Costumes & Candy

     Halloween seems to mean two major things to most people -- costumes and candy.
     The costume part probably has many ancient origins. In medieval Europe, All Hallows Eve was a time to scare and keep away the spirits of evil just lurking to get the pious unaware folks. Today, we just love the fun of it. Dressing up as a comically scary, growling pirate, a sexy maid, or a bloody ghoul delights the kid part of us. It's also fun to be temporarily not "ourselves," that image we're so careful to protect. We love to break out and pretend, if only for one night, that we're really different from the person our daily clothes say we are.
     Now, candy, that's the part of Halloween that gets us salivating. Candy sales in October are off the chart. Not just kids, but adults, too, look forward to consuming mass quantities of the stuff. Many a child has probable cause to indict her parents for raiding the candy haul after she went off to bed following Trick or Treating. Shame on us -- I mean them -- no, I did it, too. "Where are all the good ones, like Baby Ruth or Snickers?" they would ask. We'd clam up and keep silently repeating,"never admit, never apologize. "After all, we rationalized, they had so much.
    Many spiritual traditions ask us to look at what we crave. What we desire and how we desire it (sometimes "inordinately" as my Jesuit profs used to suggest) are great markers for our spiritual condition. The Buddha said that desire is the root of all suffering. He probably had in mind the ancient Indian equivalent of a dark chocolate Hershey's Kiss or a Chunky.
     The serious point is that I can be free of a lot of pain and distress if I can check my greed for anything. Wear the world like a loose garment. Hold on to stuff with loose hands. Enjoy, but try not to let anything own me. Savor, of course, but let go of attachment.
     Now, if I could just shake that jones for a dark chocolate Reese's Peanut Butter Cup.

How Are You?

    One of the joys (and burdens) of my work as a counselor is that I get to have conversations with people. "How are you?" can bring out a simple log of mundane activities or a heartfelt, "where do I begin?" that leads deep into that person's and my own listening heart.
    Benedict of Nursia, yes the saint, told his followers in The Rule to "listen with the ears of your heart," a wonderful invitation. How loved do I feel when I get it that someone has really heard me? Very much, obviously. Imagine a world where really being heard was not unusual!
    In a recent conversation with one of Benedict's followers, he recounted the story of an ex-con speaking at a fundraising dinner for two "Dismas Houses," places where released inmates could live and transition back into the community. The man asked the supporters to imagine what it meant to be greeted with a handshake or looked at like a human being and not as a threat or as prey.
    We are starved for close connection in our world. That ex-prisoner is each of us, making our way back from the things that shackle us or keep us separated from the rest of the world or from our own deep selves. To be listened to and really heard is an experience of grace and a glimpse of a world where all can be well.
    Make a difference today. Listen to someone. Or, just as importantly, be listened to. Both things are bread for hungry hearts.

Peanut Butter and Jelly

    I like a good peanut butter and jelly sandwich. On a dense multigrain bread, spread with a natural crunchy peanut (or almond) butter and a good jelly or jam. Always the added kick of tabasco sauce to delight my mouth. I have it with a cup of a coffee, a lemonade or just cold water. If I'm calm enough (a rare thing), I eat the sandwich slowly, savoring the bites. If I'm really awake (even rarer), I gratefully think of the chain of people who contributed to this sandwich, this drink, and the home or work space where I'm enjoying it. Once in a while I even remember to say grace. Oops. Busted.
    Part of the reason for this project is that many people don't find traditional spiritual words or the communities that use them very important. And it seems to me that something may be missing that's worth looking for. Maybe at Christmas or the high holidays we connnect a little with our childhood religious "homes," or when we do the rituals around someone's wedding or funeral. "I'll say a prayer for you," can sound odd or quaint, but touching coming from friends or colleagues. Still,  the religious section in the greeting card aisle keeps shrinking.
    So where do we go? What do we do, if anything, to deal with the big and little things in life which religion once seemed to cover so naturally. Where do we find meaning? Love? Depth? Commemoration? Comfort? Hope?
    I start from where I am. A simple meal like that sandwich connects me to the whole world, the whole universe really. Just letting the chatter in me wind down for a moment allows me to get things like connection or significance, experience them and not just think about them. Going deeper, if my nervous, distracted spirit allows, can help me start to notice things, outside in, inside out. I look. I am aware. I listen for the sounds and for the silences between the sounds. I wonder.....what? Not just wonder about or if, but just wonder, ponder. Wow, that sounds stuffy, but it feels true.
    Here's a good question to open myself: what delights me? Maybe it's the smile of a lover or friend or baby. The antics of a dog desperate for me to pay attention and play. A kid who rolls her eyes at some grownup bit of foolishness of mine. Evening descending over a city or town. A piece of New Orleans jazz or Louisiana zydeco. The taste of a really fresh salad. If I can be delighted by such things, the deeper parts of me don't seem so far away.
    My spirit, that deeper part of me, is alive so long as my heart can soften enough to notice and ponder a little. Eating a good PB&J mindfully is a place to start.
   

Morning Light

                                                           
    I'm writing this in a small guest bedroom in Weston, Vermont. Out the window daylight begins to light up the woods and hills, slowly and deliberately. The house I'm in belongs to a community of
Benedictine monks whose "foundation," as they call it, consists of some land, several buildings, some animals and twelve men gathered to...what? That's a good question. Their ancient rituals of prayer, song and work, their rhythms of talk and silence seem very far from the everyday bustle of of my life. If I didn't hope there was a connection I wouldn't have travelled up to Vermont from the East End of Long Island with nine friends to do a retreat.
    "Retreat" is an odd, but welcome word. Even odder to some people will be the word "spirituality." On my Kindle is the blessed Oxford American Dictionary which defines the root word "spiritual" this way: 1. Of, relating to or affecting the human spirit or soul as opposed to material or physical things. 2. Of or relating to religion or religious belief. Those stuffy definitions don't do it for me. The OAD comes closer with a derivative phrase, "one's spiritual home," a place in which one feels "a profound sense of belonging." Now that seems more like it to me.
    Wherever and whenever and with whomever I feel at home, even if only for a moment, awakens a deep part of me -- call it my heart or spirit. Some things particularly do that for me: grandkids and kids in general; beautiful places like these woods or by water; kayaking on a bay with a fresh wind in my face; sitting reading next to my wife. Also listening to a great blues riff or rock anthem; walking with a friend; dancing; or just looking up at the night sky.
    This blog sets out to discover if there are kindred spirits out there whose own times of deepening, wonder and gratefulness may or (just as likely) may not have much to do with things religious. My hunch is that many of us humans find much in life that feels like home or helps us feel that we belong. Join me, if you care to, in a journey where we look, listen, feel, remember... and perhaps find that renewed sense of belonging on this earth and in this life.
    Up on the mountain a mile or so away, the morning light has brightened the landscape so I can see the dusting of snow last night's storm left. That's a reminder that winter begins early for this part of the world. The ancient lesson in that hard truth is that spring is getting ready to burst again despite the coming cold and much more snow as winter advances. Spring seems far away. But in earth time, that's an eye blink.