A Musing Journey

An Email to the Israeli Consul General, San Francisco

2010-06-03T09:42:00.001-07:00

Dear Akiva Tor, Consul General,

In the most recent incident of violence in international waters perpetrated by Israeli comandos, among the 9 killed was a United States citizen; a teenager, a high school student. He was shot four times in the head and once in the chest. I ask you, would even one of the bullets have been sufficient to end his life?

I have a dear friend here in the Embarcadero who owns a deli. He happens to be a of Palestinian origin and his family home in East Jerusalem has just been posted with an eviction notice - no recourse - move out or die under bulldozers.

Over the years I have been steadfast in my opinion that Israel has a right to its own security and statehood, but at the same time, I believe that the Palestinians do as well. I support security for Israel and statehood for Palestine.

I am a person who has suffered discrimination and violence against my person at the hand of religious bigots. The experience did not turn me into a bigot against Christians because my attackers identified themselves as acting on behalf of their Christian God.

Thus, I am always perplexed when I see the same kind of violent behavior being perpetrated by the very people who suffered such grievous violence before and during the Second World War. How do a people, once victims, become victimizers? What I see from your government is that the one-time victims have forgotten and now have become like the very people who victimized the Jews in the past.

The actions of your government over the past years have convinced me that so long as the rightist conservatives and fundamentalists hold power in your country there will be nothing but a continuing downward spiral into chaos.

Shame, shame, shame. You have lost whatever support you once had from me. And you won't get it back till I see some honest efforts on the part of your government toward peace.

Stephen Schwichow

210 Upper Terrace Apt 3

S.F. CA 94117

Five Butterflies Fluttered Bye

2009-03-31T13:01:00.000-07:00

I remember as a child the awesome sight of millions of Monarch butterflies migrating up the east coast in the Spring.

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.

A child's dreaming fantasy.

A few moments ago, while standing in my kitchen, five small, orange butterflies fluttered by my window on some unknown journey, chasing eacgh other in a springtime procession.

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.

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.

The Boycott Continues to Grow

2008-11-15T18:13:00.000-08:00

A-1 Self Storage Hates Gays

A-1 Self Storage Owner Gave $693,000 to Yes on Prop 8!
Terry Caster Family is California’s 2nd Biggest Contributor

San Diego businessman Terry Caster, who owns A-1 Self Storage Company was California’s 2nd biggest individual contributor to the Yes on 8 campaign. Caster and his family gave nearly $700,000 to Yes on 8, including $400,000 just five days before the election.

"This guy must really not like same-sex marriage," said Fred Karger, Founder of Californians Against Hate in his published blog in The Huffington Post. "Mr. Caster and many of his eight sons and daughters and their spouses have given a combined total of $693,000 to the Yes on 8 campaign between January and November 4, 2008."

Caster told the San Diego Union-Tribune in May that marriage equality threatens society. "Without solid marriage, you are going to have a sick society," he said. Caster encouraged his friend Doug Manchester, owner of the Manchester Grand Hyatt Hotel, to give $125,000 to the campaign, the newspaper reported.

The Mormon church was the single largest monetary contributor to the "vote yes on proposition 8" campaign.

The Mormon church gets its money from church-members and its business holdings.The following is a list of organizations that are either owned by the church outright; owned, founded or run by Mormons in executive positions (a portion of whose salary is tithed to the church); or in which the church owns a large percentage of stock.

STOP GIVING THESE COMPANIES YOUR MONEY!

1-80O-Contacts
AES corp.
Affiliated computer services
AgReserves lnc. (agriculture)
American Express
Apx Alarm
Avista corp.
Azul Airlines
Bain Capital
Black and Decker
Bonneville comm.
Cadence Design
Central Pacific Bank
Cornerstone Realty Income Trust Inc.
Corvis
Cygnus Inc.
Dell Computer
Deloitte Touche
Diebold
Dionex
Downey Savings and Loan
EarthShell
Franklin Covey
Headwaters Inc.
Hillenbrand Industries
Hollywood Entertainment(Hollywood video)
Host Marriott (Marriott hotels and resorts)
Huntsman Chemical
JP Realty
K-BIG FM radio Los Angeles
Key Corp.
Knight Transportation
Kroger foods (Ralph's and Albertsons)
K-Swiss lnc.
La Quinta Properties (t-a Quinta hotels)
Latham and Watkins
lomega
Merit Medical Systems
Micrel Semiconductor
Micro General
Microsemi Corp.
Monaco Coach
Myriad Genetics
Novell
NPS Pharmaceuticals
NuSkin
Oakley
Oil States International
Phelps Dodge Corp.
Priceline.com
Ryder Systems (Ryder trucks)
Sky West Airlines
Spectra
Sunrider Int'l.
Swift Transportation
Telefonica Brasil
Tropical Sportswear
Williams Companies Inc.
Zions Securities Corp

For further information including additional companies, names, titles and contact information:

www.mormonstockindex.com
www.famousmormons.net
www.mormon.org/mormon/mormon410.html

Boycott Leatherby's Ice Cream in Sacramento

2008-11-13T20:20:00.000-08:00

They gave BIG TIME in support of Proposition 8. Their HATE ruins the taste of their ice cream.

Cinemark CEO gave $9,999 to anti-gay Prop 8 bigots

2008-11-13T12:22:00.000-08:00

Here is a list of their theaters in the San Francisco Bay Area:

Here's how to find a Cinemark Theater near you: http://www.cinemark.com/

Corte Madera
- Century Cinema (41 Tamal Vista Blvd.)

Daly City
- Century 20 Daly City (1901 Junipero Serra Blvd.)

Hayward
- Century Theatres at Hayward (1069 B Street)

Larkspur
- Century Larkspur (500 Larkspur Landing Cr.)

Mill Valley
- CinéArts Sequoia (25 Throckmorton Ave.)

Richmond
- Century Hilltop 16 (3200 Klose Way)

San Bruno
- Century at Tanforan (The Shops at Tanforan)

San Francisco
- CinéArts at the Empire (85 West Portal Ave.)
- Century 9 San Francisco Centre (835 Market St.)

San Leandro
- Century 16 Bayfair Mall (15555 East 14th Street)

San Mateo
- Century 12 San Mateo (320 East 2nd Avenue)

San Rafael
- Century Northgate (7000 Northgate Drive)
- Century Regency (280 Smith Ranch Road)

Sausalito
- CinéArts Marin (101 Caledonia)

VENT DU JOUR

2008-09-11T13:38:00.000-07:00

Half Empty / Half Full

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.

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.

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 1948? 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?

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.”

In his *"Letter from a Birmingham Jail," 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 … [those] 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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.”

This time, my friends, we LGBT citizens were the targets of the fear mongers.

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.”

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: “Zen San, Go Ichi.” “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.

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.

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.

I have faith that there will be justice, and that, in the words of the Prophet Amos, “justice will roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”

In the words of our next President: “Yes We Can!”

*http://www.stanford.edu/group/King/frequentdocs/birmingham.pdf

Here is the listing of businesses which supported Prop 8,

now being boycotted.
ACMS,
Ag West Distributing Co. Inc,
American Build & Design Inc.,
Automated Environments,
Bambrick & Associates,
Be Ready, Inc.,
Best Tire and Automotive,
Mary J. Buzzell,
M.J.B. Floral Services,
Ron Carter- Carter Construction Company,
CC Layne & Sons Inc.,
Duncan Chamberlin-Duncan's Auto Sales,
Community West Mortgage,
Cornerstone Custom Construction,
CRS, Inc.,
Culp Diversified Properties,
Curry Copy Center of Hemet,
Eldon Cyrus- Cyrus Tree Service,
John DeCesare, President - inetMatrix,
Joyce Edge, Founder/President – Survivors of Assault Recovery,
EL VOCERO MAGAZINE,
Esthetique Dental Center
Everything4Mom.com
Jason & Andrea Ewell – Jason’s Glass Tint, San Clemente
Fahillion Technology Consultants
GFBB Benefits and Insurance
Richard A. & Susan J. Gregg,
SueGreggCookbooks, Riverside
Guy Strohmeiers Auto Center
Harp4AllOccasions
Hartman Construction of Home Services
Dr. Jay W. Henderson, President - The Law Offices of Jay W. Henderson, Ltd.
hikearide.com
Inspired Stylus Writing and Copyediting
GLen Inverso- MJ Baxter Drilling Company
JCC Electric, Inc.
R. Christian Jesperson- Chiropractic Family Health Center
Justin A. March Associates, Inc
Richard Kerr- Kerr Real Estate Advisors
George M. Knapp, Investment Advisor: Knapp Financial
Land Resource Investments
Lane Associates, Inc.
Laurel River Designs
Leon's Place Independent Living
Lewis Appliance Repair and Installation
Lodi Christian Radio KSTG 101.5 LP FM
Logos Tax Service
David W. & Alice G. Magnusson: Haws, Record & Magnusson, Attorneys at Law
Vlade Mamayev, CEO – Buildex Inc.
Nora O. Marin - Little Angel's Daycare, Rancho Cordova
Wayne M. Martin – Wayne Martin Associates, Oxnard
Anchi Miller – ATM International, Kirkland WA
Todd Mowrey-Fit-To-Be-Tyed
Fabricio Mundo- LinearB Enterprises
Netdirex
Don Nordgren, Owner - Pacific Coast Auto Body, Paint & Frame, San Diego
Dr. Phillip Ortiz, President/Owner - Direct to You Mobile Dentistry, Murrieta
Michael A. Padgett – Law Office, Fontana
RCS Door Service/ Rodney Press.
Peter M. Reimer - Peter Reimer Farms, Shafter
Reimer's Wholesale Nursery
Resources For Continuing Education, Inc.
RF Sweet & Associates Real Estate
Gerry Rickert – Cottonwood Quilting, Silverado
George Rickert – Rickert Cabinetry, Silverado
Anthony Rios- First Security Home Loans
Denise M. Roland – Reliable Referrals LLC, La Crosse WI
RPM Events, Inc.
Joel Sanders – Sanders Heavy Towing, Williams
Ross L. Sardo – RLS Inspections, Inc. Ventura
Janice Schindler, President - Schindler & Schindler Inc. Fountain Valley
Scott McDonald & Assoc.
SCVHHS
Sheppard & Associates Insurance Agency
Angela Sisneroz, MEDELEC
Patricia Smith – Classic Clean, Inc. Los Gatos
Cynthia L. Stevens - Cynthia’s Cleaning Service
Douglas Stevenson-Quietcool, inc.
Stubblefield Family Chiropractic
Scott Suchomel-Sibling Systems
Superior Notary, LLC
Tai Pan Trading
Teague Construction
The Fire & Cop Shop
The Law Office of H. Craig Miller
The Wellness Advantage
Tri-Valley Propac, Inc.
Tropical Sands Vacations
William U. Valencia, Tax Consultant: Valencia Tax Service
Vision
Dr. David M. Walden – MOTE Inc., San Diego
Keith Walker, Writer-Publisher: Golden Door Press
Warren Photography, Victorville
Robert R. Weedon LCSW, Coherent Counseling Services
West Coast Commercial Mortgage, Inc.
White Diamond Jewelers
Trina Williams, NAACP
WishIHadThat.com
Yucataan Hammocks
Zane Schaeffer Construction

Steven Johnson Dental Group Santa Barbara
Dr. Kent Ashcraft Family Eye Los Angeles
Hiojosa & Wallet Law Offices Los Angeles
Antioch Convalescent Hosp Antioch ----do their patients know??
Lawrence Research Santa Ana
Strongtower Financial Inc Freso
Ines Crosby/Nomlaki India Tribe Orland CA--did the ttribe vote on this?
David Walton Esq. San Diego
Micheal Dushane/Jan Corp Chino Hills
Darcel Hulse/Sempra LNG San Diego
Judy Salmon Teacher Palo Alto
Darren Henderson/Meril Lynch New York
Michael Calta Arroyo Grande
Earl Carter Esq Rialto
Derik Brian Miramar Health Owner Laguna Beach
Lone Tree Convalesccent Hosp Antioch...did the patients know?
Jeffery Davidson/Above the Gate Dentistry El Dorado Hills
Dee Edgeworth & Assoc Law Apple Valley
Equity Property Management Reno NV
Frank D Penny Law Office Roseville
M & D Development LLC Corona
Senator Dennis Hollingsworth...let him know!!
George Elledge/Occidental Petroleum Los Angeles
Rita Davis/Southland Envelope Lakeside
Aaron Spiers/AERA Energy Bakersfield
Christine Francom/Teacher Conejo Schools Thousand Oaks
Douglas A MacDonald Law Office Sacramento
Douglas Youngberg Investments Washinton UT
Blaine Ray Workshops Arroyo Grande
Douglas Barton/Deloitte & Touche Walnut Creek
Debora Fenn/Fenn Termite & Pets Buena Park
Stuart Watt/Amgen Biotech Thousand Oaks
Alison Wintzel Investigations El Dorado
Palmdale Veterinary Hospital..
US Telephone Rentals Las Vegas
Douglas Eaton Law Office Costa Mesa
Robert W Mower Dental Valencia
Douglas Brown/KVK Management El Segundo
Jennifer Himes/Western Water Works Chino Hills
Richard Clements Attorney Lincoln NE
Bart Bennett/Rand Corporations Bakersfield
Daniel Faulk/Crawford Pimentel & Co San Jose
James Gallagher/American Utility Services Chino HIlls
George Brimhall/Akshun & Aksun Polson, MT
ETS & Associates Gilroy
Diane E Knudson/Gold Mountain Media Owner Encino

Radio Stations owned by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints:
http://www.bonneville.com/?nid=3

And well known Science Fiction writer Orson Scott Cardhttp://www.nauvoo.com/library/card-hypocrites.html
I know whose advertisers will lose my support.

My Tax Dollars?!?!?

I have just learned that the banks will be using a significant portion of the bailout money, supplied by my taxes, to pay dividends to their shareholders. How could this be possible? How could anyone, or at least any hard-working Democrat, enable this travesty?!?!

I urge you all contact your Senators and Representatives as soon as possible. Congress needs to take immediate and vigorous action to add punitive controls to the money being handed out. To see my hard-earned tax money diverted from teachers, roads, health care, veterans' benefits and other legitimate ends so that CEOs and shareholders can continue to line their pockets is infuriating. Congress is writing these checks. It is well-justified in having a say in how that money is spent.

I have just written to my Senators and Representative asking them to inform me what specific steps they will take to ensure that this country's wealth is not going to be enriching these robber barons, whose only interest continues to be their short-term gain at the expense of us "little guys" who end up footing the bill for their greediness.

Sarah, Who?

Why would I want to see a fundamentalist Christian become the next vice-president of the United States when she …

1) believes that (Christian) creationism should be taught in schools
2) believes the earth is 5,000 years old
3) believes she gets messages from God and in the concepts of spiritual and cultural warfare
4) supported the 1998 Alaska constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage equality and, in her less than two years as Governor, even expressed the extreme position of supporting stripping away domestic partner benefits for state workers
5) opposes expanding hate crime laws to include LGBT victims - (and since I'm the victim of three Christian kids who went out to do their "God's will" by killing queers and am now partially deaf in one ear - I find this particularly disturbing).
6) is against abortion even in the case of rape and incest
7) supports censorship of libraries removing books that do not meet her Christian fundamentalist standards
8) says that global warming isn't in any way caused by human activities when the world's leading scientists say that it is
9) is opposed to stem cell research which will save millions of lives
10) supports abstinence only being taught in schools and is against birth control
11) recently said that the war in Iraq is “God’s task.”
12) is opposed to adding polar bears to the endangered species list

And while Sarah Palin denigrates “community activists” (of which I am one), perhaps someone could remind her that the teacher Jesus was a Community Activist and Pontius Pilot was a Governor.

Ms. Pain has a much experience to be vice-president as my dentist’s assistant has to perform open-heart surgery. The fact that she’s a woman has nothing to do with it.

I once thought John McCain to be an honorable man, but after seeing his vice-presidential choice combined with his pandering to the far right, I’ve lost respect for him and see no intrinsic difference between what he would be as President and the disaster that George W. Bush has proved to be over the past 8 years.

On a lighter note: What’s the difference between Sarah Palin and Dick Cheney? - Lipstick

BOYCOTT the 2008 OLYMPICS

China should pay a price for its culpability in the massacre of innocents in Burma.

So far all I've seen from China is poisoned toothpaste and lead-tainted toys for children.

No - I take that back - I've also seen a complete lack of concern or interest on the part of the Chinese government for the brutality of their Burmese military lackeys.

If China wants to be treated as a respected member of the Community of Nations, it will need to start earning that respect.

It can start by refraining from blocking any attempt by the United Nations (thus far a paper tiger) to stop the mass murder of innocent civilians and monastics by the Burmese military usurpers.

FREE BURMA

****************

I've had an e-greetings account for around 10 years. I've always loved their cards - especially the LGBT offerings. There were literally 100's of funny, sassy and sexy cards for all occasions: "For Him" and "For Her."

I recently got an email letting me know the exciting news! E-Greetings was becoming a free service and my paid account was being transferred to AmericanGreetings.com.

Golly! How exciting! Guess what? No more LGBT cards on E-greetings.

So I sent them an email asking what was going on. (Previously, I could actually call and talk to someone.) Their response was a link to a SurveyMonkey page, to better serve me.

Unfortunately, for the past month the page has been under "maintenance." And when I went on-line to send a friend a card from AmericanGreetings.com, I discovered that there is no separately designated "Gay & Lesbian" section on their site.

I'm disappointed to report that, while I did find 3 rather boring cards under "Birthday," I found 15 cards to choose from should I want to send a Birthday card to one of my friends' pets.

So, what now? Who owns AmericanGreetings.com and what don't they like about their LGBT customers? Apparently we're less important than peoples' pets. Lucky for them that animals can't cancel subscriptions - too bad for them that people can.

I cancelled - and now I'll look for a greeting card on-line service that will value me AND my business.

****************

"Jewish leaders and community groups criticised Pope Benedict XVI strongly yesterday after the head of the Roman Catholic Church formally removed restrictions on celebrating an old form of the Latin mass which includes prayers calling for the Jews to 'be delivered from their darkness' and converted to Catholicism." Jason Burke in Paris - Sunday July 8, 2007 The Observer

Hmmmm ... the Pope's German, he was in the Hitler Youth and he's given permission to perform the Latin Tridentine mass? And folks are surprised because ..... ?

***********************

I remember how outraged I was when President Ford pardoned Richard Nixon and I know how outraged (and resigned) I am to the fact that W has pardoned his buddy Scooter (can that really be a name?).

Ultimately, I came to understand Ford's reasoning but I will never understand Bush's. No - I take that back - I do understand. Bush, no doubt, realizes that Scooter has lots of information about the so-called inner workings of the administration. Facing 30 months in prison might loosen his tongue. Poor Scooter, it's said, will remain a felon. - So what! His rich friends have raised millions for him and I suspect he will never want for anything; unlike so many who want for everything, thanks to the disaster the current administration has shown itself to be.

**************************

Now that it's been confirmed that the government, which used to be "of" me, "by" me, and "for" me, is now in the business of lying, torturing and spying on me and my fellow citizens, maybe it's time to drive the phone spies a little nuts.

I wonder what would happen if we all began throwing words such as, "Osama," Al-Qaeda" or "Ahmadinejad" randomly into our daily telephone conversations?

The perverse imp in me thinks this would be annoying to Bush and his cronies.

**********************

The New York Times says: “Lawmakers are clashing over issues such as whether to ban gifts and corporate travel, and whether ethics investigations should be conducted by outside watchdogs or members of Congress.”

I wonder which party still wants gifts?

It’s a no-brainer.

NO GIFTS!

No gifts, no dinners, no free rides or vacations. And no foxes guarding the henhouse.

Let an independent agency do it.

UNITARIAN UNIVERSALISM

2005-12-01T15:26:00.000-08:00

Forgiveness & Reconciliation

I'm going through a difficult time being in my current UU congregation.

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.

(FYI - We're now in search mode for a new minister.)

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 Seven Principles as she interpreted them. And she could not continue as our minister under those circumstances.

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.

Thus, the last few months of this person's 10-year ministry at our church was marred by controversy and ill feelings.

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.

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.

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!

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!

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!!!

My question to the group during our "healing" meeting was this:

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?

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.

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.

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.

To those of you who end up reading this, please feel free to comment and / or offer recommendations.

Thanks in advance,

Bearing With-ness

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

* Zulu, "Place of Joy"

** Zulu, "Gathering Together"

uNkulunkulu makawubusise uMzansi Afrika

REFLECTIONS OF A UU WORSHIP ASSOCIATE

2005-12-01T15:05:00.000-08:00

Love is the spirit of this church

And Service is its prayer

Since we’ve just finished saying that together, my question is: How is “service” the prayer of this church?

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.
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.”

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.

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.

I end every meditation practice period with the Bodhisattva Vow, one made by Buddhists all over the world:

Sentient beings are innumerable
I vow to save them all

My defilements are inexhaustible
I vow to quench them all

The Buddha’s teachings are immeasurable
I vow to learn them all

The Way of the Buddha is unexcelled
I vow to attain the path sublime

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

This is what my meditation has taught me. Perhaps this can be our prayer.
And remember:

Love is the spirit of the church
And Service …

Blessed be, Amen and Namaste …

Half Empty / Half Full

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.”

In his **Letter from a Birmingham Jail, 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 … [those]* 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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.”

This time, my friends, we LGBT citizens were the targets of the fear mongers.

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.”

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: “Zen San, Go Ichi.” “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.

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.

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.

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.”

In the words of our next President: “Yes We Can!”

How Prayer Made Me an Atheist
(Expanded Reflection)

Did you know that the word “pray” can be traced back to the Sanskrit: prasna meaning “to question?”

Did you know that the word “precarious” comes from the Vulgate Latin meaning “obtained by prayer?”

When I asked Google, “What is Prayer?” It yielded the following definitions:

Princeton University:

Reverent petition to a deity; the act of communicating with a deity (especially as a petition or in adoration or contrition or thanksgiving);

http://www.religioustolerance.org/:

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.

Glossary of the Gov’t of Australia:

A request at the end of a petition, usually that a certain course of action be taken or not taken.

Truth4Life.tripod.com:

Prayer is talking with God. Click here to learn more.

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

Spirituality Con Carné

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.
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 con carné,” this long-time vegetarian couldn’t resist.
Really, Gordon … con carné? With flesh? I would have gone with “Spirituality con Chutzpah” or even “Spirituality con okra”, but “with meat”?!?!?!

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.

I began suffering from “SPS” that’s Serious Person Syndrome 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, serious time alone, reading and trying to figure out the “Why Me” of it all.
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. Seriously folks, is there any wonder why I’m a vegetarian?

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.

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 serious conversation was about my brother and I being raised Presbyterian instead of Catholic.

Again, my SPS (Serious Person Syndrome) 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?

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 seriously sorry for myself.

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!

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.

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, serious determination.

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 seriously. Don’t forget, I was severely suffering from SPS (Serious Person Syndrome).
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.
My friends, I actually do stop to smell the roses, and the jasmine and the lilies and, especially, the honeysuckle.

My problem with SPS (Serious Person Syndrome) 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.

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 SPS (Serious Person Syndrome), 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: “If I can’t dance, it’s not my revolution!”

My friends please take out your bibles. Our New Testament reading for today is from the Gospel of Luke 18:15-17, “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.’”

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 real elephant.

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.

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.

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!

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!

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 SPS (Serious Person Syndrome), I must also leave you all with a serious question: “What, in heaven’s name, is Rhubarb all about?”

Hope Is Fleeting

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.

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:

Non-self – reflects our Interconnected Web of Life, of which we are all a part; Nirvana – 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, Impermanence – which is the recognition of the fleeting nature of everything.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 habit 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.

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.

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 do stop to smell the roses, the honeysuckle and the jasmine.

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.

I’ve often said: If I am destined to have a second childhood, I’ll decide when, where and how!

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.

And I thank you all for that.

Blessed be …

Wishin’ & Hopin’

I wonder, how many folks here remember the name Stephanie McIntosh? While you may not recognize her name, you will probably recognize her lyrics:

Wishing and hoping and thinking and praying
Planning, and dreaming, each night, of his charms.
That won’t get you into his arms …. Ah Ooooo

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 Chumbawamba.

I get knocked down, but I get up again

You’re never gonna keep me down.

I get knocked down, but I get up again

You’re never gonna keep me down.

And all the people say: AMEN

Beyond Tepid Tolerance

Let me ask for a show of hands. How many people here like okra?

Now, just to clarify, I’m talking about the vegetable – oKra, not the TV celebrity, Oprah.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Let’s move up the continuum to Tolerance, Acceptance and, to what I see as the ideal for society, Love and Compassionate Action.

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.

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?

And why is our denomination suddenly speaking out for the passage of the Employment Non-Discrimination Act with transgender inclusion and protection?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

Creating Meaning

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.

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.

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.

Perhaps we might consider substituting the word “mundane” for the ubiquitous “blah.” One would at least sound intelligent in one’s negativity.

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.

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.”

The first verse and chorus of Mac Davis’ song, “Stop And Smell The Roses,” speaks to another approach to the mundane:

Hey Mister

Where you going in such a hurry

Don't you think it's time you realized

There's a whole lot more to life than work and worry

The sweetest things in life are free

And there right before your eyes

You got to Stop and Smell the roses

You've got to count your many blessings everyday

You're gonna find your way to heaven is a rough and rocky road

If you don't Stop and Smell the roses along the way

The Zen Buddhist practice of “mindfulness” is, I suppose, another way to find “meaning in the mundane.”

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.

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.

Were someone to follow me, they would see this little ceremony of mine every morning.

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:

When you sit, just sit.
When you eat, just eat.
When you kill, just kill.

Is it any wonder that Zen practice became the school of choice among the Samurai?

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?

I’d rather pose the question as: How does one create meaning in the mundane?

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.

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.

© Stephen Schwichow

What is Prayer?

The general consensus on the Internet is summed up by Truth4Life.tripod.com: “Prayer is talking with God. Click here to learn more.”

Do I pray? No! 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 “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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Did you know that the word “precarious” comes from the Vulgate Latin meaning “obtained by prayer?”

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.

Bell
(SILENCE)
Bell

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

What I Love about America – July 4, 2004

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.

I love living in a potato washer! Now, hold that thought.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

This is what I love about America. So, for today at least, you can just call me “Spud.”

© Stephen Schwichow

War

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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:

The Treasure of the Timeless & Immanent Buddha-nature 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.

The Treasure of the Timeless & Immanent Dharma, for me is expressed through justice, equity, and compassion in human relations, thus facilitating a free and responsible search for truth and meaning.

And
The Treasure of the Timeless & Immanent Sangha (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.

In the Dhammapada, stanza 165, the Buddha is quoted as saying:

By ourselves is evil done.

By ourselves we pain endure.

By ourselves we cease from wrong and

By ourselves become then pure.

Tennebrae Service - April 9, 2004

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

Addendum

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.

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.

So may it be!

© Stephen Schwichow

World AIDS Day - December 1, 2003
Service at the First UU Society of San Francisco

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.

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.

Imagine taking a stroll along the north side of Golden GatePark on a sunny Saturday morning.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

Is there hope in all this? Yes, I believe there is. I can't live without believing there's hope.

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:"

"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."

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."

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.

[What followed was the story of Cynthia Mahlangu]

May the Spirit of Spirits Bless South Africa.

© Stephen Schwichow

An Unforgettable Visit

Cynthia Mahlangu - Rest in Peace

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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!

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.

We were than 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

(In Memory of Cynthia Mahlangu - 1994-2005)

© Stephen Schwichow

Forgiveness Meditation

“Breathe in the Life” of all those who share this space with you … then “Breathe out Forgiveness” …

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

May all beings have forgiveness in their hearts!

(adaptation)

PROSE

2005-12-01T15:00:00.000-08:00

Meraak the Tiefling and his Return to Fallcrest

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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).

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

Would they remember him? Would they accept him? The only way to find out was to “step on to the road.”

The Story of Aramek & His Familiar Snoop

(Neutral Good: believing that Law and Chaos may both be used to promote Good)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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:

Without a doubt, my willow tree
Will send a friend to talk with me.

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.

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.

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.

“Hey, just what do you thing you’re doing? Stop snooping!” he giggled.

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.

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.

He had found a friend or maybe a friend had found him.

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:

Yoy! You, spider, get away from me!
Get back up in the willow tree!

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?”

And so began Aramek’s life in Sharn, under the tutelage of one of the best known and respected Sorcerer-Herbalists in southern Breland.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Aramek, true to the Elvin blood in his veins, is ready for an adventure. What will it be?

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.

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.

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!

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?

Let me wait
And I’ll be blest
To find some friends
And have a quest!

* http://www.whitedragon.org.uk/articles/willow.htm

Snoop

Likes: 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!

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.

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!

Dislikes: 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.

Goals: 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.

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!

© Stephen Schwichow

POLITICS

2005-12-01T14:42:00.000-08:00

Open Letter to Steve Westly

Dear Mr. Westly,

You started out so well.

I didn't know much about you, other the fact that you are a Democrat and independently wealthy. That independent part appealed to me.

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."

Your early ads on TV were positive and told me about your capabilities. Positive and upbeat, I liked what I was hearing.

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."

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.

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.

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!

I'm tired of hearing about "what's wrong with the other guy."

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."

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.

Sorry, Mr. Westly, but the only positive thing I'm finding in your campaign now is your first name.

E-Letter to Arnold re: AB00849

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.

Open Letter to Senator Boxer & Congresswoman Pelosi
September 6, 2005

Dear Senator Boxer and Congresswoman Pelosi,

Thank you for your consistent, strong and vocal leadership for all Californians.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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!

In hope of a brighter future,

© Stephen Schwichow

My Early Assessment of the Election

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I’m not depressed by nature, but I’m really depressed this morning.

I better stop. I'm starting to rummage around for a razor blade ;-)

© Stephen Schwichow

Hypocrite Exposed

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

© Stephen Schwichow

2004 Republican National Convention

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.

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.

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.

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?

When I ask myself the question: “Am I better off today than I was four years ago?“ My answer is a resounding “NO!”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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?

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.”

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

© Stephen Schwichow

First They Came for the Communists

"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)

**********************************************************************************

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

In 1990 Armistead Maupin was quoted in Australia's "Outrage:"

"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."

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.
http://www.jobelaw.com/2/sexual.htm

© Stephen Schwichow

An Open Letter to Al-Jazeera.net

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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?

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.

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.

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?

POETRY

2005-12-01T14:32:00.000-08:00

ON SAMHAIN
(in haiku)

Thinner grows the Veil
‘Twixt the worlds of Life and Death,
Born and Gone we hail!

The Conch shells call us;
Widdershins the Children run,
Samhain upon us.

Weaver, Weaver spin,
Old and New, as Threads converge,
With our Web begin!

Roots in Earth we plant,
Energy begins to flow -
To the Stars, we chant.

Our Mother the Earth,
Fire, Air, and the Waters too;
Lead us to Rebirth.

Our Ancestors Bones
Form a Ladder to our Hopes.
Come, climb to your Home.

Laughing and Prancing,
Eye to Eye and Heart to Heart,
In Spirals Dancing!

The Directions closed,
Sleep the Dead, Save the Living.
Yes! The Goddess knows.

The Veil grows Unclear
‘Twixt the worlds of Life and Death,
Joyous Renew Year!

On Brigit’s Day

Deep in winter’s tomb
The seed of life is planted
flames stir in the womb

Spa stirs in the fire
Mother’s strength prepares the way
Imbolic inspires

On this Oimelc morn
Gaia’s ilk informs us all
Let the lamb be born!

Brigit, Sisters Three
Candles burn from dusk to dawn
thus to honor thee.

Queen of Kildare’s fame.
Ye midwives, smiths and poets,
Bless her healing name!

Foolish priests of night,
Fearfully you hid her soul
We reclaim her light!

Always abiding.
Brigit’s child steps out again,
No more in hiding.

The Abyss

Silent stars above
contemplate the mystery,
I'm falling in love.

No pain is more sweet,
any joy harder to bear,
duality meets.

I love you, I cry.
I long for the little death,
my heart yearns to die.

Love

With his life like wine,
I will dare to touch his cheek
And change fore'er mine.

Hold my heart's power
In the secret of his soul's
unfolding flower.

First light of the morn'
his smile, a sun arisen,
Makes my soul new born.

Phantom

Never seen straight on.
Always just a tiny glimpse;
A quick look, then gone.

Like a marshmallow
Crisping over the camp fire
Hard hearted, hollow.

To be the boss-man
Don’t sell off the other self
Don’t lose the love, man.

Always the man child
Wanting love and approval;
Finding you’re reviled.

Be true to ideals
Even when there’s no glory
True joy then reveals.

Who is he/me?

I once saw a man,
I do not know his name,
He asked me to dance.
He asked me was I lame?

I didn’t say a thing to him,
I didn’t give my name.....
I didn’t limp, I didn’t pimp...
I didn’t feel my shame.

How should I dance?
How should I sing?
How should I find my fame?

I cannot dance,
I cannot sing....
I cannot give my name.

FOR SHAME!

MY FRIEND - H A I K U

"FRIEND," - IMANI SANG,
"YOU GOT TO HOLD ON, BE STRONG,
AND GET WITH THE PLAN."

IF ONLY I KNEW
FIVE SHORT YEARS WOULD BE SO FEW
TO LET HER LIGHT IN

"I'M THE KING OF CUPS."
"NO, NO, YOU'RE THE KING OF SWORDS,
WIELDING THE LOTUS."

FROM THE TIMELESS PAST,
TILL INFINITY AGAIN-
I'LL CALL YOU, MY FRIEND.

WITH LOVE

To Hershey With Love

This Kiss for my Friend
Is a circle unbroken,
A hug without end.

ON POETRY

I’ve tried my best to work a rhyme
as you can see, it’s eluding me.
And thus doth fugit tempus mine,
Perhaps I’ll verse in pantomime.

I thought I’d found some words that would
if given time, create that rhyme.
Let all those rules about what should
be put in verse be understood.

Was it four times six or six times four?
My memory, it flees from me.
As lines per verse it’s either/or
but rhymes per line it’s neither/nor.

A poem’s form can be predicted
by poetic license, which oft suffices.
Yet my mind is feeling quite interdicted
as if blood to my brain is being restricted.

I guess I really just can’t write.
My mind seems clear, the right word so near.
What I mean to say is there’s no requite
since my muse has left, she’s taken flight.

I throw in the towel on this poetry.
I’m starting to think, “God, my meter doth stink.”
Thus I must beg for your sympathy
since “Stephen the Poet” I’ll never be.

Emotion

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.

© Stephen Schwichow

DECADENCE IN HAIKU

Decadence for me
If taken to an extreme
Is debauchery.

Coffee topped with cream,
Whipped into a high frenzy -
Gustatory dream!

Like Gulap Jamin,
Tender balls in honey soaked -
A taste treat comin’.

In a cherry grove
While Blossoms burst in splendor -
The eye’s treasure trove.

My heart just quivers
Waking up to Benedict
My love delivers.

Fromage, vin, frottage,
And a sensuous massage
A dream Bon Voyage.

This poet repents
As the reader groans from pain -
Not from decadence.

Debauchery seems
Not of my realty -
Just stuff of my dreams

HUMOR

2005-12-01T14:27:00.000-08:00

Christmas Humor ...

I Find Funny

Do you know what would have happened if there had been Three Wise Women instead of Three Wise Men?

* They would have asked directions;

* Arrived on time;

* Helped deliver the baby;

* Cleaned the stable;

* Made a casserole;

* Brought practical gifts and

* There would be “Peace On Earth.”

However, do you know what would have happened if there had been Three Gay Wise Men instead of Three Straight Men OR Women?

* 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;

* The would have arrived early;

* Helped deliver the baby AND dressed it up in a gorgeous butter-cream-colored 100% cotton throw;

* They would have cleaned the stable AND redecorated it in a "western" theme to match the animals;

* 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!

* Practical gifts? Sweetie, that babe would have deserved nothing less than the best goodies from the new Martha Stewart Biblical Living collection and

* As for “Peace on Earth,” … How can you possibly have THAT when the entire night just screams for a great drag number? ! ? ! ? ! ?

More Christmas Humor ...

I've Stumbled Across

"Can you feel what I feel?"
(or seasonal carols for the psychologically needy)

Schizophrenia - Do You Hear What I Hear?

Multiple Personality Disorder - We Three Queens Disoriented Are

Dementia - I Think I'll Be Home For Christmas

Narcissistic - Hark the Herald Angels Sing About Me

Manic - 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....

Paranoid - Santa Claus is Coming to Get Me

Borderline Personality Disorder - Thoughts of Roasting on an Open Fire

Personality Disorder - You Better Watch Out, I'm Gonna Cry, I'm GonnaPout, Maybe I'll tell You Why

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder - 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

GENERAL MUSINGS

2005-12-01T14:22:00.000-08:00

How Prayer Made Me an Atheist

(Expanded Reflection)

Did you know that the word “pray” can be traced back to the Sanskrit: prasna meaning “to question?”

Did you know that the word “precarious” comes from the Vulgate Latin meaning “obtained by prayer?”

When I asked Google, “What is Prayer?” It yielded the following definitions:

Princeton University:

Reverent petition to a deity; the act of communicating with a deity (especially as a petition or in adoration or contrition or thanksgiving);

http://www.religioustolerance.org/:

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.

Glossary of the Gov’t of Australia:

A request at the end of a petition, usually that a certain course of action be taken or not taken.

Truth4Life.tripod.com:

Prayer is talking with God. Click here to learn more.

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

Smorgy Steve’s

You have to start somewhere.

Life is hell for a Libra. Choices to make, directions to take. Where to start, what to start.

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.

And so it is with my life. What to do, where to go, what to choose?

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.

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.

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.

Things that I do remember clearly were all traumatic, in one way or another. I remember …

© Stephen Schwichow

ESPERANTO

2005-12-01T14:16:00.000-08:00

Meditado

Ĉio, kio ni estas rezultas de niaj pensoj:
Fondita sur niaj pensoj, konsistas el niaj pensoj.
Se iu parolas aŭ agas per puraj pensoj,
ĝojo sekvas tiun kiel neniam-forironta ombro. --Gautama Buddha, Dhammapada verse I

Mi jam antaŭe parolis pri la fundamentaj instruoj de la Budho; t.e.,
La Kvaropa Nobla Vero:

La Vero de Sufero: La vivo estas malkontentiga;
La Vero de la Kaŭzo de Sufero: Malkontentiĝon kaŭzas alkroĉiĝo; kaj
La Vero de Ĉesiĝo de Sufero: La vojo aŭ metodo ja ekzistas por memliberiĝo kaj tiu vojo estas
la Okera Nobla Vojo, t.e. Ĝusta Rigardado, Ĝusta Pensado, Ĝusta Parolado, Ĝusta Agado, Ĝusta Vivtenado, Ĝusta Strebado, Ĝusta Atentado, kaj Ĝusta Koncentrado

La Budho ankaŭ instuis alian fundamentan principon kiu estas Reciproka Subteno aŭ la Dek-du-era Ĉeno de Laŭkondiĉaj Estiĝoj; t.e., Ĉiu fenomeno konstante ŝanĝas, aperanta kaj malaperanta, kaj ĉiu ŝanĝo baziĝas sur establita regulo.

La 12 etapoj de tiu regulo estas:
Nescio kaŭzas
Formiĝon kiu kaŭzas
Konscion kiu kaŭzas
Korpon kaj Menson kiuj kaŭzas
La Ses Sensorganojn (vidadon, gustadon, aŭdadon, k.t.p.) kiuj kaŭzas
Kontakton kiu kaŭzas
Sentemon aŭ Emocion kiu kaŭzas
Avidon kiu kaŭzas
Alkroĉiĝon kiu kaŭzas
Estiĝon kiu kaŭzas
Naskiĝon kiu kaŭzas finfine
Maljuniĝon kaj Morton.

Budhisma meditado estas formo de mensa koncentriĝo, kiu gvidas al iluminiĝo kaj spirita libereco per la interrompado de iu ĉenero en la ciklo de tiu Dek-du-era Ĉeno. Kaj meditado staras centre en ĉiuj Budhismaj tradicioj, sed la specifa formo varias de skolo al skolo.

La ĉefaj formoj estas:

Ekkompreno-Meditado (Vipasŝana) – de la Suda Therevado-Skolo

La celo de tiu metodo estas profunde kompreni la Verojn de Nekonstanteco, Suferado, kaj Neegoo.

Por praktiki tiun formon oni devas fariĝi Atentema; t.e. oni devas pensi pri io kaj zorgeme observi ĝin por ke oni komprenu la tutaĵon de ĝi. Per la Atentado oni interrompas la Dek-du-eran Ĉenon je Kantakto.

La unua paŝo sur la vojo al Ekkompreno-Meditado estas lerni Atentemon. Kaj la plej oftaj uzataj formoj estas: Piediranta Atentemo, Sidanta Atentemo kaj la Atentemo de Ĉiutagaj Taskoj.

Dum Piediranta Meditado oni trovu belan, kvietan lokon kie oni povos piediri sen eksteraj distiraĵoj. La praktiko estas enfokcusigi la atenton pri la piedirado mem – pri via ekvilibro, la movado de la korpo, de la spirado, la movado kaj sentoj de la piedoj mem, k.t.p. Kiam ekstraĵoj leviĝas en la menso, nur rimarku – “ho, jen penso”, kaj tuj revenigu la atenton al la piedirado.

Same kun Sidanta Meditado: Kiam oni sidas en tiu meditado, oni ne nur baras eksterajn influojn por pli bone observi la propran spiradon sed oni observas ĉion pri la propra spirado kaj penas kompreni spiradon kaj ankaŭ lerni ion pri ĝi. Kiam pensoj leviĝas, nur rimarku kaj revenu al la spirado.

Dum la Meditado de Ĉiutagaj Taskoj, ĉu manĝado aŭ la purigado de la teleroj, la atento restu en la nuna momento, en la nuna agado. Fama japana bonzo iam diris: “Kiam mi manĝas, mi manĝas. Kiam mi dormas, mi dormas.”

Alia metodo estas:

Trankviliĝo-Meditado (Samatha) – La Ĉina Ĉaan-Skolo kaj la Japana Zen-Skolo

En tiu metodo la objekto de la meditado estas malpli grava ol la koncentriĝo mem. La celo estas trankviligi la menson kaj trejni ĝin kiel fariĝi profunde koncentrita.

Oni povas elekti aŭ eksteran fokuson – ekzemple Statuon de la Budho aŭ iun Mandalon, aŭ internan fokuson – ekzemple Amkompaton por Ĉiuj Estaĵoj, aŭ elekti tute neniun fokuson. Tamen, kiam pensoj interrompas la koncentriĝon, nur rimarku kaj ne alkroĉu ĝin kaj lasu ĝin trapasi kiel nuboj en la ĉielo.

Per tiu metodo oni interrompas la Dek-du-eran Ĉenon je Alkroĉiĝo.

Kaj la lasta metodo, pri kiu mi parolas estas:

Mantro-Meditado

En Budhismo oni trovas mantrojn en preskaŭ ĉiuj sokloj. Kaj tiu metodo estas la plej uzata metodo en Budhismo. Inter ĉiuj Budhanoj la plejmulto ĉantas.

En la Tibeta Vaĝrajano-Skolo oni ĉantas: Om Mani Padma Hum, dum en la Purlando-Skolo de Japanio oni ĉantas: Namu Amida Butsu kaj en la Japana Niĉireno-Skolo oni ĉantas: Namu Mjo Ho Ren Ge Kjo

La Sanskrita vorto Mantra signifas: Man: Menso kaj Tra: Protektilo. Ĝi estas sankta formulo ripetata dum mensa koncentriĝo kaj per tiu metodo oni povas interrompi la Dek-du-eran Ĉenon je Sentemo aŭ Emocio.

Tiu metodo estas la mia, kaj mi praktikas ĝin dum preskaŭ 38 jaroj. Do mi povas priparoli la metodon el mia propra vidpunkto.

Dum mi ĉantas la mantron, multegaj da pensoj leviĝas en mia menso. Une mia menso similas al simio, neniam ripozanta. Fakte, en Budhismo oni parolas pri la Simia Menso.

Tamen, post iom de tempo mia menso trankviliĝas kaj tiam mi povas enfokusigi miajn pensojn sur diversaj aferoj en mia vivo kiuj kaŭzas al mi maltrankviliĝon. Kaj mi povas fari tion kiel observanto anstataŭ partoprenanto kaj tiele pli klare kompreni tion, kion mi faru por ŝanĝi la problemon.

Mi esperas ke mia prezento donis al vi pli bonan komprenon pri Budhismaj meditadaj metodoj.

Pri Budaismo

Ĉar paroli pri Budaismo estas granda tasko mi devis decidi pri kio mi parolos.

Jen la fina instigo de la Budao:

“Faru lumon al vi mem. Apogu vin sur vi, ne sur aliulo. Faru mian darmon via lumo, gvidu vin per ĝi kaj ne lasu vin gvidi per iu alia instruo”.

Mi supozas ke, aparte en Kalifornio, oni konas eĉ iomete, la historion de la Budao kaj la bazajn instruojn. La Budaismo estas vivfilozofio ateista aŭ sendia. Kiam oni petis de li, ĉu estas Unua Kaŭzo, ĉu estas Dio? Li silentis, tiam diris: “Pri tio mi ne povas diri. Mi enkarniĝis por savi la homaron kaj liberigi ĉion el sufero per la siniluminiĝo.

Li estis ja princo, kiu eĉ en junaĝo, estis pensema knabo. Lia patrino mortis nur kelkajn tagojn post lia naskiĝo kaj sia fratino respondecis lian vivon en la palaco, kie li restis, protektata kantraŭ ĉiuj realoj de la socio.

Li mem decidis viziti ekster la palaco kaj alfrontis maljunulon, malsanulon, ĵus mortinton kaj asketon.

Li neniam antaŭe spertis tiajn al li ĝenigajn aferojn. Pro tio li decidis, tuj post la naskiĝo de sia unu-sola filo, Rahulo, forlasi la vivon de princo kaj iri en arbaron por praktiki asketismon por ke li eltrovu la kaŭzojn de “suferado”.

Mi nun devas klarigi ke la unuaj tradukantoj de la Sutroj, la sanktaj skribaĵoj de Budaismo, estis ofte Kristanaj misiistoj kiuj uzis la Kristanan pensmanieron kaj terminaron. Ili elektis la vorton “Sufero” por traduki la Sanskritan vorton “dukha”.

La vorto – dukha – vere signifas, inter alia: maltrankviliĝon, malkontentiĝon, suferadon, k.t.p. Tiel, oni povas priskribi kaj la perdon de domŝlosilo kaj la morton de infano kiel – dukha.

La bazaj instruoj, kiuj kongruas inter ĉiuj Budhanaj skoloj kaj tradicioj estas:

La Kvaropa Nobla Vero:

1) La Vero de Sufero: La vivo estas malkontentiga.
2) La Vero de la Kaŭzo de Sufero: Malkontentiĝon kaŭzas alkroĉiĝo.
3) La Vero de Ĉesiĝo de Sufero: La vojo aŭ metodo ja ekzistas por memliberiĝo.
4) La ĝusta vojo estas la Okera Nobla Vojo, t.e.
a. Prava Vidpunkto
b. Prava Penso
c. Prava Parolo
d. Prava Konduto
e. Prava Vivmaniero
f. Prava Klopodo
g. Prava Atento
h. Prava Sinkoncentrigo

La Tri Trezoroj:

1) La Budao: t.e., kaj la viro kiu vivis inter 490-410 jaroj antaŭ la komuna erao kaj la sentempa (aŭ ekstertempa) sed ĉiam okazanta Budho-Naturo
2) La Darmo: t.e., la Sutroj – la kolekto de Budha-instruoj, la Vinajo – la kolekto de reguloj predikataj de la Budho mem, kaj la Abidarmo – la kolekto de komentarioj
3) La Samgo: unue signifis nur la komunumo de gemonaĥoj, sed post la disiĝo inter la Theravada Skolo (la Skolo de la Saĝuloj) kaj la Mahajana Skolo (la Granda Veturilo por ke ĉiuj povas eluminiĝi), la termino en la Mahajano inkluzivis kaj la monaĥaron kaj la laikaron.

La koncepto de Karmo:

La Sanskrita vorto “Karman” simple signifas “agon”. En Budaismo karmo signifas ke kiel oni pensadas, paroladas kaj agadas, tiel oni spertas rekompencon aŭ bonan aŭ malbonan laŭ la propra volo, kaj en la nuna vivo kaj en la postaj.

Bonvolu memori ke la Budao mem neniam verkis eĉ unu linion. Dum sia preskaŭ 50-jara instruperiodo, la Budao piedvagis tra multmiloj da mejloj tra Barato. Kvankam liaj instruoj restis same ĉie, kie ajn li estis, li ĉiam certigis ke lia instrumetodo konformiĝis al la loko, la vivmaniero kaj la menskapablo de la loĝantaro.

Ekzemple, en granda urbo li uzis mondumecajn metaforojn, dum inter bienistoj li parolis pri la naturo, kaj la ritmoj de la sezonoj. Tamen, liaj instruoj ĉiam kongruis.

Oni neniam surpaperigis eĉ unu vorton de la Budao dum lia vivo, ĉar tiam estis la kutimo ke la disĉiploj kaj monaĥoj parkerigis ĉion versforme. Nur 200 jarojn post la morto de la Budao, la Reĝo Aŝoko kunvenigis la Samganojn por surpaperigi la Instruoj, kiuj iĝis la Vinajo kaj la komenco de la Sutroj.

En la unua jarcento de la komuna erao oni klopodis kunigi ĉiujn instruojn de la Budao en unu Sutro, nomitan Sanskrite “Saddharma Pundarika Sutro”, t.e., la Mirinda Darmo de la Lotusfloro Sutro.

Ĉiuj Budaanoj konsideras tiun verkon la plej elstara, kaj fina instruo de la Budao, kiun li instruis dum siaj finaj ok jaroj de la vivo. Mi mem praktikas en la Skolo de la Lotus-Floro Sutro dum 36 jaroj.

Kiel kutime en Budaismo, La Triera Lotus-Sutro enhavas tri partojn, la malfermantan sutron - la tri-ĉapitran Sutron de Nenombreblaj Signifoj, la Lotus-Sutron mem en 28 ĉapitroj kaj la fermantan unu-ĉapitran sutron, La Kuraĝigo de la Bodisatvo Universala Saĝeco.

Oni kutime kromnomis tiun sutron la “Darma Floro Sutro”. En Azio ĉiuj respektegas tiun sutron, eĉ se oni ne praktikas en la Lotus-Floro skolo aŭ eĉ konsideras sin mem Budhano! Ĝuste kiel okcidentanoj konas la metaforojn kaj parabolojn de la Kristana Biblio malgraŭ la fakto ke oni eble ne kredas je Kristanismo, en Azio ĉiuj konas la metaforojn kaj parabolojn de la Darma Floro Sutro.

La Darma Floro Sutra estis finfine surpaperigita Sanskrite en Barato dum la dua jarcento de la komuna erao kaj estis portita kaj tradukita en la Ĉinan ĉirkaŭ 406 de la komuna erao de iu duon-ĉina, duon-barata monaĥo, Kumaraĝiva, kaj en Azio oni konsideras lian tradukon la plej konata, plej ŝatata kaj plej lerta traduko de la Sanskrita versio al la Ĉina.

Oni intencis ke la Darma Floro Sutro estu kaj la kulmino kaj la kompiliĝo de la Budaaj instuoj, kaj oni trovas inter la multaj gravaj konceptoj en tiu sutro kelkajn antaŭe ne esprimitajn konceptojn.

Inter la gravaj konceptoj estas:

Lertaj Rimedoj – ĉiuj instruoj de la Budao finfine gvidas al Iluminiĝo kaj li instruas laŭ la kapabloj de la aŭskultantoj.

La Ina Iluminiĝo – antaŭ la Darma Floro Sutro oni kredis ke necesas ke ino reenkarniĝu kiel viro por tiam komenci la Vojon al Iluminiĝo

Ĉiu posedas Budaan Naturon – en ĉapitro 12, la Budao diris ke eĉ sia kuzo, Devadato, kiu penis mortigi lin, atingos Iluminiĝon.

La Semo de Budaeco ekzistas en Ĉiuj Estaĵoj – laŭ via propra sincera peno kaj diligenta praktiko oni povas atingi Iluminiĝon en la nuna vivo. Ne plu necesas reenkarniĝi vivo-post-vive.

La Bodisatvo – tiu, kiu decidas prokrasti la propran Iluminiĝon por ke oni gvidu kaj istruu aliajn suferantojn laŭ la Vojo al Iluminiĝo.

Kaj fine, la plej grava koncepto raportita en la kerna, centra 16-a Ĉapitro estas:

La Eterna Budao – gravegas ke oni ne konfuzu tion koncepton kun la ideon de la monoteista Dio. Denove, Kristanaj misiistoj tradukis la Sansritan vorton kiel “eterna”. Ĝia pli bona signifo estas “ĉie-ekzistanta”, “ekstertempa”, aŭ eĉ “sentempa sed ĉiam okazanta”.

La Budao donis al ni multajn praktikmetodojn:

En Usono oni plej ofte pensas pri la zen-stila silenta medito sed tiu metodo estas malpli okazanta en la Budaana mondo ol aliaj, kiujn la Budao rekomendis.

La diversaj proktikmetodoj estas ke:

Ni akceptu la Sutrojn kaj ke ni instruu aliajn pri ili.

Ni laŭtlegu la Sutrojn kaj instigu aliajn fari tion.

Ni recitu parkere la Sutrojn kaj instigu aliajn fari tion. En mia propra skolo tio inkluzivas la ĉantadon de la Sankta Titolo de la Darma-Floro Sutro, t.e., Namo Mjoho Renge Kjo.

Ni kopiu permane la Sutrojn kaj instigu aliajn fari tion

Mi nun finas mian prezenton kun la Bodisatva Voto:

Konsciaj Estaĵoj Sennombras,
Mi Votas Ĉiujn Savi.

Niaj Iluzioj Infinitas,
Mi Votas Ĉiujn Estingi.

La Instruoj de la Budao Nemezureblas,
Mi Votas Ĉiujn Studi.

La Vojo de la Budao Malsuperiĝeblas,
Mi Votas la Padon Subliman Atingi.

Mi esperas ke tio heplas vin kompreni kial mi estas tiu, kiu mi estas.

Kaj mi dankas al vi pro tiu oportuno prezenti miajn komprenojn de la Buda-Darmo.

Dankon

© Stephen Schwichow

Mem-Prezento

Mi nomiĝas Stephen (Stechjo) Schwichow, viro, naskiĝis 09/26/1944 kaj loĝas 8 jarojn en San Francisko, Kalifornio, USONO

Profesie mi estas Administranto por dungitaro je la Ŝtata Advokat-Asocio de Kalifornio. Bonvolu noti ke dum mi ne estas advokato mem, mi ja konas multajn ŝercojn pri tiu temo. ;-)

Mi parolas la anglan, Esperanton, iomete la germanan kaj la rusan, kaj pro
mia budhana praktikado mi trovus necesejon en Japanio se urĝus.

Mi estas vegetarano, Budhano dum 36 jaroj en la japana
Risŝo Kosej-kaj tradicio kaj samtempe (17 jaroj) Unitaria-Universalisto.

Ekde 1970, kiam mi burĝonis, mi partoprenas la gej-rajtan movadon. Kaj antau 7 jaroj la San Franciska urbestro nomis min kiel deligiton je la LGAT Aviz-Komitato de la Urba / Kantona "Komisiono pri Homaj Rajtoj".

Mi aliĝas al S.F.E.R.O., E.L.N.A., B.L.E. kaj U.E.A. kaj instruas Esperanton ĉi-jare ĉe la Unua Unitaria-Universalisma Societo en mia urbo. Vidu: http://www.uusf.org

Se iu(j) vizitas San Franciskon, bonvolu informi min antaŭe, ĉar mi kun aliaj Esperantistoj ĝoje montros al vi nian belegan, vidindan urbon!

© Stephen Schwichow

NEFORGESEBLA VIZITO

Cynthia Mahlangu - Ripozu en Paco
(Memore al Cynthia Mahlangu 1994-2005)

Ĉiu-jare, la 1-an de decembro, oni memoras la Mondo-Tagon de Aidoso. Oktobron 2003 mi vizitis Sudafrikon kaj restis en la Johanesburga regiono. Jen mi rakontas kiel mia vizito rilatas al Aidoso kaj kiel ni mem kapablas krei Harmonion en mal-Harmonia mondo.

Bonvolu fermi la okulojn kaj permesu al mi gvidi vin al imaga lando, kiun landon mi baldaŭ klarigos.

Imagu landon kie la prezidento eĉ ne murmuras la vorton “Aidoso.” Kaj plue ne publike konfesas ke tiu Aidosa plago eĉ ekzistas. Li kaj kunuloj ne timas Aidoson. Kial? Ĉar ili neniam intermiksas kun tiajn aĉulojn. Fakte, iliaj kurackonsilistoj multfoje diras ke ne estas rilato inter HIV-viruso kaj la malsano Aidoso.

Imagu ke vi loĝas en San Francisko kaj dum via ĉiusemajna, sabat-matena vagado laŭ la bela Or-Porda Parko subite antaŭ vi staras vico post vico da truoj atendantaj la pro Aidoso mortintoj. Kiom da truoj? Nu, inter 1’350 kaj 2’250! Kaj la sama vido da novfositaj tomboj atendos vin venontsabaton kaj la venontan kaj la venontan kaj la venontan … kaj …

Ĉu vi povas imagi ke inter la proksimume 8’700 naskiĝintaj infanoj en San Francisko, pli ol 70% naskiĝis HIV-pozitivaj? Tio estuspli ol 6’000 infanoj! Ĉu vi povas imagi pli ol 900’000 georfoj sub la aĝo de 18 jaroj? En 2004, la loĝantoj de San Francisko nombras ĉirkaŭ 801’000. Tiuj georfoj, pli ol duono da ili inter 10- kaj 14-jaraĝaj, vivas sen gvido, konsilo, aŭ subteno. Ili riskas malsaton, perfortojn seksan kaj fizikan kaj HIV-infektiĝon.

Komence de tiu historio, eble vi pripensis Ronald Reagan kaj la fruaj tagoj de la Aidosa plagego en Usono. Certe nun vi divenas ke mi priparolas Sudafrikon.

En oktobro, 2003, mi akompanis la pastrinon de la Unua Unitaria-Universalisto Societo de San Francisko al malgrada urbeto, Geluksdal, 50 kilometrojn sudoriente for de Johannesburgo, kie ni restis dum 2 kaj duono semajnoj ĉe la Thabong-Komunumo de Dominikanaj Monaĥinoj.

La vorto “Geluksdal” estas Afrikaansa lingvo kaj signifas “feliĉan valon.” Vere ĝi ne estas aparte feliĉa loko. Unue, dank’ al la estinta blankula registaro kaj ĝia politiko de “apartiĝo” kaj due, nun pro Aidoso. Kaj tiu malgranda urbo de 7’000 loĝantoj enterigas po 12 ĝis 20 mortintojn pro Aidoso ĉiusabate. Mi mem vidis la vicojn da atendantaj aŭtobusoj.

Ĝeneral-Sekretario de la Unuiĝintaj Nacioj, Koffi Annan, kredas ke la plejparto de la mondaj politikaj estroj malsufiĉe prizorgas la epidemion. La Monda Organizaĵo pri Sano kalkulas mondskale ke nuntempe pli ol 50 milionoj infektiĝas de la HIV-viruso kaj jam la malsano sendis tombejen 20 milionojn, ekde la unuaj raportoj, ignorataj de la Reagana registaro en la fruaj 80-aj jaroj. Kial nia registaro ignoris la plagegon? Laŭ mi kaj multe aliaj, ĉar suferis nur samseksemuloj kaj drogaĉuzantoj.

Dum intervjuo diris Sinjoro Annan: “Mi sentas min kolera, maltrankvila kaj senpova … vivi en mondo kie ni havas la kapablon … helpi tiujn malsanulojn sed mankas al ni la politika volo.”

Soŭeto, municipo ekster Johannesburgo, havas 4,2 milionojn da loĝantoj. Mi ja staris meze de la centra placo kie, en 1976, 15’000 gestudantoj pace kunvenis por protesti novan leĝon, devigantan la uzadon de la Afrikaansa lingvo en ĉiuj lernejoj. La blankulaj policanoj komencis pafi en la amason kaj post nur 15 minutoj, 600 gejunuloj, la plej juna nur 7-jaraĝa, kuŝis mortigitaj sur la tero. Nuntempe la gejunuloj Sudafrikaj denove mortas. Kaj denove ni havas la povon preventi tiun tragedion. Nun en Sudafriko pli ol 17% da geknaboj sub la 18-a jaro vivas HIV-pozitive.

Mi vizitis la Chris Hani Baragwanath Malsanulejon. En tiu malsanulejo, la plej granda en la mondo, 70% da ĉiuj infanoj naskiĝintaj havas Aidoson. Tro ofte la nova patrino neniam vizitas la bebon por eĉ rigardi la infanon.

La 17-an de novembro, 2003, iĝis historia tago kiam Thabo Mbeki, Prezidento de Sudafriko, pro la internacia furoro, rezignis sian neteneblan pozicion ke mankas ligo inter HIV-o kaj Aidoso. Li anoncis la decidon aldoni medikamentojn kontraŭ-retrovirusajn en la kontraŭ-Aidosan kurac-programaron.

Ankaŭ okazis dum mia vizito anonco de la Clinton Prezidenta Fonduso ke, kunlaborante kun drogkompanioj en evoluintaj landoj, oni sukcesos malplialtigi la nunan altan prezon por kontraŭ-Aidosaj drogoj. Kiom da malaltiĝo vi demandas? Nuntempe en evoluintaj landoj la okcidentaj drogkompanioj postulas en la jaro po US$1’100 por ĉiu uzanto! La fonduso intencas malpliigi la prezon ĝis po US$140 jare por ĉiu uzonto. Tiu diferenco estas nekredebla! Ĉu? Nun, sciu bonvole, ke en Usono la poruzanta kosto estas minimume po US$15’000 jare.

Mi estas vojaĝanta tra la mondo kelkfoje dum mia vivo kaj mi devas konfesi ke nur ĉifoje, inter tiaj bonkoraj, suferantaj homoj, mi hontis diri ke mi estas Usonano. Neniu decido okazas en vakuo, kaj la decidoj de la Usona registaro kaj de la aliaj, malzorgemaj mondaj estroj, malbone traktas la popolojn suferantajn ĉirkaŭ la mondo.

Rigardante tian grandegan malaltiĝon de demanditaj kostoj inter la okcidentaj firmaoj kaj tiuj de Sudafriko kaj Barato, oni pli bone komprenas kial tiuj, kiuj entombigas siajn parencojn, kredas ke ni, Usonanoj, vere deziras monon kaj povon pli ol havi iun ajn deziron helpi malpliigi suferojn ĉirkaŭ la mondo.

Mi nur esperas ke almenaŭ mia ĉeesto inter la loĝantoj de Geluksdal montris ke ne ĉiuj Usonanoj pretas malantaŭenigi la vivojn de infanoj interŝanĝante kontraŭ mono kaj politika influo. Tio estas, kontraŭ la “ĉiopova dolaro.”

Do, por mi la demando estas … ĉu ekzistas en tiu teroro - Espero? Fakte, mi ne povas vivi sen Espero. Unitaria-Universalista pastro, ForrestChurch, iam verkis libreton, nomitan “Nia Elektita Fido,” en kiu li skribis ke nuntempe la plej grava kulpo inter okcidentaj intelektuloj estas la kulpo de “mondumeca rezignacio.” Tiu kulpo estas aparte insida ĉar ĝi kaŝas sin malantaŭ vualo de respektindeco.

Ĝi permesas ke ni maltrankviliĝu pro monda maljusteco sed ne ke ni devu fari ion ajn. Tiu kulpo bone taŭgas ĉar ĝin nutras la scio. La scio ke la problemoj de la mondo enormas kaj ni, al ni individuoj mankas la povo ŝanĝi ion ajn. Finfine ni estas senpovaj. Kion mi mem povas fari kontraŭ malsato, senhejmeco, Aidoso aŭ eĉ nuklea detruiĝo? Fakte estas pli facile atenti nian nutrodieton kaj ekzercprogramon por certigi sanplenan korpon. Por tro multe, ni anstataŭigas la pliboniĝon de nia societo aŭ nia mondo per mem-pliboniĝo spirita kaj fizika.

Kion mi lernis en Sudafriko? Mi lernis ke mi estas nur unu persono, sed mi ja havas la povon tuŝi la vivojn de aliaj, se mi nur decidu fari tion. Pro tiu sama sinteno mi estas Esperantisto. Jen la motivo, kial mi vizitis Sudafrikon. Kaj jen anekdoto pri mia vizito.

Fratino Irene, germana manaĥino loĝanta en Sudafriko ekde la fruaj 60-aj jaroj, gvidis nin al la Varto-Centro de Sankta Francisko en Fonteinriet, ekster Johannesburgo. Tiu hospico prizorgas aidosulojn inkluzive de pli ol cent georfoj, de la infanaĝo ĝis adolesko kaj tro multe da ili finfine mortas ĉi-tie.
Tuj post nia alveno ni vizitis la ludejon en la knabo-centro, kie ludas la georfoj. La ĉambro grandas je 6 metroj kaj longas je 12 metroj kaj unu vitro-fenestra flanko malfermas al la ekstera ĝardeno.

Ni vizitis la hospicon vendredon kaj la plejparto de la junuloj estis for en la lernejo kaj la 4- ĝis 7-jaraĝaj infanoj restas en la surloka infanvartejo. Okazis, do, ke estis kelkaj infanoj en la ludejo kaj Fratino Irene komencis ludi kun iu 4-jaraĝa vigluleto, Sipho, kies nomo signifas “Espero” isiZulue. Ili kune piedfrapis malgrandan pilkon, kiam Irene subite vidis amaseton da vestaĵoj apud la muro, kuŝantan sur kusenoj. Estis fakte knabineto, buliĝinta fetopozicie.

Komence ŝi ne deziris kunludi sed la dolĉa Fratino persistis kaj finfine la knabineto, kiu restis tiutage ĉe la vartejo pro malsano, malforte piedfrapis la pilkon, tenata subkubote de la Fratino. Cynthia Mahlangu havas nur 8 jarojn. Ŝi ja scias ke ŝi suferas pro denaska Aidoso kaj scias ke sen medikamentoj ŝi mortos. Ŝia vizaĝo kaj maldikaj brakoj montras la cikatrojn postlasatajn de Aidosa haŭtoinfektiĝo.

Colette Simmons, la artisto-desegnisto de nia grupo, elsakigis blankajn paperojn kaj aron da diverskoloraj krajonoj. Tuj gaje desegnis la infanoj, krom Cynthia. Ŝi sidis sole kaj silente, nur rigardante la aliajn kvazaŭ nur enmanigi krajonon drenus la energion. Collete rimarkis tion kaj petis ke mi sidiĝu apud Cynthia por helpi ŝin partopreni.

Tion mi faris kaj malgraŭ la fakto ke mi malbone desegnas eĉ linio-figuron, mi desegnis homan silueton kaj tuj post mi ekkolorigis ĝin laŭ la bluzokoloro de Cynthia, ŝi diris al mi: “Ne! Ne mi! Ne mi!”

Tiam mi diris al ŝi ke ŝi elektu la kolorojn kaj mi plenigos la desegnaĵon, laŭ ŝia deziro. La finkolorita bildo aspektis kiel mi! Eĉ kun pantalonoj kiuj konvertiĝas en mallongigitaj pantalonoj!

Ŝi tiam petis ke mi desegnu alian sed inan formon, havante nigran, buklitan hararon kaj brunajn brakojn kaj gambojn. Ŝi eĉ petis ke mi skizu formojn de floroj, ĉevalo kaj plej grave koro, sur la jupo.

Subite dume la vartejestrino invitis nin akompani ŝin por rigardi kaj viziti la aliajn konstruaĵojn, t.e. la infanvartejon, hospitalon, bieneton kaj kapelon dediĉitan al Sankta Francisko.

Ĉar Cynthia kaj mi estis meze de nia ludotempo, kaj vere ŝi ege malofte tiel ĝoje ludas, videblis ke mia foriro bedaŭrigis ŝin. Do, mi petis ke ŝi daŭre kolorigu la bildon dum mia foresto kaj mi promesis al ŝi reveni por rigardi ŝian tute kolorigotan artaĵon.

Tiele post unu horo mi reiris en la ŝajne malplenan ludejon, vokante Cynthia-n. Kia ĉagreno! Neniu Cynthia! “Ve, ve” mi pensis kiam, subite, elsaltis desub kusenojn ridetanta, fiera kaj ekscitata Cynthia, tenanta enmane la desegnaĵon bele finitan! Okazis ke dum mia foresto, post kiam ŝi finis la bildon, necesis ke ŝi ripozu iomete por ŝpari la energion elĉerpitan pro la malsanlaceco.

Certe tia ĝojinda okazo devigas “Foto-Feston!” Do, kun mia novaĉetita diĝita fotilo enmane, mi komencis foti Cynthia-n kun la artaĵo, nin kune kun la artaĵo, ŝin kaj kelkajn vartejlaborantojn kun la artaĵo, ŝin kaj aliajn infanojn kun la artaĵo! Kia ĝojplena kaj fiera knabineto ŝi estis. Ŝi kaj la aliaj tute enamiĝis vidi la tujan bildon en la fotilekrano.

Subite okazis al mi ideo kaj mi levis ŝin kvazaŭ ni estus en maro por lerni naĝi kaj, portante kaj subtenante ŝin sub la brusto kaj gamboj, mi ektrotis ĉirkaŭ la ĉambro dirante al ŝi ke tio estas kiel birdoflugo. Kiam miaj genevoj infanaĝis mi ofte faris tian ludon kaj mi suspektis ke ankaŭ Cynthia ĝojus tian flugoludon.

Tuj post mi surterigis Cynthia-n, iu 6-jaraĝa knabeto, Brendan Radebe, kuris al mi kriante “Mi flugos! Mi flugos!”

Mi tute ne povis rifuzi lin! Memoru bonvole ke tiuj geknaboj vivas sen gepatroj aŭ eĉ ajnaj parencoj - sen iu ajn kiu volas pasigi eĉ momenton ludante kun ili.

Do, ek! Ĉirkaŭ la ĉambro! Brendan kriegis ĝojege, malgraŭ tio ke li pli similis al kokino ĉasata de vulpo ol vere fluganta birdo. Kaj post Brendan, denove Cynthia petis flugi.

Mi levis ŝin, tian senpezan kiel plumo knabineton, kaj ektrotis laŭ la muro. Mi diris nur: “Flugu, Cynthia. Batu la brakojn kiel flugiloj!” Kaj vere ŝi flugis. La brakoj fluide kaj elegante moviĝis kvazaŭ cigne. Kia delikateco kaj beleco en la regula ritmo de ŝia flugado. Pri tia gracia movado eĉ la Unua Baletistino ĵaluzus.

Subite ni laŭtrotis la longan, grandan fenestron kaj mi mumuris al ŝi: “Rigardu karulino! Vi flugas!” Kaj unuafoje en sia vivo, ŝi rigardis, kiel en spegulo, sian reflekton flugantan libere en la aero de sia imago. En tiu momento ŝia ĝojo ekburĝonis kiel plej bela floro kvazaŭ ŝi brilus interne kaj tuj mi ekkomprenis la vortojn de la Budhana saĝulo kiu diris: “Vivi eĉ unu tagon kiel homo valoras la tutan trezorejon de la kosmo.”

Post tiu flugado, dank al Budho, oni vokis ĉiujn infanojn por lunĉi. Komprenu bonvole ke Johannesburgo altas je 2’200 metroj kaj mi lacegis pro la flugado-trotado. Mi ĝisrevidis al Cynthia kaj la aliaj kaj promesis “oficiale” adiaŭi ilin antaŭ nia eliro.

Ni, vizitantoj, supreniris por kaf-kaj-teumi kun la estrino kaj ankaŭ por diskuti la aferojn de la Centro. Poste ni subeniris por adiaŭi ĉiujn sed ili ĉiuj jam enlitiĝis por la postlunĉa dormeto.

Jen kuŝis Cynthia, pace dormanta. Ĉar vere mankas al mi la volo veki ŝin, mi nur silente en mia koro benis ŝin kaj promesis ke mi informu miajn konatojn pri mia vizito en Sudafriko kaj plue mi promesis ke mi rakontu ke iam vivis knabineto en Sudafriko, kiu nomiĝis Cynthia. ŝi estis lerta artistino kaj ŝi flugis kvazaŭ ŝi estus cigno.

Mi finos isiZulue kun preĝo:

Intliziyo yoMzansi Afrika Ingumculo.
La koro de Sudafriko estas Kanzono.

Sithandaza kuNkulunkulu ingathi Lomculo ungaqhubekela phambili njalo.
Ni preĝas al la Spirito de Spiritoj ke la Kanzono neniam silentiĝu.

uNkulunkulu makawubusise uMzansi Afrika.
La Spirito de Spiritoj benu Sudafrikon.

BUDDHISM

2005-12-01T11:36:00.000-08:00

How I Celebrate the New Year

Dear Friends in the Dharma,

For the past six years I have seen in the New Year with the “Ringing of the 108 Bells.”

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).

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.

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)

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.

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.

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.

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.)

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.

Beginning the New Year

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.

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:

Bless this Door (or Gate if outside)
And all who enter.
May they abide in Joy

And leave in Peace

I then go to the middle of my home and face:

The East:

I invoke Dhritarashtra,
Lord of the East,
Who protects the World.
Watch over this Home
And All who rest here.

The South:

I invoke Virudhaka,
Lord of the South,
Who relieves all people of their suffering.
Watch over this Home
And all who rest here.

The West:

I invoke Virupaksha,
Lord of the West,
Who attends to evil-doers
And encourages all to the Bodhisattva Path.
Watch over this Home
And all who rest here.

The North:

I invoke Vaishravana,
Lord of the North,
Who hears the Dharma
And protects the place where it is expounded.
Watch over this Home
And all who rest here.

Facing my Shrine:

I ask the blessings of all the Buddhas of the Ten Directions,
Past, Present and Future
And all the benevolent forces of the Universe,
Who protect the Dharma;
Especially my personal Guardian (insert name),
Watch over all those I love and care about,
Be they near or far.

The Death of Practice

"He drew a circle that shut me out -
Heretic, rebel, a thing to flaut.
But Love and I had the wit to win
We drew a circle that took him in!”
-- Edwin Markham

The Buddha-Dharma of the Lotus Sutra is the perfect Circle of Salvation that surrounds us all.

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.

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 Odaimoku.

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.”

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.

Nichiren’s years of careful study, through to the writings of the great teacher (Dai-shi) 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, Namu) the Lotus Sutra, one would find the complete refuge of the Buddha-Dharma itself.

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.

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 de rigueur. 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.

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?

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.

The first trap is that of a “superstitious practice.” The danger signs of which practice are those of turning the Focus of Devotion (Gohonzon), whether a Memorial Tablet, Statue, Mandala or Image, into an object which then becomes a literal “wish fulfilling jewel” to which one chants for 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.

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.

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.

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 is 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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

When is the line crossed between “going for refuge to” the Wonderful Dharma of the Lotus Flower Teaching 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?

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, djanna, became in Chinese cha’an and in Japanese zen. Regardless of the language, it was the Buddha-Dharma that was being transmitted cross culturally.

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” (Namu) the “wonderful Dharma of” (Myoho) the “lotus flower” (Renge) “teaching/sutra” (Kyo) 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?

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 namu / namo. 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.

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: Námmah Sád-Dharma Púnda-Ríka Sútra (8 beats); Namu Myoho Renge Kyo (6 beats); and Namu Damma Flower Sutra (8 beats).

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?

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?”

The tome we call The Wonderful Dharma of the Lotus Flower Teaching 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.

I welcome others’ comments.

Gassho,