The Mighty Oak

“From the withered tree, a flower blooms”

“The infinite is in the finite of every instant”

~ Zen Proverbs ~

This morning I went to the Maria Kannon Zen Center to "sit" or practice Zen before my drive to Nebraska.  Although Zen is not something you just "get" overnight (it takes 10, 20 or 30 years to master), I do believe Spirit spoke to me this morning louder than he has spoken since I was in college, alone in the woods on a retreat. 

A "sit" at this center is generally 90 minutes long; 25 minute periods of Zazen (seated meditation) interspersed with 5 minutes of Kinhin or "walking Zen."  It was during this period of slow, methodical walking that Spirit spoke.....through an oak floor!!  You see, the floor of the center is made of the most incredible solid oak flooring.  But it creaks.  The first time I visited the center I was annoyed by the loud creaking of the seasoned floor.  It was a distraction and I found it hard to "become one with my breathing."  But today, as each person in the room stepped across the floor, those boards spoke to me and to each other.  No.  They sang!

It was then I opened my eyes fully and noticed the intricate shapes and colors unique to each piece of flooring.  Laced together by years of wax and polish, they created an artistic masterpiece that made me smile.  That's when it occured to me.  Each of these pieces of oak flooring had once been a tree.  They were once a majestic tower of beauty filled with wondrous branches and leaves.  Yet, the beauty of these fine pieces, there for me to enjoy, could only be discovered by cutting down the tree.  This magnificent oak was either cut down or it fell down.  From there, it was ripped and cut and sliced and planed and sanded until these fine ornaments were exposed. 

Sure, some of the tree was just leaves.  They fell to the ground each year to help fertilize the soil.  Other parts were acorns which fell and grew to be new trees; a process of renewal.  Still other parts probably became another floor somewhere, or a chair or a table or whatever!

The point is, the tree didn't complain.  It didn't whine and moan about it's bad luck in being cut down.  Each and every part had it's mission in the life of that tree and each did it without complaint.  The leaves fell.  The acorns grew (or were eaten by squirrels).  The trunk was cut and scattered everywhere in the shape of furniture or floors.  And it occured to me today that the boards of that floor we sat and trod upon, once a mighty oak, fulfilled their lot without complaint.  They are simply happy being a floor.  In fact, being a floor makes them sing.

This could easily be an amazing metaphor for how we should model our lives.  But in fact, it IS life.  Like that mighty oak, each of us will be cut down, ripped, planed and sanded in to something more beautiful at one time or another.  For some of us, it will be MANY times.  The question is, will we accept the new beauty in store for us or will we fight it and complain every step of the way?  I'll be honest.  I've been known to put up a fight regarding change now and then.  But after this morning, I think I finally get the message.

I'm being ripped and planed and sanded right now.  I was a mighty oak, but now I'm going to be something even better!!  And the best part of all is, just like the floor at the Zen Center which will someday rot or burn or otherwise be "destroyed", I too won't ever be finished.  When the floor rots away or burns someday, it will create the space and opportunity for NEW life.  It will become carbon which fertilizes a mighty oak.  And the circle continues.

We're never finished.  So today, I'm going to do my very best to follow the example of the mighty oak and that magnificent floor.  I'm going to become the most amazing thing I can be at the hands of Spirit.  And I'm going to do my best to do it without complaining. 

Namaste

Dancing Shoes

Dancing Shoes

Original Poem by Alex Leatherwood

Dancing Shoes,

The way they lightly flitted onto those feet,

Unaware of the changing of a life of a little girl.

Beaming, those chubby cheeks did,

When she realized the journey of movement would bring her the happiness craved.

Dancing Shoes,

Like life shown from them when those feet flew across the floor.

Twelve years of blissful torture,

Repeat, Repeat until done right and those shoes carried her on its wings,

The dream of completing the journey in her reach.

Damned Dancing Shoes!

Burning with regret, thrown into a closet

Remembering they had let the little girl fall, fall

Like a rock falling off of a cliff.

The dream, her heart, the shoes,

Gone, the End.

The little girl,

No longer hopeful, like when the sun comes out signaling a new day,

But now like a frail flower, that hasn’t been watered.

The girl, not allowed to put on her dancing shoes again,

Tries to find a new pair that kiss her feet softly,

Walking bare-foot everywhere, searching.

The girl,

Knowing the dream has been flung out the door,

But still opens the closet, looks down,

Picking the dancing shoes up, cradling them like a new born child,

Tries to see if the glass slipper still fits.

Her lonely feet, trying to shove their way in, failing.

The girl,

This time,

Builds a shelf for the dancing shoes,

Not throwing, but gingerly, kissing them slightly,

Puts them on the shelf, her last time to see them,

The end of the dream, the beginning of another.

It's Time Again

“Defer no time, delays have serious ends.” ~ William Shakespeare ~

“We don't have an eternity to realize our dreams, only the time we are here.”  ~ Susan Taylor ~

Almost every year I've taken time to write some quip about reflecting on a new year.  This year, I thought I wouldn't.   "What's the point?", I pondered.  Every day is the beginning of a new year.  This date we've set arbitrarily to allow ourselves a new place to start is available every day.  So why wait?  Every morning we wake up is an opportunity to start a new day....a new month....a new year.....a new life.  Sure, we assign these arbitrary periods of time numbers so we can keep track, but make no mistake, time can't be harnessed by numbers.

There seems a common theme for me lately.  Ok, so there have been several, but this one tiny item has kept me up at night.  This question of time.  The common sentiment has been this and it has come from a plethera of the most loving and well-meaning sources:  "Time is your friend here."  or "Time will be your friend if you let it."  I think not.

I'm 50 years old if you're using the modern-day Gregorian calendar.  But that number is arbitrary.  Like love, time just "is".  This friend of mine, Time, is a relentless foe.  He doesn't stop for heartache or a bad day or even a good day for that matter.  You aren't allowed to wallow in the bad nor bask in the good.  Perhaps that in itself is a good thing.  Time doesn't listen when you say, "Hey!  Time out!  Hold on just a minute so we can talk."  It ignores your request and marches on....relentless....unfeeling.

And unlike anything I would remotely consider a friend, time sets limits and expectations.  You only have so much time.  There's a limit.  Only so much time to do whatever it is you have to do, whatever that is.  And it's secretive.  You're never sure just how much time you actually have.  I'm blessed to have had more time than many, but I also won't have as much as some.  My clock continues to tick toward the end, and yet thousands today have a clock that has just started.  Yet I fully realize, and not without some resentment toward Time, that today many clocks have simply run out.

Now you can certainly argue that BECAUSE of time, we must live in the moment...not dwell in the past.  Without Time, there would always BE enough "time" to do the things that need done, say the things that need said, right the things you've done wrong.  But that simply isn't the case.  Time requires that if there's something to be said, or someone to be loved, the moment is now.  "Don't let this moment pass," it says.  And yet because Time is a foxy foe, it asks us to wait.  "I'm your friend," it whispers.  "Trust me.  All good things come to those who wait." And so we wait for an end with no promise.

Please understand.  I am a huge proponent of living in the "now".  I am, admittedly, not a master in its practice, but I do my best not to live in the past and not project a future.  But as much as I'm "spirit" and thereby not bound by time, I am also human and thereby subject to the frailties of that existence.  How do you fool this foe?  You can't, obviously.  Time has no rules or conscience.  Like any annoying pest, I can only do my best to ignore it by living fully in the moment.  But Time has a loud "tick" and only the most enlightened learn to completely ignore it's relentless nagging.

A Tale of Two Cities begins, "It was the best of times.  It was the worst of times."  There is no best or worst.  There is only Time.  And Time marches on.  As much as I'd like to embrace Time as my friend, every fiber in my body sees it currently as only my nemesis.  Oh I'll wait to see what each new day brings.  I'll wait to see what life unfolds.  But I'll do my best to ignore this gnarling beast who gnaws at my ankles by living in the now.  Because let's face it, Time sets the rules.   And it sets the amount for each of us. 

Time:  The entire concept seems such a waste and yet, you don't dare waste any of it.  Do it now.  

  

A SNIPPET OF LESSON 45

Lesson Forty-five

THE BIBLE WAS NOT WRITTEN BY GOD!!!

“God has no religion”

~ Mahatma Ghandi ~

     Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, Jesus Christ, Muhammad, Buddha; they all have roots in lore and what we could now arguably consider ancient history.  And depending on your geographic location, the religious beliefs of your parents, and local spiritual principles, you’ve probably been exposed to all of them in some fashion.  We all know the story of St. Nicholas and his gift-bearing benevolence toward children.  Who of us has not left a tooth under the pillow (or in some cultures, buried it) to find money in its place the next morning?   What child from the majority of homes in North America has not risen on Easter morning in anticipation of the gifts left by the Easter Bunny?  Who hasn’t hunted a colored Easter egg?  It’s ok!

     And lastly, who hasn’t heard the Christmas story that tells of the virgin conception and birth of Jesus, the Nazarene?  You know the one.  He was conceived by God, himself, in the womb of the virgin, Mary.  We talked about this two chapters ago!  He was born in a manger because there was no room at the inn.  He was visited by three wise men who brought gifts of frankincense and myrrh.  Shepherds followed the star that shined upon the very location where the Messiah was born!  The child-God grew to be a famed teacher, and as foretold by great prophets of the Old Testament, was crucified and buried for his alleged claims to be the Son of God, or King of the Jews.  He rose from the tomb after three days, during which time he descended to Hell to defeat sin, and ascended to heaven to be seated at the right hand of God.  His sacrifice and resurrection paid the price for all our sins.   It’s a WONDERFUL story full of magic and hope.  But it’s just that; a story.  And it’s much less believable than the story of St. Nicholas.

     By the time we reach the age of 12 (and many much sooner) we have clearly determined that the present-day roles of Santa, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny are ALL played by our parents.  The evidence is just too overwhelming and eventually the parental figures cave to the prodding of young minds.  The truth is revealed.  And yet when it comes to the story of virgin births, bright stars and mangers, despite overwhelming evidence that brings the entire story in to question, our children’s minds are continually imprinted with the undying devotion that the entire story is true.  No one wants to recant the story because, by the very nature of Christianity itself, to not believe comes with too high a cost.  Better to believe and be wrong than to NOT believe and be wrong.  Let’s take a look at that.  I know.  It’s confusing.

     What exactly does it MEAN to be a Christian?   Actually, few things in scripture are more clear than the definition of what it means to be a Christian, that is, to hold your place in the Book of Salvation and be saved through Christ Jesus.  In other words, your ticket to heaven is free and easy.  Referred by some as the “Gospel in a Nutshell”, John 3:16 sums it up perfectly. 

     “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”

     You can read the entire Bible from front to back if you wish, but the only chapter and verse that really mean anything is found right there in John.  In simple English is says without ambiguity, if you believe in the birth, death, and resurrection of Jesus, you’re going to heaven.  Period.  It’s not open for debate.  For Christians of every single denomination it boils down to that; belief.

     You don’t have to tithe, go to church or sing in the choir.  It isn’t necessary that you give to the poor or be kind to your fellow man.  The Ten Commandments really become just “Ten Suggestions” because acting on them has absolutely nothing to do with your salvation.  I’ll take it a step further.  If you’re Christian and believe the Bible as written, then by your very claim you must ALSO believe there will be murderers and rapists in heaven.  Some wonderful earthly people will spend eternity in Hell because they never accepted Jesus as their personal savior.  And this is where it gets convoluted.

     Time and time again I have met “Christians” who hadn’t the foggiest notion what that claim means.  I’ve met those that believe you must only believe “in God” and when pressed about the bad people going to heaven, back-pedal and begin the process of picking and choosing those parts of the user’s manual (the Bible) that best fits their needs.  Some of the Bible is pretty easy to swallow; some of it, not so much.   For the parts somewhat less palatable, people defer to those verses that feed their spirit.  For the life of me I’ll never understand how those that claim the Bible to be God’s word inerrant can also be the very sort that behave outside its teaching.  It’s like trying to have it both ways.  You can’t.  And therein lays the very root of why I no longer adhere to its message.  Who wrote this thing anyway?  If not God, who?

Lessons Learned

"Be careful who you pick up and take out.  You never know who you're going to fall in love with." 

~Unknown~

I've been a firefighter in Dallas for over eighteen years.  For the first ten I covered one of the toughest neighborhoods in town and saw my share of stray dogs.  There were tired mommas with sagging teats, pups eaten up with fleas and mange, and desperate hounds with protruding ribs.  Their presence was part of the landscape like homeless shelters and empty 40 oz beer cans.  We often fed who we could from the back door of the station, but it was clear these sad souls were destined for a life beyond what could be fixed.  I learned to shut down the "feeling mechanism" for the lost dogs and humans alike, all who had their own sad story.

But then a little over two weeks ago on a routine inspection at a chemical warehouse close to my new station in Northeast Dallas, I came face-to-face with the brown eyes you see above.  Oh sure, I ignored her at first like all the other strays.  I gave her a friendly, "Hello, Sweetheart" and went about the business at hand.  The guys at the warehouse explained to us how someone had dumped her at least a week prior and they were feeding her, but had no plans for her beyond that.  As we were leaving, I gave her a little kissing sound and walked up to where she cowered behind the railing.  She let me pet her and then insisted on playing.  She followed me all the way to the edge of the parking lot, alternating between crouching on all fours and jumping in the air.  Silly dog.

Any of you that have followed the progress of "Wendy" (short for Windex because she was found at a warehouse that stored cleaning products) know that it's been a real emotional ride since the day my daughter and I rescued her.  I had no means to truly care for her, no place to keep her and a schedule that made keeping a pet nearly impossible.  Yet after meeting her, nothing I did could shake the idea from my brain that I had to take her.  So I did.  But this really isn't so much about rescuing Wendy as it is about what she taught me......or perhaps REtaught me.

We all know the stories about the loyalty, love, and capacity for forgiveness when it comes to dogs.  (And yes, cats too!)  Wendy has been no exception to any of that.  In fact, if there is such a thing, she may be TOO loyal.  Wendy barely left my side for nearly two weeks, and although we had our moments where she wasn't truly convinced she liked me, she quickly made me her best pal and stuck to me like glue.  There were many times, (especially when she growled at me) I wasn't so sure I had done the right thing by getting her off the street.  But I always looked for the best in her.  Every time someone raised a question about her possible aggression, I patiently explained her history of neglect and rubbed Wendy's ears to let her know I loved her no matter what.  She repayed the favor by loving me back........and by growling (that's putting it mildly) at those who she thought posed a threat to our relationship.

But I digress once more.  While at work on Friday I made a call to a lady who was upset at a level clearly beyond what was called for.  She was hysterical and unconsolable over a routine traffic stop.  What started as a simple traffic stop for the Trooper, quickly became a logistical nightmare that included two fire apparatus and an ambulance.  We even had to shut down one lane of the Toll Road.  It escalated to the point where this lady was actually transported to a hospital over a traffic stop.  I tried calming her.  I tried being firm with her.  I even threatened to have her car towed.  None of it mattered.  And as I was climbing in to the fire engine, it hit me like a ton of bricks.  I had no idea what that lady's life had been like up to that moment.  Was she neglected?  Had she been abused?  Did she have medical or psych issues?  I asked all those questions of Wendy when she was WAY more upset than called for while trying to keep me from taking her chew toy, yet I stood in judgement of the lady upset over a traffic stop.

And that's the lesson Wendy came to teach.  Currently, wonderful people are trying to rehabilitate Wendy through some of her aggressive tendencies.  Her life may literally depend on how she responds to loving hands.  I think Wendy would like for us to do for people what we've all tried to do for her......give them the benefit of the doubt.  When you're faced with someone that seems to be acting inappropriately in a situation, try to take a minute to consider what they may have been through.  Like Wendy, there are thousands of humans who have been neglected, abandoned, and abused.  And also like Wendy, maybe all they need is a loving hand and the benefit of the doubt. 

It's the same theme every time isn't it?  We're all connected.  Wendy serves as a daily reminder that we just need to walk a mile on someone else's paws now and then.  Wendy just wants someone to love her.  Deep down, that's all people want too.

 

Because I Said I Would

"Imagine there's no Heaven

It's easy if you try

No hell below us 

Above us only sky

Imagine all the people

Living for today"

~ John Lennon ~ 

As many of you know by now, I travel Interstate 35 between Dallas and Lincoln, Nebraska on a regular basis.  Yes, I know 35 doesn't go all the way to Lincoln.  That's beside the point.  Just south of Oklahoma City, right next to the 4-lane highway, sits the giant billboard you see above.  And it bothers me.  But probably not for the reasons you think it does.

Many of you probably also know I'm not a Christian which may lead you to believe I find the sign offensive in some way because it isn't in keeping with my personal beliefs.  Not so.  I posted this picture and a comment equating this sign to fear-mongering on my Facebook page and was met with only mild opposition.  One particular comment came from a man I consider a friend and I absolutely loved his response.  He pointed out the sign may only be meant to raise awareness.  Noted.  He also went on to say he preferred to believe in a good, loving and merciful God (paraphrased).  I was glad to hear that from him and I promised him a response.  It's just too long for Facebook so here it is.

There are a couple things that jab at me about this sign, but the most agonizing for me is it doesn't seem to be from the loving and kind Jesus Christ for whom Christians profess their faith.  It seems more like a scare tactic.  I can only speak for me, but it seems the authors of this billboard want you to jump on board based on fear of burning for all eternity in a place called Hell.  And as a FORMER Christian, I understand if even one soul were saved based on the message from this board, it would all be worth it.  I get that.  But when I DID follow the Christian faith, I was a voracious student of the Bible.  I'm no expert by any stretch, but I can tell you this.  Jesus didn't preach based on fear.  Don't take my word for it.  Read the Gospels for yourself.  I don't think you'll find a place where Jesus did anything more than gently urge people to give up all they had and follow him.  I know that's oversimplified, but for the sake of space I think you get my drift.

I believe Jesus lived.  I don't believe he embodies the Holy Spirit today, but I'll tell you what I DO believe.  Jesus may have been the most spiritually enlightened man who ever lived.  He got it.  And he walked the walk.  I don't believe the teachings of the religion loosely built around Jesus' teachings, but I believe Jesus lived love.  To that end, this billboard does NOT promote peace.  When I began looking at spiritual sources outside the Bible, I found Jesus' words to be entirely in line with teachings of Zen, Buddha and many others.  They all got it.  It's us who twisted it.  So I implore you who are reading this to study outside the box of your religion.  If you're Christian, read the Quran.  If you're Muslim, read the Bible.  Read about Buddha, Islam, Hinduism........read them all!  If you're like me, you might find none of them are that much different at the core.

The second and less important issue with this sign is purely speculation on my part.  But I wonder what the people who pay to have this sign posted along the road would say if a similar billboard promoting Islam or Mormonism were put next to it.  I fear in this country we've learned to equate being Conservative with being Christian.  It isn't so.  The First Amendment of the Constitution of these United States guarantees each of us freedom to practice the religion of our choosing....or none at all.  Some argue the authors of the Constitution intended us to be "one nation under the God of the Bible".  I understand why they might believe that, as most of our founding fathers were Christians themselves.  But they were too smart for that.  If they meant THEIR God, I feel certain they'd have made that clear. 

So I'm clearly a little rusty at the rambling.  I've been away for some time working on the book (shameless plug).  All I really want to say is this.  There are over 10,000 religious sects worldwide all claiming to have the truth.  I'd prefer the authors of this billboard take a more loving approach, but I respect their right to free speech and religion as long as they do the same.  This is an old message I'm just trying to say in a different way.  We aren't that different.  I haven't read about all 10,000 sects, but the ones I have read all teach love, peace and unity.  Yes....even the Quran. 

Let's stop trying to scare each other in to belief.  We're all going to know the truth soon enough.  In the meantime, how about we just love each other.    

Snippet of Lesson 28

Lesson Twenty-eight

GREAT THINGS CAN COME FROM “BAD” DECISIONS

“Even cats grow lonely and anxious.”

~Mason Cooley~

     The thick grayish haze hung heavily near the ceiling adorned with black-painted duct work.  What air you could find was dense with the aroma of stale beer, cigarette smoke and cheap perfume.  It’s difficult to look cool and smile when you can barely breathe, but single men try to pull it off every night in every bar across the land.  We’re tougher than we look.

     I had my back to the bar closest to the women’s restroom and leaned back between two stools and against the polished oak edge.  The heel of my left foot rested on the short step which resulted in a knee so slightly bent.  My heavily starched Wranglers made it hard to move as I scoured the dimly lit room with cigarette in one hand, cold beer in the other.  I was cooooooool, man.  Cool.

     Here I was, less than a month after Jackie’s final departure to Nebraska, standing in the same bar where she met her hot tub friend.  It was an enormous honky-tonk just outside Greenville with a circular dance floor the size a skating rink.  The dance area was separated from the dozens of wobbly tables by a rickety, yet Texas-looking wooden rail.  It was Billy Bob’s but without the steroids and the only real dance club for miles.  All the locals went to Texas Star for the weekend to dance and romance.  At least I hoped so.

     I truly didn’t take notice of her until I began to realize she was being asked to dance on a regular basis by guys other than her apparent date.  He looked a bit out of place anyway in his Air Force uniform.  Apparently in Texas, asking another guy’s girl to dance is acceptable.  But where I come from, a repeated stunt like that would have resulted in an ass-whoopin’ for somebody.

     They were sitting at a round table just to my left.  After she got up to dance for the sixth or seventh time with someone else, I approached the airman. 

     “Is that normal down here?” I asked.

     “Is WHAT normal?”

     “You know, having other people dance with your girl all night.”

     “I wouldn’t know.  I’m not from around here.” He said as he glanced over his shoulder to watch her return from her latest spin around the floor.

     I politely excused myself form the table as she approached and returned to my position at the bar, this time taking a stool.  I continued to watch the bar, afraid to actually speak to anyone, when I saw her get up to dance still another time.  On the way back she walked directly up to me, put her hands on my knees, and with eyes I later learned reflected drunkenness said, “Hi.  My name’s Renee and you can dance with me any time you’d like.”  Then she walked away.  Well, ok then!