Truth

by Rev. Allan

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.” I do. How many times, each day, across this great land of ours, is that vow broken?

Do you consider yourself a truthful person? I don’t just mean the good old fashioned, George Washington, “I cannot tell a lie; it was I who chopped down the cherry tree” type truthfulness. I guess I take for granted that you and I, who got out of bed this Sunday morning, and got ourselves here, are interested in truth on a deeper level. Let’s call it Truth, with a capital T.

We should define the word truth if we’re going to use it. From the dictionary–Truth: That which is true (that’s like way useless) or in accordance with fact or reality. (That’s better.) Don Miguel de Cervantes, author of Don Quixote, arguably the greatest novel of all time, said, “Facts are the enemy of truth.” The dictionary says truth is that which is accordance with fact. Usually, when I find the dictionary and the poet in disagreement, I go with the poet.
Truth is not easy to define, but for our purposes we should be okay with the general sense that we share of the concept of truth.

I think that deep down we each have a pretty good sense of the truth about ourselves.
I’m not at all certain that we always allow ourselves to experience that truth, and I’m certainly not suggesting that we always like what we see in ourselves; just that we know.

There was a man who lived in a small village who was known for his generosity. It was said that no one who came to his door left empty handed. One day a beggar appeared and the kindly man was dismayed because he had absolutely nothing in the house. Then he remembered a watch he had put away in a drawer. He got it and gave it to the beggar. When his wife saw this she yelled at him, “Are you crazy? That watch is worth hundreds. Call that beggar back.” So the man called out, “Hey you, come back here.” The beggar came back and the man said to him, “That watch is worth hundreds. When you sell it, be sure to get a good price.” That man was in touch with the truth of who he was and so, he was at peace.

Your presence today says, “I want to experience a deeper level of inner peace.” Those may not be your exact words, but that’s the essence of it. You made the effort to be here, and there is no question in my mind that those of us who are here, not just physically, but who are present here today, with an open heart and an open mind, will leave here with more than when we arrived: more understanding, more acceptance, and more happiness, because we will move a tiny, yet monumental step, closer to our truth. Neither you, nor I, will ever know lasting inner peace without that truth. While we may not be able to define it easily, we can see that Truth is the vehicle with which we travel back to our true self.

If that seems a bit daunting, have no fear. We live in a society that is committed to diverting us from any aspect of ourselves we don’t like. We have a multi-trillion dollar economy based on selling us anything we want to divert us from the truth. And I acknowledge that some of those products are effective–even if only for a limited time.

Many years ago, when I was single and going through a period of not feeling particularly attractive, I decided to buy a hairpiece. This I did telling myself that it would be good for my singing/acting career. However, I’m sure the truth had a lot more to do with my stagnant career acting out the ways of the birds and the bees. Wouldn’t you know, the hairpiece brought success, and there I was, about to go on a date with a real looker.

Well, there’s something you need to know about hairpieces; they are not attached to the head with thumbtacks. They require some sort of double-sided tape, the stickiness of which, under certain circumstances, can become compromised. Ms. Gorgeous and I had decided that a walk in the park would be a lovely way to get to know each other. It turned out to be a particularly windy day. So at a time when I wanted to be basking in the rewards of my hairy investment, I was instead seriously distracted by the fear of my golden locks being blown askew, or worse, rolling ignominiously like a tumbleweed through the Strawberry Fields. A few days later my furry chapeau found itself being tossed into the incinerator. I was content with the thought that someone might come along who would love me with my clean, uncluttered pate, perhaps because she owned stock in the Simonize company, or perhaps because her father had been bald, and she found that particular attribute irresistible –which is exactly what happened.

Inner peace and knowing our spiritual self doesn’t come from outside ourselves, nor from what we put on our heads. Do you remember these song lyrics: “The words of the prophets were whispered in the sounds of silence.” The truth is whispered in the sounds of silence. We will hear it in a still, small voice if we’re not afraid to listen; if we can release ourselves from our pretensions; if we can allow ourselves to be guided from the unreal to the real.

We need to take quiet time each day–no activity, no TV–just you, alone with yourself, your incredible, beautiful self, allowing the voice of silence to be heard. It can be challenging. The truth is not always what we would like it to be. But when we accept the truth, we can address the changes we want to make so that we become in thought, word, and deed, what we already really are. We live that truth.

That is a spiritual being. That is a being at peace; and on that, you can bet your life.

My Father's Death

by Rev. Susanna

January 2001
I write this at a time of great emotional turmoil as my father is dying. He has had many physical problems in the past five years: strokes, two open heart surgeries, one involving bypasses and the other a partially successful repair of two leaking valves, a pacemaker, atrial fibrillation, diabetes, high blood pressure, macular degeneration and on and on. He has been, however, a veritable Lazarus, bouncing back with incredible strength from death’s door. We knew, at age 80, that his time must surely be limited, but his amazing constitution made us believe he might beat the odds yet again.

Soon after a wonderful celebration of my 50th birthday, word came that he had taken a terrible fall, and due to erroneously high levels of Coumadin in his blood, had suffered a devastating subdural brain bleed. Surgery to save him seemed impossible due to his still high levels of blood thinner, but a neurosurgeon at Cleveland Clinic came in the middle of the following night and said he would attempt the surgery. My father would survive only hours without it.

In typical fashion, receiving many units of blood and plasma to balance the bleeding rate, my father survived, and for a week or so seemed to be steadily improving, able to say a few words, squeeze one’s hand and sometimes open his eyes and appear to see. On Christmas day, however, he simply began to fail. No more awake response to anything and a feeding tube was put in for nutrition and hydration. The physical weaknesses of his body began cascading, and it seemed that by January 8th, he was no longer really present in his body. A neurological evaluation and many hours of discussion led us to the decision to place him in a nursing home under hospice care, where all medical treatments, such as the tube feeding and hydration would stop, and he would be allowed to die.

A day after the decision to implement this plan, my father began to respond and awaken just a bit. He smiled at my mother and told her “I love you”; the next day he smiled and pursed his lips for a kiss. On the day of transfer to the home, both his eyes were wide open and trying to observe everything, and he tried to speak (without success). The incredible pain and conflict of seeing my father “alive” again in his body while we were in the process of initiating steps to allow his death within two weeks was enormous. On a medical and intellectual level I knew that nothing had changed—so many of his systems were in failure--but the emotional impact seemed at times unbearable. I wanted to give him this last gift of love—to end his life without additional struggle and pain (as he had indicated he wanted in a living will document). I wanted to keep him from the torture of being confined in a nursing home for the last few months of his life, a possibility he found intolerable. He had shown in previous hospitalizations that he would not have survived without sedation and restraint. But the practice was proving much more difficult than the theory.

I have no resolution to this; my father still lives, and the withdrawal of all life support continues. Perhaps this is something that will never have a resolution—just one of those mysteries of life and death, of love and pain that are our legacy as human beings. I do not look for perfection in knowledge or action, I know I must just do the best that I can, and continue to search for ways to teach me to make that “best” better—more wise, more peaceful, more loving and compassionate. I allow the deep feelings of pain and grief and rage to storm within me (and sometimes without!!) without censure or guilt. I know that this is good. My father did not know this in his lifetime, so he was not able to teach me this lesson directly. He was a harsh and often difficult man, to others and to himself, driven no doubt by enormous fears and pain. But I have been given the gift of beginning to learn these lessons, and I am so deeply grateful that I can use them to help my daddy, whom I love so much.

September 2007
My father died peacefully on January 15th, 2002. Since then I have thought many times about this time and what transpired. I’ve heard from others who have gone through similar painful times. I’ve also learned to release some guilt about my father’s seeming rally as we placed him in hospice. It seems that it is not uncommon for someone to improve enough to say goodbye. This doesn’t mean that they aren’t dying, that they are miraculously cured and will be fine. They just simply know that they are leaving, and come back to say good bye. My father held out until one of my brothers could return from a trip; he then gently let go and died peacefully.

Is it Okay to be Happy?

by Rev. Allan
I read a book recently that began with an interesting couple of lines: “There is only one way to achieve lasting happiness. That way is simply: Be happy.”

I like simplicity; I find it very appealing, but this statement––true as I believe it is––needs more meat on the bones, more juice. For the person who questions whether lasting happiness is likely to ever happen for them, this premise, to be helpful, needs a working methodology––more juice.

The second premise upon which the book is based is: “Everything that happens to you is the very best thing that can possibly happen to you.” I’m not certain that I agree with that statement. I know that I would not want to be the one to tell the parents of a young person killed in Iraq, or anywhere else for that matter, that it was the very best thing that could have happened.

Things happen, and things are the way they are. The judgmental part––the part that states that everything that happens to us is the very best thing that could happen to us––I don’t know about that. Things being the way they are doesn’t mean that they are the very best they can be. If so, there would be little reason to strive for improvement.

What I have found to be true is that whatever the conditions in our lives, our happiness is totally dependant upon our perception of those conditions, not the conditions themselves. In fact, our entire experience of life is dependant upon how we view the events in our lives. The optimist thinks this is the best of all possible worlds. The pessimist fears that might be true. The optimist says, “The glass is half full.” The pessimist says, “The glass is half empty.”
The rationalist says, “The glass is twice as big as it has to be.”

I think many of us question whether it really is okay to be happy when world conditions are as they are. Is a life is good philosophy possible, and compassionate? One could almost feel guilty for being happy.

There is so much suffering in the world. Is it really okay to be happy?
I was raised to believe we are all sinners. Is it really okay to be happy?
I’ve made mistakes that have hurt people. Is it really okay to be happy?

Yes, we have all made mistakes, and yes, at some point, we may have intentionally said or done things to hurt another, and yes, there is terrible suffering in the world. But, here is the important point: There is no situation or condition that can be made better by your unhappiness.

Going back to the book I mentioned, it may be too simplistic to say, “Just be happy.” Yet it is also foolish to believe that if one changes the external conditions in one’s life, then one will be happy. Besides, the external things you can change are limited. It can still rain on the day you have tickets to the stadium; the boss at your next job will have his faults––as will another husband; and the market will have down days. But no event contains within itself either happiness or unhappiness. We supply the emotional response. We are the source of our happiness and we are always free to choose how we view any situation.

Let’s try a short exercise: With your eyes closed, call to mind something that has been causing you some degree of unhappiness. Now allow yourself to consider another way of viewing the situation. At first you may feel there is no other way, but stay with it a little longer. Soften your grip on what appears to be the only way to see the circumstance. Believe it or not, there is always another way to see every situation.

Sometimes happiness comes easily. Other times, we need to put out a little mental effort.
Albert Schweitzer suggested that it also helps to have a bad memory, or as one teacher put it, “Give up all hope of having a better past.”

It is okay to be happy, and to experience life as a wonderful adventure. But, there is only one time to do that, and it begins right now.

There is no situation or condition that can be made better by your unhappiness.

Hands

by Rev. Susanna
I catch a glimpse of my hands. They are 56 year-old hands, and unlike a lot of the rest of my body, they look it.

Often I am shocked and somewhat repulsed at the sight of them. “They are an old lady’s hands, not mine! They are wrinkled and old!” But today, as the light of morning illuminates the large blue veins, and the loose skin settles into folds and wrinkles, I see strength. These are hands that have worked hard, healed, and created. They have earned their wear. Their beauty now lies in their qualities of function, not of aesthetics. They are strong, beautiful. They have lost the ideal of youthful softness so valued in our society, but they have acquired a deeper beauty. One can trust these hands. They will hold you with strength and competence. They will heal you with wisdom, and offer help and comfort.

They are sure and strong and wise when I dig in my gardens and tend to my plant babies. They are calming and capable when I steady my dog and remove a tick. They are knowing beyond book knowledge when they touch and help heal a client in pain. They are giving and can be relied upon when they grasp a patient’s hands in the hospital.

What gorgeous hands! Could I ever want to trade them for soft, white, supple ones? I am so grateful for the gift of these exquisite hands!

How Do I Love Me?

by Rev. Allan

Oh, what a difference a word makes. Elizabeth Barrett Browning, the 19th century English poet, transports us to her sense of ecstasy with the opening line of her famous poem, “How do I love thee; let me count the ways.”

However, when we change one word and say, ”How do I love me” we are more likely transported to a sense of, “ Uh, I don’t want to go there.”

Clearly it is easier, and probably feels more appropriate, to love another than to love one’s self. Yet, not only are we taught by scholars, philosophers, and prophets to love ourselves, but common sense tells us that we cannot offer to another what we ourselves don’t have.

Why is it so challenging then, not only to love one’s self, but to even want to do so? A major contributor to the difficulty may be a source that appears to encourage self love, but, at the same time may confuse the issue. We live in a society highly influenced by the Judeo-Christian code. It doesn’t matter what our individual beliefs may be, this code permeates and surrounds the essence of our lives.

One of the great commandments is, “Love thy neighbor as thyself.” It would appear that there is an assumption that we already love ourselves. Otherwise, wouldn’t the commandment say, “Love thy neighbor and thyself?” But the commandment is, “Love thy neighbor as thyself.”

According to scripture, an assumption of self-love could be well grounded. The teaching is that we are loved unconditionally by God, and we are made in the image of God. Therefore the assumption that self love is part of the human condition could have validity. However, is that assumption supported by another core Christian teaching that suggests we were each born into, and bear, ‘original sin.’

Without commenting on the validity of these teachings, I would say that real life experience suggests that an assumption of self love, may be seriously off base. What we appear to have right now is a world in which we are loving our neighbors as ourselves–poorly.

What feelings are we actually experiencing toward ourselves in our every day lives and, how do I love me? Let us examine the ways.

The Buddha said, you can search the entire universe for someone more deserving of your love than you are yourself, but that person cannot be found anywhere. You, yourself, more than anybody in the universe, deserve your own love.

While a great deal of the Wisdom Teaching from the East has been widely accepted here in the West, that particular teaching has not taken root. While we may allow ourselves to feel good about something we’ve accomplished, or have a sense of being a good person, very few of us embrace ourselves lovingly.

How could someone as wise as the Buddha expect us to love ourselves? For one thing, the Buddha taught only about the existence of suffering and the end of suffering. Surely learning to replace constant self criticism and harsh judgment with kind and loving thoughts directed toward one’s self would help to alleviate suffering.

How about just plain common sense–feeling bad about yourself doesn’t feel good. Besides, if you really want to feel bad about yourself there are always those who are ready to help you do so. There was a fellow who had been feeling down for a long time and he finally decided to see a therapist. He spoke for some time about his feelings with the therapist asking a few questions as he went along. Finally the man asked what the therapist thought was wrong with him. The therapist said, “I think it’s a matter of low self-esteem.” “Oh” said the man, “Is that serious?” The therapist said, “No. It’s very common among losers.”

Loving yourself does not mean you have to believe you are the greatest person who ever lived. Loving yourself is compatible with humility. Loving yourself allows room to forgive yourself and to know that you will do better next time.

A well balanced self image and healthy ego are not constants. They are as subject to the law of impermanence as anything else. Offering kind and loving thoughts to ourselves needs to be an ongoing process.

We live in a society that thrives by convincing us that we are not good enough as we are. Be thinner, be trimmer, be taller, be faster, smell better, taste better, look better. You need this product to be happy. Buy what you want and enjoy it. But don’t buy a product, or an idea because it will make you more worthy of your own love. That product or idea does not exist.

Scholars, philosophers, prophets, and poets have attempted to define ‘love’ and have come to the conclusion that it is not describable in words. So what does a warm, loving sensation feel like?

Look at the pictures above and take note of your feelings.

Maintain those loving feelings for a moment and see yourself.

The American author, Walt Whitman, wrote, “I am larger and better than I thought; I did not think I held so much goodness.” You are so much better than you think. You can’t even imagine all the goodness within you.

Spiritual Practice

by Rev. Susanna

Several years ago, I kept a journal to track the deepening of my spiritual practice for a course I was taking. This journaling was meant to help us examine just where we were in our spiritual practice, and I had some surprises as I looked at mine. A glimpse into those journals . . .

Week 1
I am a worm. Deepening what spiritual practice? Perhaps I am worthy to touch the hem of the garment of someone who once had a friend who knew someone who had a spiritual practice, but otherwise . . .? What am I doing in a course claiming to have a spiritual practice that I’d like to deepen?

I feel so unworthy, so low. And then, I feel even worse knowing that to be so hard on oneself, so critical and uncompassionate is not considered very spiritual. I’m rapidly sinking below wormdom!

Okay, calm down. I love to garden, and worms are good. It is such a sign of health in the rich soil of a garden to dig in and find a lot of earthworms. Worms are very good. I’m feeling better.

But why did these feelings arise? If I listed all the things I do in my life on a daily basis that were mentioned as good, generous practices, I would be more than adequate. I decide that this is the first time I’ve stopped to measure and consider my spiritual practice, and it’s fine to find it in need of growth. But the severity of my judgment . . . beginner’s panic? Old ingrained habits of severe self-criticism? Worth noting, but as my annelid phase seems to be passing, I’ll just gratefully wiggle on for now.

Week 2
I return from chaplaincy hospital visits. A new feeling, deep in the chest, rather despairing, that is difficult to describe in words: the old African-American man who was trying to ask me for something, and I couldn’t understand until he finally just gave up and closed his eyes in weariness. No matter how well I do with any one patient, I will always seem to fail with another just because of the situation. It helps to realize that this is not a personal failure, but the hopelessness of the situation. Can sure feel like a personal failure, though. I know that I truly, deeply helped several patients today: Madame Gallo, who was so delighted that I could speak French with her; the man with the stroke who cried and finally told me he thought death might be better than this; the old woman who was so happy when I sat close to her and held her hands that she petted and stroked my hands and arms the entire visit. I have also come to learn how those visits that seem so simple and unremarkable to me can have a tremendous effect on the patient.

But the feel of loss and despair is horrible. I know quite clearly that I did not personally fail, nor was it likely that someone else could have done much better. It comforted me to remember “Some things are so worth doing that they are worth doing badly.” This particular “badly” may have been part of my inadequacies, but more about the shape of the world, the nature of our lives in this universe. It is important to keep going when that world seems so overwhelming in its pain and need.

Week 3
Joy. I am experiencing palpable joy on a much more frequent basis, in many ordinary situations. What a joy! (see?) I have never been lacking in great appreciation for beauty nor in deep gratitude for the blessings and gifts that pour into my life, but I seem to be so aware of experiencing mindfulness and gratefulness more frequently, in every fiber of my being—my body, my mind, my heart.

Week 4
So much for joy. Rough week, but seeing the path of ups and downs and highs and lows seems to bring some peace. The practice of meditation that is called “calm abiding’ (shamata) is most valuable in weathering the bumpy journey of life. It is then, in meditation that I can find balance, knowing that peace is available within me. Now, to carry that practice into daily life . . .

Compassion

by Rev. Allan

Today is my cousin's birthday.
Len, who is five years older than I, always had a clear vision of what he wanted in life. He wanted to make a lot of money, and he did; he wanted to have a family–with children and grandchildren, and he does; he wanted to have many friends and be part of a large community, and he has that as well. He has pretty much everything he ever wanted in life.

My cousin is not able to walk. The condition that began slowly eroding the use of his legs thirty years ago is now, slowly taking over his entire body. When I’m with Len and watch what he has to do to get from his wheel chair to a chair in a restaurant, or into his car, I am left with feelings so intense that they stay with me for days afterward.

Len doesn’t speak about his feelings, and he doesn’t complain, so I don’t know what his experience is of his situation. But for me, I think that without my cousin, I would not have the deep, visceral understanding of compassion that I have today.

Compassion is the living realization of our connection with all beings.

For several years I volunteered as a hospital chaplain. One day I entered a room where a teenage girl was crying and clutching her mother’s hands. She kept saying, “My pain ma, my pain ma.” The mother explained that her daughter had MS. Her pain medication had worn off and it was too soon to give her more. I asked the girl if I could hold her hand. Then, in a totally spontaneous moment, and for reasons I can’t explain, I asked her to let me have her pain. She nodded, “No” quite emphatically. I asked if she was concerned that her pain would hurt me and she nodded, “Yes.” I said, “No, the pain will just pass through me.”

She looked at her mother and her mother nodded that it was okay. The girl turned back to me, closed her eyes, and then, for several seconds a sharp electrical tingle went through my arm. When it stopped, she looked at me, then turned to her mother and said, “No pain ma.”

I don’t remember her name and I never saw her again. I had never done anything like that before, but I learned something that day about compassion–spontaneous compassion and compassion in action.

Compassion is the living realization of our connection with all beings.

I think that if spiritual practice is to be of any value, it must be the catalyst within each of us, that awakens compassion. It is through compassion that we come to know our highest self.
In the wisdom traditions from the East, compassion and love are conceived as one. To which, the noted American philosopher, Woody Allen, had this to offer: “To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering one must not love. But then one suffers from not loving. Therefore to love is to suffer, not to love is to suffer. To suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love. To be happy then is to suffer. But suffering makes one unhappy. Therefore, to be unhappy one must love, or love to suffer, or suffer from too much happiness.” And that’s why we need to feel compassion for Woody Allen.

How do we develop greater compassion? One way is to start where we already feel some level of compassion. In my case, my cousin. What might that place be within you? Think of someone you know who is suffering. Think of how much you would like to help.

When we practice compassion, we wish not only for someone to be free from any physical pain they are experiencing, but also to be free from fear–fear of pain, and the fear that arises from the mental spinoffs they create. We wish for them to be free of any anger, resentment, or bitterness that might develop as a spinoff from their actual situation.

So compassion isn't so much about what happens in life, but how we respond to what happens in life. Sometimes, what is happening can’t be changed–a serious illness, or injury, or the end of a relationship. We might wish that it could be changed, but compassion is not about wishful thinking. So our compassion is not directed toward trying to change what is, but toward helping a person move through their experience with ease, and with greater equanimity. How else can we deal with what we read in our newspapers, or watch on CNN? One Tibetan teacher said there's nothing wrong with negativity, the problem is negative negativity: resentment, bitterness, blame, and so on.

Now what about someone we dislike? Maybe we feel they hurt us, and there’s a part of us that would like them to suffer too. It may be difficult to own up to this, but it can happen. What does it feel like when our heart hardens? We can change that by using the same imagination that creates destructive spinoffs to awaken compassion. Visualize someone who is difficult for you. Create a terrible scenario in which something awful happens to them, about which you couldn’t possibly feel happy. You can awaken compassion even for a difficult person.

Compassion is the living realization of our connection with all beings.

Compassion with wisdom–that is a spiritual practitioner. It is as if each of us is an angel, but with only one wing. In order to fly, we must embrace each other.