young(ish) men and women coming into the priesthood.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Many of our temples now have both live-streamed and YouTube services available for viewing (and participating in). I myself am a member of the Houston Temple where our Bishop, Myokei-shonin is the chief priest. Check out the services of the New England and Seattle temples as well. They are vibrant, growing, and dare I say "democratic."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I speak only for myself but, in my opinion, the (not only) Japanese system of primogeniture in both its priesthood and lay organizations has no place in our religious institutions here in the west and I am very heartened by the use of congregational polity in specifically American religious organizations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Stechjohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02907059387528435058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19469129.post-30688343727413845182009-03-31T13:01:00.000-07:002017-04-07T10:47:36.781-07:00Five Butterflies Fluttered ByeI remember as a child the awesome sight of millions of Monarch butterflies migrating up the east coast in the Spring.<br />
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One year that orange cloud, pushed by strong winds, had strayed over the Atlantic shore as I was sitting on the beach in Ocean City, New Jersey. Thousands of the poor butterflies fell in the ocean and we children ran into the water to rescue them; bringing them to our blankets and beach chairs, in hopes their wings would dry and they could continue their journeys.<br />
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A child's dreaming fantasy.<br />
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A few moments ago, while standing in my kitchen, five small, orange butterflies fluttered by my window on some unknown journey, chasing each other in a springtime procession.<br />
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How does one distinguish between tears of joy and tears of sadness? Somewhere an 8-year old may see those five flying flowers and feel the same joy I felt at seeing the millions as their numbers cast a shadow over the beach.<br />
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Will we ever see an orange cloud again and marvel at the millions of wings that create it? I hope so, I truly hope so.Stechjohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02907059387528435058noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19469129.post-1133479767158846092005-12-01T15:26:00.000-08:002017-04-07T10:50:23.098-07:00UNITARIAN UNIVERSALISM<div align="center">
<strong><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Forgiveness & Reconciliation</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial";">I'm going through a difficult time being in my current UU congregation.<br />
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Once our previous co-ministers resigned, one to another congregation and one to retirement, the question of naming the retiring minister as an "emerita" came up.<br />
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(FYI - We're now in search mode for a new minister.)<br />
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As a prelude to the ministers resigning, the board chose to ignore its agreement to use the Carver procedures in dealing with a dicey budget question that was brought before the congregation for a vote. This minister indicated that she felt that balancing the budget at the expense of the lowest paid staff, our Sextons, would be a violation of our </span><a href="http://www.uua.org/aboutuua/principles.html"><span style="font-family: "arial";">Seven Principles</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial";"> as she interpreted them. And she could not continue as our minister under those circumstances.<br />
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As I interpret what ensued, the end result was that some members saw her as being principled while others saw her as holding "their" congregation hostage.<br />
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Thus, the last few months of this person's 10-year ministry at our church was marred by controversy and ill feelings.<br />
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When she refused to sign marriage licenses till she could do so for LGBT couples as well, she was hailed as a principled minister. Yet when she stood up for her principles on a financial matter, she was reviled as obstructionist, mean, and unfeeling. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the first thing our current interim minister did when he came to our church was to have the history of our church posted on large boards so that people could write comments and some of the things anonymously written about this minister were, to me at least, truly shameful, meanspirited and libelous.<br />
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I spent half a month in South Africa with her and saw a side of her that many in the congregation, including some of her harshest critics, have not. While I spent that time with a compassionate woman, those who are angry at her have accused her of caring more about people in Africa than her own congregation! As if being white, comfortable and upper-middle class is somehow worse than being an African orphan with AIDS!<br />
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Now, nearly two years later, during an open forum to discuss bringing up having a congregational vote on making her emerita, the negative feelings are still deeply held. One person, who was on the board during that time, expressed her deep anger with this minister while another said she would stand at the door to prevent this minister from even trying to enter our sanctuary to worship!<br />
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I've been a member of this congregation since September of 1997 and within a year had already had my earful from some of the longtime members about previous ministers and how horrible they were and how they could never be forgiven for "what they did." These people are hanging on to their resentments and vengefulness going back 20 years and more!!!<br />
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My question to the group during our "healing" meeting was this:<br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Where is "forgiveness" and "reconciliation" in our 7 Principles? We tell folks how wonderful our religion is, yet we don't model it within our own congregation. If the people of South Africa can work towards forgiveness and reconciliation, why can't we?</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I, and most of my friends, do not identify as christian and more and more of them have stopped going to church. Our current interim minister is more "traditional" than our previous ministers, and that ministry style has left me and many of my friends feeling excluded rather than included in Sunday worship. That, coupled with this negative undercurrent of anger, is driving many of us away. I'm encouraging folks to keep contact with the church through Small Group Ministry, yet that isn't going to last forever.<br />
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My feeling is that if we, as a congregation, don't learn how to model forgiveness by going about the business of learning how to forgive and then actually putting it into practice, then I believe that our congregation will end up as just a bunch of spiritually stunted, self-righteous activists who will never understand why we aren't growing.<br />
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This year is my fourth as a SGM facilitator and I really want to be a force for exploring the issues of Forgiveness and Reconciliation within my congregation and would like to start with this topic as part of my Small Group Ministry group.<br />
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To those of you who end up reading this, please feel free to comment and / or offer recommendations.<br />
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Thanks in advance, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">© Stephen Schwichow </span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Bearing With-ness</span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In making the decision to go to South Africa, I also made the decision that it was to be a spiritual journey as much as a physical journey to a new place.<br />
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Margot Campbell-Gross is one of the two resident parish ministers at the First Unitarian Universalist Society of San Francisco and it is her earlier connection with the *Thabong Community of Dominican Nuns that is the reason this trip was opened to me.<br />
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Two years ago Sister Sheila Flynn, who created and mentors the **Kopanang Women's Group, and two of the women, Jabalele and Ivona, came to our Society to introduce us to the embroideries that they hand-make, as a means of earning money and becoming independent.<br />
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I was at that service and had the opportunity to meet Jabulile and Ivona afterwards. It happened that I had brought with me some of my mothers jewelry to donate to the annual rummage sale and I gave a piece to each of them, saying that I would like to visit the Kopanang Group in South Africa someday.<br />
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Last year, Rev. Campbell-Gross mentioned from the pulpit that she planned on going back to visit the Thabong Community and wanted to know if anyone in the congregation was interested in accompanying her.<br />
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Even though I had no idea how I would manage it financially, my roommate being grossly underemployed and unable to pay his full share of living expenses, I said that I wanted to go.<br />
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The doubt and fear "devils" beset me with everything from my fear of flying to worries about whether or not the Internet company from whom I purchased my tickets was a real travel agency.<br />
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Prior to leaving, Margot requested that we read "Bearing Witness," by Bernie Glassman, a 45-year Zen practitioner and founder of the Order of the Peace Makers. As I read about his extraordinary experiences meeting, getting to know, and finally witnessing to those who suffer and rise above suffering around us, I realized that I would not be able to "bear witness" unless and until I could "share withness" with the very people who's stories must be told.<br />
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Finally, my newly purchased, heavy-duty suitcase was fully loaded and precariously balanced on my newly purchased bathroom scale, desperately trying to stay under 65 lbs. and not fall over.<br />
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Thursday, October 16, 2003 at 16:00, I will leave San Francisco on Virgin Atlantic for London, and after a brief layover, via Swiss International through Zurich to Johannesburg. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">* Zulu, "Place of Joy"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">** Zulu, "Gathering Together"</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>uNkulunkulu makawubusise uMzansi Afrika</i></span></strong></div>
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© Stephen Schwichow </div>
Stechjohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02907059387528435058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19469129.post-1133479528104366702005-12-01T15:05:00.000-08:002017-04-07T12:57:49.111-07:00REFLECTIONS OF A UU WORSHIP ASSOCIATE<h1 style="text-align: center;">
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Love is the spirit of
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And Service is its
prayer<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Since we’ve just finished saying that
together, my question is: How is “service” the <u>prayer</u> of this
church?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I remember the first prayer I ever
learned, kneeling by my bed, with my elbows propped up and hands held in
supplication before me. My grandmother was on her knees right next to me
teaching me: “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord by soul to
keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">At 5 years old I didn’t have a clue what
God was. (And truth be told I still don’t 60 years later.) Nor did I understand
about a soul or dying. But I felt the unshakable conviction of my
grandmother which told me that everything would be alright if I said this prayer
before getting into bed each night and I would be able to go to sleep safe and
secure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’m sure some of you are familiar with the
joke that Unitarian Universalists’ hymn singing can be somewhat disjointed
because we are always reading a few lines ahead to see whether we agree with
the words. And many of us do an inner translation when we get to the “G”
word.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I remember distinctly the last time I ever
prayed. It was in December of 1969. 40 years ago, in fact.
And 40 years ago this coming February I began practicing Buddhism and learned
to meditate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">When I hear from the pulpit “Let us now
enter a time of prayer and meditation,” I too feel included and a part of our
faith community.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Sister
Sheila has titled her homily “The Body as a Vehicle for Prayer” and, if it’s
alright, I’ll do my Unitarian Universalist mental substitution and try it as
“The Body as a Vehicle for Meditation.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">For nearly forty years, twice daily I have
done a sutra recitation and meditation practice. With every recitation, I am
reminded that all beings experience dissatisfaction and suffering in their
lives, some more than others, and also that all beings have the potential to
experience joy and realize enlightenment; that is, to free themselves from
their dissatisfactions and sufferings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The Buddha taught that we all can be
Bodhisattvas. We can be those who work to help others be relieved of
their suffering and to achieve their enlightenment even when it means
postponing our own.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
end every meditation practice period with the Bodhisattva Vow, one made by
Buddhists all over the world:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Sentient beings are inn umerable<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I vow to save them all<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">My defilements are
inexhaustible<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I vow to quench them all<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The Buddha’s teachings
are immeasurable<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I vow to learn them all<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The Way of the Buddha is
unexcelled<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I vow to attain the path
sublime<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">To me Mother Theresa, Mahatma Gandhi,
Martin Luther King, all were Bodhisattvas. Certainly their service to
humanity was significant when they lived and worked to save human beings and
the ripples of their efforts move through time to this very day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Most of us will never be great world
leaders, sitting on the forefront of society-changing movements. But I do
firmly believe that we all have the capacity to make a difference, in some
small way, in the lives of those around us who are suffering.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">A
couple of other important things my grandmother taught me were that when I
leave this world, I have an obligation to have made a difference by having been
here. And she also showed me through her own life that it is better to
give than to receive. How very wise she was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">In 2003, I had the honor of accompanying
the Rev. Margot Campbell Gross, Nan Parks McCarthy and my friend Colette
Simmons to stay with Sister Sheila and the other nuns of the Thabong Community
outside Johannesburg, South Africa. I bore witness to the suffering and
privations caused by HIV/AIDS among the people of the surrounding
communities. I would like to believe that perhaps my being present made a
difference. But I do know that the love I received from so many wonderful
people made a huge difference in my life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Trying to make a difference is an integral
part of who I am. And I have no doubt that it is an outgrowth of my
meditation practice. Wanting to help is as natural to me as breathing.
And I find great happiness is helping others.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">When I greet passers-by on the way to work
in the morning, I smile and usually receive smiles in return. When I reach out
in kindness it always comes back 10-fold. When I can give of myself, joy
grows in my own heart. And I know that this is not unique to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">We are currently living in difficult and
uncertain economic times. Many of us are apprehensive about the future,
as am I myself. But I can tell you that there is one sure fire remedy for
taking one’s mind off worrying and fretting about things over which we may not
have any control – a way to put our own lives in perspective.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">We can free our inner Bodhisattvas by
reaching out to those around us who are hurting, physically, mentally,
financially, spiritually. We can be of service to life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">This
is what my meditation has taught me. Perhaps this can be our prayer.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And
remember:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Love is the spirit of
the church<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And Service …<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Blessed
be, Amen and Namaste …<b><o:p></o:p></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Half Empty / Half Full<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">My mother used to say that my brother
tended to see the glass half empty while I tended to see the glass half
full. But by this past Thursday, I was only focusing on those four ounces
of empty air in that 8 ounce glass, vacillating between anger and despair.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">After all, a little more than half of
those voting supported taking my rights away. The same rights that the Supreme
Court of the State of California said were my due, under the
California Constitution. A little more than half of those voting believe that I
am not worthy of the same rights, privileges and responsibilities that
heterosexual Californians have, simply by virtue of their being born
heterosexual. A little more than half of those voting have said quite clearly
that the love I may feel for someone of my own sex is not as real, not as
precious, and not as special as the love that exists between heterosexuals.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I had really thought that a heavy turnout
in support of Barack Obama would have helped to tip the balance to the side of
justice. It wasn’t to be. I’d like to blame the supporters of the candidate I
did not vote for but the passage of Proposition 8 really came down to all those
who voted both for our first African-American President and, simultaneously,
voted to take away my civil right to equal treatment under the laws of the
State of California. Yes, large numbers of California’s Democrats voted in
support of Proposition 8. They voted to enshrine discrimination into the
California Constitution. Have Californians forgotten that it was the tyranny of
the majority that made the love between people of different races illegal in
this State until 1962? Have we forgotten that it was the tyranny of the
majority that sent our Japanese-American brothers and sisters to relocation
camps for no other reason than the accident of their birth and their cultural
heritage?<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">In my post election confusion, joy over
our new president and sadness over the passage of Prop 8, I wondered to myself,
what kind of a religion would teach homophobia and prejudice as the core of its
beliefs? The Mormons and Knights of Columbus alone donated more
that $25 million in support of Proposition 8.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">As the No on 8 Campaign has said: “Never
before in California's history has a group, who currently enjoys a basic
right, been singled out and then had those rights ripped from them by a vote of
their fellow citizens.”<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">So - what you’ve just heard is what
happens when I see the glass half empty. However, I don’t want to drag the past
behind me because it will only impede my journey into the future. I am by
nature an optimist.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And when I reflect on the 4 ounces of
water in the glass, rather than the 4 ounces of empty space, I remember this.
The vast majority of my friends, from every possible ethnicity and heritage,
are straight. And to a person, they voted against Proposition 8. I remember
that many among my friends consider themselves Christians or people of faith
and they voted against Proposition 8. Faith can as easily cause one to rejoice
in the diversity of humanity as to cause one to be threatened by the differences
among us.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">On election eve, the Young Adults group
here at the First Unitarian Universalist Society of San Francisco, put together
a candle-light vigil service that was incredibly moving. In order to take some
pressure off our City Hall, already swamped with couples wanting to marry,
from 8:00 PM on November 3rd, through the close of the polls on
November 4th, our ministers were available to marry any loving couples who
presented a marriage license and requested to be wed. Free of charge, I might
add.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">It’s important for me to remember the
encouragement of our senior minister, Rev. Greg Stewart, who pointed out that
in this great effort to defeat Proposition 8 we Unitarian Universalists “have
once again helped to bend the moral arc of the Universe toward justice.”<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">In his *<i>Letter from a Birmingham Jail</i>,
Martin Luther King, Jr. wrote this: “More and more I feel that the people of
ill will have used time much more effectively than have the people of good
will. …. Human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability; it comes
through the tireless efforts of … <i>[those]</i> willing to be co
workers with God, and without this hard work, time itself becomes an ally of
the forces of social stagnation. We must use time creatively, in the knowledge
that the time is always ripe to do right.”<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">For me, having seen the reality of
prejudice as a child, the treatment that I am now subjected to feels no
differently to me than the pain, anger, humiliation and frustration that other
minority groups in this country must have felt as they realized that the land
in which they lived and were citizens, did not see them as worthy of equality
before the law. In the issue of GLBT persons, that equality, affirmed by our
Supreme Court, has been taken away and discrimination has been written into our
Constitution.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I celebrate all those of our heterosexual
allies who had no basic rights at stake, and yet you gave so much of your time
and money, in support of my rights.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I am so proud to be a Unitarian
Universalist, which denomination is “Standing on the Side of Love.” I’m honored
to be a member of the First Unitarian Universalist Society of San Francisco,
where the loves and lives of same sex couples have been celebrated and
conjoined for more than 50 years.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">In a sermon delivered by the Rev. Forrest
Church prior to the 1992 presidential election, he said: “Hate is not the
opposite of love, fear is. … We are good at fear. That’s why politicians
play on our fears. Fear gives power to others, and inspires us to try to take
power away from them.”<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">This time, my friends, we LGBT citizens
were the targets of the fear mongers.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Rev. Church went on to say that “Faith is
confidence, a basic trust in being. Faith should never be sacrificed to
belief. Faith says yes to mystery, wonder, possibility, change.”
But Rev. Church goes on to warn that the opposite of Faith is Belief and
“Belief is a set propositions that true-believers say make it possible for one
to have faith.”<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve been a gay activist since the early
1970’s, when the very idea of marriage equality was not even a dream.
This past Friday night I participated in the march up Market Street. Among
those thousands of marchers, I didn’t feel anger around me, but rather
energy. I didn’t sense depression, but rather determination. The Japanese
Buddhists have a term: <i>“Zen San, Go Ichi.” </i>“Three steps
forward, one step back.” Last Tuesday night was but a step back; a step
back in order to gather strength for the next steps forward towards justice.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">My friends, we may have lost a battle, but
the Culture War is not over by a long shot. I have faith, whether I live
to see it or not, that we will have justice for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and
Transgender people, not just in California, but in these United States.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The very fact of the election of Barack
Obama gives me hope, and I have faith in our ability to touch and change the
hearts of those who are currently closed to us. I have faith that the day will
come when I will be judged not by my sexual orientation, but by the content of
my character.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I have faith that there will be justice,
and that, in the words of the Prophet Amos, that “justice will roll down like
waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">In the words of our next President: “Yes
We Can!”<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">How Prayer Made Me an
Atheist <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">(Expanded Reflection)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Did you know that the
word “pray” can be traced back to the Sanskrit: prasna meaning “to
question?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Did
you know that the word “precarious” comes from the Vulgate Latin meaning
“obtained by prayer?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">When
I asked Google, “What is Prayer?” It yielded the following definitions:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Princeton University: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Reverent
petition to a deity; the act of communicating with a deity (especially as a
petition or in adoration or contrition or thanksgiving); </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-weight: normal;"><a href="http://www.religioustolerance.org/">http://www.religioustolerance.org/</a></span></span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The
act of attempting to verbally communicate with the supernatural; It is found in
almost all the religions of the world. It is sometimes communal, as during a
church service; it is sometimes done in private. Its purpose within
Christianity is to assess the will of God for one's life, to praise God, to
give thanks to God, to repent of sinful behavior, to ask forgiveness, to seek a
favor from God, and (occasionally) to ask God to curse an opponent. Prayer is
found in almost all religions. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Glossary
of the Gov’t of Australia:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">A
request at the end of a petition, usually that a certain course of action be
taken or not taken.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Truth4Life.tripod.com:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Prayer
is talking with God. Click here to learn more.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
suppose the quick and easy answer as to whether I pray or not is – No! Although
I clearly remember the first and the last time I prayed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">When
I was six I had the special treat one time of being able to stay the weekend
with my grandmother, my Nana, without the always noisy and demanding presence
of my 3-year old brother. He was too much of a handful for my grandmother.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Prior
to going to bed, my (to me) ancient grandmother, who was probably younger than
I am now, got down on her knees next to the daybed I was going to sleep on and
showed me how to pray.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-outline-level: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Now I lay me down to
sleep,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I pray the lord my soul
to keep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">If I should die before I
wake,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I pray the lord my soul
to take.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-outline-level: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Thereafter,
every night I faithfully recited those words with complete assurance that
“God,” whatever that was, was watching over me and I had nothing to worry about
– so long as I was a good boy. I was also convinced that God tipped my mother
off when I was naughty. As soon as she’d look at me, I knew she had that “God
already told me” look and I’d confess straight-away!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
remember coming back from church one time when I was 8 years old and my
grandmother asking me to stay in the car with her, after my mom brought us
home. I sensed a set-up.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">There
is no Santa Clause. Nan broke the news to me gently, as only a
grandmother could and I had to admit that I’d had my suspicions. She explained
to me that, now that I was older, I could join my mom and dad and her and the
other grown ups and older kids, knowing that there wasn’t a Santa Clause, but
pretending so that little children, like my brother, could still believe
it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Santa
Clause was about the joy of giving and that was what was real. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">So
that means the Easter Bunny is only pretend too?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Yes.
It’s true.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’d
pretty much stopped worrying about the tooth fairy since I didn’t have many
reasons left to look forward to her visits anyway.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">All
the things that were sources of security and anticipation for me weren’t real.
They were all just part of the adult conspiracy to make children have happy
childhoods; to believe in magic. Since I’d been invited to join in the “Adult
Conspiracy,” it was time to put away “Now I lay me down to sleep” and I began
invoking the grown up: “Our father, who art in heaven …”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
remember that first time I prayed and I remember the last time I prayed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">December
of 1969, I was 24 years old, living in Toronto. After five months, the
only job I could find was working in the toy department of Eaton’s Department
Store – at Christmas time. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
had a 3rd floor walk-up rented room near the Maple Leaf Gardens.
I’d lost nearly 50 pound in five months, due to lack of food. My coworkers used
to give me the crackers they got with their tea. I was miserable – then I got
sick. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
was so sick and weak that I had to crawl down the hall to the bathroom. I
remember, lying on the floor, crawling to the bed and propping myself up, and
just like my grandmother had taught me that first time – I put my hands
together in prayer. The room seemed dark, even though it was the middle of the
day. I cried, I despaired, I pleaded, I prayed... - all this while looking at
the wall, against which my bed was pushed. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
seemed to almost step outside my self and observed that I was praying to some
dingy, dirty, faded and peeling wallpaper, crumpled over a crack in the bedroom
wall. I was praying to a crack in a wall. That was God. And I suddenly
realized; I’m an atheist.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">In
that moment, my slate was wiped clean. In the next few days I returned
to Philadelphia, to my parents’ home, to the bedroom I’d left when I went
off to college. I’d lost everything – most importantly, I’d lost belief. There
was no God, no Easter Bunny, no Tooth Fairy and no Santa Clause – it was all
stuff for children. In the process of coming to those conclusions, I’d somehow
lost me as well – my sense of self. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Less
than a month after returning from Canada, feeling totally defeated, I
began practicing Buddhism, purely out of curiosity, and it turned out to be
just the “Skillful Means” that I needed to find myself again. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
tell people that I meditate. I sit silently, going within where all the answers
lie for me. I recite from Sutras, I chant a Mantra – the Sacred Title of the
Wonderful Dharma of the Lotus Flower Sutra. The “Focus of my Practice” is the
Unborn and Deathless Buddha-Dharma that was recounted at a phantasmagoric event
in the Lotus Sutra, where the Buddha revealed that his teaching and his life
and his Dharma were no different from my life and that it was timeless,
immanent and always manifesting as infinite potential. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">37
years later, I can still say that I don’t pray. Or at least I don’t pray to
anything or any one, even though it may look like that to the casual observer.
When I sit before my shrine and recite from the Sutras, you might say I’m
continuing to program this biological computer that is my life.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
recite passages that remind me of the infinite possibilities open to me and to
all living beings. I am reminded twice a day that all non-living and living
things, including human beings, are manifestations of the great life-force of
the universe, the Buddha-Dharma. Some people might call that God and pray to
it. For me it’s enough to know that I am simply a part of it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
rather like the idea that precarious means obtained by prayer. I look around at
all the beauty in the world and realize that it truly is precarious. All is
change, nothing is permanent.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Seeing
a baby smile can bring tears unbidden to my eyes, just realizing how precious,
ephemeral and temporary both my tears and its smile really are. Yet, in that smile
is the infinite potential of the universe.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Do
I pray? No! I tell people that I meditate.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Here
now is my prayer:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Close
your eyes for a moment, while we experience silence; go inside yourself and
breath, don’t be afraid of the silence. Hear the breathing of your neighbors,
realizing that there isn’t a molecule of air in this sanctuary that hasn’t been
in the lungs of everyone else in here. We are breathing each other, we are that
connected to each other.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">What
we have just done with our silence is the true miracle of this holy place. And
what a precarious miracle it is.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Amen,
Namaste and Blessed Be.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">©
Stephen Schwichow</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Spirituality Con Carné<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">A year ago I had the
pleasure of being up here to support Rev. Gibson’s service entitled “Beyond
Tepid Tolerance,” in which I derided okra and expressed my intolerance for it.
- More about that in a moment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve been looking
forward to Rev. Gibson and Judy coming back again this year, and when I saw his
Sunday’s sermon topic, “Spirituality <i>con carné</i>,” this long-time
vegetarian couldn’t resist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Really, Gordon … <i>con
carné</i>? With flesh? I would have gone with “Spirituality <i>con
Chutzpah</i>” or even “Spirituality <i>con okra</i>”, but “with
meat”?!?!?!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">So the issue for today,
as I understand it, is being able to wrap something substantive around one’s
personal spirituality, so that it has a life that goes out into the world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I began suffering
from <b>“SPS” </b>that’s <b>Serious Person Syndrome</b> quite
early in my life. I was always the smallest and youngest looking among my
peers. My mom even took me to the doctor to find out why I was so far behind
all the others boys my age. The doctor just said I was a late bloomer. What it
meant for me was that I was always the last one chosen to play on a team and
was never a part of the kids in my own age group. My brother, three years
younger than I, was always at least even with me in height. It was no fun being
me and I spent a lot of time alone, <i>serious</i> time alone,
reading and trying to figure out the “Why Me” of it all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I remember a driving
trip with my family from Philadelphia to Indianapolis when I was seven, when I
saw a cat run over by an oncoming car. It was terribly traumatic for me and
despite my parents’ assurances that the cat had died instantly and its writhing
was simply the nerves continuing to fire, their telling me that even a chicken
keeps running around after its head has been cut off somehow didn’t make me
feel better. <i>Seriously</i> folks, is there any wonder why I’m a
vegetarian?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">My dad was Roman
Catholic and my mother Presbyterian. My brother and I were raised protestant.
When I was 15, my paternal grandmother, who up to that point hadn’t even
recognized my brother and me as legitimate children, asked my parents if she
could take me to a movie. Both my parents were happy about this and gladly
drove me to the next town over to spend the afternoon with grandmom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">However, after taking me
to a movie, she then took me to her Catholic church and then told me to not
tell my parents, which, of course, I did – simply because I had found it really
fascinating. Later that night, after I was already supposed to be asleep, I
came down the stairs and overheard my parents having, what for me was the first
and only disagreement I had ever heard them have. And the subject of that <i>serious</i> conversation
was about my brother and I being raised Presbyterian instead of Catholic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Again, my <b>SPS</b> <b>(Serious
Person Syndrome)</b> took over and the next day I went to my high school
library and got out the “Life Magazine Book of World Religions,” which I then
read cover to cover. I wanted to understand, since my parents were both
Christians, why it divided our family rather than uniting it? I now know that
what I really wanted to understand was: What is the underlying message that
unites us all? In other words, what really is the elephant whose extremities
we, the visually impaired, are all clinging to, believing that our chosen
extremity is the true elephant?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">In 1970, the Vietnam War
was fully engaged, the economy was in the toilet, unemployment was up and I,
with my Master’s Degree in Slavic Linguistics, found myself just out of
college, unemployed, and once again living with my parents, and feeling <i>seriously</i> sorry
for myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">By chance I saw an
article in the January 1970 issue of Life Magazine about a new Buddhist sect that
was rapidly growing out in southern California and which coincidentally had
some members in the Philadelphia area. Out of sheer curiosity, I went to one of
their discussion meetings and began to try the practice, not because I expected
anything out of doing it, but simply because I wanted to learn Chinese, which
is what the recitations were done in. What fun! A new language to learn!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">What I didn’t realize
was that I was embarking on a journey towards that source that unites us all,
when we’re open to it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Coincidental with
beginning my Buddhist practice I became involved in the Gay Rights Movement. I
never thought of it in terms of “social justice” but simply as the right thing
to do. And I involved myself with grim, <i>serious</i> determination.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Truman Capote was
purported to have said that there are two kinds of people: the Gays and the
Grims. Well I was a grim gay, or a gay grim – depending on your perspective. I
took myself and what I was doing as an activist very <i>seriously</i>.
Don’t forget, I was severely suffering from <b>SPS</b> (<b>Serious
Person Syndrome)</b>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">But somewhere along the
way, my practice taught me to not get attached to outcomes, to not get attached
to my own rightness. And in that letting go, the journey itself has become far
more important than destination.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">My friends, I
actually <i>do</i> stop to smell the roses, and the jasmine and the
lilies and, especially, the honeysuckle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">My problem with <b>SPS
(Serious Person Syndrome)</b> has been inversely proportional to my
“practiced” engagement in the world. And my engagement in the world has been a
requital for the advice I was given as a child; that it was my responsibility
to leave the world a better place for my having been in it. Thus, my Buddhist
practice has taught me to listen and to laugh and also that shared laughter is
the music of the gods, besides being the best medicine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Emma Goldman, an early
20th century anarchist and political activist was enjoying herself at a dance
once, when an earnest young man, no doubt suffering from <b>SPS</b> (<b>Serious
Person Syndrome)</b>, scolded her by saying that it did not behoove an agitator
to dance. She was furious at his impudent interference and her response to him
has been distilled down to this: <b>“If I can’t dance, it’s not my
revolution!”</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">My friends please take
out your bibles. Our New Testament reading for today is from the Gospel
of <b>Luke 18:15-17, “</b>15 People were bringing even infants to him that
he might touch them; and when the disciples saw it, they sternly ordered them
not to do it. 16 But Jesus called for them and said, ‘Let the little children
come to me, and do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom
of God belongs. 17 Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of
God as a little child will never enter it.’”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I would like to invite
you all to look up to your right. “The Kingdom of God is within You.” Keeping
in mind that I am an atheist, I believe that the underlying meaning of that
phrase is the <i>real</i> elephant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The older I get, the
more I believe that I understand what Jesus, the Buddha, Rumi and all the other
great Sages were talking about. You see, my personal spirituality is one of
underlying joy; joy, humor and fun. That is the meat on the bones of my
spirituality. Or may I say the bark on the tree of my spirit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Thanks to our Small
Group Ministry program, which I cannot recommend highly enough, I have many,
many friends in this congregation. And among them are those who have allowed me
to play. I play Dungeons and Dragons, and my half-elf Sorcerer, Aramek, would
like me to introduce you to his familiar: Snoop. Snoop is a North American
ferret. Say “hello” Snoop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And I enjoy going to the
Golden Gate Renaissance Faire each summer. Please come with me next year.
Truly, the longer I’m a Unitarian Universalist, the younger I get!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">In closing, I would like
to make a public confession. During the past year, Gordon and Judy have sent me
a newspaper clipping about a famous “Okra Festival” and even some recipes.
Well, Gordon, please pass on to your niece, Erica, that I have tried her
recipe, “Indian Okra with Yogurt,” and it was delicious!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Yes, I will say it here
in front of you all: “Okra is now welcome in my kitchen.” But now, speaking as
someone who is in recovery from <b>SPS (Serious Person Syndrome)</b>, I
must also leave you all with a <i>serious</i> question: “What, in
heaven’s name, is Rhubarb all about?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Hope Is Fleeting<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Greg’s lead-in to this
sermon topic, that “Hope is Fleeting,” states that “many of us embrace faith to
increase a sense of hope.” I became Unitarian Universalist because I was
“hopeful,” - hoping to find an inclusive community with a vision of a better
world where each individual had worth. And guess what? I found it here, among
you, and it is here that I maintain my sense of hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">In that well-known class
called: Buddhism 101, one of the basics is that any authentic teaching must
conform to three criteria, which I will render here in Unitarian Universalist
terminology:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Non-self</span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> – reflects our Interconnected Web of Life,
of which we are all a part; <b>Nirvana </b>– is about replacing Anger
with Compassion, Greed with Generosity and Ignorance with Knowledge so that
there can be room for Freedom and the Ability to perceive and understand
reality as it is, not as we would like it to be and, lastly, <b>Impermanence </b>–
which is the recognition of the fleeting nature of everything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">From a purely
philosophical perspective, the idea that everything is changeable and
transient, including Hope, might be seen as a: “DUH!!!” but the reality of that
principle is quite another thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I thought the misery I
called high school would never end. And I thought my nana would always be there
at Christmas. It’s just a reality of life, from the microcosm to the macrocosm,
that things are always changing, whether I accept the changes or not. Things
change.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">When I was a child,
every day was filled with hope. Every day brought me memorable experiences.
Every new food, every movie, every book, every trip to the shore (that’s
the New Jersey seashore for the west coast natives among us) - all
was filled with the hope and anticipation of new experiences. In other words, I
lived with a sense of wonder and every new day began with hope for what was to
come.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The dictionary defines
the word Habit as an acquired behavior pattern regularly followed until it has
become almost involuntary. Life, for me, is constantly in danger of becoming a
habit. Of course, I’m not quite ready to break that particular habit. But there
are days when I feel as if I wake up, simply because I’m in the habit of doing
so, but what gets me out of bed is hope. Hope that something unpleasant will
change for the better, or that something pleasant will continue, maybe for just
one more day. If my Life were a loaf of bread, Hope would be the gluten that
holds it together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">My mom used to say that
I always seemed to see the glass half full and, perhaps that’s really the best
way for me to view the place of hope in my life. If it’s a “given” that no
matter what, everything changes – then – how I choose to view my life is truly
up to me. Revel in the good times while I have them and keep in mind that the
bad times won’t last forever and most importantly, remember that I won’t have
to go through those bad times alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Consider our Small Group
Ministry program. As I look around this sanctuary, I see so many of you here whom
I consider my friends and it’s either because I met you directly through small
group ministry or because you were a friend of one of my Small Group Ministry
friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Lest I ever be accused
of being a Pollyanna or, for that matter, a cock-eyed optimist – I need only
look at our world today if I truly want to develop not only a sense of
hopelessness but the <u>habit</u> of feeling hopeless. Global
warming, bio-diversity in decline, a dwindling middle class, profit trumping
the welfare of the people, a government that seems based on anger, greed and
ignorance, with my tax dollars being used to kill children
in Iraq rather than to educate children in America. I need say
no more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">In a few moments, Greg
is going to talk about how to cope with hope when life feels hopeless.
Well, here’s what I do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I remind myself that
nothing is forever. But what I do have in my life, I will cherish while I have
it. I don’t just try to see the wonders around me, I seek them out. After all,
a stranger is just a friend I haven’t met and a friend is a book of miracles,
just waiting to be opened. And I <b>do</b> stop to smell the roses,
the honeysuckle and the jasmine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">When my friends, whom
I’d met through our Small Group Ministry program, asked me whether or not I
would be interested in playing Dungeons and Dragons with them, I jumped at the
chance. I’ve wanted to learn that since my college days. Thanks to their
friendship, wonderful new friends have come into my life and a whole new area
of fun and community has been opened to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve often said: If I am
destined to have a second childhood, I’ll decide when, where and how! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I believe that if there
really is any habit worth cultivating, it’s hope. And when I look around this
sanctuary, I see a room filled with reasons for hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And I thank you all for
that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Blessed be …<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Wishin’ & Hopin’</span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I wonder, how many folks
here remember the name Stephanie McIntosh? While you may not recognize her
name, you will probably recognize her lyrics:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Wishing
and hoping and thinking and praying<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Planning,
and dreaming, each night, of his charms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">That
won’t get you into his arms …. Ah Ooooo<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The subject of our most
recent service, during the season of Advent, has been hope. And in considering
the issues facing us today, I have to admit that this has been one of the most
difficult Credo’s for me to put together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">In my opinion, Stephanie
got the order right, first comes the wishin’ and then comes the hopin’. We have
lots of sayings about wishes: “A goal without a plan is just a wish. (Larry
Elder)” “Wishes won’t wash dishes.” And a cute one from my Scottish ancestors,
“If wishes were horses, even beggars would ride.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">When I was growing up I
spent a lot of time alone, because I lived in a neighborhood where all the
other kids were either 3-4 years younger or more than 5 years older than I. I
had wished so much to have friends my own age to play with. And because I was
always the smallest in my class and always looked 3 or 4 years younger than my
chronological age, I used to wish I were bigger and looked older. My mom used
to tell me that someday I wouldn’t see that as a curse. When I graduated high
school, I was actually the second shortest boy in the class – what a thrill.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve found that
throughout my life wishing is what I do when the realities of life needn’t
intrude. How many times have I wished that I hadn’t said something, or done
something, or eaten something for which I later felt regret? And, oh, how I
wish my dad hadn’t died at 59 and mom at 64.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And as for the future, I
have wishes aplenty: I wish I weighed 160 lbs again; I wish I could win the
lottery; I wish there were no such thing as AIDS or Cancer, poverty or war … I
wish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Now hope, on the other
hand, hope springs eternal. And we have plenty of quotations and proverbs about
hope as well. “Hope is patience with the lamp lit.” (Tertullian) “Where there’s
life, there’s hope.” And, from my Irish ancestors: “Hope is the physician of
each misery.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">My mother used to say
that my brother always seemed to see the glass half empty and I that always saw
it half full. Every summer during my childhood and before the days of super
highways, my family would drive the 70 miles from Philadelphia, PA to Ocean
City, NJ, down the three-lane, Black Horse pike. And every time my dad got into
the center passing lane, known as the suicide lane, my brother would start
screaming from the back seat that we were all going to be killed and never make
it to the shore. Meanwhile, my head was out the window, already “smelling” the
ocean, even though it was still 50 miles away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I suppose I’ve always
been a basically optimistic person and I believe the foundation of my optimism
is hope. In the dictionary, words used in defining hope include: possibility,
expectation, trust, confidence, faith.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Today I’m not the
shortest kid in the class; I have lots of friends to play with; and my mother
was right – I don’t mind looking a little younger than my chronological age.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">As for hope – well – I’m
not counting on the lottery but I am hoping that the Zone Diet my doctor
recommended will work for me. I’m hoping that I still have some good years
ahead of me, because there’s still a lot left to do, and I want to be able to
do my small part.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And in the “grander
scheme of things,” I believe I have real reason to hope that the daily advances
in science and technology will bring treatments and cures for Cancer and AIDS
and all the other scourges that beset humanity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And finally, moving from
hope to belief, I believe that the salvific message of Unitarian Universalism
will move beyond the walls of our fellowships, societies and churches and bring
new hope to people who’ve given it up in the face of the daunting challenges
before us today.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">If we are to confront
poverty, war and human misery, I believe we must begin in our own hearts and
instill hope there, where it will do the most good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve been knocked down a
lot of times in my life and it’s been hope and trust in the future that has
always enabled me to stand back up again. Celene Dion sings that “love can move
mountains” and Nat King Cole sang “faith can move mountains.” But I believe
it’s hope that gives us the strength to even try.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">If I were to choose a
theme song that bespeaks what hope is for me, and maybe Unitarian Universalism
in general, it would probably be the opening lyrics of “Tubthumper”, by that
well known group <i>Chumbawamba</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
get knocked down, but I get up again<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">You’re
never gonna keep me down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
get knocked down, but I get up again<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">You’re
never gonna keep me down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And
all the people say: AMEN<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 13.5pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Beyond Tepid Tolerance</span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Let me ask for a show of
hands. How many people here like okra?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Now, just to clarify,
I’m talking about the vegetable – oKra, not the TV celebrity, Oprah.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]-->
<!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">As a Buddhist, I’m
convinced that okra is the hell-realm reincarnation for garden slugs that have
done something truly evil during their all-too-brief lives. They come back as
okra - all the slime but none of the mobility.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I bring up okra for a
reason. Please note: I’m a stellar conversationalist and I hate to cook for
myself. So, should you ever invite me to dinner and serve okra, I’ll smile and
eat it with appreciation for the kindness you’ve shown me in inviting me to
share a meal with you. However, on a more personal note, I won’t tolerate okra
in my own kitchen. It has the big “ick” factor for me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Toleration is an interesting
concept. We hear the word bandied about more and more these days. We must be a
tolerant society; we must show tolerance, the Museum of Tolerance - &c,
&c., &c</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The first time I walked
into a Unitarian Universalist church to attend a service, I did so at the
invitation of a member who, knowing that I practiced Buddhism, thought I might
be interested in hearing Rev. Beaudreault’s sermon on Buddhism.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I was, in fact, very
interested and found his sermon accurate, for the most part, though skewed to
an understanding of silent meditation as the quintessential Buddhist practice,
a mistake often made, to this day, by many of my fellow Unitarian
Universalists.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I specifically remember
at the beginning of the service, the “official” greeter welcoming us guests by
telling us that the Unitarian Universalist Society of Sacramento was a place of
tolerance regarding peoples’ differences. That statement left me with a
lingering question. But as I continued to attend the services I found that, as
one of the few gay members, I was more than tolerated. My partner and I were
“accepted” as just another couple who came to services and participated in the
life of the congregation.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">It was this sense of
being accepted that lead to my “signing the book” in 1990. And when it came my
time to stand up front, I did a bit of editing and welcomed our guests by
telling them that our church was not a place where they would find tolerance in
spite of their differences but rather a place where they would find acceptance
because of their differences and because of what they could bring to our
ongoing dialogue and encouragement to mutual growth and understanding.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">My minister in
Sacramento, Rev. John Young, once told me that the job of ministry, whether
professional or lay, is to “comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.”
It is through working and learning to accept each other that we challenge each
other and grow together. It is through finding our commonalities rather than in
highlighting our differences that true dialogue and mutual understanding can
grow.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I tend to view tolerance
and acceptance as two components on a larger continuum. At one end is the
emotion of hate and the violence that ensues from it and at the other end of
the continuum I see love and its ensuing compassionate action. In between, I
place intolerance, tolerance and acceptance. Somehow I find life easier when I
can neatly categorize things.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I won’t dwell on Hate
and Violence or Intolerance because they speak loudly and clearly for
themselves. One only needs to watch the television news or TV programming, read
a newspaper, or even do a Google search.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Did you know that there
are 2,280,000 pages on “How to become a Nazi”, and 332,000 pages on “How to
start a White Supremacist Group?” To my mind, even one such page is one page
too many.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Let’s move up the
continuum to Tolerance, Acceptance and, to what I see as the ideal for society,
Love and Compassionate Action.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">For those of us who have
been raised around intolerance, to be tolerant takes some effort. It takes work.
It means that despite our individual comfort levels, we are willing to put up
with a particular behavior, belief or person, all for the sake of public or, in
our case, congregational harmony.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Did you know, there are
Unitarian Universalists who don’t feel completely comfortable with our
denomination’s outspokenness on the issue of same-sex Marriage Equality? After
all, many places now permit “domestic partnerships.” That’s good, isn’t it?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And why is our
denomination suddenly speaking out for the passage of the Employment
Non-Discrimination Act with transgender inclusion and protection?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">It is my belief that
many of these same people may consider themselves very “tolerant,” while for
the sake of congregational peace, they will keep their opinions to themselves
in church.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Speaking as a recovered
Presbyterian, I didn’t find tolerance in the church in which I grew up. Because
of that I have come to realize that if toleration is the best that one can
manage, then I’m willing accept that. I will accept the tolerance of those
around me, but I accept it only as long as I can also issue a challenge; a
challenge borne of my Unitarian Universalist beliefs. That challenge is our
shared 7 Principles.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">We are here to help each
other in our free and responsible search for truth and meaning. We are here to
challenge each other to acceptance of one another and to encourage ourselves to
support the spiritual growth of this, our congregation. If we truly do covenant
among ourselves to affirm the worth and dignity of every person, then for us,
“tolerance” must become the place from which we start; not the place where we
finish up.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Tolerance in the easy
part; learning to be “accepting” of others because they are different is the
part that takes real effort. It means that we must actually break through
stereotypes and learn about and get to know our neighbors, whether they are in
the house next door or in the pew sitting next to us.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">In my world, wanting to
create a society, or even a congregation, based on love and compassionate
action is “thinking globally,” while getting to know and accept my neighbors is
very much “acting locally.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">In our world today, I
don’t believe that tolerance is enough anymore, especially among those of us
who share a progressive, liberal and liberating faith like Unitarian
Universalism. While some of us might feel that being tolerant does take some
effort, I believe that we Unitarian Universalists need to be taking the lead in
acting on our principles, which principles are really about acceptance, not just
tolerance.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And finally, may I say
that I’m always open to trying something new? So, if you have what you consider
to be an outstanding recipe for okra, I’m ready to give it a try.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">© Stephen Schwichow</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Creating Meaning</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">When Brian (Ferguson)
asked me to reflect on the topic of “Finding Meaning in the Mundane, my mind,
as it is wont to do, went off in several different directions.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Of course, the first
thing I did was look up the meaning of the word “mundane:“ secular (as opposed
to spiritual or heavenly), worldly, pedestrian, commonplace, trite, or
ordinary.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The word comes from
Middle English, which got it from the French mondain, the descendant of the
Latin mundanus, meaning a citizen of the world.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Perhaps we might
consider substituting the word “mundane” for the ubiquitous “blah.” One would
at least sound intelligent in one’s negativity.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">In the TV series
“Babylon 5” the telepaths had great disdain for the “Mundanes,” those with no
telepathic ability. I suppose it was less charitable an opinion than Harry
Potter’s world, filled with Muggles.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Being a language purist,
I’ve just considered the word as simply meaning “pertaining to the world.” So I
find it interesting that we have tended to cast negative connotations on the
meaning of “mundane.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The first verse and
chorus of Mac Davis’ song, “Stop And Smell The Roses,” speaks to another
approach to the mundane:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Hey
Mister<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Where
you going in such a hurry<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Don't
you think it's time you realized<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">There's
a whole lot more to life than work and worry<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The
sweetest things in life are free<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And
there right before your eyes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">You
got to Stop and Smell the roses<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">You've
got to count your many blessings everyday<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">You're
gonna find your way to heaven is a rough and rocky road<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">If
you don't Stop and Smell the roses along the way</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The Zen Buddhist
practice of “mindfulness” is, I suppose, another way to find “meaning in the
mundane.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">When I get up in the
morning, while I’m waiting for my coffee to brew, I “mindfully” wash the
dishes. I’m no where other than in my kitchen, in my bathrobe, focused on one
dish, one spoon, one plate. Each in its turn. I’m not worrying about what faces
me at the office, nor am I replaying what I “should have said” when so-and-so
said such-and-such to me. I’m just washing dishes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And when I walk down the
hill to the Castro MUNI station, I always stop at a 15’ long stretch of
jasmine, hanging over a retaining wall at the sidewalk. I just put my face into
the flowers and take in the incredible aroma. Then, 20’ on, I run my fingers
through a wondrous rosemary plant that cascades over another retaining wall,
hanging over the sidewalk. I can walk the last little way to the Metro with the
essence of rosemary on my fingers, held up to my nose.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Were someone to follow
me, they would see this little ceremony of mine every morning.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Of course, even
mindfulness practice can be perverted. Dogen, the founder of the Soto Zen
Buddhist School, shook the dust from his sandals and went into the mountains
when he saw the Japanese military government, the Shogunate, perverting
mindfulness practice into the simplicity of:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">When you sit, just sit.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">When you eat, just eat.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">When you kill, just kill.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Is it any wonder that
Zen practice became the school of choice among the Samurai?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I think, when it comes
down to it, I’m not really interested in finding any meaning in the mundane.
The mundane simply is the way the world is. Mundanity is the water in which we
fishes swim. So how, really, can we find meaning in it?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’d rather pose the
question as: How does one create meaning in the mundane?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Take something as
mundane as a knife lying in the gutter. A thief could use it to threaten and
hurt an unwary stranger, while a doctor could use it to perform an emergency
tracheotomy and save a life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Everything about being a
Unitarian Universalist is about action, creating value, giving meaning,
informing that which is to be more than it was and we do this with our own,
mundane lives and the lives of those around us.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">© Stephen Schwichow</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">What is Prayer?</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The general consensus on
the Internet is summed up by Truth4Life.tripod.com: “Prayer is talking with
God. <b>Click here to learn more</b>.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Do I pray? No! I tell
people that I meditate.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I sit silently, going
within where all the answers lie for me. I recite from Sutras; I chant a
Mantra. The “Focus of my Practice” is the Timeless and Immanent Buddha-Dharma
that was recounted in the Lotus Sutra, when the Buddha revealed that his life,
his Dharma and all of us, were timeless, immanent and always manifesting as
infinite potential.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">After 36 years of practice,
I can still say that I don’t pray. Or at least I don’t pray to anything or any
one, even though it may look like that to the casual observer. When I sit
before my shrine and recite from the Sutras, you might say I’m continuing to
program this biological computer that is my life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The Sutra passages that
I recite remind me of the infinite possibilities open to me and to all living
beings. I am reminded twice a day that all non-living and living things,
including human beings, are manifestations of the great life-energy of the
universe, the Buddha-Dharma. Some people might call that God and pray to it.
For me it’s enough to know that I am simply a part of it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I look around at all the
beauty in the world and realize that it truly is all so miraculous, and so
precarious. All is change, all is transient, and nothing is permanent.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Seeing a baby smile can
bring tears unbidden to my eyes, just realizing how precious, ephemeral and
temporary both my tears and its smile really are. Yet, in that smile is the infinite
potential of the universe.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Did you know that the
word “precarious” comes from the Vulgate Latin meaning “obtained by prayer?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Here now is my prayer:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Close your eyes for a
moment, while we experience silence; go inside yourself and breath, don’t be
afraid of the silence. Hear the breathing of your neighbors, realizing that
there isn’t a molecule of air in this sanctuary that hasn’t been in the lungs
of everyone else in here. We are breathing each other, we are that connected to
each other.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Bell</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">(SILENCE)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Bell</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">What we have just done
with our silence is the true miracle of this holy place. And what a precarious
miracle it is.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Amen, Namaste and
Blessed Be.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">© Stephen Schwichow</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">What I Love about America – July 4, 2004</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I love living in this
country. True, I’m not happy about the current administration in Washington,
but I celebrate the fact that I can work in a democratic society to change that
situation.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I love living in a
potato washer! Now, hold that thought.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">When I go to work in the
morning, the first person to great me is Atanasy, one of the guards at the
front desk in my building. He’s from Rumania, having escaped to America during
the time of Caucescu. He has a doctorate in philosophy from the University of
Bucharest. Worthless here, but we talk philosophy and he teaches me to say
“Bună dimineaça. Ce mai fac’? Good morning. How are you?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Once I’ve settled in, I
come downstairs for my coffee and stop at “City Kinetics” for my favorite
breakfast burrito. The best in the city! Stella cooks it up and Elena puts it
together. They’re sisters-in-law and both from Mexico.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The deli is owned by Sam
and Waffa, both Palestinian Muslims. I always enter with the greeting, “As
salaam aleikam” and Waffa always answers, “Aleikam wa salaam.” Sam is disgusted
with Yassar Arrafat. Angry that he won’t step down and let people make peace.
Waffa just prays that the fighting will stop and that our country will be
protected from the craziness.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Next door to the deli is
the cleaner, owned by a family from Hong Kong and around the corner is “Working
Girl’s” Deli, owned by an Israeli couple. They’re disgusted with Sharon and
want him voted out so the people can make peace. They pray that our country
will be protected from the craziness.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">On my way home from
work, I might stop to pick up coffee at the “Castro Cheeserie,” owned by
Palestinian Christians and then take the 33 bus. My driver might be Al, a white
guy, or Danny, who’s Philipino, or Manuel from Mexico, or Jerry, an African
American. Every single one of them knows my name and would pick me up in the
middle of the block if they should see me running for the bus.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">In rural Japan they had
a very interesting way of cleaning batches of potatoes. A bunch would be put
into a special barrel, filled with water and then the barrel was manually spun
with a hand crank. As the potatoes inside spun and turned, falling over each
other and bumping and rubbing against each other, after a while all the skins
were brushed off them and out came clean potatoes, ready for cooking.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">This metaphor is often
used to describe how we develop as people, continually bumping into one
another, rubbing against each other, learning how to be with each other,
learning from each other and learning to respect each other.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I suppose one could say,
we learn from this, our Great American Potato Washer, how to clean up our
individual acts through interacting with each other.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">This is what I love
about America. So, for today at least, you can just call me “Spud.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">© Stephen Schwichow</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">WAR</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">My grandmother used to
say that violence, like profanity, was a small mind expressing itself. I was
taught that I should walk away from a fight and only raise my fists in
self-defense.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">In 1969, when I was out
of graduate school I was drafted. I had been a language major and that meant my
future would be to go to the Army's Monterrey Language School to learn
Vietnamese. I had no desire to shoot at or kill anyone. My own father had
joined the Merchant Marines during the Second World War because he was more
willing to brave the gauntlet of axis submarines than to carry a weapon and
kill or be killed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Being raised a
Presbyterian, I didn't have available the “Quaker” option of declaring myself a
conscientious objector. I suppose Presbyterians don't conscientiously object.
So, the night before I was to go for my induction physical my mother called me
downstairs and said that she had heard on television that if I told the
military that I was a homosexual, they would give me a 1-Y deferment, which
meant I could only be called up if war were declared.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">My first reaction to her
words was fear: “Oh, my God! She knows,” which was followed immediately by a
sense of relief that finally I could talk about my personal anguish and
confusion, my sense of living a lie, and how deep was the spiritual and
emotional pain, which had led to my attempted suicide, unbeknownst to my
parents, while at university.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">No doubt because of the
look on my face, she immediately followed up with, "Of course, we know
you're not." And on that note I went to my induction physical the next
morning, prepared to tell a truth to the military but also with the burden of
knowing that I would have to continue living a lie for my family.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Thus, at the end of the
induction physical when filling out the paperwork, I "checked the
box" conveniently provided by the military that asked whether I was
currently or had ever engaged in homosexual activities. I was promptly pulled
out of line and sent to a military shrink who told me I was “no more queer than
the man in the moon” but that if I insisted on lying then the military didn't
want me or my kind, unless of course we declared war, in which case I could get
killed just like everybody else.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I've never really come
to terms with the fact that while the world's major religions teach an
injunction against killing, those same traditions, based on dualistic thinking,
then go on to include rationalizations and circumstances where killing is
justifiable.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">In "Buddhism and
War," Ken and Visakha Kawasaki explain that, "According to Buddha's
teaching, there is no such thing as righteous anger, let alone a just war. The
three defilements of greed, hatred, and delusion are the reasons the world goes
round and round. Wars begin because the people of one country--or, at least,
their rulers--have unfulfilled desires. They are greedy for advantages,
benefits, wealth, or power; they are angry, jealous, or filled with rage.
Either their desires have been thwarted, or their pride and their sense of self
have been offended. Often conflicts involve racial or national arrogance.
Leaders wrongly feel that the solution to problems, which are essentially
within their own minds, can be found externally, through the use of force.
Those in power are deluded into thinking that the violence of war will bring
real and lasting benefit to themselves and to their group."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The Buddha said:
"There is no greater happiness than peace." It's very easy for me to
both practice Buddhism and hold our 7 Principles as my rudder on a troubled
sea. I find such a wonderful convergence between the Three Treasures of
Buddhism and our 7 Principles:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The Treasure of the
Timeless & Immanent Buddha-nature</span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> is for me that inherent worth and dignity of every person
while living my life with respect for the interdependent web of all existence,
of which we are all a part.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The Treasure of the
Timeless & Immanent Dharma</span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">, for me is expressed through justice, equity, and compassion in
human relations, thus facilitating a free and responsible search for truth and
meaning.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The Treasure of the
Timeless & Immanent Sangha</span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> (or Community of Faith) enables me to manifest the goal of
world community with peace, liberty, and justice for all through our acceptance
of one another and through our mutual encouragement to individual spiritual growth
and to our right of conscience and the use of the democratic process in society
at large.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">In the Dhammapada,
stanza 165, the Buddha is quoted as saying:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">By ourselves is evil done.</span></i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">By ourselves we pain endure.</span></i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">By ourselves we cease from wrong and</span></i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">By ourselves become then pure.</span></i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">© Stephen Schwichow<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Tennebrae Service - April 9, 2004</span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I had spent such a
lovely evening with my friends. I'd always considered myself so lucky to be
always surrounded by friends, even though some might have considered my
politics and spirituality a bit out of the mainstream. Yet, little did I
realize on that pleasant April evening that I would be enjoying my last supper
before my life would be changed forever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">After leaving my
friends, I found myself on the road, when I heard the screams, "Let's get
him!" and was seized from behind. I screamed for help but there was no
escape for me, I fell under their weight several times, struggling as I might;
calling for help. They scourged me, beat and punched me, screamed names at me
and said I deserved it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">To this very moment,
standing here before you, I vividly remember it all as if in a slow-motion
replay; the fist coming at my face; my head jerking back as the blood gushed
from my nose, flying slowly off to the left; the sound as my septum cracked;
the roundhouse blow to my left temple that literally left me seeing stars while
they dragged me across the road. Then I was thrown on my back, spread-eagle
across the hood of a car to better facilitate the further punishment, they were
yelling, that Anita Bryant had apparently said this is what I deserved. And as
I landed on the car's antenna, I heard my ribs snap.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">While two of the
teenaged boys held my arms, a lucky kick temporarily disabled the one standing
in front of me, and this enabled me to escape onto a nearby, lighted porch,
while they went to his aid. I banged on the door, begging for help and, like
Pontius Pilot washing his hands; the man who looked out from the doorway closed
the curtains, turned off the porch light and left me to the mob. Not one person
in that neighborhood called the police that evening to notify them about the
attack against me or the attacks against anyone else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Luckily for me, two
people who were leaving a local gay disco came to my aid and carried me back to
the club. When I was carried into the club's front office, someone yelled,
"Here comes another one."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Even before the police
arrived, 45 minutes later, another man was brought into the club, having been
severely beaten with a tree branch. I might add that when the police finally
arrived, they were responding to a call made an hour before my attack, when
another club patron had been beaten with a baseball bat and a pipe. He
consequently ended up in a coma.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The police, with seeming
disinterest, took down my name, asked me if I'd gotten the names of my
attackers or could identify them and then suggested I find someone to get me to
a hospital, which I did, thanks to my friend, Dexter, who rushed over to the
club in his car to pick me up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The three, white, middle
class youths who attacked me on that Sunday evening in Houston, 1978, did not
consider me to be a human being. According to the sermon they had heard that
morning, God did not suffer homosexuals to live! Thus, to them I was a thing;
in their words, a faggot. And they were out that night to have fun bashing fags
while doing their God's work. You see, the disco was in a predominantly gay
area of the city, and my very presence in that neighborhood automatically meant
that I must be a queer, and therefore deserving of punishment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I will never be allowed
to forget what happened to me on that pleasant April evening because the dull
ache under my left arm when it gets cold and the consequential loss of hearing
that I suffered as a result of that beating are an ever present reminder that
violence is naught but hate made manifest, and, to me, that hate is born of
fear and ignorance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Addendum</span></i></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">As a result of that
attack, it took me years to overcome my discomfort at being around anyone who
self-identified as a Christian – but I have. Most importantly, I have had to
learn to look past the self-imposed labels people give themselves and to see
their actions as the truth of their lives. As a result of that attack, it has
spurred me on to deep self-examination as well as spiritual and social
activism.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">My firsthand experience
with such violence has only served to strengthen my resolve to do what ever I
can to counter ignorance with information, fear with compassion, and most importantly,
to counter hate with the truth of my own life. I deeply believe that the truth
of who I am can serve to free those who hold onto false stereotypes out of fear
and ignorance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">So may it be!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">© Stephen Schwichow<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">World AIDS Day - December 1, 2003</span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Service
at the First UU Society of San Francisco<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I'd like to ask you all
to close your eyes for a moment and allow me to take you on a voyage of the
imagination. It will become clear where I'm taking you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Imagine living in a
country whose President will not even admit that the AIDS epidemic exists. The
word "AIDS" won't even come out of his mouth! He and his cronies
don't have anything to worry about. Besides, the people getting sick are not
the kind of people he associates with. And he's found all the right doctors who
confirm that there is no connection between the HIV virus and AIDS.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Imagine taking a stroll
along the north side of Golden GatePark on a sunny Saturday morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">There in what used to be
a beautiful meadow, last night the backhoes came in to dig the graves that will
be necessary to bury the 1350 to 2250 people who will have died of aids this
week – just this week! And next Friday evening, the backhoes will come in again
to dig more graves. And the next Friday after that and the next …and the next.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Can you even imagine, of
the 8700 births in San Francisco last year, that 70% of the babies could have
been born HIV+? That's 6,100 babies. Can you imagine a population of orphan
children under the age of 18 numbering 800,000? The population of San
Francisco, as of October 2003 was only 791,000. These children — half of them
between the ages of 10 and 14 — are left without critical guidance, protection
and support. They are also at risk of malnutrition, physical and sexual abuse,
and exposure to HIV infection.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">When I started speaking,
you may have thought I was talking about Ronald Reagan and the early days of
the AIDS pandemic. By now you must know that I'm talking about … Thailand?
Russia? Actually I'm talking about one country - South Africa.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Is October of 2003,
thanks to the First Unitarian Universalist Society of San Francisco, I was able
to accompany one of our ministers, the Rev. Margot Campbell-Gross, to stay at
the Thabong Community of Dominican Nuns for 2 ½ weeks, in a little town,
Geluksdal, 50 kilometers outside of Johannesburg. Geluksdal, an Afrikaaner word
meaning "Happy Dale" is anything but. With a population of 7,000,
they bury between 12 and 20 people every Saturday. Cause of death - AIDS. Each
Saturday morning, when we drove past the cemetery, there were buses lined up,
waiting their turn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">U.N. Secretary-General
Kofi Annan thinks many political leaders still simply do not care enough to
fight the disease, which has killed 28 million people since it was first reported
among gay men in the United States in 1981. In an interview he said: "I
feel angry, I feel distressed, I feel helpless...to live in a world where we
have the means...to be able to help all these patients, what is lacking is the
political will."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The township of Soweto,
outside Johannesburg, has a population of 4.2 million. I was there. I saw the
square where, in 1976, 15,000 school children had gathered peacefully to
protest a law mandating that they must study in the Afrikaans language. The white
police opened fire and in 15 minutes 600 children between the ages of 7 and 18
lay dead. Today, South Africa's children are dying again. And again, it's
preventable. 17% of the children under 18 are living with HIV.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I saw Soweto's
"Chris Hani Baragwanath Hospital," the largest hospital in the world.
70% of the babies born there are HIV+. Often the mothers simply leave without
ever even looking at their newborns.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">November 17, 2003 will
go down in history as the day the South African Cabinet at last announced its
firm decision to add an antiretroviral treatment program to the country's
response to HIV/Aids. Thabo Mbeki, President of South Africa finally buckled
under the huge domestic and international pressure to roll out anti-retroviral
drugs, despite his previous backing for scientists who have questioned the link
between AIDS and HIV.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Additionally, during my
visit there in October, a landmark announcement was made by the Clinton
Presidential Foundation indicating that the developing countries, so devastated
by AIDS, will see the cost of Aids drugs drastically reduced from a per-patient
cost of $11,000 a year to $140 a year. That's an incredible reduction in price!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">In all my years of
traveling, this is the first time that I have ever felt ashamed to say that I
was an American. When one sees a cost reduction of that magnitude, is it any
wonder that the people who are dying themselves or have buried their loved ones
might feel that the West, America, and western businesses and pharmaceutical
interests have been more interested in making money than in saving lives.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I can only hope that my
presence there, at least, showed some people that not all Americans are willing
to sacrifice the lives of children for the sake of the "almighty"
dollar. But I'm only one person, and this scandal, this shame is one my country
must ultimately answer for.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Is there hope in all
this? Yes, I believe there is. I can't live without believing there's hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">As a Unitarian
Universalist, I refer back to the words of one of our ministers, Forrest
Church, who wrote in his book "A Chosen Faith:"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">"Though far from
exclusive to Unitarian Universalists, the principal sin besetting many of us
today is the sin of sophisticated resignation. This sin is particularly
insidious because it comes with its own veil. That is, it appears respectable.
It allows us to feel strongly about injustices without prompting us to do
anything about them. This sin is tailor-made for many of us because it is fed
by knowledge. We know so much about the world's problems, and their enormity,
that however much we want to do about them, we feel impotent. What could we do
to affect hunger, homelessness, AIDS, or the threat of nuclear annihilation?
How much easier it is to watch our diets and tone our bodies. For many of us,
self-improvement (both physical and spiritual) has displaced the transformation
of society as our principal moral concern."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Our heritage reminds us
that we are a faith of deeds not creeds. According to the second of our
faith's… [six] sources, "words and deeds of prophetic women and men which
challenge us to confront powers and structures of evil with justice,
compassion, and the transforming power of love."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I am continually
challenged in this religious institution that is my spiritual home. That
challenge is the reason I went to South Africa. I believe we can all do
something, what we need, quite simply, is the will to do it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">[What followed was the
story of Cynthia Mahlangu]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">May the Spirit of
Spirits Bless South Africa.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">© Stephen Schwichow<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">An Unforgettable Visit</span></span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Cynthia
Mahlangu - Rest in Peace<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Sister Irene, a German
nun who has lived in South Africa for 40 years, took us to St. Francis Care
Centre in Fonteinriet, outside Johannesburg. This place is a hospice, orphanage
and final stop for too many.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The first place we
visited was the children's recreation and activity area, which was a large
room, 20' by 40,' with one side all glass, overlooking the grounds and an
adjacent play area.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">All the children at St.
Francis are either abandoned or orphaned and all have AIDS. On that weekday the
older children were off-site at school and the younger ones were at the Crèche,
a sort of on-site day-care facility.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Even so there were some
toddlers and Sister Irene starter playing kickball with 5 year old bundle of
energy named Sipho when she noticed that a pile of clothing on the pillows
against the wall was actually a little girl, curled up in a fetal position.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The little girl didn't
want to join in but sweet Irene prevailed and, holding her up by the elbows,
got her to kick at the ball a couple of times. Cynthia Mahlangu is 8 years old,
scarred on her face and match stick arms and legs from AIDS-related lesions.
She was not in school that day because she wasn't feeling well.Collette
Simmons, the artist in our group, brought out her colored pencils and blank
paper, and suddenly the kids were drawing. I can't even do a good stick figure
but Collette got me sitting with Cynthia, who wouldn't pick up any pencils so I
did and tried to draw the shape of a girl. When I began to color the figure's
top red, like Cynthia's sweater, she stopped me, saying, "No me, no
me."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">So I said that she
should pick the colors she wanted me to use. The final result was a white man
with multicolored clothing and, coincidentally, trousers with zippers across
the knees that let them become shorts. Just like what I was wearing!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Cynthia then immediately
turned the paper over and said, "Now draw girl." So I drew a female
figure with long-sleeved blouse and skirt. She asked me to give the person
black curly hair, with a brown face and hands and legs. I drew designs on the
skirt – a horse, a couple of flowers, and Cynthia asked me specially to draw
the shape of a heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">We were then called away
for a tour of the grounds and her disappointment was such that I asked her to
continue coloring in the picture and I promised I would come back to see it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">After an hour I returned
to an empty room. I was disappointed and called out for Cynthia, believing she had
left when she suddenly leapt up from the pillows where she had been resting and
ran to show me her beautiful completed picture. Well, naturally this called for
a "Picture Taking Ceremony!" So we took pictures with my digital
camera of Cynthia and her artwork; Cynthia and me and her artwork; Cynthia and
some of the staff and other children and her artwork. She was absolutely
enchanted by actually seeing the pictures on the LED screen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Then I had an idea and
picked her up in my arms, supporting her under her chest and stomach, and as I
done countless times with my nephews and niece when they were little, I
starting trotting around the room saying that this was like flying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Cynthia had never done
anything like that before but she seemed to enjoy it. As soon as I put Cynthia
down 6 year old Brendan Radebe came running over: Me fly! Me fly!" he
shouted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">How could I resist? So,
off we went, with Brendan flapping his arms like a chicken pursued by a fox,
shrieking with joy. At that, Cynthia asked to go again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I picked her up, this
weightless little girl and we started off along the length of the wall. All I
said was, "Fly Cynthia; flap your arms like a bird." And fly she did.
She began to move her arms like the wings of a swan. There was such a delicacy
and beauty in the smooth, rhythmic movement of her arms that any prima
ballerina would have envied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And as we rounded the
room and were moving along the window I said "Look, Cynthia. You're
flying!" And she looked at her reflection and she glowed with joy. And I
understood the words of the sage, Nichiren, who said: "To live even one
day as a human being is worth all the galactic treasures of the universe."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">As we finished her
flight the children were called to lunch, which was probably for the best, since
the 6,500' altitude was severely taxing my flying abilities. I told the kids
I'd say goodbye after their lunch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">When we came back down
stairs, the kids had already been taken to the room where they had their naps.
There was Cynthia, sound asleep, curled up in a crib. I couldn't bring myself
to wake her, so I just offered her a little prayer and a promise that I would
tell people that there once lived a little girl in Africa, named Cynthia, who
was an artist and who could fly like a swan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">(In Memory of Cynthia
Mahlangu - 1994-2005)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">© Stephen Schwichow<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Forgiveness Meditation</span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Breathe in the Life” of
all those who share this space with you … then “Breathe out Forgiveness” …<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">There are so many things
I’ve said and done, for which I feel guilt, embarrassment and shame. I forgive
myself for those things are long gone. I was a different person then and the
person I am now forgives the one that I was. Forgiveness fills me and envelopes
me with a sense of warmth and ease.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">How many times have I
blamed who I am on the things my parents said and did? They too are different
now. Let the forgiveness that is filling me also surround them, as they exist
in my mind and my heart. What a wonderful way for us to be together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Isn’t it strange how the
people I feel closest to sometimes hurt my feelings the most? Right now, I
forgive them for anything that I feel they have done wrong or are doing wrong.
I fill them with my forgiveness just as I accept them for who they are. In this
way I express my love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">It’s amazing how much
some of the habits and idiosyncrasies of my friends can get on my nerves. I
forgive them for the silly things that I have disliked about them. I let my
forgiveness reach out to them, so that they can be filled with it and embraced
by it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">When I think of all the
many people I know, I also know that I must forgive them all for whatever it is
that I have blamed them for, that I have judged them for, that I have used as
an excuse to look down on them. I let my forgiveness fill their hearts, surrounding
and enveloping them. This is the expression of my love for them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Now I remind myself of
that one particular person I really need to forgive. I still, even now, feel
resentment for this person. I still want to reject them. I just don’t like
them. I forgive this person completely, because I know that neither one of us
is free from illusions, attachments and vexations. I send this forgiveness from
deep in my heart as I reach out to this person.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Enmity, condemnation,
condescension and the blame game come too easily to me. Especially when I think
of certain people or groups or the terrible situations that I believe they
create. I must forgive them, completely. Only this can fully express
unconditional love. I recognize that they may not be doing what I believe to be
the right things, but I also recognize that we are all human and prone to
attachments, especially to being “right.” My heart is just as needful of
forgiveness as theirs; in order to have the purity of love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Let me look again to see
whether there's still anyone or anything, any where in the world, that has been
on the receiving end of my blame or condemnation. I send my forgiveness so that
my heart can heal and be whole.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And now I come back to
myself. I’m a basically a good person; it’s just that sometimes I forget that.
I need to cut myself a break and recognize that right now I am making a
conscious effort to forgive. And as always, I begin and end in my own heart –
where even now I feel the warmth and ease that comes from forgiveness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">May all beings have
forgiveness in their hearts!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">(adaptation)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
</h1>
Stechjohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02907059387528435058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19469129.post-1133478302294705342005-12-01T15:00:00.000-08:002008-07-24T16:34:44.970-07:00PROSE<div align="center"><strong>Meraak the Tiefling and his Return to Fallcrest</strong></div><div align="left">Hundreds of years ago, the Dragonborn empire, Arkhosia, and the Tiefling empire, Bael Turath, fought a long and bitter war, which saw the complete destruction of the Tiefling Empire and the relegation of the Tiefling race to nomadic wanderers and outcasts, either living in isolated enclaves far removed from settled areas or as virtual Untouchables in the poorer sections of most villages and cities.<br /><br />For the most part, the Dragonborn are an honorable race who, while not liking or associating with Tieflings, consider them to have been historically worthy and honorable adversaries – albeit inferior to the Dragonborn, by virtue of their defeat and the destruction of their empire by the Dragonborn.<br /><br />However, there is a small but well organized secret cadre of Dragonborn, the Avengers of the Golden Scale, who – with near religious fervor – are dedicated to the utter destruction of the Tiefling race. These renegades within their own race move throughout the land, searching for Tiefling to mercilessly torture and kill; adults and children alike. Their motto: “The only good Tiefling is a dead Tiefling.”<br /><br />Meraak was the first and only child of a Tiefling couple, Merzan and Aakraal, who rented a small shop, also serving as their living space, tucked away in the southwest corner of Lowtown, in the shadow of the ruined King’s Gate. It was in the rougher part of Fallcrest near the lowers docks, which were situated on the Nentir River, downstream from the Gray Downs and surrounded by fertile farmland. In the near distance one could see the Septarch’s Tower and from up on the ridge in Hightown, the mighty snowcapped Dawnforge range, home to the Dwarves and other deepling dwellers. And some 50 miles north, began the great, and incredibly ancient, Winterbole Forest.<br /><br />They lived in an area with few other Tieflings; his father a cobbler and his mother a seamstress. They often benefited from the referrals of Par Winnomer, owner of the Blue Moon Alehouse, situated not far from their shop. For many years they worked tirelessly, saving every penny against the day they would be able to leave the small city for one of the Tiefling enclaves, known to be somewhere north in that great Winterbole Forest.<br /><br />It was important to them that their son be able to grow up among his own kind, learning their lore and ways. By the time Meraak was twelve years old, his parents knew it was time to leave. Many of the younger boys in Fallcrest were beginning to talk admiringly of the notorious River Rats – a street gang up to no good and a bad influence on the youth of Lowtown.<br /><br />Leaving Fallcrest was very difficult for Meraak, because he had friends among the other children, who all met and frolicked together at Moonwash Falls during the summer months, at other times of year, exploring in the countryside. Meraak had three particular friends, Erik, Hank and Simon, whom he would especially miss.<br /><br />Along with Erik Foundling, who as a young boy seemed to embody natural leadership skills and was still care free and fun, having not yet been adversely affected by the unkindness of many people in town as he matured through puberty, and the twin brothers, Hank and Simon, they all seemed to particularly enjoy “getting lost” in the forest southeast of the dilapidated King’s Gate, hunting kobolds, fighting dragons and otherwise rescuing travelers in distress (for their considerable gratitude and monetary rewards).<br /><br />By the time the boys had reached 12 years of age, many of the parents in town were even beginning to think that Hank, with his penchant for mischief, might eventually be destined for the River Rat’s, unless something was done to settle him down and give him some discipline; something he obviously was not receiving at home.<br /><br />And so finally the day arrived when, with enough money and provisions to start over when they reached their goal, Meraak and his parents at last left Fallcrest for the peace and acceptance his parents hoped they would all find among their own people.<br /><br />The trek to their new home was to have taken approximately two weeks and would have ended at Tiefholme, about 150 miles north inside the Winterbole Forest. Because it was summer and the weather clement, they thought it would be pleasant to take their time on their journey, following first the King’s Road, then the paths to Gardmore Abbey and thence striking north to Lake Wintermist and into the forest. I say “was to have taken” because a disaster most cruel befell this young family after they arrived at the ruins of Gardmore Abbey.<br /><br />They had expected to find only the famous ruins, which they did, but they also found, a short distance from the ruined abbey, a small temple. It seemed such a peaceful spot, nestled against one of the lower hills of the Gardbury Downs, so they chose to set up a picnic in a clearing within sight of the small temple to Corellon, patron of arcane magic and the fey and god of the ancient forests. Meraak’s parents, knowing well his curious nature, told him he could wander around the temple and along the foot of the hill, so long as he was never out of sight of the temple itself.<br /><br />And so, while his parents were setting out the mid-day meal, young Meraak, ever inquisitive, ran off behind the temple to explore. And thus it was, while he was out-of-sight behind the temple; he came upon an elderly monk, Fra Alain, who was searching for mushrooms that were always plentiful after an evening’s rain.<br /><br />The monk, a human priest and warlock in his own right, took an instant liking to the bright young Tiefling and was showing him how to identify edible mushrooms when they both heard terrible screams and the clashing of weapons coming from the front of the temple.<br /><br />The priest immediately took Meraak inside the temple through the back entrance, telling him to stay in the small changing room with his two young acolytes, Talan and Moric, while he went to the front to find out what was happening.<br /><br />In fact, a band of 12 Avengers of the Golden Scale had suddenly appeared on the path and immediately set upon Meraak’s parents, the death blows falling just as the priest came out the front of the temple.<br /><br />Enraged that these brigands had fallen upon the innocent and unarmed Tiefling couple, and in the process desecrated the temple grounds, a sacred place of refuge for all who sheltered in its shadow, Fra Alain called his two acolytes to join him and they then unleashed mighty and most devastating spells upon the brigands, setting them against each other till only a few remained, to run away screaming in their madness.<br /><br />As suddenly as that, Meraak had become an orphan, hardly understanding what had happened. Mercifully, he witnessed nothing of the carnage, and the three monks did everything they could to ensure that Meraak was shielded from the horrible sight of his parents’ brutalized bodies.<br /><br />With gentleness but honesty, Fra Alain and the two acolytes helped Meraak through the confusion, fear, and incomprehension of this earth shattering act, making sure that he understood that the Dragonborn were an honorable race and that the murderers of his parents were anathema, even among the Dragonborn, who repressed them wherever they found them.<br /><br />As to what was to be Meraak’s fate - kindness, compassion and the apparent intercession of the god Corellon all played a role. You see, Fra Alain, growing up in a small village in the Dawnforge Mountains, had himself been orphaned at a young age, when lax town guardsmen had left his village open to a devastating attack by a band of mountain orcs. But young Alain’s future had been assured through the kindness and compassion of the local priest of Corellon, who took it upon himself to raise this orphaned boy as his own son.<br /><br />Meraak was now alone in the world without any family at all. Fra Alain couldn’t send him back to Fallcrest and there was no hope of Meraak being able to find a Tiefling settlement on his own. So here, in Meraak, Fra Alain saw the opportunity to do for another just what had been done for him and, in so doing, offer his most heartfelt thanks to his god for his own redemption and life.<br /><br />Meraak was an exceptionally bright young boy and completely devoted himself to Fra Alain, his benefactor, who recognized his natural arcane talents and knew in his heart that Meraak would one day be a most powerful warlock. And with this in mind, he began Meraak’s training - the most important part of which was in self-discipline. Knowing that all Tiefling carry a dark, shadow self, Fra Alain helped Meraak develop the skills of meditation and the ability to sense and commune with the fey spirits and in this way, give Meraak the power to control himself at those times when his darker nature wanted to break free.<br /><br />Fra Alain was already an elderly man of 70 winters when he adopted Meraak and he knew that he had to give his adopted son the power to take care of himself once the old man was gone to his final reward.<br /><br />Fra Alain knew his end was nearing and, having prepared Meraak against this very day, chose the time of his passing for the very evening of the day on which Meraak celebrated his 18th birthday; the day of his majority among the Tiefling.<br /><br />Meraak, although his race was not known to be particularly religious, like his adoptive father, owed his piety to Corellon and took his values with him as he embarked on his life’s journey. He was determined to always mindfully imbue his every action with beauty, to seek out lost magic items, forgotten rituals and ancient works of art and to always oppose Lolth, the evil goddess of shadow, and her minions wherever he found them.<br /><br />And yet, secretly in his heart of hearts, he also carried a determination to find the remaining Dragonborn Avengers of the Golden Scale and bring them to justice.<br /><br />Saying a loving farewell to brothers Talan and Moric, who was now Fra Moric, Meraak set out to see the world and find out who he was. Having been raised by three humans, he could only wonder how would he fit in among his fellow Tieflings?<br /><br />As Meraak prepared to depart the Abbey, he was adequately outfitted with a strange looking dagger and Fra Alain’s willow wand, a pouch containing 100 gold pieces and, in his heart, a strong desire to grow up.<br /><br />He remembered the words of a famous Halfling: “It's a dangerous business, going out your door. You step on to the road… and if you don't keep your feet… there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.”<br /><br />And so ….. standing nearly six feet tall with a 54 inch tail, burnished bronze skin, bright red hair cascading down behind his handsomely burnished horns and with striking solid golden orbs, Meraak must now make the most important decision of his first day as an adult. <br /><br />His decision: To return to Fallcrest, the city where he was born. Although only twelve years old when he left, Meraak carried many clear memories of time spent with his friends, Erik, Hank and Simon, swimming at Moonwash Falls, climbing the embankment to Hightown and playing games among the ruins of King’s Gate and the forest not far from it. <br /><br />Meraak was determined to seek out his former friends and see where his destiny might lay. He knew that, like himself, his friends would all be entering adulthood as well but, hopefully, they would remember him and remember the fun and friendship they had all shared while growing up together.<br /><br />Would they remember him? Would they accept him? The only way to find out was to “step on to the road.”<br /></div><div align="left">© Stephen Schwichow</div><div align="center"><strong></strong> </div><div align="center"><strong>The Story of Aramek & His Familiar Snoop</strong><br /></div><div align="center">(Neutral Good: believing that Law and Chaos may both be used to promote Good)<br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Napanthe Ilthurain (Blossom of Thrane [or Thuranni?]) grew up near Marketplace, Aundair on the main trading road leading to Cragwar, in Breland on the border with Aundair.<br /><br />Napanthe’s favorite pastime in the spring was to go off into the forests, southwest of her home, mushroom hunting. This was a great adventure for her, since she would be away from home for a week at a time.<br /><br />On one such leisurely day of mushroom hunting she chanced across a young man, Derrek who came to be known as Prenwright (one who cares for the forest), from Cragwar, who was out in the forest he loved, tending the trees. He was a farmer by trade but, since the spring planting was done, he could indulge his true love of the forest and growing things.<br /><br />They met quite by accident and instantly liked each other. After an afternoon in which neither cared the least about the fact that the other was of a different race, he a human and she an elf, they decided to meet again in a couple of weeks to hunt mushrooms together.<br /><br />These meetings went on through the spring and when summer came they could no longer use mushroom hunting as an excuse for meeting. They faced the fact that they cared deeply for each other and decided that they should formalize their relationship and marry.<br /><br />Napanthe’s parents and relatives, being proud though not especially prosperous, elves, were opposed to the match and met Derrek with nothing more than reserved cordiality, making it clear that they were unhappy with her choice and that they would feel nothing but pity for any half-elf offspring.<br /><br />It hurt Napanthe to the quick but she decided to leave Aundair and settle in Cragwar with Derrek, about 150 miles from Marketplace. “Perhaps someday,” she thought, “my parents will soften their hearts.”<br /><br />Derrek and Napanthe lived happily together, he farming, while she lived a simple life, seldom using magic, except around the house on small chores. Her greatest ability was in bringing rain for their crops.<br /><br />After three years of happy contentment, Napanthe became pregnant. It was difficult from the beginning and Derrek feared for her. Time and again he asked to be allowed to contact her parents, but Napanthe stubbornly refused.<br /><br />On Sar (the seventh day of the week) the 10th day of the 10th month of Sypheros, 977 YK, a son was born, after a devastating labor that left poor Napanthe wavering between life and death.<br /><br />She asked that their son be dedicated to the name of Arawai, the (Half-Elf) Goddess of Fertility, Plant Life and Abundance, the sound “M” for balance and Ek, from her husband’s name, meaning “a beginning.”<br /><br />Thus was Aramek brought into the world and held closely by his dying mother. Even as her life slipped away, she at least knew she had a son who would some day live up to his name.<br /><br />Derrek sent word to Napanthe’s parents, telling them of the death of their only daughter and the birth of their half-elf grandson, Aramek. The response: “Napanthe died the day she left us; Boldrei deserted her and thus ends our mourning. May Arawai vouchsafe the child’s security. For now, that is all we can give.”<br /><br />At the age of 30, with no family of his own and his only love gone forever, Derrek left Cragwar and finally settled in the outskirts of a small village named Shavalant, nearly 800 miles away (as the raven flies over The Blackcaps) where he once again took up farming, in the shadow of the great forest lying south of the village.<br /><br />It was here that Aramek grew up, a half-elf child, shielded and protected by his loving father, who kept him away from the village life as much as was possible.<br /><br />Derek, himself, was unusual, in that as a farmer he had all his letters and took it upon himself to school Aramek, when breaks in the never ending farming duties allowed.<br /><br />Aramek resembled his father, having skin slightly darker than an elf, with light brown hair. He wore his hair longer and thus, his elven ears were generally not noticeable, but nothing was to be done for his almost emerald green eyes – his mother’s eyes. No matter how human he might otherwise appear, his eyes would forever mark him as a half-elf.<br /><br />It was only natural that Aramek would understand that he was different, and just what that difference was. Unfortunately, talking about his mother was something that his father simply couldn’t do. It was too painful.<br /><br />As much as Aramek wanted to find out about his heritage, his father just told him that his mother’s family had disowned her and wanted nothing to do with either of them. He would be better to simply forget it a make a life for himself as a farmer, and continue to learn about the forest, herbs and growing things, as was fitting for his name.<br /><br />When he was 15, Aramek learned that his mother’s name was Napanthe Ilthurain. This he discovered from stumbling across some charred papers related to his mother’s death that he had found, partially burned in the fireplace. His father had apparently wanted to destroy these sad memories, but had not succeeded completely. The one piece of paper, with his mother’s name on it, he kept always with him, unbeknownst to his father. The remaining charred papers he buried in the forest under his favorite willow tree by the bank of a brook.<br /><br />Aramek’s childhood was a lonely one, with no kids around his age to play with; he learned to spend time entertaining himself. When not helping his father around the farm or in the nearby forest, he would wander into the forest on his own and it was during these solitary sojourns that his love of growing things, animals and the elementals of the forest began to take definite shape.<br /><br />His favorite pastime, called by his father “wasted time,” was to go deep into the forest, always looking for a new, seeming magical place, just to sit and take in all that was around him. Ever curious was this young boy!<br /><br />The more lonely he felt living with his father – always trying to protect him from the human populace of Shavalant, the more a part of everything his life seemed when sitting under his favorite willow tree, next to a brook, just listening. It was at these times that he felt closest to the mother he’d never known.<br /><br />He would close his eyes and sense everything around him: the beneficial herbs growing at his feet, as well as the temporary-blindness causing mushrooms, growing there in the crook of the root, next to his hand.<br /><br />But the most amazing thing that would happen when he sat near any *willow was his daydreaming. And in his daydreams he would make up poems. At any rate, when he came back to the here and now, he would have little poems stuck in his head.<br /><br />On one occasion, when he was feeling particularly lonely, he was sitting under “his“ tree, leaning against the trunk and thinking about how great it would be to have a friend he could talk to. As he was coming back from this daydream a little poem flickered through his mind:<br /></span><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>Without a doubt, my willow tree<br />Will send a friend to talk with me.</em><br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And when he lazily opened his eyes, sitting on the creek bank by his left knee was a small ferret; obviously very young and seemingly upset, in an indignant sort of way. He was a honey brown color with dark patches around his eyes, like a raccoon, and similar dark fur on his tail, front and back paws.<br /><br />Aramek never made the connection with his little poem, simply because he was too engrossed in laughing at the look on the little ferret’s face. He really did look as if he were indignant about Aramek sitting virtually on top of the entrance to his home.<br /><br />Laughing, Aramek said: “And I suppose you’re going to be my new best friend and talk with me? At which the ferret chittered, ran up his leg, and proceeded to begin looking in Aramek’s pockets, as if some great delicacy would turn up.<br /><br />“Hey, just what do you thing you’re doing? Stop snooping!” he giggled.<br /><br />And the strangest thing happened. The little ferret squeaking happily, climbed up onto Aramek’s right shoulder, gave his ear a ticklish lick, and proceeded to curl up and go to sleep.<br /><br />Such a feeling of contentment come over Aramek that, instead of chasing the little animal away, he lazily went back to his daydreaming and the name “Snoop” just seemed to pop into his head.<br /><br />He had found a friend or maybe a friend had found him.<br /><br />As Aramek went through puberty, he manifested some untrained magical abilities, most notable when he became excited or angry. When happy, zephyrs would flow around him and when angry, dust devils would suddenly appear. And one time, quite by accident, while he was once again in the forest daydreaming under that favorite willow tree, a particularly nasty looking spider dropped down from the tree onto his tunic, startling Aramek and his constant cohort, Snoop. Unthinking he yelled:<br /></span><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>Yoy! You, spider, get away from me!<br />Get back up in the willow tree!</em><br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Needless to say, “as if by magic” (the very concept of which his father protected him from) a breeze seemed to pick up that spider and send it back up into the lower branches. Aramek didn’t really notice he’d spoken in poetry and just thought the breeze a fortuitous one.<br /><br />By the time he was 19 it was clear to his father that his son wasn’t happy living a farmer’s life, even though his son, like he, loved the forest and growing things. Aramek could identify virtually every leaf, grass, tree, herb and flower in the forest and know exactly what it was best used for.<br /><br />With the “concerned” blessing of his father, who knew, without doubt, that his beloved Napanthe’s magical elven abilities had been passed on to their son, and Aramek’s own innately itchy elven need for an adventure, he and Snoop left home to go to Sharn and the great Morgrave University there, to be trained in the sorcerous arts.<br /><br />When he first arrived in Sharn, like any country kid finding himself in the big city for the first time, he was nearly overwhelmed by the sights, the sounds, the smells of the city, exotic foods and every race imaginable. All of this having been thrown together in what must be “the GreatestCity in the Greatest Country in all Khorvaire.”<br /><br />The first thing Aramek needed to do was find a means of livelihood. Needless to say there was little need for farmers, but his knowledge of herbs and plant lore ensured that he would be able to find employment as an apprentice herbalist.<br /><br />It turned out that the first shop he entered was owned by an Arch-Herbalist, a half-elf sorcerer, who had been terribly injured during the Last War and was unable to walk unassisted.<br /><br />As serendipity would have it, the herbalist’s most recent apprentice, who was the nare-do-well son of a distant cousin on his mother’s half-sister’s husband’s side, had once again overslept, due to a hangover, and allowed several expensive and difficult-to-prepare tinctures being prepared for a rich and powerful member of House Thuranni to be thoroughly ruined.<br /><br />When Aramek walked in, the sorcerer, an Arch-Herbalist by the name of Darion Staciakiir (Gem Star), a follower of Aureon, was just about to unleash a telekinetic thrust to throw his now “Ex” apprentice out of his shop.<br /><br />At this unexpected interruption, which inadvertently saved the unfortunate “about to be” ex-apprentice from painful unemployment, the angry herbalist-sorcerer snapped at Aramek, “What do you want?” And Aramek’s instantaneous reply, “a job” prompted the equally instantaneous response: “You’re hired! Now, what do you know?”<br /><br />And so began Aramek’s life in Sharn, under the tutelage of one of the best known and respected Sorcerer-Herbalists in southern Breland.<br /><br />Aramek was given a small but adequate room behind the shop, where he and Snoop could keep an eye on the various herbal concoctions and attend to customers, while still being able to study.<br /><br />Aramek helped the customers. Snoop entertained them, which often made them forget their impatience when something wasn’t ready the moment they walked in the shop.<br /><br />With a great place to live and a fortuitous position as an apprentice to a well-respected herbalist-sorcerer, Aramek was ready to begin his studies at Morgrave University.<br /><br />On of the first things he did was cut his hair, realizing that he no longer needed to fear that people would see that he was half-elf. He did discover that he was considered quite the oddity among the other half-elf students at university because they were all born of half-elf parents, while Aramek was a first generation half-elf.<br /><br />Even though he resented the fact that everyone considered him terribly naïve, he knew in his heart that they were right. He was both naïve and ignorant of his heritage. And so, Aramek, now at the age of 21, has completed two years of study at Morgrave University, where he acquitted himself very well, learning the basics of sorcery.<br /><br />What’s even more impressive though, is that he excelled above all his peers in the study of the geography of Khorvaire, as it relates to the herbs of the great continent, where they grow and how they are used. He also became very proficient with the Draconic language, a must for “wannabee” sorcerers.<br /><br />Although his half-elf peers found him somewhat strange, they also liked him; finding him inquisitive, eager to learn and a loyal and helpful friend.<br /><br />Aramek, true to the Elvin blood in his veins, is ready for an adventure. What will it be?<br /><br />Should he track down his mother’s side of the family? He only knows her family name. His father had never even talked about how or even where they had met. Any mention of her brought only mist to his eyes – and silence.<br /><br />Should he go out into the wastes and find some of the amazing herbs he had learned about? He’s sure that Master Darion would make good use of his finds. This he would do with great pleasure, since his master had almost taken on the role of a beloved uncle, teaching, mentoring and looking after Aramek. Aramek doesn’t realize how much of his own youth the herbalist sees in the young man he has taken under his wing. Certainly there would be some danger in a young half-elf roaming the countryside, with not much more than a light crossbow, a “ferocious” ferret, who at best could make an enemy laugh himself to death, and a willow quarterstaff, given him as a gift by his master.<br /><br />In the aftermath of the Last War, things were still uneasy and somewhat dangerous on the highways of Breland, to say nothing of the surrounding countries. However, having Snoop with him might even his chances, providing extra information about his surroundings. He might be small – but after all, even the smallest spell can have a huge effect, when properly applied!<br /><br />Then again, perhaps he should just continue working with the Arch-herbalist, learning what he can while waiting to see what sort of adventure was sure to come his way?<br /></span><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Let me wait<br />And I’ll be blest<br />To find some friends<br />And have a quest!<br /><br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">* </span><a href="http://www.whitedragon.org.uk/articles/willow.htm"><span style="font-family:arial;">http://www.whitedragon.org.uk/articles/willow.htm</span></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>Snoop</strong><br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong><em>Likes:</em></strong> Snoop is particularly social and enjoys scratching and nuzzling. He loves nothing better, during the daytime, than to curl up somewhere in the herbalist’s shop near Aramek and doze. Whenever they go out, Aramek always has a handy deep pocket or side satchel in which Snoop can nuzzle up and enjoy the ride. What fun watching the world from his friend’s pockets!<br /><br />Aramek tends to be a bit more trusting of strangers than Snoop, so Snoop considers it his job to watch out for the welfare of his friend. He’s a good judge of character, no matter the race.<br /><br />Night time is Snoops favorite, when he gets to keep an eye out for those tasty mice and rats that seem to love skittering around the shop. Yum. Snoop even offered one to Aramek once and only once. Aramek hasn’t any idea what tasty really is. He ruins his food, burning it up. Yuk!<br /><br /><strong><em>Dislikes:</em></strong> Snoop really doesn’t like being on the ground in crowds. There are far too many big creatures to try to step on him. He immediately heads for the edges and corners. If he can find a mouse hole, so much the better to be safe. Never can tell what treat might be waiting for him. Ferrets always say, “to be unseen is to be safe.” And he really, really hates to be out in flat, open places, especially in the daytime but also at night. Those are the times when he will find or dig a hole for himself – even a shallow one. Anything to get out of the prying eyes of those feathered fiends, owls, hawks and the like that hunt him and his relatives. And he’s not thrilled with fire either. Not only does it ruin perfectly good food, like what Aramek eats, but it also hurts the fur and the eyes.<br /><br /><strong><em>Goals:</em></strong> Snoop considers himself a most likable and intelligent familiar. He’s quite convinced that Aramek’s success is in no small part due to Snoop’s presence. Why, look how many pretty girls have come over to talk with Aramek? It’s really because Snoop is so darn cute, although he has to admit that Aramek is too – in a naïve sort of way.<br /><br />One of Snoop’s most important goals is to see Aramek (live to) become a great sorcerer. All that Aramek becomes and achieves will be Snoop’s as well. Why, he would be the most famous ferret on Khorvaire! He’d never have to hunt down a rabbit or rat or mouse again. He could have his own private rodent breeding stables. Ah, now that’s a goal worth working towards!<br /><br />© Stephen Schwichow </span>Stechjohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02907059387528435058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19469129.post-1133478006878089772005-12-01T14:42:00.000-08:002006-05-24T14:32:56.033-07:00POLITICS<div align="center"><strong>Open Letter to Steve Westly</strong><br /><br /></div><div align="left">Dear Mr. Westly,<br /><br />You started out so well.<br /><br />I didn't know much about you, other the fact that you are a Democrat and independently wealthy. That independent part appealed to me.<br /><br />I thought to myself, "Hey, here's someone who has a good track record in business, isn't beholden to money interests, and seems to be right there with me on social issues."<br /><br />Your early ads on TV were positive and told me about your capabilities. Positive and upbeat, I liked what I was hearing.<br /><br />A couple of weeks ago, someone asked me whom I was going to support in the primary and my initial response was "Westly." "He's new, he's fresh and he's running a positive campaign."<br /><br />That's not to say that I don't like Phil Angelides. I do. I've watched him over the years and feel as though he's been a competent "work horse" on behalf of the Democratic Party and the values I hold dear.<br /><br />This morning, after being bombarded yet again by your attack ads telling me what an awful politician Mr. Angelides is, I finally decided that I have had enough.<br /><br />I thought you were different. Sadly, you're not. You're campaign has just become another exercise in negativity and I'm sick of it!<br /><br />I'm tired of hearing about "what's wrong with the other guy."<br /><br />I already know that positive and affirming political campaigns are not only possible, but can yield a win for the individual who wages such a campaign. When Supervisor Bevan Dufty first ran for his office here in San Francisco, he never once descended into negative advertising or accusations leveled at his opponents. His was a clean and positive campaign. His consistent message was "I'm the better candidate and here's why."<br /><br />If you and your supporters really believe that you're the better candidate, then tell me why. I'm tired of campaigns that attempt to tear down the opponent in hopes of seeming to appear better of the candidates. It doesn't work with me.<br /><br />Sorry, Mr. Westly, but the only positive thing I'm finding in your campaign now is your first name.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">© Stephen Schwichow<br /></div><div align="center"><strong>E-Letter to Arnold re: AB00849</strong><br /></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">The purpose of representative government is to give to one's representatives the responsibility for doing the right thing, studying the issues and looking to the common long-term good. Our system is being perverted by those who vote for the sake of expediency, not for the long-term common weal. Never forget, Hitler was voted in democratically, saying what the people wanted to hear and doing what the majority wanted. It didn't make it right; it simply made it popular. And, as an Austrian, you – of all people – know what the consequences were for millions of people who were considered second-class citizens by the majority. Do the right thing, governor. Allow AB00849 to become law and allow all citizens of California to be treated equally. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">© Stephen Schwichow<br /><strong></strong></div><div align="center"><strong>Open Letter to Senator Boxer & Congresswoman Pelosi<br />September 6, 2005</strong></div><div align="center"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Dear Senator Boxer and Congresswoman Pelosi,<br /><br />Thank you for your consistent, strong and vocal leadership for all Californians.<br /><br />As I watch the catastrophe in New Orleans unfolding tears well into my eyes at the sights of a tragedy on a scale I never thought to see in my own country. I spent some time in Africa a few years ago and never thought that I would live to see similar sights at home.<br /><br />I’m well aware of the possibility of a catastrophic earthquake here in California and, having lived in Sacramento for nearly twenty years, I know from personal experience the fear engendered by the possibility of the failure of levees.<br /><br />While nothing can be done about hurricanes, the destruction and loss of life in New Orleans could have been, if not averted, at the least mitigated by a government leadership that cared more about the safety of its own citizen than waging a war in Iraq, which war was based on lies and deception from the beginning.<br /><br />The amount of money we are told that needs to be spent on “homeland security” becomes ludicrous when seeing just how ill equipped and inept our so-called “Homeland Security” is in the face of a real disaster in our homeland.<br /><br />I feel that it is my money being thrown down a black hole built by George Bush and his rich cronies. I don’t believe that the California National Guard has any business being in Iraq, when we might have need of them right here in California.<br /><br />The head of FEMA should be sent back to his horse farm and George W. Bush should be impeached for incompetence. Were this a Parliamentary democracy, this government would receive a vote of “no confidence” and the bunch of them would be sent packing, back to their safe, warm, dry mansions.<br /><br />I have the greatest respect for both of you. I voted for both of you and I am thankful for your respective leaderships and am proud of your respective accomplishments. However, I do have a deep sense of anger and shame at my Democratic Party in general. All I seem to see is hand-wringing and “woe is me”-ing. It’s been said: “If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything.” And that seems to be the Democratic Party song from the time Bush took office.<br /><br />For too long the majority of democrats in Congress have played nicey-nice, not rocking the boat. Heaven forbid we “tell it like it is.” Someone might accuse us of being UN-American. To be perfectly blunt, it seems to me that the only Democrats in congress with any “cajones” are the women – specifically both of you.<br /><br />I’m tired of supporting a party that plays second fiddle to a disaster on two feet called George W. Bush. It’s time to take off the gloves and tell the American people the truth. Not that the Emperor has no clothes, but something much worse.<br /><br />The president has no heart and no brain and couldn’t lead this country out of a paper bag open at both ends. This modern Nero needs to go back to Crawford where he keeps his fiddle and play it there while the rest of us put out all the fires that he has started!<br /><br />Keep the faith and keep up the good work. I am “mad as hell” and I want you to pass that on to the Republicans!<br /><br />In hope of a brighter future,<br /><br />© Stephen Schwichow</div><div align="center"><br /><strong>My Early Assessment of the Election<br /></strong></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Looking at the red and the blue - it seems to me that those parts of the country that look outward and have a more international perspective went for Kerry. Those that look inward and are white, white, white voted Bush.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Fear, hate and self-interest prevailed over acceptance of difference, loving one's neighbor and accepting that we all are connected in subtle and unseen ways to each other.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Believe it or not, I've actually got a gay coworker whose partner is Republican and voted for Bush. Talk about Jews for Hitler! The narrow-minded Red South and Center will ensure that more fundamentalist "values" will encroach on our courts and, I fear, the Constitution.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">If we thought this country was divided before, we ain't seen nothin’ yet! The way I'm feeling right now, I've pretty much decided that I will not be going to the UUA's General Assembly in Fort Worth in June, 2005. Not one penny of my money will go to the coffers of any state where I'm not welcome, as in the words of the Negro Spiritual, "just as I am.”</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">I guess we'd best all fasten our seatbelts, the guaranteed continuing degradation of the environment and the increasing international isolation we're about to suffer, are going to ensure a bumpy ride.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">During the last election, people outside the U.S. could look at the results and say that they didn't like our government, but made the distinction between the Bush administration and the people. Most folks outside the U.S. believe he stole the election.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">This time, that won't work. Bush's majority of the vote, I'm afraid, will change that separation to one of enmity for Americans in general.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">I highly recommend that we all buy Maple Leaf patches to wear when traveling outside the U.S. The Stars and Stripes are going to be very unwelcome in a lot of places. Primary among those places will be the European Union.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">This morning, I’m proud to be a Californian (and a former Pennsylvanian), despite some of the initiatives that were passed and defeated. Based on what happened to me in Texas many years ago, if nothing else, this election shows me where I am, and am not, welcome.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">I’m not depressed by nature, but I’m really depressed this morning.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><sigh></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">I better stop. I'm starting to rummage around for a razor blade ;-)<br /><br />© Stephen Schwichow</div><div align="center"><br /><strong>Hypocrite Exposed</strong></div><strong></strong><div align="left"><br />During the Republican convention, a conversation with a coworker led me to write down my thoughts and fears. Yet another conversation yesterday afternoon with that same coworker, and supporter of the Republican Party, has prompted me once again to write down my thoughts.<br /><br />In trying to understand the political temperament I see in this country, I went to a website having to do with Hitler’s rise to power. In my previous essay I mentioned the fact that there must certainly have been good-hearted Germans who voted for Hitler, ignoring or trivializing the agenda he had laid out in “Mein Kampf,” i.e.; that he would cleanse Germany and the world of those he considered inferior, including homosexuals gypsies and, believe it or not, Jehovah’s Witnesses. For their part, many of the people that supported Hitler simply wanted to restore their country’s national integrity and reverse the terrible economic problems they were suffering.<br /><br />I found in my research some specifically enumerated points about how Hitler had appealed to specific segments of the population with specific “hot button” issues, thus assuring that those groups would support him. At the same time that he promised unity, prosperity and nationalism, while denigrating minority populations, accusing them of attempting to destroy the national ethos.<br /><br />While Bush may not be openly calling for the deaths of minority segments of our country’s citizens, he and his party’s platform have most certainly fanned the flames of bigotry (and thus violence) against BGILT people. Especially through his rhetoric and his support for a constitutional amendment to codify second-class citizenship for BGLT Americans.<br /><br />I definitely found parallels between the Republican Party of George W. Bush and the National Socialist Party of Adolf Hitler. The parties may be different but the methodologies are similar in many respects.<br /><br />In my conversation with my coworker I mentioned the fact that two dear friends of mine were forced to leave the United States in order to stay together, because of our unfair marriage laws.<br /><br />Dave, a U.S. citizen, and Guillermo, a Spanish citizen, had met in Spain in 1988, fell immediately in love and began a committed relationship. For 6 years that tried to stay together, continuously enduring visa problems with the conservative Spanish government.<br /><br />In 1994, after hearing about the possibility of legal, same-sex marriage in Hawai’i, they decided to come to the United States, hoping to at last have legal recognition for their relationship, including the right for Guellermo to stay in the U.S. as the spouse of an American citizen – the same right enjoyed by bi-national heterosexual couples.<br /><br />With the terrorist attacks of 9/11 everything changed and Guellermo, a Basque Spaniard, had his visa renewal request rejected and my friends were faced with being separated, after 15 years together or leaving the United States. They chose to stand on the side of love and in 2002 they left the United States, emigrating to England, where Guellermo, a citizen of the European Union, had the right to both settle and bring with him his same-sex spouse, Dave, who received a permanent residence visa.<br /><br />Back to my coworker, who then made a remark about the fact that, of course, Guellermo couldn’t stay with Dave – they weren’t married. The fact that these two loving individuals were being forced by discriminatory laws to have to chose between their love for each other and the inhumane laws of this country had no meaning what-so-ever for her.<br /><br />She joked that allowing BGLT people the right to legally marry, and receive all the same rights and responsibilities as heterosexuals, would open a can of worms. Sarcastically, she said that she could then just say that she and her sister were “having sex and should be allowed to marry.” After all, they’ve “been living together for 10 years.”<br /><br />This remark abruptly ended our conversation. I don’t know whether or not her remarks were meant to be trivializing and demeaning of loving and committed BGLT couples but this I do know. I felt that her remarks specifically demeaned, trivialized and denigrated my dear friends and made fun of what they have been forced to go through because the president and government she supports have shown themselves to be hateful and mean-spirited.<br /><br />Today she got on the same elevator as I and asked me how I was. I told her that I, quite honestly, I had found her remarks to be demeaning, denigrating and trivializing of BGILT people.<br /><br />Her response was to turn red, stomp out of the elevator and yell: “I don’t want my government doing things for you people.” If nothing else, I’ve exposed yet another hypocrite in Republican clothing.<br /><br />© Stephen Schwichow</div><div align="center"><br /><strong>2004 Republican National Convention</strong><br /></div><div align="left"><br />My conversation with a coworker, who is unabashedly Republican, coupled with hearing the religious invocations at the Republican convention, calling Dick Cheney’s lesbian daughter a hedonist and comparing those who are supportive of BGLT people as being like those who supported Hitler during the lead up to the Second World War, have led me to put my thoughts on paper.<br /><br />I’ve wrestled with this hurt for quite a while. I’m not a violent person, even though I’ve had violence directed against me and I’m not one who wants to hold onto negativity or be attached to “being in the right,” but I do have to express myself in a way that is honest to my feelings. If you feel my musings are worth passing on, please feel free to do so.<br /><br />There are Republicans floating around who have no idea just how hurtful the party they support is and intends to be. Just look at their party platform. Many of them actually have friends whom they know to be gay or lesbian. Perhaps hearing what I have to say may cause them to think twice about hurting someone they care about. I contend that every vote for Bush is a potential bullet in the heart of someone they may care deeply about.<br /><br />As I listen to the Republican lies, one following another, being paraded before the American people at their convention, I despair. How can anyone buy such drivel?<br /><br />When I ask myself the question: “Am I better off today than I was four years ago?“ My answer is a resounding “NO!”<br /><br />Financially, I’m not seeing any salary increases yet I’m paying more for health care now. How can Dick Cheney say we have the best health care in the world when, according to the World Health Organization, the United States ranks 37th in national performance, behind not only most European nations and Japan, but also Chile, Colombia, Saudi Arabia, and Singapore.<br /><br />Since Bush was appointed President, this so-called “Compassionate Conservative,” has supported and egged on the fundamentalists in their hatred of BGLT people and that, quite simply, means hatred of me. The simple fact is that the Bush-Cheney team is the most anti-gay administration in the history of the modern gay rights movement and it has actively opposed every major policy initiative from federal nondiscrimination laws, hate crimes laws, protection for families, and AIDS prevention and research, to name a few.<br /><br />George W. Bush is not about compassion but rather fundamentalist ideology and to that end he has joined forces with the homophobes, who scapegoat BGLT people and their families in order to promote the broader Republican agenda based on religious fundamentalist hate.<br /><br />According to the Human Rights Campaign, FBI statistics show an increase in reported hate crimes that are based on sexual orientation, perceived or known. Despite this, Bush and the GOP oppose hate crimes legislation. I feel that it’s not just opposition but, through their words and actions, encouragement to commit hate crimes.<br /><br />What am I to think when Bush's appointments to the Faith-Based Advisory Committee makes derogatory comments about Jews and Muslims, while another member of the committee warns people about an alleged "homosexual invasion" and suggests quarantined cities for people with AIDS?<br /><br />When I traveled to South Africa last October, for the first time in my life, I felt ashamed of being an American; seeing the suffering that didn’t need to be, had another Republican president, Ronald Reagan, been willing to even admit the existence of AIDS. I believe that we should be nearly a decade ahead of where we are now, were it not for Republican, religion-based hatred of homosexuals. And their “I got mine and you can go to hell” disdain for the poor is also based on their religious texts; the same texts they used to justify slavery! Living in an economy ravaged by Republicans, is it any wonder many poor, especially African American men, turned to drugs as their respite from the loss or non-existence of economic opportunity? Why should the Republicans care about AIDS, when those falling victim to this dreadful disease belong to hated subgroups, who deserve it anyway?<br /><br />Are there good Republicans out there? Probably. Just as there are good Muslims who abhor the death being wrought on innocents by their homegrown fundamentalists. Sadly, threats, intimidation and fear of retaliation drive many people of good heart into a fearful silence. And as has been said: “Silence = Death.”<br /><br />I believe there are other good-hearted people who identify as Republicans but they just don’t have a clue, or else they consciously refuse to face reality - a reality that wants to strip me of my rights and make me a second-class citizen.<br /><br />The most difficult problem for me is the fact that I know people who support the Republican Party; people whom I otherwise consider good and decent. How can they do that?!?! How can they not care about me?!?! Don’t they understand that I am afraid?<br /><br />I have experienced religion-based hatred first hand. I’m partially deaf in my left ear as a result of an attack I suffered years ago at the hands of three teenaged boys who identified as Christians doing their God’s work; i.e., not suffering a homosexual to live.<br /><br />In considering these supporters of Bush, what I see are people who are like the good-hearted people of 1930’s Germany. They are willing to ignore their party’s social agenda for the sake of economics. As I watch my country slide slowly into social repression of minorities, I lose heart. How can they not care that their party wants to amend the Constitution of the United States, in order to take away and specifically disenfranchise a minority group of citizens? It happens to be a minority to which I belong. That hurts me on a deep and personal level.<br /><br />Thomas Jefferson penned the words that “all men are created equal.” What he meant was that all white, land-owning men are created equal. We should never forget that he owned slaves. As for Abraham Lincoln, the first Republican president, he may have signed the “Emancipation Proclamation,” but he certainly didn’t consider the newly emancipated slaves as equal to whites. After all, he didn’t even consider women equal or worthy of being able to vote, and he ranked blacks below them. Thankfully, good ideas can ultimately be interpreted in order to bring about good outcomes, even when not intended, and thus lead to true growth and the inclusive spread of freedom. This time, I fear that a bad idea, based on hate and fear, may actually become a part of our constitution.<br /><br />It makes me sad to see African Americans supporting Bush. They know first-hand the sting of prejudice, but I reserve my strongest anger and despair for BGLT people who represent and/or support the Republican Party and, by that support, its hateful Party Platform. I have no sympathy for the likes of “outed” politicians, like U.S. Rep. Edward L. Schrock, R-VA, or New Jersey Governor, James E. McGreevey. Both of them have worked to prevent or take away my rights as a citizen, while privately living their homosexual lives, hubristically believing their wealth and position will protect them.<br /><br />To me, this is no different from Ernst Roehm and his Nazi SA troops who believed they would be safe because they had supported the rise of Adolf Hitler. During the Night of the Long Knives up to four hundred of them perished at the hands of SS troops. The reason? They were homosexuals. And before the war was over, hundreds of thousands of others would die in the concentration camps simply because they were known or suspected of being homosexual. The fact is that whether one was a rich or a poor homosexual, the ashes piled up in the Nazi crematoria looked exactly the same.<br /><br />I will work as hard as I can to see the defeat of George W. Bush and his hateful agenda. I will not mince words with those people I know who tell me they are Republicans and plan to vote for George W. Bush. If anything I feel sorry for the fact that, should Bush win in the upcoming election, many of them, the basically decent ones, will end up looking in the mirror and seeing a dupe looking back, regretting their vote and deservedly so.<br /><br />But more than that, while Republicans of good heart scoff at my fears and tell me “it couldn’t happen here,” I take the Republican Party platform seriously and will have to consider leaving this country, should my worst fears come to be.<br /><br />To BGLT people I say, vote! And encourage others to do the same. It still is our democracy, despite the best efforts of the Republican Supreme Court. To those who are not gay, but have friends who are or if you are simply a caring person who believes in fair play and the American ideal of “equality for all,” vote!<br /><br />And to those of you who vote Republican, I can only hope that my worst fears don’t come to pass, but if they should, I will see your hand on the knife that draws my blood, actual or metaphorical.<br /><br />© Stephen Schwichow</div><div align="center"><br /><strong>First They Came for the Communists</strong></div><div align="left"><br />"In Germany they came first for the Communists and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Communist. Then they came for the Jews and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew. Then they came for the trade unionists and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a trade unionist. Then they came for the Catholics and I didn't speak up because I was a Protestant. Then they came for me--and by that time no one was left to speak up." - Martin Niemöller - (1892-1984)</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />**********************************************************************************<br /></div><div align="left"><br />The issue of full and equal personhood for LGBT people in the United States is, in my opinion, heading for the same culture clash that the Black Civil Rights movement found itself in back in the 1960's.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />Where African Americans were beaten, lynched and denied equality under the law (separate but equal?) based on the amount of melatonin in their skin, we LGBT people, whether perceived by others or self-identified as such, are dismissed from their jobs, beaten, murdered and otherwise denied equal treatment under the law because of our sexual or affectional orientation.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />In seeing what it took for African Americans to achieve at least legally defensible equality, I have no reason to believe that LGBT people will have any easier row to hoe. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />Do I think self-identified Christians will commit acts of violence against those whom they believe to be endangering their attachment to being right? Absolutely. Don't forget, the Afrikaaner justification for actual slavery and then the factual slavery, and concomitant atrocities, of Apartheid were entirely justified by the Bible. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />Did African Americans die at the hands of bigots? Yes, and so did non-African Americans who stood beside them because they believed it was the right thing to do.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />Will LGBT people continue to be killed at the hands of bigots? Yes, and so will our heterosexual allies who choose to stand with us for the sake of what is right.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />If there were ever a reason for "coming out of the closet" that reason is more pressing now than it ever was. And, if there were ever a reason for "outing" someone, unfortunately I feel that also is more urgent than ever. Sadly, I never thought I would have to hold such an opinion. However, I will no longer abide the likes of a Roy Cohn or a Terry Dolan.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />In relation to AIDS the button said: Silence = Death. That is equally true of remaining silent in the face of bigotry and the persecution of any minority. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />In 1990 Armistead Maupin was quoted in Australia's "<em>Outrage</em>:" </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">"I regard the greatest villains today to be those famous closet cases who are not being open about their lives. These people could make an enormous difference in enlightening the general public about the nature of homosexuality. And I'm tired of hearing their feeble excuses for why this isn't possible. It almost always boils down to money in the long run."</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />I think many of us will be faced with the possibility of violence and making the choice of staying in the United States or seeking asylum elsewhere.<br /><a href="http://www.jobelaw.com/2/sexual.htm">http://www.jobelaw.com/2/sexual.htm</a><br /><br />© Stephen Schwichow</div><br /><div align="center"><br /><strong>An Open Letter to Al-Jazeera.net</strong> </div><div align="left"><br />I would first like to say that I am neither a Christian, a Jew nor a Muslim. I am nearly 60 years old and for my entire adult life I have been Buddhist. A significant reason for my becoming Buddhist was the hypocrisy I continuously encountered as a child, growing up in a society which preached love, compassion, forgiveness and turning the other cheek, while continuously being inundated with the reality of bigotry, selfishness, vengefulness and retribution.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />I have always tried to live the teachings of my religion and have spent years attempting to manifest those beliefs with the people I encounter. This can be seen in my participation in the anti-war movement in the U.S., my going to South Africa to work with women and orphaned children with AIDS and my efforts to forge inter-faith alliances here in the United States.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />I have come to know so many kind and sincere people spanning all religious traditions who want nothing more than an end to the violence and the right to live together in peace. It hurts so deeply to see children having bombs strapped to them so that they can go and blow up other children. Imagine that those kids might actually have grown up friends were it not for their parents and the other adults around them who have taught them to hate.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />I hear far too much rhetoric from each side saying they want peace but it's the "other guy's fault" that it can't happen. While the fingers are being pointed at the other guy, whose fault it always is, the environment around us is dying. As we kill ourselves we kill our world.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />I know from my study of Islam and from my Islamic friends from Turkey, Jordan and, yes, Palestine, that Islam does not teach the killing of children. It does not condone the killing of any "innocent," whether an adult or a child. Why then is the Muslim world so silent in the face of children killing children? Where is the condemnation of the kidnapping of three Japanese citizens, whose only crime was in going to Iraq to help the suffering people?</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />There are many cases in the west of religious people offering themselves in exchange for an innocent whose life is being threatened. Where are the Muslims who abhor such barbarism done in the name of Allah? Why does no one speak up?</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />My heart weeps for all those innocents who are dying every day, in Iraq and elsewhere, all because men on both sides of the issue are so attached to being "right" that they are willing to send innocent kids out to die, just to prove that they are more "right" than the other guy.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />Who, I ask you, in the Islamic tradition can help me to understand why there is an unwillingness to speak out against the atrocities being perpetrated in the name of Allah. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />There is no dearth of religious people in the west who speak out and demonstrate against war and killing. Where are our Muslim brothers and sisters who are speaking out and demonstrating against the butchery being perpetratedin their names?</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />Sincerely,<br /><br />© Stephen Schwichow</div>Stechjohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02907059387528435058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19469129.post-1133476943182571142005-12-01T14:32:00.000-08:002008-04-16T10:43:03.837-07:00POETRY<div align="center"><strong>ON SAMHAIN</strong><br />(in haiku)<br /><br />Thinner grows the Veil<br />‘Twixt the worlds of Life and Death,<br />Born and Gone we hail!<br /><br />The Conch shells call us;<br />Widdershins the Children run,<br />Samhain upon us.<br /><br />Weaver, Weaver spin,<br />Old and New, as Threads converge,<br />With our Web begin!<br /><br />Roots in Earth we plant,<br />Energy begins to flow -<br />To the Stars, we chant.<br /><br />Our Mother the Earth,<br />Fire, Air, and the Waters too;<br />Lead us to Rebirth.<br /><br />Our Ancestors Bones<br />Form a Ladder to our Hopes.<br />Come, climb to your Home.<br /><br />Laughing and Prancing,<br />Eye to Eye and Heart to Heart,<br />In Spirals Dancing!<br /><br />The Directions closed,<br />Sleep the Dead, Save the Living.<br />Yes! The Goddess knows.<br /><br />The Veil grows Unclear<br />‘Twixt the worlds of Life and Death,<br />Joyous Renew Year!</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="left">© Stephen Schwichow</div><div align="center"><br /><strong>On Brigit’s Day<br /></strong><br />Deep in winter’s tomb<br />The seed of life is planted<br />flames stir in the womb<br /><br />Spa stirs in the fire<br />Mother’s strength prepares the way<br />Imbolic inspires<br /><br />On this Oimelc morn<br />Gaia’s ilk informs us all<br />Let the lamb be born!<br /><br />Brigit, Sisters Three<br />Candles burn from dusk to dawn<br />thus to honor thee.<br /><br />Queen of Kildare’s fame.<br />Ye midwives, smiths and poets,<br />Bless her healing name!<br /><br />Foolish priests of night,<br />Fearfully you hid her soul<br />We reclaim her light!<br /><br />Always abiding.<br />Brigit’s child steps out again,<br />No more in hiding. </div><div align="left"><br />© Stephen Schwichow </div><div align="center"><br /><strong>The Abyss</strong><br /><br />Silent stars above<br />contemplate the mystery,<br />I'm falling in love.<br /><br />No pain is more sweet,<br />any joy harder to bear,<br />duality meets.<br /><br />I love you, I cry.<br />I long for the little death,<br />my heart yearns to die. </div><div align="left"><br />© Stephen Schwichow </div><div align="center"><br /><strong>Love</strong><br /><br />With his life like wine,<br />I will dare to touch his cheek<br />And change fore'er mine.<br /><br />Hold my heart's power<br />In the secret of his soul's<br />unfolding flower.<br /><br />First light of the morn'<br />his smile, a sun arisen,<br />Makes my soul new born. </div><div align="left"><br />© Stephen Schwichow </div><div align="center"><br /><strong>Phantom<br /></strong><br />Never seen straight on.<br />Always just a tiny glimpse;<br />A quick look, then gone.<br /><br />Like a marshmallow<br />Crisping over the camp fire<br />Hard hearted, hollow.<br /><br />To be the boss-man<br />Don’t sell off the other self<br />Don’t lose the love, man.<br /><br />Always the man child<br />Wanting love and approval;<br />Finding you’re reviled.<br /><br />Be true to ideals<br />Even when there’s no glory<br />True joy then reveals. </div><div align="center"></div><div align="left">© Stephen Schwichow </div><div align="center"><br /><strong>Who is he/me?<br /></strong><br />I once saw a man,<br />I do not know his name,<br />He asked me to dance.<br />He asked me was I lame?<br /><br />I didn’t say a thing to him,<br />I didn’t give my name.....<br />I didn’t limp, I didn’t pimp...<br />I didn’t feel my shame.<br /><br />How should I dance?<br />How should I sing?<br />How should I find my fame?<br /><br />I cannot dance,<br />I cannot sing....<br />I cannot give my name.<br /><br />FOR SHAME!</div><div align="left"><br /><br />© Stephen Schwichow</div><div align="center"></div><strong></strong><div align="center"><strong>MY FRIEND - H A I K U<br /></strong><br />"FRIEND," - IMANI SANG,<br />"YOU GOT TO HOLD ON, BE STRONG,<br />AND GET WITH THE PLAN."<br /><br />IF ONLY I KNEW<br />FIVE SHORT YEARS WOULD BE SO FEW<br />TO LET HER LIGHT IN<br /><br />"I'M THE KING OF CUPS."<br />"NO, NO, YOU'RE THE KING OF SWORDS,<br />WIELDING THE LOTUS."<br /><br />FROM THE TIMELESS PAST,<br />TILL INFINITY AGAIN-<br />I'LL CALL YOU, MY FRIEND.<br /><br />WITH LOVE</div><div align="left"><br />© Stephen Schwichow </div><div align="center"><br /><strong>To Hershey With Love<br /></strong><br />This Kiss for my Friend<br />Is a circle unbroken,<br />A hug without end.</div><div align="left"><br />© Stephen Schwichow<br /></div><div align="center"><strong>ON POETRY<br /></strong><br />I’ve tried my best to work a rhyme<br />as you can see, it’s eluding me.<br />And thus doth fugit tempus mine,<br />Perhaps I’ll verse in pantomime.<br /><br />I thought I’d found some words that would<br />if given time, create that rhyme.<br />Let all those rules about what should<br />be put in verse be understood.<br /><br />Was it four times six or six times four?<br />My memory, it flees from me.<br />As lines per verse it’s either/or<br />but rhymes per line it’s neither/nor.<br /><br />A poem’s form can be predicted<br />by poetic license, which oft suffices.<br />Yet my mind is feeling quite interdicted<br />as if blood to my brain is being restricted.<br /><br />I guess I really just can’t write.<br />My mind seems clear, the right word so near.<br />What I mean to say is there’s no requite<br />since my muse has left, she’s taken flight.<br /><br />I throw in the towel on this poetry.<br />I’m starting to think, “God, my meter doth stink.”<br />Thus I must beg for your sympathy<br />since “Stephen the Poet” I’ll never be.<br /></div><div align="left">© Stephen Schwichow<br /></div><div align="center"><strong>Emotion</strong></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">My circuitous perambulations of the cyberverse brought me bit by bit – (dare I say byte by byte?) - to my Cyber-(Nir)vana – CircuitCity! There, surrendering to its ethereal siren call, I succumbed to the allure of the eMachine; thus changing my emotive modus within the omnidirectional digi-verse and concurrently enervating my caper-bilities. Carefully carefree, I elutriate, in the informational flow, any hint of mail emasculation emanating from my eMachine. Now moving through the relatively multi-dimensional spaces in time, my missives gyrate from portal to post, node to nexus; ever moving in a dance that can only be called e-motion.<br /><br />© Stephen Schwichow<br /><br /></div><div align="center"><br /><strong>DECADENCE IN HAIKU</strong><br /><br />Decadence for me<br />If taken to an extreme<br />Is debauchery.<br /><br />Coffee topped with cream,<br />Whipped into a high frenzy -<br />Gustatory dream!<br /><br />Like Gulap Jamin,<br />Tender balls in honey soaked -<br />A taste treat comin’.<br /><br />In a cherry grove<br />While Blossoms burst in splendor -<br />The eye’s treasure trove.<br /><br />My heart just quivers<br />Waking up to Benedict<br />My love delivers.<br /><br />Fromage, vin, frottage,<br />And a sensuous massage<br />A dream Bon Voyage.<br /><br />This poet repents<br />As the reader groans from pain -<br />Not from decadence.<br /><br />Debauchery seems<br />Not of my realty -<br />Just stuff of my dreams<br /></div><div align="left">© Stephen Schwichow</div>Stechjohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02907059387528435058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19469129.post-1133476336596507542005-12-01T14:27:00.000-08:002005-12-26T13:18:16.553-08:00HUMOR<div align="center"><strong>Christmas Humor ...</strong></div><div align="center"><strong>I Find Funny</strong></div><br />Do you know what would have happened if there had been Three Wise Women instead of Three Wise Men?<br /><br />* They would have asked directions;<br /><br />* Arrived on time;<br /><br />* Helped deliver the baby;<br /><br />* Cleaned the stable;<br /><br />* Made a casserole;<br /><br />* Brought practical gifts and<br /><br />* There would be “Peace On Earth.”<br /><br />However, do you know what would have happened if there had been Three Gay Wise Men instead of Three Straight Men OR Women?<br /><br />* They would have made a fabulous parade towards the big "B" in full auburn/gold sequined robes to match the low "Star of Bethlehem" lighting;<br /><br />* The would have arrived early;<br /><br />* Helped deliver the baby AND dressed it up in a gorgeous butter-cream-colored 100% cotton throw;<br /><br />* They would have cleaned the stable AND redecorated it in a "western" theme to match the animals;<br /><br />* But darlings, they would not have made a casserole! Instead, they would have thrown together a flawless repast starting with a tasty leek dip with crisped pita triangles, tongue-teasing cool dilled cucumbers with olives and goat cheese, an entree of pomegranate honey-glazed Galilean sea bass with light Indus Valley sweet mango chutney mix, mashed squash with capers and mint in light cream fennel sauce and finished it with dried fruit, cinnamon, and red wine compote served in gilded half ostrich egg shells for a delicious desert dessert – and THEN topped it all off with a date wine con panne!<br /><br />* Practical gifts? Sweetie, that babe would have deserved nothing less than the best goodies from the new Martha Stewart Biblical Living collection and<br /><br />* As for “Peace on Earth,” … How can you possibly have THAT when the entire night just screams for a great drag number? ! ? ! ? ! ?<br /><br /><div align="center"><strong>More Christmas Humor ...</strong></div><div align="center"><strong>I've Stumbled Across</strong></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">"Can you feel what I feel?"<br />(or seasonal carols for the psychologically needy)<br /><br /><strong>Schizophrenia -</strong> Do You Hear What I Hear?<br /></div><div align="left"><strong>Multiple Personality Disorder -</strong> We Three Queens Disoriented Are<br /></div><div align="left"><strong>Dementia -</strong> I Think I'll Be Home For Christmas<br /></div><div align="left"><strong>Narcissistic -</strong> Hark the Herald Angels Sing About Me</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><strong>Manic -</strong> Deck the Halls and Walls and House and Lawn and Streets and Stores and Office and Town and Cars and Busses and Trucks and Trees and Fire Hydrants and....<br /></div><div align="left"><strong>Paranoid -</strong> Santa Claus is Coming to Get Me<br /></div><div align="left"><strong>Borderline Personality Disorder -</strong> Thoughts of Roasting on an Open Fire<br /></div><div align="left"><strong>Personality Disorder -</strong> You Better Watch Out, I'm Gonna Cry, I'm GonnaPout, Maybe I'll tell You Why</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><strong>Obsessive Compulsive Disorder -</strong> Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells</div>Stechjohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02907059387528435058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19469129.post-1133476062360469722005-12-01T14:22:00.000-08:002007-08-29T14:37:27.720-07:00GENERAL MUSINGS<div align="center"><strong>How Prayer Made Me an Atheist </strong></div><div align="center"><strong>(Expanded Reflection)<br /></strong></div><div align="left">Did you know that the word “pray” can be traced back to the Sanskrit: prasna meaning “to question?” </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Did you know that the word “precarious” comes from the Vulgate Latin meaning “obtained by prayer?” </div><div align="left">When I asked Google, “What is Prayer?” It yielded the following definitions: </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Princeton University: </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Reverent petition to a deity; the act of communicating with a deity (especially as a petition or in adoration or contrition or thanksgiving); </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"><a href="http://www.religioustolerance.org/">http://www.religioustolerance.org/</a>: </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">The act of attempting to verbally communicate with the supernatural; It is found in almost all the religions of the world. It is sometimes communal, as during a church service; it is sometimes done in private. Its purpose within Christianity is to assess the will of God for one's life, to praise God, to give thanks to God, to repent of sinful behavior, to ask forgiveness, to seek a favor from God, and (occasionally) to ask God to curse an opponent. </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Prayer is found in almost all religions. </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Glossary of the Gov’t of Australia: </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">A request at the end of a petition, usually that a certain course of action be taken or not taken. </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Truth4Life.tripod.com: </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Prayer is talking with God. Click here to learn more. </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">I suppose the quick and easy answer as to whether I pray or not is – No! Although I clearly remember the first and the last time I prayed. When I was six I had the special treat one time of being able to stay the weekend with my grandmother, my Nana, without the always noisy and demanding presence of my 3-year old brother. He was too much of a handful for my grandmother. Prior to going to bed, my (to me) ancient grandmother, who was probably younger than I am now, got down on her knees next to the daybed I was going to sleep on and showed me how to pray. Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the lord my soul to take. There after, every night I faithfully recited those words with complete assurance that “God,” whatever that was, was watching over me and I had nothing to worry about – so long as I was a good boy. I was also convinced that God tipped my mother off when I was naughty. As soon as she’d look at me, I knew she had that “God already told me” look and I’d confess straight-away! I remember coming back from church one time when I was 8 years old and my grandmother asking me to stay in the car with her, after my mom brought us home. I sensed a set-up. There is no Santa Clause. Nan broke the news to me gently, as only a grandmother could and I had to admit that I’d had my suspicions. She explained to me that, now that I was older, I could join my mom and dad and her and the other grown ups and older kids, knowing that there wasn’t a Santa Clause, but pretending so that little children, like my brother, could still believe it. Santa Clause was about the joy of giving and that was what was real. So that means the Easter Bunny is only pretend too? Yes. It’s true. I’d pretty much stopped worrying about the tooth fairy since I didn’t have many reasons left to look forward to her visits anyway. All the things that were sources of security and anticipation for me weren’t real. They were all just part of the adult conspiracy to make children have happy childhoods; to believe in magic. Since I’d been invited to join in the “Adult Conspiracy,” it was time to put away “Now I lay me down to sleep” and I began invoking the grown up: “Our father, who art in heaven …” I remember that first time I prayed and I remember the last time I prayed. December of 1969, I was 24 years old, living in Toronto. After five months, the only job I could find was working in the toy department of Eaton’s Department Store – at Christmas time. I had a 3rd floor walk-up rented room near the Maple Leaf Gardens. I’d lost nearly 50 pound in five months, due to lack of food. My coworkers used to give me the crackers they got with their tea. I was miserable – then I got sick. I was so sick and weak that I had to crawl down the hall to the bathroom. I remember, lying on the floor, crawling to the bed and propping myself up, and just like my grandmother had taught me that first time – I put my hands together in prayer. The room seemed dark, even though it was the middle of the day. I cried, I despaired, I pleaded, I prayed... - all this while looking at the wall, against which my bed was pushed. I seemed to almost step outside my self and observed that I was praying to some dingy, dirty, faded and peeling wallpaper, crumpled over a crack in the bedroom wall. I was praying to a crack in a wall. That was God. And I suddenly realized; I’m an atheist. In that moment, my slate was wiped clean. In the next few days I returned to Philadelphia, to my parents’ home, to the bedroom I’d left when I went off to college. I’d lost everything – most importantly, I’d lost belief. There was no God, no Easter Bunny, no Tooth Fairy and no Santa Clause – it was all stuff for children. In the process of coming to those conclusions, I’d somehow lost me as well – my sense of self. Less than a month after returning from Canada, feeling totally defeated, I began practicing Buddhism, purely out of curiosity, and it turned out to be just the “Skillful Means” that I needed to find myself again. I tell people that I meditate. I sit silently, going within where all the answers lie for me. I recite from Sutras, I chant a Mantra – the Sacred Title of the Wonderful Dharma of the Lotus Flower Sutra. The “Focus of my Practice” is the Unborn and Deathless Buddha-Dharma that was recounted at a phantasmagoric event in the Lotus Sutra, where the Buddha revealed that his teaching and his life and his Dharma were no different from my life and that it was timeless, immanent and always manifesting as infinite potential. 37 years later, I can still say that I don’t pray. Or at least I don’t pray to anything or any one, even though it may look like that to the casual observer. When I sit before my shrine and recite from the Sutras, you might say I’m continuing to program this biological computer that is my life. I recite passages that remind me of the infinite possibilities open to me and to all living beings. I am reminded twice a day that all non-living and living things, including human beings, are manifestations of the great life-force of the universe, the Buddha-Dharma. Some people might call that God and pray to it. For me it’s enough to know that I am simply a part of it. I rather like the idea that precarious means obtained by prayer. I look around at all the beauty in the world and realize that it truly is precarious. All is change, nothing is permanent. Seeing a baby smile can bring tears unbidden to my eyes, just realizing how precious, ephemeral and temporary both my tears and its smile really are. Yet, in that smile is the infinite potential of the universe. Do I pray? No! I tell people that I meditate. Here now is my prayer: Close your eyes for a moment, while we experience silence; go inside yourself and breath, don’t be afraid of the silence. Hear the breathing of your neighbors, realizing that there isn’t a molecule of air in this sanctuary that hasn’t been in the lungs of everyone else in here. We are breathing each other, we are that connected to each other. What we have just done with our silence is the true miracle of this holy place. And what a precarious miracle it is. Amen, Namaste and Blessed Be. © Stephen Schwichow</div><div align="center"><br /><strong>Smorgy Steve’s</strong><br /><br /></div><div align="left">You have to start somewhere.<br /><br />Life is hell for a Libra. Choices to make, directions to take. Where to start, what to start.<br /><br />I often compare life to a smorgasbord. I always had trouble with those. So many choices … what to eat, what to drink? I generally ended up taking a spoonful of this and a forkful of that. I wanted to try everything. I didn’t want to miss anything.<br /><br />And so it is with my life. What to do, where to go, what to choose?<br /><br />I remember when I was living in Texas there was a restaurant chain called Smorgy Bob’s. What an unappealing name! It turned a Scandinavian food-style into what sounded like a bodily residue. But I can look at my life thus far and perhaps call it Smorgy Steve’s.<br /><br />It’s said that our personality is set by time we reach 6 years old. Can that really be true? As I look back on it now, I can honestly say that is actually the way it works. We’re set by the time we’re six and we either suffer or grow from that point on.<br /><br />My mom claimed that she could remember things that happened to her when she was only 2 years old. And my grandmother corroborated that. I, on the other hand, remember very little, and even that I sometimes question. Do I actually remember these things, or do I remember my parents talking about them? Who knows? Not I, certainly.<br /><br />Things that I do remember clearly were all traumatic, in one way or another. I remember …<br /><br /><br />© Stephen Schwichow</div>Stechjohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02907059387528435058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19469129.post-1133466023674447792005-12-01T11:36:00.000-08:002006-05-12T12:36:38.253-07:00BUDDHISM<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1660/1045/1600/Shrine.jpg"><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1660/1045/320/Shrine.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;"><br /></span><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">How I Celebrate the New Year</span></strong></div><strong></strong><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Dear Friends in the Dharma,<br /><br />For the past six years I have seen in the New Year with the “Ringing of the 108 Bells.”<br /><br />I knew that the 108 beads on our O-juzu represented the “108 Desires” (jap. Bonno) of human beings, and that through our practice we can purify and inform our lives with the Dharma, thus changing these “defilements” into our Enlightenment (bonno soku bodai).<br /><br />Over the many years of my practice, I have come to understand that life reminds us all too often that things will not always turn out as we want them to, and that we should never become attached to specific outcomes. I have learned this time and again. The only plan that has absolutely held true is the fact that I am still practicing the Buddha-Dharma and that I will welcome in the New Year sitting in front of my shrine.<br /><br />At around 10:30 PM on New Year’s Eve, I will begin my evening meditation by reciting the entire Second and Sixteenth Chapters of the Lotus Flower Sutra and then chant the Sacred Title 108 times, in a slow, resonating and stately manner, meditating on each of those 108 Bonno, while ringing the bell with each invocation and offering the “Five Point Prostration,” (forehead, knees and elbows touching the floor with the palms raised upward above one’s ears), with each repetition.108 Desires (Bonno)<br /><br />In order to better understand the concept behind the choice of the number 108, I decided to find out just what those desires were. My reason for doing this was to prepare myself mentally and spiritually for the year and the work ahead.<br /><br />The 108 Bonno can be broken down as follows: Six types of Bonno can arise when the six sense organs of sight, hearing, taste, smell, touch, and thought (mentation) perceive an object in the environment, which for our purposes can be a person, place, thing or even situation or outcome. These can be perceived in two different ways.<br /><br />First, they are considered from the active viewpoint of our want or desire to have an influence on our environment; i.e., in terms of things we either want or don't want in our life, or things about which we are ambivalent, neither wanting to have, nor wanting to avoid.The second way of perceiving has to do with our feelings or reactions to how the environment elicits a response from us, i.e., in terms of whether that which we perceive makes us feel either happy or unhappy, or causes us neither emotional reaction.<br /><br />Thus, there are six possibilities for each of our six senses, yielding 36 possibilities. Because each of these 36 possibilities exists in the future, present, or past, the total number of Bonno possible is 108. (Additionally, the number 108 is traditionally an ideal number, since it is a multiple of the number nine, which has the greatest potential for variation.)<br /><br />Many people also wonder about the four smaller beads, in the 7th and 21st positions up from the bottom of the O-juzu. They represent the qualities of the Four Great Bodhisattvas: Superior-Practice = True Self which is the selflessness of Nirvana; Limitless-Practice = Eternity which is the unborn and undying nature of Nirvana; Pure-Practice = Nirvana's freedom from all that is impure; and Steadfast-Practice = Bliss which is Nirvana's liberation from suffering.<br /><strong></strong></span></span></div><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;"><strong>Beginning the New Year </strong></span><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">Once I have completed the invocation of the 108 Bells, at midnight I then shave my head. This is my first task of the New Year and I do it as a reminder that I want to enter this New Year with a “clean slate,” as it were, without attachments.<br /><br />My second task of the New Year is to offer my Blessing to my Home. I do this with burning sage as I stand before each doorway in my home and invoke the following:</span></div><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">Bless this Door <em>(or Gate if outside)</em><br />And all who enter.<br />May they abide in Joy</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">And leave in Peace<br /></div></span><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">I then go to the middle of my home and face:</span></div><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>The East:</strong><br /><br />I invoke Dhritarashtra,<br />Lord of the East,<br />Who protects the World.<br />Watch over this Home<br />And All who rest here.<br /><br /><strong>The South:</strong><br /><strong></strong><br />I invoke Virudhaka,<br />Lord of the South,<br />Who relieves all people of their suffering.<br />Watch over this Home<br />And all who rest here.<br /><br /><strong>The West:</strong><br /><strong></strong><br />I invoke Virupaksha,<br />Lord of the West,<br />Who attends to evil-doers<br />And encourages all to the Bodhisattva Path.<br />Watch over this Home<br />And all who rest here.<br /><br /><strong>The North:</strong><br /><strong></strong><br />I invoke Vaishravana,<br />Lord of the North,<br />Who hears the Dharma<br />And protects the place where it is expounded.<br />Watch over this Home<br />And all who rest here.<br /><br /><strong>Facing my Shrine:</strong><br /><strong></strong><br />I ask the blessings of all the Buddhas of the Ten Directions,<br />Past, Present and Future<br />And all the benevolent forces of the Universe,<br />Who protect the Dharma;<br />Especially my personal Guardian (insert name),<br />Watch over all those I love and care about,<br />Be they near or far.<br /></span></span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">I am now ready to sleep peacefully and arise to a “new and glorious morn!”<br /><br />Gassho,<br /><br />© Stephen Schwichow<br /></span></div><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>The Death of Practice</strong><br /><br /><em>"He drew a circle that shut me out - </em><br /><em>Heretic, rebel, a thing to flaut.</em><br /><em>But Love and I had the wit to win</em><br /><em>We drew a circle that took him in!”</em><br /><em>-- Edwin Markham</em> </span></span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">The Buddha-Dharma of the Lotus Sutra is the perfect Circle of Salvation that surrounds us all.</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">I’ve often wondered what kind of a person Nichiren Shonin must have been. Certainly the stories about his childhood seem to show a fairly precocious and yet serious kid who early on was aware of the suffering of the people around him.</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">That awareness and his own determination to find out the “why” of it and the “ending” of that suffering are the very reasons we today have the practice of invoking the Sacred Title of the Lotus Sutra; i.e., chanting the <em>Odaimoku</em>.</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">I have this idealized vision of Nichiren Shonin always uttering every invocation as if it were his first and last such utterance. His recitation of the sutras was read as if every character were a golden buddha and every Odaimoku was equivalent to the recitation of the entire “Wonderful Dharma of the Lotus Flower Teaching.”</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">Based on my reading of his various letters and commentaries, I don’t believe I may be far off the mark, because he truly was an extraordinary individual, who clearly understood his mission in life and did not allow anything to stand between him and his self-realized mission to save his suffering nation.</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Nichiren’s years of careful study, through to the writings of the great teacher (<em>Dai-shi</em>) T’ien T’ai opened him, and thus us, to the realization that the “Wonderful Dharma of the Lotus Flower Teaching” was the ultimate expression of the Buddha-Dharma. And in “going for refuge to” (Sino-Japanese, <em>Namu) the Lotus Sutra, one would find the complete refuge of the Buddha-Dharma itself.</em></span></span></div><div align="left"><em></em><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">Among the great realizations of Nichiren Shonin was the propagation of the Odaimoku as the efficacious access for opening one’s life to the Lotus Sutra and thus to its profound power to open our individual lives to the Buddha-Dharma within us.</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">Today we have a plethora of Nichiren-esque groups, many of which presume to assert sole ownership to the mantle of Nichiren. I consider myself personally lucky to practice with Rissho Kosei-kai, where diversity of opinion is not considered heretical and mutual respect for differences is <em>de rigueur. </em>While RKK considers Nichiren to be a Great Bodhisattva, it looks to the great Chinese Teacher, T’ien T’ai as the one who reawakened us all to the Wonderful Dharma of the Lotus Flower Teachings.</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">In observing the behavior of many fellow Buddhists who practice in the various Nichiren schools, I’ve come to question why there is so much rancor, ill will, and attachment to being “right.” In other words, and apropos of the Four Noble Truths, why do so many Nichiren Buddhists “suffer or cause suffering” as a result of their practice?</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">Over the many years of my evolving practice I have come to recognize three tendencies in my practice as being easy and dangerous traps to fall into.</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">The first trap is that of a “superstitious practice.” The danger signs of which practice are those of turning the Focus of Devotion (<em>Gohonzon</em>), whether a Memorial Tablet, Statue, Mandala or Image, into an object which then becomes a literal “wish fulfilling jewel” <em><u>to </u></em>which one chants <em><u>for </u></em>things. In this way one’s Odaimoku begins to become a magic incantation offered to the “happiness manufactory,” as the scroll mandala was referred to by Josei Toda, second president of the Soka Gakkai.</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">I believe it is imperative that we keep in mind the fact that our focus of devotion is the Unborn and Deathless Buddha, surrounded by the Four Great Bodhisattvas, as they manifested at the “Ceremony in the Air,” depicted in the 16th Chapter of the Lotus Sutra. Our daily meditation is, in effect, our participation in this on-going event. It is the event where we receive our commission, and reaffirm our determination, to act as Bodhisattvas from Under the Earth, pledging our lives to spreading the universal Buddha-Dharma of the Lotus Sutra teachings in order to save all beings.</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">The second trap is one of “formality of practice;” allowing one’s practice to become a force of habit, a rut one mindlessly falls into.</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">I believe it is a positive thing to move from the attitude that one “sets aside” time in the morning and evening to do one’s practice to the attitude that the time spent in practice <em>is </em>an integral part of one’s day. However, it is equally easy to reach a time when one “zones out” while reciting p4assages frow the Lotus Sutra or, especially, when chanting the Odaimoku, having little recollection of having offered one’s practice once finished.</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">When one’s practice gets to the point that one’s body is doing the practice while one’s mind is elsewhere, the second trap has been realized and the spirit of immanence at the Ceremony in the Air has been lost.</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">To be “awake” is to be “aware.” The question is: “How does one remain aware during the process of awakening?” Can a practice without awareness lead to awakening?</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">My “skillful means” is to consciously pay attention during practice. In order to support and encourage a mindful practice, rather than offer my recitation exclusively in Sino-Japanese, I most often recite from the Lotus Sutra in English or other languages in which I have some fluency. At times I will vary the speed of my recitation. I endeavor to keep my practice fresh After all, the Buddha himself exhorted people to spread the Dharma in the language of the aspirant. The Buddha taught in his own birth language and encouraged that his teachings be translated so that others could learn in their own languages.</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">The Odaimoku is even more problematic and, I believe, requires constant vigilance in order to avoid becoming autonomic – something the mouth does automatically, while one’s mind is wandering the universe. The fact that one can chant for hours, to the point of not even remembering that one has done so, bespeaks a lack of mindfulness. But it also leads to what I believe may be the third and most dangerous of the traps we fall into.</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">The Great Sage Nichiren exalted and worshipped the Lotus Sutra. He taught the primary practice of chanting the Sacred Title of the Lotus Sutra and the secondary practice of reading portions of it out loud and/or reciting portions from memory. Clearly, he went to the Lotus Sutra for refuge.</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">The Buddha taught the Four Noble Truths. I believe none of us can find an argument with his great insight that life can sometimes be pretty unpleasant. Nor can we disagree with the fact that a contributing factor to that unpleasantness is the attachments we create that become the seeds of our own unhappiness.</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">The Buddha, in warning about the danger of becoming attached, also cautioned about the hubris of becoming attached to non-attachment. This all starts to get confusing. Nevertheless, I interpret all this to be an exhortation to mindfulness.</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">When is the line crossed between “going for refuge to” the <em>Wonderful Dharma of the Lotus Flower Teaching </em>and becoming “attached to” the very act of “going” itself? When is our recitation of the Sacred Title or sutra passages no longer the “means” but rather the “end” in and of itself?</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">I always tried to understand Nichiren Shonin’s teachings in the context of his culture and times. Buddhist Sutras at that time were read in the original Chinese with a Japanese pronunciation. The Chinese themselves received them as translations from Pali and/or Sanskrit. For instance, the Sanskrit term for “meditation, <em>djanna</em>, became in Chinese <em>cha’an </em>and in Japanese <em>zen</em>. Regardless of the language, it was the Buddha-Dharma that was being transmitted cross culturally.</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">As it relates to the Sa’cred Title of the Lotus Sutra, the big question for me is, did the Sage Nichiren teach that “going for refuge to” (<em>Namu</em>) the “wonderful Dharma of” (<em>Myoho</em>) the “lotus flower” (<em>Renge</em>) “teaching/sutra” (<em>Kyo</em>) mean chanting only in Sino-Japanese or was it all about going for refuge to the Lotus Sutra through the invoking its Sacred Title, not necessarily through a specific combinations of sound. Is the recitation of the Sacred Title the process, the goal, or both?</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">In Korea and China, practitioners chant in their native languages, paralleling the rhythm of the Sino-Japanese 6 beats with the double beat on the <em>namu / namo</em>. In my own effort to not became attached to, and yet remain mindful of, what my practice is really about, I “Namu;“ i.e., go for refuge in various ways.</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">The three forms of invoking the Sacred Title that I find most satisfying are in Sanskrit, Sino-Japanese and a hybrid version of the invocation: <em>Námmah Sád-Dharma Púnda-Ríka Sútra </em>(8 beats); <em>Namu Myoho Renge Kyo </em>(6 beats); and <em>Namu Damma Flower Sutra </em>(8 beats).</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">In the last version, I particularly like the idea of bringing together Sino-Japanese, Pali, English and Sanskrit. There’s a certain balance to it that I find comfortable. I just won’t let myself get too comfortable. My practice is not about getting into a rut, believing that the Odaimoku unleashes any magical powers, or that the Lotus Sutra; i.e., the Buddha-Dharma can be defined in its totality or trapped in any ceremony, book or set of sounds. Which, ultimately, is more important, the sounds one produces, or the reason one is producing those sounds?</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">We create our karma through our intentions, words and actions. If the intention is to “go for refuge to” the Lotus Sutra and the “words” happen to be in a comprehensible language, does that then make that action a valid and efficacious form of “going for refuge?”</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">The tome we call <em>The Wonderful Dharma of the Lotus Flower Teaching </em>is the best literary expression that Dharma practitioners have yet devised to bring clarity and understanding to the Buddha-Dharma, but I will not forget that, as inspiring as it is, it is still the “finger pointing at the moon” of the Buddha-Dharma itself.</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">I welcome others’ comments.</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">Gassho,</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">© Stephen Schwichow<br /><br /></span></div>Stechjohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02907059387528435058noreply@blogger.com0