-And this is the way of the Peace Artist: It all begins with Gratitude--Love, Help, make Art & Peace
Email: peace@thepeaceartist.com
Facebook: Peace Artist
Zen Brain: Exploring The Connection Between Neuroscience And Meditation
This past August, more than 50 people gathered in the Circle of the Way temple at Upaya Zen Center in Santa Fe, New Mexico, to explore the connection between neuroscience and meditation. This is the fourth year we have done so.
Why? This is a Zen center that is inspired by the example set by His Holiness the Dalai Lama, who nearly 30 years ago began a dialogue with Dr. Francisco Varela and myself that was to eventually become embodied in the Mind & Life Institute, an organization that supports and sustains dialogue and rigorous scientific inquiry into meditative states.
Over the years His Holiness has enjoyed relationships with many scientists, including Varela, Sir Karl Popper, and David Bohm. His Holiness said:
With the ever growing impact of science on our lives, religion and spirituality have a greater role to play reminding us of our humanity. There is no contradiction between the two. Each gives us valuable insights into the other. Both science and the teachings of the Buddha tell us of the fundamental unity of all things.
Upaya Zen Center continues this deep inquiry into science and Buddhism through the vehicle of the Zen Brain retreats, as well as other programs. Those who are enrolled in Upaya’s Contemplative End-of-Life Care training (for medical professionals) and the Buddhist Chaplaincy Program develop a thorough grounding in the latest findings on neuroscience and meditation as they go about their work in the world.
In the Zen Brain retreats, prominent scientists and Zen practitioners explore Buddhist, neuro-scientific and clinical science perspectives on topics like altruism, compassion and consciousness. Lectures and discussions with participants are embedded within zazen (meditation) practice throughout each day.
The most recent Zen Brain program this August explored trauma, stress, loss and the human potential for resilience and happiness. The faculty, drawn from the most accomplished clinicians and researchers studying this topic, featured Al Kaszniak, Ph.D., George Chrousos, M.D., George A. Bonanno, Ph.D. and Philippe Goldin, Ph.D. I also had the privilege of participating with these scientists as a contemplative and someone who has worked in this field for many years.
The main coordinator of this unusual program at Upaya is Dr. Kaszniak, the director of the Neuropsychology, Emotion and Memory Lab at the University of Arizona, where he studies Alzheimer’s disease and other age-related neurological disorders, as well as emotion response and regulation in long-term Zen and mindfulness meditators. His most recent publication is a chapter on the use of meditation to reduce stress and improve well-being among caregivers of persons with dementia to be included in the book Enhancing Cognitive Fitness in Adults: A Guide to the Use and Development of Community-Based Programs (P.E. Hartman-Stein and A. LaRue, eds.).
Dr. Chrousos is renowned as one of the world’s pre-eminent pediatric physicians and endocrinologists. He also serves as the UNESCO chair in adolescent care. His expertise in stress in large part can be linked to his work in endocrinology. Dr. Chrousos’ presentation during Zen Brain on “Stress: the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly” explored the effects of stress on the individual.
Dr. Bonanno, professor of clinical psychology at Columbia University, has been hailed as a pioneering researcher in bereavement and trauma. In work funded by the National Institutes of Health and the National Science Foundation, Dr. Bonanno has examined how adults and children respond to and cope with extremely aversive events, such as the death of a loved one, war, sexual abuse, and terrorist attack. More recently, he has focused on defining psychological resilience in adults exposed to extreme adversity and on the factors that might inform resilient outcomes.
Dr. Goldin is a postdoctoral researcher in the Department of Psychology at Stanford University. His clinical research focuses on the effect of mindfulness meditation and cognitive behavioral therapy on neural substrates of emotional reactivity, emotion regulation, and attention regulation. He also explores the effect of child-parent mindfulness meditation training on anxiety, compassion, and quality of family interactions.
Buddhism is a path to liberation from suffering, and among the most pervasive universal triggers of suffering are trauma, stress and loss, including bereavement. Fundamental to Buddhist teaching is the recognition that freedom from suffering can be found through realizing that the fundamental nature of our mental experience is ever-changing, interdependent and without any fixed, unchanging self at its core.
In these unusual programs, participants explore constructs like “affective stickiness,” a phrase coined by Dr. Richard Davidson, Research Professor of Psychology and Psychiatry at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. This is the phenomenon by which we interpret an experience as negative and then become so strongly identified with it that it becomes a fixed part of “us.” The particular kind of misinterpreation of self-identification can prevent us from accessing our full range of consciousness and often limits our capacity to make choices regarding a situation.
This phenomenon recalls the astute observation that Albert Einstein made in 1950:
A human being is a part of a whole, called by us ‘universe,’ a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest… a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.
What would it mean for us to truly understand that this thing we call “self” is a fiction, not only from a philosophical perspective but from a scientific one? What kind of impact could that realization have on the way we structure our economy, our health care system, our government, and even our relationships with each other, with those “different” from us, and with the Earth?
What a marvelous possibility for us to explore at this time in our planet’s history.
If you’d like to join us in this exploration, the next Zen Brain program is January 12-15, 2012. More information is available on the Upaya website, www.upaya.org.
Life: Well Lived-
“Subway makes pizza?” I said.
“Yeah, I here they are pretty good. I got you a vegetarian one, I hope that is all right?” Dave replied
“Terrific! I’m a vegetarian.” I chimed. But, I’m getting ahead of myself. In order to make this strange and wonderful day make sense we have to go back to the beginning.
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“Is he dead?” She asked.
“I don’t think so, he is still breathing. Hey buddy you OK?” The man who was standing over me asked. As I stirred they took a couple of steps back. “We saw you laying there and the stroller, and we just wanted to make sure you and the kids were OK?” he added.
“Uh, sorry to disappoint you, but there are only art supplies in there. If there was a kid, man I would make him push that cart!” I chuckled. Some do-gooders hoping to ensure that some poor child’s only parent hadn’t lapsed into a coma amongst the dunes had awakened me on the beach. I thanked them for the kindness demonstrated to a fellow human.
I brushed my teeth and packed my gear. The sky looked ominous, I checked email, texts, and the weather (love the iPhone) and it said rain today and tomorrow— soggy cold feet ahead.
As I walked down the main street waiving the peace sign to all the cars that passed, a nice man pulled over and approached me asking me what I was doing? I wasn’t sure if he was going to invite me to his church or he needed directions, I could tell that walking up to me he was more nervous than most.
We got to talking, and we found that we had a lot in common. He works with one of the Oregon State satellite offices here to help people return to sustainable living. Living not only in harmony with the land, but also in harmony with others. I told him my tale, and he said that somehow…he needed to hear that today. He had been going through a tough bout himself lately, and hearing of the kindness of strangers, and all the wonderful people I’d met and how they treated me was the breath of fresh air that he needed. We talked for a good 30 minutes, and I felt that I had made a life long friend.
Newport, Oregon is a nice town. Known as the friendly city on the coast, and the “Crab Capitol of the World”. Saturday was busy in this sleep little town. It saw a run/walk across the 1939 WPA project bridge that was could have been installed as the gateway to the Chrysler Building. It’s geometric spires rising higher than “form follows function” adherents and architects would deem necessary 10 years later. The high school soccer team was having a car wash, the local farmer’s market was in full swing, but despite that the only Starbucks drew the most crowds.
Even in small town USA, the legal addictive stimulant of caffeine has more converts than the meth being baked in a bathtub nearby. The young, the old, and the Peace Artist wander into this sanctuary where “Fall” is celebrated. It is peddled as a re-acquaintance with an old friend in the form of a pumpkin spice latte.
As I stood in line for some hot water for my tea, several people approached me about my tunic. Perhaps this IS the friendliest town on the coast? The kind woman who walked to raise awareness and funds for adherents of sobriety that morning, the man behind her, and even the barista behind the counter wanted a stamp.
As I was leaving Richard, older gentleman and his table companions Dave and his wife Leny, asked me about my tunic. I told them of my intentions, and let them read the back. “Walking 10,000 miles for Love, Art, & Peace eh? Well, when you get down to Yachats, you have a place to stay. Here is my number and a map to my house.” I stuffed Dave’s number and map into my pocket and scurried on.
It was 25 miles to Yachats; my leg had started bothering me again yesterday, so making it would be a chore. God, I had two days of beautiful carefree running before it became a problem again. This time though, I knew it wasn’t shin splints. This time, I could feel the muscle and the tendon because there wasn’t any swelling like last time. It wasn’t the sinew, it was the bone. The bone felt soft and tender under my touch…not a good sign. What was I to do however?
I had just taken 5 days off, and I didn’t want to stop again. If I stopped again…who is to say when I would be “ready” to begin again? Beginning again physically was perhaps easier answered than being ready to start again mentally.
I determined right there to continue even if my leg snapped. I would haul myself down the road by wheelchair perhaps. But even this resolve would be challenged as the 25 miles started to weigh on my leg.
I liked the idea of making Dave’s house because if the rain did come, having a warm shower to warm up would be nice. My new bivy and bag are wonderful, but it leaves something to be desired when one realizes that you must crawl in wet. The idea of starting wet in the bag you are gonna stay in for the next 8-12 hours was all that tempting.
When you run, miles click off pretty fast. It is also great because you can do so much artwork. I did 7 pieces in the first two days that I could run. Today, because of walking…0. Running, and even walking in and of themselves are sorts of meditation. Jack Kerouac states in his book Dharma Bums, it is one foot following the other as you go, “Try the meditation of the trail, just walk along looking at the trail at your feet and don’t look about and just fall into a trance as the ground zips by…Trails are like that: you’re floating along in a Shakespearean Arden paradise and expect to see nymphs and fluteboys, then suddenly your struggling in a hot broiling sun of hell in dust and nettles and poison oak…just like life.” Walking makes you feel how long a mile really is.
Then, when I was about 3 miles from where Dave was waiting for me, I saw her in the middle of the road. She was a pretty woman with long flowing brown hair. So brown that it looks black when not in the light. She seemed perfectly natural except she was standing in the middle of the road, in the middle of nowhere, and…she had black masking tape all over her legs and a beer in her hand. On second thought…not so perfectly natural at all. But, who am I to judge, said the cowboy hat wearing, stroller (with no kids) pushing guy wearing a cobbler apron stating essentially—will draw for food.
I could tell she was smiling. From a long way off, I yelled, “Hi, evening.”
“How are you?” she queried.
“I am fantastic,” I lied. Actually I was pretty good, I was happy, but the leg thing had caused me to question my entire future. Was I going to just throw in the towel, give in, move to the burbs, and wait to collect social security? Was this the end of the Peace Artist? But, I managed instead, “I’m fantastic. How are you?”
“I’m wonderful!” she replied.
“Nice to meet you wonderful,” I teased. At that she walked straight up to me threw her arms around me and gave me a warm hug, almost an intimate one, and I thought…she just might kiss me…but that would come latter.
Her name was Lola. After the hug, I accidentally knocked her beer to the ground. It spilled and I apologized, especially because it smelled so good. Not knowing the particular brand wasn’t a deterrent. Having walked at a speed of 2.5 miles an hour for the last 8 hours has a way of elevating one’s senses and one’s hunger. I could have nearly licked the spilled framboise/hefeweisen micro brew from the asphalt at that point.
Lola asked me to come smoke a bowl and have a beer with her in her bus at the end of Sunset Lane. I wasn’t sure if she was singing a Grateful Dead song, or if the magic carpet ride, the mystery machine, or the leprechauns were coming to take me away. But willing I was as I followed this pied piper’s magical flute, not against my will, but it seemed that this day just got far more interesting all of a sudden.
I declined the bowl, but greedily imbibed the brew she offered me; the twin sister of the one I’d killed in the street. I asked her if I could draw her picture before I realized that Lola doesn’t sit still. She put on some music in her former Doritos delivery truck painted white with a roller a brush. The windows were covered with tie-dyed scarves and Rastafarian accouterments.
Lola was a baker and a chef, at the age of 44 she had done a lot. She had a son, 21, who was studying to be a pilot, she had buried her father, been divorced, and packed up everything she owned and moved to the Pacific Northwest on a whim. Upon she coming north from Stockton, California she couldn’t decide whether to bring a .44 magnum or a machete, so she brought both. She came north to attend a utopian didgeridoo gathering, and someone slipped LSD in her drink. The next thing she knew, she had sent the cook of the 3-day event home packing and took over feeding the entire camp single handedly. After that, she parked herself at the end of Sunset Lane.
What was so fun about Lola’s stories, tales, and adventures is how the web of them interwove. It was fascinating to follow how she could bounce back and forth between them all. She can tell you 5 different yarns or true tales and never get herself or you lost in the process. At some point she pulled out a crystal ball, gave me a hug, planted one on me, and asked me to marry her. And then laughed it all away so that I wasn’t sure she was serious or playing around with this peace loving road kill. Either way, we were both enjoying the moment.
I believe that is what I really enjoyed about Lola. She seemed to be living in this moment and no other. The past was and future will be, but for Lola, it is the present, and for her it is good. I could have talked to her all night, but I knew my gracious hosts were waiting. So when the sketch and the beer were through, I rejoined the road remembering all the while why I am on this journey. To meet the wonderful “Lolas” in the world.
An hour later, I was knocking on Dave’s door. Dave at 80 years of age is a very friendly, progressive, trusting, and big-hearted man. His wife has had Alzheimer’s for the last 5 years. Adorning their entire house are pictures of he, his wife, their children and grandchildren, and their life together. The pictures aren’t framed, but rather are stuck in the cracks in the walls, behind the frame of a window, or taped any odd place he can remind himself and his wife of their memories together. I can imagine Dave taking out the family albums and wanting to see the life they built together around him everyday, rather than tucked away in a book, and just stapling them piecemeal about the house as homage to a life well lived.
He met his wife in the Netherlands in a coffee shop. She didn’t speak English at all, but after an hour of “conversation”…he knew and asked her to marry him. They have been married for 52 years now. He was a hard workingman, and delivered milk in glass bottles all morning, and chips for Frito-Lay all evening. He made all his own money however and never profited from his fathers wealth. His father who made it rich in Southern California died young, but because of a series of separate events, Dave never saw a dime. So, Dave got his degrees on the streets rather than in college working 12-hour days. He joined the Navy and saw the world.
After the Navy, he decided to travel to Europe. He boarded the Queen Elizabeth for a round trip where he ate like a king for the 4-day trip, and had the 200 co-eds all to himself. That is when he met his wife in the last 3 hours of his European adventure before returning to America. They married in Amsterdam, and then spent their honeymoon driving the roads on both sides of the Rheine River in Germany.
I asked him why he had come to Yachats? He said that someone had told him it was the most beautiful place on Earth. “Any place that nice would probably be good enough for my wife Leny,” he said. That is the kind of guy Dave is. His devotion to his wife as she struggles to remember their lives together is simple loving compassion and devotion.
I fell in love with Dave. This man had worked hard all his life. Still at 80 years old, he does what he can for his wife. Supports them with his investments in the stock market. She doesn’t remember the coast that they have lived on for so many years together. She likes to drive and see it all, as if she is seeing it for the first time. Dave is happy to do that for her, and everyday he either drives her to Florence or to Newport and he stops to get some Starbucks. He says, “I have to protect my investment. I was one of the first stock holders!”
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“Subway makes pizza?” I said.
“Yeah, I here they are pretty good. I got you a vegetarian one, I hope that is all right?” Dave replied
“Terrific! I’m a vegetarian.” I chimed. After dinner he helped me to a bowl of Reece’s Cups Ice Cream with fruit at the bottom. He gave me such a big helping, I think that he meant for me to eat enough for him and I both.
“I can’t touch the stuff anymore. I got that diabetes,” he said. “You are smart you are doing all this walking and are in shape. But, my health is pretty fair. I’ve outlived everyone in my generation of my family. Did I show you my grandkids pictures? The oldest is a freshman at U of O, wants to be doctor, the next is the best tennis player in the northwest, this little on here, although she is 10, it is like you are talking to a 40 year-old.”
He walked me downstairs showed me the place I could sleep and the shower. He let me know the entire house was mine to do with as I wished, and didn’t lock any locks. “In the morning my best friend wants to meet you. Do you mind if I invite him for coffee? I don’t suppose you eat scrambled eggs? I am pretty progressive myself. People around here label me a liberal. I voted for Obama. All my neighbors are conservative. But, I’ve never found much use in talking about religion or politics. But, I imagine you must be pretty tired after walking those 25 miles,” he said.
The wonderful people that I have meet today humble me. Honored with the trust, love, and spirit of brotherhood that these 3 different people from vastly different walks of life have chosen to share a little of that with me. People are good.
Love. Peace. Art.
Stress Fracture-
Well, I’m pretty sure that I have a stress fracture in my Tibia. There is no pain in the muscle or the tendon, but there is a softness and pain in the bone and it is welling up like a balloon. But, I don’t want to stop. To compound the problem, there is supposed to be rain coming tonight, and all day tomorrow.
How much am I willing to do for peace?
Of course there are many well intentioned people that will say something to the effect of, “Take time off dude!” or, “Don’t hurt yourself!” But, I cannot help but think that there are people sitting in ditches with worse injuries fighting to take another’s life, can I not weather this small storm for them? What am I willing to do for the love of the children being hurt world wide, or am I so myopic that my own pain is all that I think of. Is that the way Gandhi thought, “I’m a lawyer and good looking, I shouldn’t take these blows from the South African/British officers?” Sometimes doing the greatest good will require a bit of pain. If I am willing to walk for peace with a stress fracture, perhaps others will be motivated to do what they can do for love, for art, or for peace.
But, I know that if I do stop, what would I have accomplished? I would never have peace, internal peace. The Peace Pilgrim once stated:
“There is a criterion by which you can judge whether the thoughts you are thinking and the things you are doing are right for you. The criterion is: Have they brought you inner peace? If they have not, there is something wrong with them, so keep seeking! If what you do has brought you inner peace, stay with what you believe is right.” ~Peace Pilgrim
For me to continue to hobble until my leg snaps would give me more peace than to give up now.
Love Your Neighbor-
Though it may seem strange, I never initiate conversations with anyone that I meet. Sure I wave peace to them, or say hello. I may even drop a conversation about the weather, but I don’t ever talk about my pilgrimage unless someone asks me about it. The tunic says what I am doing, if someone wants to know, I’ll tell them, but I don’t barrage everyone I meet with, “Hey, I’ve got some great stuff to talk to you about!!!” To me this is the most compassionate way to interact.
Yesterday, I met two gentlemen, while passing them on the street. They were young guys, walking somewhere, and trying not to get bit by the chill of the wind and the slight drizzle. As I passed them, they asked me what I was doing. I told them, and apologized that I didn’t have any art works created to give them. Danny explained that he worked at a hotel, and if I wanted he would comp me a room. How generous; what a kind soul. As I walked away, I off the cuff told them, that if they wanted I would draw their portraits. Usually everyone says no, especially women, but these guys were ecstatic. They just wondered what the cost was? “Nothing,” I told them, “I give away all my works as a peace offering.” They took me up on my offer, and we dropped our butts into some chairs at the nearest coffee shop. These two guys were terrific models, they didn’t move an inch and as such would have made terrific guards at Buckingham Palace.
As I came to find out, Danny’s little girl (2 mo. old) was christened that morning, and Joel had come down from Seattle to witness it; good guys and good friends. While I was drawing them, Danny asked me if I was hungry. I told him I was fine and that I had plenty of food. But, he insisted and exclaimed the virtues of the local “authentic” Mexican restaurant. Whatever you want, it is on me, no arguments…tell ‘em Danny sent you; I’ll call them now. True to his word, Danny did call and the burrito was magnificent. So kind.
I next met Kathy as she took her smoke break and walked her dog down the Siletz river as it pours into the ocean. The spot I had set up to paint was majestic, and Kathy claimed it was her favorite on the Oregon coast…I can see why. Just as I was finishing though, it started to rain again, and nearly ruined the picture.
Next I met John, a biker from Canada. John and I talked about how each of us has a personal responsibility to the ecology of the Earth. We talked about how hard it would be to even get the average American to stop using their dryer, and instead go back to hanging their laundry. John tried to give me some money, but we settled for a hearty handshake.
This morning, I followed another biker down a scenic by-pass that proved to be one of the most beautiful roads I’ve run on this entire trip. I put on some John Denver and sang loud, praising the trees, the earth, and the sea. I couldn’t have been happier. That all changed as I made the summit of Cape Foulweather. Perhaps the name should have been a clue to what lay ahead.
Feeling delighted with the morning, I strode into the gift shop to see what trinkets were about and to see the promised “World’s Largest Insect”. While in the emporium of curios and novelty, an older gentleman and his adult daughter noticed my tunic and asked me what it was about. “Are you one of the ‘artists’ that provides the knick-knack for this shop?”
“No, I’m running a pilgrimage around the US,” I said, and turned around to let them read “Running 10,000 miles for Love, Art, & Peace” written on my back.
“There is just one thing that I would add to that,” the man said.
“What?” I asked.
“I would add, ‘For Jesus’,” he said.
“Actually, I believe I am a follower of the Way of Jesus. I am trying to do the things he actually said to do, which most Christians I know don’t. I believe I’m a follower of the Way of Jesus that is rather than Paul, I found that those two are at odds with each other,” I added. “I listened to all the things Jesus and Buddha said to do, love your enemies, sell all that you have and give to the poor, you must disown father and mother……”
“THAT IS NOT what he said!” The 30-ish woman scolded me, rolled her eyes and walked away. The man kept talking at me, but not with me. He recited scripture verses and told me of his own conversion experience. He related that he hoped that I would come to know Jesus as the way the truth and the life. I wanted merely to talk with him, it became obvious to me that he didn’t want to discuss anything with me, but rather wanted to “set me straight.” It was plain that somehow I had inadvertently offended his daughter.
When she came back, impatient that her father was still talking to me, I said to her, “Forgive me if I have offended you. I only meant to answer your father’s question and tell you what I did. If I may explain what…..”
“You said what you said, and you can’t take it back. Explaining what you said won’t make it right, and I’m not going to stand here and listen to anyone twist what He said!” She said with with a condemning and judgmental tone. And with this, she began to storm away. I said goodbye to the man, and called out after both of them, “Peace to you. I love you.” At that, she laughed out loud as if I had said the most preposterous thing imaginable.
My heart sank.
The morning, the day, the scenery, the music, everything seemed so nice until now. I asked myself, what if anything had I said that was offensive? Was I wrong? Was I hurtful? Did I lack compassion? I was talking about what I did, and not what I would prescribe for others, but was I offensive?
As I walked out of the store, I saw them driving away, I waved peace to them again and mouthed the words I love you. As they drove away, I kept doing Tonglen for them. I kept feeling compassion for them, and sending them my peace.
But, after that, as I thought about what transpired, I didn’t have much peace left. I was so upset with this incident it colored the rest of the morning. Had I been at fault? I went through a mental checklist:
1. I didn’t approach them.
2. I didn’t bring up religion.
3. I answered the question posed to me.
4. I talked about my personal decisions.
5. I tried to apologize.
But I was still very upset. Why?…..I was hurt. I felt judged and condemned. I felt unloved. They didn’t know me at all, but they heard enough to draw some decision about me such as, I wasn’t “saved” and that I was twisting the words of their God, and thus didn’t deserve their time. I have been flipped off and been told to my face that I was insane and crazy, but it took 2 Christians to make me feel the most unloved. Jesus said, “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”
I compared the acts and words of Danny (a Christian) and the acts and words of these people I’d just met. I asked myself who were my actions more like, Danny who tried to feed and shelter a complete stranger, or these to who made me feel judged and condemned? I found that I was given to both. As such, it gave me compassion for them, and thankfulness for the example of Danny and Joel. And with that, I forgave them and beamed them love.
The rest of the day I was very guarded with my words and checked myself to see if I was being offensive with the words I’ve chosen. I pretty much in the last month have developed stock answers for the many familiar question that I’m asked. I never offer answers unless asked, being sensitive to the proclivities of the persons that I meet. I feel that that is the most compassionate way.
All this was forgotten as I stumbled into the Yaquina Head Lighthouse and National Park. There, working at the main gate booth, I met Ashley. I asked her if I was OK going in, and she asked me about my tunic. Now I was gun shy, and I was cautions. I said the exact same things I always say except, Ashley’s response was night and day compared to the encounter I had earlier that day. She was just bubbly, jovial, happy with life. I thoroughly enjoyed talking with her for the short time that I did. I told her that I was going to paint the lighthouse, and if she wanted I would show her when I returned.
The lighthouse was one of the prettiest vistas I’ve had this trip, and I had the chance to meet and talk, and gauge my words with all the others I encountered. Then I realized, it wasn’t what I said. No one that I had met this entire trip had had that same reaction. I did what I needed to do afterward. I tried as best I could to convince them that I loved them despite the misunderstanding, I apologized for the misundstanding, and I had compassion for them. That is my part; I think that I did the best I could given the situation. Perhaps there was something I could have done better, but I can’t see what. Perhaps some of you might enlighten me?
But, I think that I won’t talk of my personal thoughts on religion anymore. Peace, Love, and Art. This IS what my tunic says, despite other’s who desire to see Buddha, Jesus, or Muhammad’s name there attached. Love is the only thing that matters, everything else is a sideshow, divisive, and of negligible importance.
Afterward, I returned to the kiosk where Ashley was fastidiously working. I gave my peace offering to her, and she gave me the hug that I needed all day. As I left, I told her that I wished that I lived around here, because I thought that she and I would become fast friends.
As I strode away, I wondered how many other amazing wonderful people like Ashley, Danny, Joel, Kathy, and John that I will be able to meet in the coming days, weeks, and years. Peace.
Starting Anew-
Now that I know— now that I know what it means to walk the roads, to camp out, to live the life of a pilgrim, I am ready to do it better. There are ways in which I “lived up” to the expectations I have for myself. However, there were ways that I lacked faith, compassion, and love for others.
I started my pilgrimage again last night after being able to rest my legs for 5 days. My mother in her kindness purchased some more paper, paint, and pencils for me, Winnie took care of my shoe issues, and REI (bless them) kindly helped me return and replace my equipment. I took the tent into them, and with no questions allowed me to switch to a Bivy sack. By doing so, I was able to drop 12 pounds from my load. In addition, I took my sleeping bag to the laundry, and washed it to the exact specifications on the tag. However, when I pulled it out of the wash, it was shredded to ribbons. Again, REI replaced it with no question.
So last night I slept on the beach, and what a difference it was from the last night I slept on the same beach. I woke this morning (a bit sweaty because this new bag is SO WARM!!!) with a new verve. Why am I doing this, I’m doing this for others. I doing this for love. I am doing this to be of service to others. I am doing this for compassion. I am doing this to encourage, inspire, and stimulate others to do what only they can do for others, for love, and for peace. I can run and paint, what can be done if we all just do what we are able?
Much love friends.
The Compassion Of A Child-
Below is a letter sent to me by a fellow artist. He and I have been friends for a long time, and though we live on opposite sides of the country, have kept in contact and swapped tips on painting. He wrote me the other day and told me of a story of compassion that stunned, haunted, and encouraged me. I asked his permission to relate it to you all.
“Reviewed your web-page, and was stunned. Much of what you write is the same as what I believe. I don’t have much of religion, but I do follow a spiritual path. Try to keep it simple, and do what is in front of me. Try to be of service to other. I was a social worker for years, and had the fortune or misfortune to investigate cases of child abuse. I also worked with families to resolve issues, after the investigations were complete. Also, a counselor in a run away shelter, and many other things.
I took up painting actually, to get away from the horrible images that I saw every day. Children with broken legs, babies with broken arms, children hung from the ceiling, and beaten, until the jeans were tore from their bodies, with blood splattered on the walls. Children molested by some of the most sinister characters that one could ever meet.
So, since I took art in college, I picked up some paint, and a little easel, and would paint after work, as I sat there with tears in my eyes. I wish I had never done that job, but also wouldn’t take back the opportunity. What a twist.
My last year, I removed 54 children from abusive people, and did everything I could to make their lives better. Worked with hundreds of children and families, and was on a mission. A mission to end child abuse. Oh God, I thought that I could do it. I thought if I spent another hour, or took on another extra case, or helped another investigator, one day I would successfully, reduce abuse, and cause myself to be laid off.
Every day brought more and worse cases, and in the end, I never scratched the surface. I lived and breathed this work. I didn’t get home till late, and was back at it in the morning. I went to the ghetto, and crack houses, and the most dangerous places one could imagine. Had people threaten to blow my brains out, multiple times. In and out of court every day.
Then, one day I got sick. Two years straight without a day off will do that to a person, I suppose. I couldn’t go on. Although not there, I did receive new investigations, and a wonderful co-worker went out and did the interviews of two children. The case was one of neglect; not enough food. A simple one.
The next day I went to the office, and my co-worker handed me a completed investigation. I looked through it, and everything was there, except that there was no note made on sexual abuse. I asked my coworker about this, and she said that both children denied it. I asked her to add it to the notes, and initial it. She agreed. I was uncomfortable with the lack of information, so on my way home, I went back and interviewed the children again.
Unlike their denial to me coworker the day before, they both disclosed sexual abuse at the hands of their step father. So graphic, that I wanted to cry, but sat stoically listening, and documenting. I gave the mother an ultimatum, that she would take them and leave to a safe place, or I would get an order from the court to remove them. She didn’t know about the abuse, was horrified, and took them home to her parents house.
I filed charges on the perpetrator, and it became a big case locally, for several reasons, involving the T.V., newspapers, the police, many different systems. I had so much evidence, that the perpetrator plead guilty, and received many years in prison.
The day that he was sentenced, I was called by the prosecutor to be present. I went to the court house, and stood in the back of the court room watching. There were news reporters, police, television reporters, cameras everywhere. I realized that I had done all of that. I was responsible, yet I had received no credit.
My efforts were unknown to almost all in the room. My ego was hurt. My pride! Jealous that others got the credit. Being upset, I walked out of the courtroom, and was going down the hallway, heading for the door, when I behind me, I heard feet rapidly clicking on the marble floor. Someone was running behind me. I stopped and turned around, and the mother ran and hugged me, tears in her eyes.
She thanked me for what I had done. I told her that it was my job. Then she said something to me that I will remember until I die.
She said that the children wanted her to say something to me. I was surprised and listened. She stated that they wanted me to know why they didn’t tell the girl who came before me to talk to them, what had been done to them by their step father. I said that I had wondered about that.
She said they wanted me to
know that they knew their step father couldn’t hurt me, and thought he
would have hurt the girl (my co-worker). I thanked the mother and asked
her to take good care of those children. She agreed, and went back to
the court room.
I left the court house realizing that I needed none of the recognition that I was upset about, only minutes earlier. Every decision that I had made in my life took me to that house, and changed the lives of those children forever. It made every thing I had ever done, worthwhile. I also realized the love that those two children had for others. Yes, the world needs love. It is the answer.”
What I find so encouraging in this story besides that amazing person my friend is, what he has gone through, and what he did to make the world a better place, is the children. Here they were being neglected and sexually abused, but still…they had compassion.
They didn’t want the woman to be hurt. They knew what pain was, and they wouldn’t want that to be perpetrated on anyone else. That is love, love for a complete stranger, and love for the humanness in all. Oh, that we all may have the wisdom and compassion of a child.
NAAG-
When I was seven years old, there wasn’t anything that I wanted to do more than gymnastics. My mom did her best, and signed me up. But, the class was on Thursday nights, and far away, and so I would always miss Buck Rodgers. This was a travesty of epic proportions. What was a Young Turk like me to do?
The breaking point was when my coaches (mind you I was just a rec. level 1) pushed me down in the spits! Yeeeooouuuch!!! That sealed it…Buck Rodgers won. It is somewhat ironic, that I became a gymnastics coach and later pushed my boys down in their splits, but I always explained why, and it was only to the team guys.
Later, I went back, learned a front flip, and it was over—gymnastics is the best sport in the world!!! That is of course I had to learn a penny drop. I realize that I am showing my age; the sport of gymnastics has come quite far since the 70’s. For those non-initiates, a penny drop is where you hang by your knees on a bar, head closest to the ground, and then you just let your legs go…and expect to live.
I didn’t want to do it. When they got me hung upside down, I REALLY didn’t want to do it. I cried- A LOT, but they still made me do it. Like I said, things have changed a lot since the 70’s. Anyway, because of that trauma, I didn’t go back for a while.
Later, when we couldn’t afford gymnastics, the women’s coach would let me come in and train with the women’s elite and optional girls first thing in the morning. He felt if I was willing to come and work out every morning at 5:30, then he wouldn’t stop me. It was very very generous on their part. Because of that, National Academy of Artistic Gymnastics (NAAG) has always had a place in my heart.
In the summer while in college I use to come back to the original gym that I began at here in Eugene. It was always fun to show off a little what new things you could do, and impress your old coaches. But, I haven’t been here in a long while. I went by yesterday and talked to the original owners who opened the gym some 40 years ago.
I explained what I was doing regarding my pilgrimage, and my desire to possibly go to gyms all along my route and share what I have learned regarding competition, gymnastics, and compassion. Because this was my first gym, it seemed most appropriate that I offer my services to give back to them for their love and kindness to me, and all the free 5:30am practices over the years.
The owners were ecstatic, willing to allow me to put on a clinic for the boys, and they even knew whom the Peace Pilgrim was! Even their company employee handbook was written with compassion and love as the center of their mission statement. I really felt as if I had come home in more ways than one.
I have really missed gymnastics in the last 2 months, so having the ability to coach, if only for the afternoon, was wonderful. What I wasn’t prepared for was the high I had afterwards. I got to work with some great boys. Got to help some get over their fears, others to get new skills, and others to learn drills that will help them along their way. I got high off the experience. This is what I remember gymnastics being like. Just a bunch of guys working out, trying to get some new skills, laughing, being scared, and having fun.
I can’t remember when I have felt so free about gymnastics. No pressure. I have loved all the boys I’ve ever coached, and still worry about them from afar. But, this simple experience changed me, and gave me back my love of gymnastics at the most deep and fundamental level.
It made me ask myself whether to stay (they kinda offered me a job) or to go today back on the road. I thought a lot about it while watching last night’s sunset. But, today my bags are packed, and I’m ready to go.
I know now that I can always return to THIS kind of gymnastics. Regardless, if I continue running for another 20 years, this kind of gymnastics will always be there again. Now that I remember what it was all about in the first place.
Culture Shock-
I haven’t written anything in a bit because to be right honest, I’ve been going through a bit of culture shock.
I’ve been around the world. I’ve lived in Germany, Italy, and France. I’ve visited Canada, Mexico, Belize, Japan, England, Denmark, Poland, Belgium, Netherlands, Luxembourg, Switzerland, Czech Republic, and Austria.
I’ve burned trash in a barrel while eating mayonnaise sandwiches with kids behind their mobile home. But, I’ve also eaten caviar at the finest restaurants, where they comb the tablecloth for any loose crumbs. I’ve been the recipient of a used Light Bright for Christmas gift from “Toys for Tots” and watched my mom swallow her pride to take the free cheese, bread, and butter with the official stamp of the USA on it. But, I’ve also rented Santa suits, and been able to give away toys and candy to others. I’ve slept out under the stars, in $1000 a night luxury suits, and on park benches and on church doorsteps. I’ve been kept from taking gymnastics because I lacked the funds, and I’ve given away gymnastics instruction a hundred times. Did it today in fact.
I know what it is like to have been denied your hearts desires, and to grant those of others. I’ve basked in the warmth of the spotlight, and applauded ferociously from the shadows. I’ve smelled the scent of victory as I straddle mountain peaks, and I’ve tasted the bitter disappointment of rejection in the valley below.
I have suffered and I have loved.
It is this suffering and love that is so personal and intimate and yet so wholly common. It is our most personal heart wrenching sorrows and pain, the blissful joys of true love, and comfort of reconciliation that are so innately fundamental to our experience as human. These unique episodes in our life are what have made us who we are as people, and they are the webs that make our humanity, the very nature of which binds us together. We all feel it. I know what suffering and love feel like and so do you. Above all else, this we have in common.
This deep longing for intimacy and connection is why we all go to the internet. It is why people are addicted to twitter, Facebook, internet porn, and perhaps why I blog. It is our desire to be connected with someone else. It is a search for others that will rejoice with our success, ponder with us in our quandaries, laugh with us at our jokes, and empathize with our misfortunes. We want to know that someone is out there…and that they care about us.
6 Billion other souls out there with whom we might connect, and yet never before do we feel so powerless; so unimportant. We have tiptoed over the edge. There are 51% of us living in urban environments, and 49% in rural…a first in human evolution. The last two generations were the first to have “no purpose”. The baby boomers and Generation X served no purpose. We didn’t help the family survive, but rather were a drain. How many of us have heard, “Do you know how much you are going to cost me?” from our parents.
Formerly, children were an asset. On the farm there were chickens to feed, wood to chop, cows to milk, and fields to plow. Even in the urban environment coal that needed shoveling, there were the shoes to shine, the washing to be done, and food to be prepared. Everyone had a purpose. Everyone contributed to the good and well being of the household. Old looked after young, and young looked after old.
By extension, because of the responsibility that previous generations felt to the nuclear family and the extended family, it seem just as obvious to them that they had a deep level of commitment and a role to play in our communities, states, and governments. They called this citizenship and called it their duty.
Never before have we had so many who have acquired so much, but at a deep cost to others. We run in our $140 sneakers made in a sweatshop somewhere past the homeless in the park. We drive past the women’s shelter, and never once step inside to help. We don’t even call the children’s home to see if “they need anything?”
Instead, we insulate ourselves with our Coach bags, our Home Depot remodel, our $5 Latte, our “Designer” cupcakes, and our Banana Republic ensemble and never give a thought to those who toil to make these things for us in poverty in the real Banana Republics.
I condemn myself. I’ve bought bananas flown from Chile, Kiwi from New Zealand, sea salt from the Himalayas, and bottled water from the melting glaciers. When do we do this? When we stop at the store before going to our debate on global warming. We chain ourselves to trees to protect the Spotted Owl in our down sleeping bags. We protest cruelty to animals in our leather Birkenstocks, and wonder where all the Salmon went while we charge our phones with hydro-electric power.
One day, the president will come on the television and say, “There is no more oil.” That means, when your father is dying, there is no ambulance to take him. There is no food, because the fertilizers are all made from oil, but it doesn’t matter anyway, because there is no diesel for the combine to harvest it, the freight train to ship it, and the truck to distribute it. Your 30-minute commute to work becomes an all day walk when you can’t drive.
Will the best come out in people then, or will it become like Road Warrior? All of our apocalyptic films show giant asteroids, aliens taking our water or resources, our vampires who have come to reap their crop. But perhaps the Hindus are right, and we will disappear without significance like the Clovis of 11,000 years ago.
And yet we all feel so alone.
We cling to religions that we have never seen work, the illusion of wealth that never really satisfies, diets that never produce the results promised, resolutions that never make it out of January, promises by politicians that never see fruition, get rich schemes that leave us penniless, and crimes that leave us broken.
We have priests molesting boys, boys raping girls, girls prostituting themselves, human trafficking, drug lords killing entire towns, and politicians lying through their teeth. We have companies ruining green spaces, polluting the waterways, and oil that washes up on our beaches.
There are countless priests who own two homes let alone many “tunics” despite the fact that Jesus said if you have two give one away to those in need. Bankers who love God on Sunday, but don’t love their neighbor on Monday. We see soldier pray to God, but it is Jesus who said, “Blessed are the peacemakers.”
And yet we wake up each day. We say things like “I feel that God has a purpose for my life.” People try to commit suicide, and regret it immediately, people pine for the weekend, and roust themselves out of bed for the drudgery of doing a job that they hate for people that they despise. The horizon or hope, whatever gets you through the day.
Some people are in the family pattern. But, statistics say that 1 out of 2 marriages end in divorce. Would you go on a plane if you had a 50/50 chance of living? We seek love and our own fulfillment in relationships. We seek to gratify our needs, our own lusts and desires, and hopes in our associations and interrelationships.
We parent children, volunteer coach, run the 5 mile loop, join the PTA, start up our own business, manage another’s, make play dates, and play super mom because we don’t want our kids lives to lack any of the treasures that we had, or wish we had. Our kids have more shoes than they ever put away, more toys than they play with, and more clothes than they wear. But look who is raising them. We have RV’s in the side lot, second homes at the coast, the mountain, or in France and a Harley in the garage.
And yet, we lay awake at night wondering if this is it? How did I get here? Where am I going? Who am I? Is this really what I wanted? What is the meaning of life? What will make me happy?
And when we can’t sleep, we take pills, when we can’t wake up; we drink coffee, tea, coke, or 5-hour energy. When the food is too rich, we take a pill, when we can’t poop or can’t stop we drink a pill, when all of this rigmarole has got us absolutely flabbergasted, our bodies rebel.
For most of my life, I didn’t give a shit. In fact at one point in my life, I would have been more upset by the use of the word shit, then I was over all the atrocities that wreak havoc upon the earth. Like most people in high school I found religion. Except, I really found it. I even became a youth pastor for a short stint. God, I was horrible, I was such a hypocrite. I was 18-19 years old, and I just parroted back all the things that good little Christian boys are supposed to say and believe. I did believe them, until I began to test some of them and found that rules make for a good religion, but not for a good life.
When I met Bonnie on the side of the road a month ago, she asked me if I was a preacher. “God, no. Sorry, do I sound like one?” I’m not preaching to anyone, this whole thing, the trip, the blog, the whole enterprise is my journey to find out, to figure out what is all about. What is the “meaning of life?”, “What should I do?”, and “What should I get out of bed for in the morning?”
The answer that I have come back to time and time and time again is LOVE. It is what is worth living for and worth dying for. LOVE.
So, as I survey the preceding 4 weeks of this journey, I wonder what have I accomplished, learned, and given? As I sit here on this comfortable couch I question is it even worth going out again? Or am I just the worst hypocrite out there?
I wasn’t completely altruistic while out there. I worried about eating. I worried about being attacked. I coveted the things others had. I cursed the ground, my tent, the stroller (plenty of times), the idea, and my ailments. I had moments of doubt. I failed to love. I wrestled with the idea that I am not worthy, and conversely I felt that I was worth too much to do this. Why me?
There is a urban legend about a professor of psychology 101 who assigned just one essay question to the final exam: “Why?” The story goes that some stood up almost immediately and handed in their blue books, others wrote laboriously for the full 2 hours allotted. In the end, if you answered the professors query with: Why Not? —You got an A, Because—earned you a B, and anything else— a C.
When the devil came to the Buddha under the Bodhi tree, the final question the devil asked to disquiet his mind was, why you? Who will witness to your worthiness to receive enlightenment? It is said that the Buddha just touched the ground. With that, the devil left. The earth is our witness.
My mom lives in Oregon, and so when I got close to her home, she came and picked me up so that I could stay in her house while I rested my shin, knee, feet, and spirit. Having spent the last month on the road walking and running, I began to notice more. Every milepost on the side of the road, the slope of the turn, blind turns, and the width of the shoulder became far more important. While driving, it amazed me how fast the miles just clicked off. We stopped in a convenience store, and mom said, “Get anything you want.” In the last month, a convenience store meant either just water, or if I did have a buck or two, to find the healthiest, cheapest, and most filling by weight item. The carte blanche my mom gave me was impossible; I stood there for 20 minutes and couldn’t decide.
I was worried that if I came “back” to civilization so to speak, that I wouldn’t want to leave. But I am ready.
So what then is the purpose of going back “on the road”? To love others better than I did in the last 4 weeks, and love others period.
Dr. Joe Vigil, who is more than likely the best running coach ever, but most certainly the best the US has ever had. He has coached Olympians, national champs, you name it in running…he’s done it. Deena Kastor came to him before she was “Deena Kastor” and asked him to coach her. True to any good yogi, he turned her away many times, but her persistence won him over. Posted on the wall of old Joe’s “office was a magic formula for fast running that, as far as Deena could tell, had absolutely nothing to do with running: it was stuff like “Practice abundance by giving back,” and “Improve personal relationships,” and “Show integrity to your value system.” Coach Vigil believed you had to become a strong person before you could become a strong runner.”
The problems that I had in the first month I can honestly say, I think I brought them on myself. Statistically, cervical cancer is 8 times more likely in women that have experienced rape or sexual abuse. We can hurt ourselves when we are not ready to love others and ourselves.
One of the survival instincts that I have used all my life is being clever. All my life I have been good at ‘working an angle’. I had gotten rid of or was working on a lot of my character defects before this trip, but this is one that slipped by. I honestly think it is what has hurt my body.
As I prepare to go out this time, my focus is on love, just love.
So here’s what Coach Vigil was trying to figure out: Have there been great men that happened to run, or are great men great because they ran? Vigil couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but his gut kept telling him that there was some kind of connection between the capacity to love and the capacity to love running. The engineering was certainly the same: both depended on loosening your grip on your own desires, putting aside what you wanted and appreciating what you got, being patient and forgiving and undemanding. Sex and speed—haven’t they been symbiotic for most of our existence, as intertwined as the strand of our DNA? We wouldn’t be alive without love; we wouldn’t have survived without running; maybe we shouldn’t be surprised that getting better at one could make you better at the other.
Was it just by chance that the pantheon of dedicated runners also includes Abraham Lincoln (“he could beat all the other boys in a footrace”) and Nelson Mandela (a college cross-country standout who, even in prison, continued to run seven miles a day in place in his cell)?
Tonight I watched a documentary recommended to me by Scaughdt. It was called, “The Human Experience.” In it, two brothers decided to conduct some experiments in living in another’s shoes. What they come away with is that the human experience is about loving life.
Yes! Love of life! Exactly!