Cyber-Family

My uncle died last week.  Thanks, but no condolences are necessary. I saw him last some two decades ago. My mother’s oldest brother, he lived in Canada and rarely came to the States and our family rarely headed north. Once we got together for assorted Bat Mitzvahs or weddings, but we all grew apart as time grew long. We never visited. We rarely talked on the phone or corresponded even via Internet convenience. We failed to attend celebrations or even funerals — not because we did not have time, but that we lacked motive.

Today, if I passed my first cousins on the street, I would never recognize them.

My family is not close in either my maternal or paternal clans. We cannot blame distance for the dysfunction. Growing up in my hometown, my family always seemed on the oust with one or the other set my dad’s brothers and their kin. Unfortunately, the three brothers all co-owned the same retail business and the familial animosity reached histrionic proportions when the store shuttered and each sued the other.

Today, my youngest sister and I do not speak. When I attempted to reestablish communications, all my past transgressions of the past 50 years were rehashed (I’m truly sorry I laughed when you fell off the bed and gashed your head open when you were 8, but I really didn’t push you off!!!). My middle sister talks to me when the mood suits her. My parents call weekly and we discuss their latest medical test results (going to the doctor and early-bird suppers at Denny’s seem the most highly anticipated social pastimes of the aged). But we never really discuss feelings, emotions, joys, fears or sorrows. Personal barriers protect us from those truths. We end conversations with “I love you” from obligation not affection.

I bought the Tolstoy’s novel Anna Karenina merely for its first sentence: “All happy families are alike. Each dysfunctional family is dysfunctional in its own way.” I thought he must have met mine.

 I often wonder why my biological family act as they do? Is it our Russian Jewish ghetto heritage (albeit neither Tolstoy nor Karenina came from that milieu)? Is it some Mediterranean hot-blooded cultural tic in Jewish, Greek, Italian and Arab people that make us more vulnerable to family hostility (and Semitic wars)? Was either the nature or nurture of my ancestors’ pedigree so tainted that we repel each other throughout the generations? 

My husband’s relatives don’t act like this. His first cousins and family come to visit regularly. He knows the intimacies of his third cousin twice removed. My in-laws actually enjoy my company. So with marriage I cleave to my husband and his extended family as my true genealogy.

Another wise writer (whose name, unfortunately, escapes me now) said “Our real family is not necessarily the one we were born into.”  The author spoke not just of my marital kinfolk. Friends can become our true family. So can anonymous voices we meet in cyberspace.

While I do not really mourn my uncle’s death, I do deeply grieve over the loss of members of a cyber-family I have come to know well. I mourn the death of my favorite blog.

For the last three years, we gathered together daily, our electrons converging from the far corners of the galaxy to discuss our shared interest in all things Keith Olbermann. (Not quite a strange interest if one is a liberal living in a major red state with unfairly unbalanced ultra-conservative news offerings). 

I made many friends on that site although I really do not know their true names, where they reside, what they do when not blogging, or about their own family situations. I just know that we have laughed, fretted, critiqued, scorned, cheered and ruminated together on the political-social-cultural Countdown stories we shared via Internet and TV set. Together we survived the Dubya Administration, both Republican and Democratic primaries, the 2008 presidential election, Britney Spears, Sarah Palin and the ongoing Iraqi/Afghan wars.

Here and there, glimpses of our true personalities emerged. I discovered a fellow Buddhist on the group. Several of our blogsters realized they lived in the same city, or enjoyed the same hobbies, or cheered for the same sports teams. A few of us became good friends, talked off-line and helped each other through difficult personal times — illness, job problems, pet loss and, yes, family squabbles. 

Because of the blog, I finally understood the appeal of a Sex in the City coterie — the true deep affection of friends who gather together to discuss life, love and Mr Big (our KO). 

Perhaps this says something disquieting about society today. If we seek our most passionate connections through cable or DSL, what does that envisage for the future of civilization? However, maybe in turn, this need to connect on-line speaks volumes about the ills of humanity today.

Unfortunately, blogs (like jobs and relationships, friends and family) often require too much time, energy and maintenance to continue forever. They go adrift and fade into the pixels of cyberspace. They come and go more frequently than the neighborhood fusion restaurant. Blogs, I have learned, become unrelenting and apathetic taskmasters.

Most blogs claim only a few regular readers. To create a blog that truly captures imagination, ongoing interest, feedback, repeat readers, many lurkers, frequent commenters and the attention of its revered subject is rare indeed.  

But, to create a blog that inspires a true community of friends — no a community of family — who mourn its passing as personal, shines as sheer genius and inimitability . 

So, good-bye dear Either Relevant or True. And thank you, Becky and company for becoming my true cyber-family, if only for a while.

How Would Buddha Vote?

Joe The Plumber may be a big, bald, happy fellow, but he definitely is not a Buddha impersonator. The non-licensed plumber from Ohio misrepresented himself to Barack Obama during their rope line exchange. He became a Republican shill for no other reason that he could and he manipulated his 15-minutes of fame and UTube notoriety into a potential (and probably unlikely) book and record deal. 

In other words, Joe The Plumber is an opportunistic scam artist whose inalienable Buddha nature remains stuck somewhere inside his colon.

I mention Joe The Plumber because he serves as just one talisman during this seemingly eternal presidential election. Sarah Palin represents another — a politico who offers limited intellect, questionable agenda but who generates ecclesiastical exhilaration among those who seek a Reagan-esque messiah.

Catholics had their Kennedy (Al Smith doesn’t count); Jews, their Joe Lieberman (although he went over to the dark side). Muslims cautiously vote for any candidate who will welcome them.  But how do Buddhists vote?

An article in today’s Houston Chronicle stated that Buddhists in America vote a split ticket. The number of Buddhists in the United States range from 1.5 million to more than 6 million depending on who’s counting, especially since Buddhists follow a variety of practices, groups, philosophies and even non-affiliated meditation

While some would suppose that Buddhists, who tend to take the world as it is (or with a grain of illusionary salt) might profess to be more liberal or independent politically, But, according to the article, that’s not always the case. Traditional Asian Buddhists (those born into the faith), particularly those from Southeast Asia, lean conservative. Memories of religious and social persecution by the communists in their home countries drive many Asian Buddhists into the Republican fold. On November 4, many of them will punch the chad for John McCain.

American Buddhists, those who came to the philosophy/religion from another background, do tend to be more liberal. They may see their ultimate goal to become a bodhisattva, one who renounces personal enlightenment to help other beings. American Buddhists who tend to respect the rights of all sentient beings (humans, animals, plants, even neo-cons) would be more inclined to vote for Democratic candidates who promote programs to aid the disadvantaged. Indeed, a new group calling themselves Buddhists for Obama sponsored numerous events and raised nearly $250,000 for their chosen candidate. A “Buddhists for Joe The Plumber’s Guy” doesn’t seem to exist.

Some American Buddhists take Buddha’s admonishment to “Believe nothing, no matter where you read it, or who said it, no matter if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and your own common sense” as the libertarian ideal —  not follow political parties and not rely on government to solve problems.

And, according to the article, many Buddhists seek refuge from the campaign noise, chaos and altercations by quieting their mind, meditating, not watching negative TV ads and refusing to answer robocalls.

But for those who ask “How Would Buddha Vote?” in this election, I would have to rely on Buddha’s own teachings, the Eight-fold Path of what leads to a world without argument, conflict and suffering. I guess the candidate who most follows the Eight-fold Path would get, perhaps, Buddha’s vote:

1. Right View — The right way to see the world is simply with an open and clear mind. Right view does not color things with personal agendas, expectations, and fear of what could be. Those with Right View accommodate as events unfold with balance and joy, not hope or fear.
2. Right Intention — Our intentions are pure. We no longer need to be manipulative or base our thoughts or actions on preconceived notions. We work with what is as it comes.
3. Right Speech — If we follow Right View and Right Intention have noting to hide and eschew manipulation and agenda, we never must be hesitant to speak, bluff our way through words, speak in tongues, or lecture with pompousness. We speak what needs to be said, when it needs to be said in a kind and genuine way. Otherwise, we listen and learn.
4. Right Discipline — We renounce all the biases, issues, conflicts that cloud our judgment. We seek an open and honest relationship with everyone and every situation. We drop all the bullshit that impedes our relationships and our ability to act as we should.
5. Right Livelihood — We should perform our job with appreciation and joy for the good it provides others, the satisfaction it gives us, the improvements it offers to the community, If our work causes suffering to ourselves, other beings or the community, we must find a different livelihood that first does no harm and second allows satisfaction for all involved, worker, proprietor, customer, community. Whether politics falls into the realm of “right livelihood” remains to be seen.
6. Right Effort — Wrong effort creates an “us against them” world. Struggle, argument, battles of illusionary good versus evil tears at the fabric of the world. Negative tendencies are magnified in other persons and other groups. However, right effort avoids struggle. Right effort emphasizes nonviolence and understanding and patience. Problems are resolved through skillful means without recrimination. Right effort promotes peace and kindness.
7. Right Mindfulness — Right mindfulness requires precision and clarity. We become aware of all around us, the bug balancing on a blade of grass, the brush of wind against our hair. We become mindful of how we approach others, how we talk with them, how we perform our jobs, how we care for others. With mindfulness we stand straighter, we walk confidently, we remain calm, and we stay mindful of our attitude toward everything and everyone around us.
8. Right Concentration — We daydream. We’re absentminded. We’re addicted to TV, video games, computers, blogs and other vapid entertainment. We lose interest rapidly and seek the different, the newness, the nowness. That leads to a loss of focus.  We lose our place in life. Right Concentration combines all of the other noble paths and emphasizes the need to stop and smell the roses. To be aware that roses do exist and only for a short season. With focus we begin to see gaps in the way world works. We learn that these gaps, rather than empty, provide the insight we need to truly make change in ourselves and our world. Right Concentration stops our obsession with busyness and ourselves and makes time to understand calmness and silence.

While some see Buddhists as nihilists, we actually have been highly political from ancient times. Buddha taught dharma to all interested beings including the lower caste, criminals, royalty and animals.  He allowed women to be disciples. He reluctantly dealt with bureaucracy that politics inevitably entails. He had to establish a strict monastic canon to keep insolent disciples in line. He confronted political deceit by his cousin Devadatta who created schisms in the sangha, attempted a coup against Buddha to take over the Awakened One’s leadership position. Buddha also proposed a “Middle Way” of practice, a centrist position between the extremes of religious mania and depression, so to speak.

Buddhists engage in political protest, whether selfless immolation during the Vietnam War, or much more peaceful and nonviolent marches against the tyrannical Burmese leadership. Today, the Dalai Lama epitomizes the Buddhist “politician” who follows the Eight-fold Path and the “Middle Way” in his dealings with his disciples and world leaders as well as his enemies.

So how would Buddha vote in Tuesday’s election? As far as that hypothetical goes, I guess we’ll just have to sit on it.

 

© 2008 by Winking Buddha Blog.  All Rights Reserved

 

Winking Wisdom #3

Somewhere in the world, it’s dawn

Winking Wisdom #2

When you have nothing worthwhile to say…

Don’t

Those Winking Blue Eyes

My mother held a crush on Paul Newman. Even in black-and-white non-Technicolor days before she could swoon over those trickster deep blue eyes, mother venerated Paul. She carried the torch not so much that he was a cinematic god, as he was our cinematic god — a lansman, one of the tribe, a Jewish Cary Grant when most Jewish actors resembled Fyvush Finkel. Oy, so Paul’s lineage proved only half-a-Yid, he played Ari Ben Canaan in Exodus. He fought for our cause and we adopted him. He became “mishpocha.”

Here came an actor with Jewish roots, handsome enough to get the girl instead of Robert Redford in Butch Cassidy (well, at least in the bicycle scene). A Jewish actor who could play a momzer and still be a mensch; a Jewish protagonist who could take the punch and not fall down. Newman served as the standard to which all my future dates could never match — blond, blue-eyed, rugged and (at least partially) Jewish.

I doubt Newman adhered much to his Jewishness anymore than he acquiesced to Hollywood. Newman dressed in the black tie trappings, regularly walked the red-carpeted gauntlet of paparazzi, and acknowledged his Faustian obligations to fans. Yet, Newman seemed much more comfortable in his cable cardigan, a baseball cap or a NASCAR  Indy Racing firesuit than Armani. The green of Connecticut not the beaches of Malibu became his home. He fell in love with a starlit, Joanne Woodward, for more than fifty years. He made Nixon’s enemies list long before today’s trendy Hollywood-Washington fornication.

Newman was the anti-Brangelina. He eschewed the society page to make salad dressing in his garage. Although he called his Newman’s Own product empire “a joke that got out of control” he served as an innovative entrepreneur who promoted all-natural (and often vegan) foods, environmentally friendly packaging and recycling long before being green was easy kitsch. With the mission statement “Shameless Exploitation in Pursuit of the Common Good,” Newman’s company gives all profits to charity, at least $250 million to date. 

One of his favorite recipients was “The Hole in the Wall” Camps, now an international group of respites for children with life-threatening illnesses, including the cancer that took his own life. Newman much preferred to hobnob with the kiddos at camp, named after the real Butch Cassidy’s rat pack, than the snobs on the Walk of Fame.

Newman should be remembered as a humanitarian not an philanthropist. Humanitarians envision a world greater than their own Brentwood (or River Oaks) boundaries. Humanitarians symbolize the quality of being humane. Humanitarians give of the abundance of their own humanity, not the affluence of their wealth. He did so quietly, humbly and unselfishly. He exploited his celebrity to promote true philanthropy rather than exploiting philanthropy to promote celebrity.

Buddhist believe that when we die we reincarnate into a different form based on the karma we merited in past lives. Those who acted with greed and gluttony may find themselves returned as “hungry ghosts” reborn with such tiny mouths and grotesque stomaches they can never savor all gourmet succulence that surrounds them. Others who earned merit through benevolent works may evolve as bodhisattvas, enlightened beings who return to Earth to aid others find Nirvana (or eternal happiness). 

Often, when a great Buddhist teacher or bodhisattva dies, rainbows, shooting stars or other strange phenomena appear in the heavens. I don’t know if Paul Newman believed in Heaven (Buddhists really don’t). But I have to admit, today the sky gleamed with an extraordinary deep shade of blue.

© 2008 by winkingbuddha.com

Enlighten Up, Already!

 

Enlightenment leads Buddhists to Nirvana.  However, here in the post-Hurricane Ike Houston area more than one-half million of us wait not for enlightenment but for any sliver of illumination to lead us to the bathroom after sundown.

The Galveston area is without essential utilities such as electricity, potable water, sewage (except that which is in streets and homes). The University of Texas Medical Branch, Galveston’s largest medical facility as well as its largest employer, is shut, perhaps for months (I know, I tried unsuccessfully to get a prescription renewed from my doctor there). Texas A&M University’s marine branch will be land locked at College Station for at least a semester. Neighboring communities are in the same boat –literally with incongruous the sailing vessels in streets and yards.

In Houston, CenterPoint Energy, the regulated power company that handles power grids (or in our case, gridlocks), reports that more than 500,000 of residents are still without electricity, two weeks after Hurricane Ike attacked. According to a local TV report, CenterPoint may not have power restored to all its customers until November, so deep frying that Thanksgiving turkey outside may become a nutritional necessity rather than a Texas epicurean tradition.

By the way, CenterPoint Energy, one of the nation’s largest regulated energy utilities, is the step sibling of Reliant Energy, a deregulated electricity seller and wholesaler.  In other words, Reliant Energy is what you get when you flip your switch. CenterPoint gets Reliant Energy there. Therefore, I assume that neither Reliant Stadium — home of the Houston Texans so-called football team — nor Reliant Center — big profit-making convention center — both named for that unregulated power family ever worried about food rotting in their concession stands.

Zen teaches that a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. However, in Houston the journey toward our post-Ike re-enlightment sometimes falls several steps behind.

Fractured trees abound in every Houston neighborhood. One clean-up team, pruning broken limbs to assist a CenterPoint fix-it crew, accidently severed a functional electric line. The hot wire fell on to the roof of a house which immediately caught fire, thus bringing long-lost illumination temporarily to the neighborhood until the fire department doused the blaze. On the plus side, that house escaped any storm surge flooding during Hurricane Ike.

A Little Ego Can Be Beautiful

After hassling Hurricane Ike for two weeks and suffering from post traumatic hurricane exhaustion, I indulged in a much needed visit to the local beauty salon — now that the lights are on and the water is again potable.

I now sport a beautiful new hair style along with a new outlook on life!

Sometimes we all desire a bit of ego satisfaction, even Buddhists!

Remembrances of Storms Past

Since we stalwart residents of the Texas Gulf Coast suffer from post traumatic hurricane exhaustion, I’m much too tired to retell the adventures of the last week as my family evacuated from Hurricane Ike.  Thanks to good karma or just that recently upgraded roof, the storm limited damage to the elderly trees throughout our neighborhood. I hope soon to write up a report of the events of the week of Ike, but until then, I thought I would reminisce about other hurricanes past. And as this blog professes to relate somehow to Buddhism, I’ll recall the story of how Hurricane Rita blew away my chance to meet the Dalai Lama.

In September 2005, I had free tickets to the most talked about performance in town — His Holiness the Dalai Lama was to speak at Rice University. The previous night he served as keynote speaker at a $1,000 a person gala spotlighting all spiritualism in society, including Buddhism and “other” escoteric “New Age” philosophies. 

Unfortunately, that August and September 2005 brought two samsaric (and perhaps karmic) events to the Gulf region, Hurricanes Katrina and Rita. Because Rita wobbled to the right and the civic leaders fearing another 24/7 media (not just natural) disaster, they issued a mandatory evacuation order for the city. An estimated 2-million-plus vehicles clogged all routes leading from the Houston area. Journeys that normally took about two hours evolved into 15 hours of nonstop stopped congestion. Gas, food, water ran out as road rage flared in the 200 mile traffic jam. One hundred elderly people burned to death on a bus as traffic inched by.  

Thus, His Holiness’ talk about benevolence, compassion, peace, and kindness was cancelled and the leader of the Tibetan people had to be whisked out of town despite the gridlock that ensued. As the Dalai Lama is a Buddha in the flesh. And karma being what it is, all the evacuees headed north on clogged, congested and conflicted freeways while the His Holiness was escorted south in the direction of Hobby airport,  serendipitously in the opposite direction of the disconbobulation. And whether because traffic was fleeing the city, or because he was the Dalai Lama and actualized such things, no cars blocked escape route from the city. He caught his winged transport with plenty of time to spare.

I wrote a blog about the rather perplexing juxtaposition of $1000 tickets to see a poor monk and us poor supplicants whose free tickets to his public lectures blew away in hurricane winds. So, I decided to create a new blog page called Reincarnations to post past blogs or writings that may have renewed relevancy for today. 

So please check the new-and-old Reincarnations page to read the oldie but goodie blog, Houston Serves The Dalai Lama a Rita

Sign of the Times

A Baptist church a few blocks from us posts this sign:

Serving God since 1986

Wonder where He took His business before then

© 2008 winkingbuddha.com