Christmas with Lama Zopa

The Best Christmas I ever had. As the time to go "home," read: to my parents house, grows near, I feel the ever present under the surface discomfort of it all. The intense feeling of not belonging in a place. A child and a family totally estranged by lifestyle, by belief. Its a time for walking on glass. And I remember back four years ago. I was twenty-two, and it was the only Christmas season I haven't spent in Missouri. I was at Kopan Monastery in Nepal, and had just finished the November course. Lama Zopa Rinpoche had arrived a few days later-before christmas- to teach in the evenings during a week long retreat in which we'd participate. Every Christmas, its traditional that the Westerners sponsor an early morning puja, although for the life of me I can't recall which deity it was for. In the days preceding, Kopan is covered with thick christmas lights, visible from Boudha, which are actually there in honor of Lama Tsong-Kapa day. They come down before the 25th, but their presence earlier sets the mood. That morning we wake around 4:30. Its dark and freezing. Some 200 westerners pile into the main gompa. We are on the right, the monks on the left, and the anis pile in behind (patriarchy...). A giant huddle- thats what we are- trying to squeeze the entire sangha in this gompa to see our precious teacher. I remember looking at the northern windows and seeing the patterns in the frost, and how those patterns shifted as the sun rose. We have prayer books and follow along. We are served butter tea- to the dismay of most of my friends- and since it's cold the butter quickly separates and congeals on top. Several hours later, breakfast comes around. People try to strech. We are still praying. Breakfast for us is a cheese sandwich-some kind of hard, thick yak cheese on a basic roll. The monks had some fancy omelet and people around me grumbled- a lot, that we only had simple sandwiches and the monks ate better than us. We are still praying. In those moments, nibbling the most deliciously simple cheese sandwhich I've ever had, enjoying the simplicity of butter tea, praying earnestly for peace, being blessed to be with Lama Zopa, watching the frost on the windows.... in those moments, I was really happy. It seemed the more people around me grumbled, the more things were wrong and not okay and too long (too long!), the happier I got. The blessed thing about Lama Zopa is how long he loves to pray. A two minute blessing can last for hours. In this case, I seem to recall saying dedication prayers for around and hour and a half, a bulk of which turned into a lesson on emptiness. Lama Zopa- teaching in pure passion- from his awakened heart- without thought to silly constructs like time. He's saying what he needs to say, what is soooooo important to be said. We emerged from the gompa mid morning. Five hours, maybe? And so I fondly remember a Chrismas morning that was ACTUALLY about the teachings of Christ- in a Tibetan Buddhist monastery. A morning in prayer for peace, in reflection, in wisdom and humility. What a blessing, that day. And how to hold that spirit in my heart and actions in such very dissimilar settings? How to integrate that earnest prayer in with a hectic morning and action movie afternoon? sarve mangalam

spring

Reading through old posts from April 2010. On healing; on growth. Bless that I have found some smart stuff in this life. And to repeat the pattern, the theme, a few years later...

perplexed to feel alternately, each day, destroyed and growing. Within hours I can feel a wave of deep dissapointment, betrayal, grief and disgust. It overwhelms, and I crave a home that is no longer home. I crave a place of kindness that has not been kind. I look in the wrong place and what I see wrecks me. It burns me up. And I am left with char and burning embers of a dead me. On my next breath- the mood changes. I feel stronger than ever. A baby phoenix- a bald shriveled fetus growing fresh into a world of such possibility. Powerful in my weakness. Humbled in this space- but solid from the humbling. More than anything? Awake. With open eyes. with open eyes.

The lessons, they are changing.

I read an article in the New Yorker on tuesday about a 14 year old boy who murdered his grandfather. The journalist did an excellent job- leaning into the family, the narrative, and the PERSON- the boy. What seemed to shock people was his lack of remorse. Blank. Total disconnection. Yes, he loved his grandfather. He didn't act out of anger at all. It was either kill himself, or kill someone else. He talked about his life like it was someone elses- someone in a TV show. This is extreme. An extreme example of the way most of us think everyday. And we think we dont. We get self righteous- of course we aren't crazy psyco-killers. of course. ? The doctors called him bipolar- a diagnosis I think most shrinks would give most of society. How many wasy to we disociate? How many ways do we cover up or simply let go responsibility for our own actions and thoughts?

The director at my school claims that all alcoholics, or addicts in general, that the underlying cause of addiction is the want to be dead. Is working toward your own annihilation. I disagreed at the time. New orleans, eh? We know plenty of funcitonal, happy alcoholics.
But with circumstances lately, I wonder. What is the one freedom we truly have in this world? Where is it? In our mind. To an extent, we can shape our reactions to situations, or at least aspire to act a certain way. We can develop kindness and openness where before there was greed and constriction. We can do that in most any setting. More suffering? More challenging to practice, okay. But its still our freedom. So then, what of people who WANT, specifically, whose GOAL it is in life to shut that freedom down? To never look? To never think, examine, feel empathy? The easy-rider mentality that so much of society craves... when its the looking that makes us alive. Thats our gift. You want to live with your eyes closed? You want to live as an animated corpse? Strung along like a puppet from one black out to the next? Because its easier than opening your eyes? Well then, maybe robert was right. Maybe you want to be dead.
Enter that 14 yr. old boy. Strung along. So young to have such torment in his mind. And now he's in prison for life.

Can we not support each other, our FRIENDS, in opening? In kindness? Can we not be neighbors again? Its okay. It hurts to feel. But its also okay. Its not easy- but the easy road sends you straight to mental hells. Why don't we support each other in the road of reflection? Isn't it worth it? It doesn't have to be so heavy. I can make it so heavy- but some can make it quite light. Because we don't have to take ourselves so seriously anymore.

the times, they are a changing...
what has changed this last year, several years? I have a greater capacity for suffering. Thats the first thing that comes to mind. Maybe some people would have "handled" this last year of my life better than me. But for me.... its like theres no choice anymore. Theres no plunger for the pain. I can't feel heartbreak and not let it break. As Nina Simone says, "I'd rather be independently blue...than running on to the next person struggling to forget you." Its like my eyelids were ripped off somewhere and I can't find them. Like theres no filter.
But the pain- there's been hope there. Even in the shit. Even in the moments I thought I would lose it. It wasn't like a few years ago- because now I know, I KNOW- I'll live through it- and I'll burst open better.

Greater capacity for suffering. To hold it- to see it. To let it be. It doesn't mean I've ignored joy. And I think my honest allowance for my feelings has made more room for the authentic experiences of happiness. Not of high. But of peace.