Tucson Tragedy

Snow fell silently as I awoke this morning. Beautiful white crystals like frozen tears falling from the sky. Wonder if angels in the heavens cry when tragic acts of senseless violence happen. I feel deeply saddened by the tragedy in Tucson over the weekend when a young man killed six innocents in attempt to kill Congresswoman Gabrielle Gifford. Our hearts are broken. Can they be broken wide open?

‘Let the preachers preach in their pulpits’ and politicians say what they may, and though this week will be full of speeches, articles, stories and expert explanations stemming from this slaughter, I’m afraid next week it will be a fading echo like a train whistle gone past. I’m afraid so because we have become so inured to violence; Columbine, Moses Lake, Blacksburg, Ft. Hood, Lakewood, drug cartels and local gangs and common thugs. Was Pogo right? We have found the enemy and the enemy is us!

The President has called for healing and for us to listen with empathy. I agree, this we can do. Healing, not only of the immediate tragedies but also healing of the fears and pains of the past that contribute to the attitudes, opinions, beliefs, atmospheric undercurrents that contribute to the destructive ways of our society and our world. This is a time for compassion and empathy for all of us.

But is there something we can do about it? Can we unlearn the ways of the world that are considered human nature, such as violence, greed, hate, rage and victimizing innocents and learn better ways of living, thinking and being? Can we unlearn the belief that it is normal and natural to strike out at others who are in our way or representing ideals or powers that seem to oppose us? Those are aspects of human weakness, ignorance, fear and pain. Why continue to justify and perpetuate them? We can see things differently.

Are we capable of having and holding seeming contradictions while not loosing our place? Didn’t Master Jesus say, “Love your enemies”? And did he not say, by your words you will be justified and by your words you will be condemned? Can we learn ways of communicating our thoughts and feelings that are not destructive or damaging to ourselves or others. When will we ever learn?

And can we learn better and healthier ways to treat mentally ill people? They are our brothers and sisters, sons and daughters. They are part of us. Can we develop ways to include them in the compassionate circles of healing as well?

Mahatma Gandhi and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. were two heroes of mine who brought about great change and advantages for people who were oppressed, misused and exploited while insisting on non-violence. They were both martyred for it. The powers that use violence as a means to their ends are very strong indeed; whether strictly business, religious, tribal or patriotic. Jesus was martyred for his life and teachings that threatened the powers that be.

But we don’t have to be. We can communicate our thoughts, feelings, needs, wants, beliefs, opinions and attitudes without hurting anyone else and without setting ourselves up to be hurt. One thing I have been working with for years is Nonviolent Communication, NVC developed by Marshall Rosenberg. Also A Season For Nonviolence is an international observance between January 30^th and April 4^th, the memorial anniversaries of Gandhi and King, to deepen nonviolence as a way of life.

What does this mean to us? Well, to me it means to not entertain thoughts or words, feelings or emotions that will hurt anyone, including myself. It means not saying or doing things that will hurt others. It means not adding energy to the insanity of the society in which we live or any culture, tribe, club or association which we identify with.

Now, when the sky seems to shut down and clouds are like curtains closing down with rain or snow, or depression or fear, anger or pain we can know there is a way through it. There are other choices and other ways we can choose than the old ways that we grew up with. Old attitudes of ‘well, that’s just the way it is’ can give way to new possibilities and better ways to say and listen to what is needed, what is wanted and what is important in our lives and our world.

It is Thanksgiving and I am waxing nostalgic as we are snow bound at home. Sunny and cold out today with the winter wonderland outside glistening, good for a walk to remember. Perhaps you were with us…

It was Thanksgiving 1972. And I am borrowing (without permission so I guess that is stealing) from an essay written by Jane’s Dad, Larry Dillon, two days later. The ceremony was scheduled at dawn. As we drove in darkness through the forest of pines it was raining, hard for the Northwest, and it was chilly. Just to the north were the snow capped Olympic mountains overlooking vast areas of untouched forests – the last area in the nation that remains as it was when man first arrived. One could only think this is as pure and majestic and as calm as the world will ever be again and it is a good day for a marriage. Janie had told me when I questioned her about the early hour “Our friends will be there” and they were. The small church was filled and many were standing perhaps a hundred friends had come to join their celebration. The friends were kindred spirits, symbolic beards, long hair, beads, long dresses and the always present jeans. Twink (Jane’s sister) was there – she had come from London, hitched hiked from New York across the southern route through Texas, Arizona, New Mexico (that would be about Route 66) and finally for forty-eight straight hours up the west coast to arrive in Seattle at 4:00 am the day before – to be at “the wedding.” It had a strange magic. Both Jane and John wore long robes with hoods and could have been first century Christians. Twink had sent Joe (Jane’s brother) a similar robe from Morocco and he wore it as he lit the alter candles to initiate the ceremony. He liked that. Basically the ceremony was one that John and Jane had compiled and was extremely simple. John’s brother (Jim) sang the Lord’s Prayer, the marriage vows were read by a Methodist minister and communion of the congregation was performed. This consisted of the entire congregation standing, joining hands in a large irregular circle, rather difficult in this small church, and repeating certain spiritual requests at the direction of a female minister of (Millie Purdue) “Unity.” As it all ended, in a atmosphere of general spiritual awareness I felt the marriage had been celebrated in a manner certainly fitting the personalities of these two people, serene, spiritual and simple. I looked out the huge east window across the wet green farmland toward an invisible Mt. Rainier and the equally invisible sun and knew it had dawned as scheduled; because we believe in the sun even when it rains.

For the many friends who came I was delighted and celebrated and still celebrate their friendship and love. For the family and relatives that came I apologized, I don’t know how many times over the years for having our wedding at such an ungodly hour and on Thanksgiving day. But now, after looking at pictures in our album and reading and re-reading and then writing out these words from Larry I am warmed to the core and so happy we did what we did. And after all these years, who would have thunk…. that Jane would put up with all my zaniness and crazy ways, that we are still together. And you are together with us as well.

Now we are planning and scheming how we can cross country ski into town to a restaurant on the waterfront for dinner.

So much to be thankful for. Friends, Family, many adventures, mountains, hiking, sharing silence and so much more. I know this sounds hurried as I don’t have time to sit with it and re-read it over and over to smooth it out as I must get it off to you before Jane finds me out or I change my mind. But one thing I won’t change my mind about is how thankful I am for life, for love and for you in my life.

Happy Thanksgiving, John

August in New York

New York. The Statue of Liberty rose above the grain elevator, out the west window as we visited our daughter Lianna & Billy and son Connor & Jenn in Brooklyn recently. Lady Liberty stood tall above the industrial park and commercial area of west Brooklyn with pulsing, throbbing energies of life, business and beneath 4^th Ave subways scream through the cacophony of it all. At the mouth of East River with ships, boats, barges, ferries, sailboats and cruise ships moving and resting all around her she beckons; bring me your poor, your weary and your broken hearted…. Reminding me of the preamble to the Constitution of the United States of America, which most people seem to forget these days:

We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

It is not for just a select few, nor for corporations but for the people, we the people of this Union.

Seems to me that the people who make the most noise and fuss about the Constitution these days know little of the context and the intention, to establish and insure a union based on freedom. And not on anger, limitation and exclusion. “Establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare and secure the blessings of Liberty.”

New York has all that and more. In the streets, subways and stops of the boroughs surge people in all shapes, appearances and orientations. Of which Walt Whitman sang: “Here is not merely a nation but a teeming nation of nations.” We rode the subways from Brooklyn to Manhattan and back many times, from downtown to uptown, from Union station to Harlem. Walking through Central Park we came upon a Shakespeare play, Twelfth Night, was a delight. We found our way to the Met, MOMA and Brooklyn Museum for such excellent art, preserved and set for all to see.

We visited a new friend at St. Bartholomew’s Church, which stands in marble elegance beside the Waldorf Astoria on Park Avenue. Yet they serve 600 homeless pilgrims a week and help countless others with clothing, education and guidance to find their way. A place of heart centered compassion that served as a triage center nine years ago in the aftermath of the 9/11 tragedies. It serves the walking wounded today.

We walked the Highline, a former elevated train track turned delightful walk-way by friends with fine landscaped architecture and art installations from West Village to Chelsea. Across the Hudson we could see the New Jersey shore. At the Hudson’s mouth stood the Statue of Liberty still. We ate foods of many of the diverse and delicious cultures. We shared stories.

New York is people, people who go there to find their dreams, people who live there to dream their lives, people who end up there to live. For whatever reasons, there are people in a crazy crush at every turn, on every street, stoop and corner. And there is a spirit that is surprisingly friendly and alive. Haw ya doin’! And we have all come to look for America, as the song goes. And Walt Whitman sang on; “Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes, how curious you are to me! Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd, What gods can exceed these that clasp me by the hand and with voices I love call be promptly and loudly by my nighest name as I approach? What is more subtle than this which ties me to the woman or man that looks in my face? Which fuses me into you now and pours my meaning into you?” Indeed Walt Whitman walked those shores and his spirit lingers there still.

And this morning, as I awoke in P.A., the full moon danced above the Olympic Mountains. Here is peace and here is beauty.

Peace, John

China 2

Echoes of China Part 2

It was a misty Sunday morning in May as we went to the Wall. North of Beijing, into the mountains, out beyond the flat basin where Beijing sits is the Mutianyu entrance to the Great Wall. The massive stonewall, after 2000 years of wall building, crawls along ridges for 2500 miles. This portion was built by Yongle the third Ming emperor, six hundred years ago. After climbing up and down along the Wall, Jane finds an inconspicuous place to sit and sketch while I enter a watchtower to play the flute. In the valley below a red hawk soars above the green forest, beneath the white misty sky. It is the same sky we all live beneath today.

Back in Beijing, dinner with Jing Jing’s family was delicious. Her step-father said something to me and seeing the empty-sky look on my face he said it again, only much slower with careful articulation of his Chinese words. This cracked us up; especially as Jeremy and Jing Jing, shared it with us, it was a hoot. How many times have people here in America spoken to foreigners who had no clue what was said, so the speaker repeats himself, speaking slower and louder? Being the foreigner in a restaurant in Beijing brought it all home.

We flew to Hangzhou, near Shanghai, took a bus to Tongziang City and pedicab to Wuzhen. Wuzhen is an ancient water town 1300 years old. The canals that run through the village provide a charming serenity with stone bridges and streets for visitors to walk, talk and relax. Shops allow crafts people to continue ancient arts of making fans, indigo print fabrics, shoes, wooden items, shadow puppets, water theater and a silk factory, which still demonstrates the process of making silk from cocoons to the looms for stunning silk items. A pagoda towers above the town, beside the Jinghang Grand Canal, the longest canal in the world. Nearby are a pavilion for Guan Yin and a Temple of Love.

A wild bus ride and taxi took us to the Hangzhou Xihu State Guesthouse on the banks of West Lake. This was a favorite get away for Mao, during his days as Imperial Ruler. In the morning we rode bicycles around the lake to the towering Leifeng Pagoda. Hangzhou was one of the eight capitals of China, around 893. Long ago a war-lord’s troops were storming the pagoda to capture it and the princess hiding inside. They tried to burn her out, but she turned into a white snake and chased them all away. I love legend and mythology. We went up to a mountainside tea plantation for delicious lunch and dined in an elegant place of peaceful beauty. To the other side of the mountain to Lingyin Temple, circa 326, with 340 carvings of Buddha in grottos along the“Peak Flying From Afar.” Incense flamed in caldrons between three halls leading up the mountain. Within the main hall sits the largest carved wooden gold-guilded statue of Buddha in China. As we entered the hall from the front, a procession of monks entered from the back, chanting sutras with percussion, incense, drums and gongs. A wonderful worship with the old Abbot leading prayers and even Kanzan and Jitoku walking about. Many people stood around the temples in reverent prayer. I found taxi and bus rides in south China to be great exercises in Zen meditation… being fully aware in the moment with no attachment to the outcome. It felt like being in a nascar race. Now and Zen.

Back in Beijing, after Starbucks Leo takes us to The Birds’ Nest, a tight-rope walker is on the high wire atop the Olympic Stadium. At the Temple of Heaven, a Taoist Temple, I offered prayers for friends back home. The Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests is where the Emperor would offer prayers and sacrifices for the year to come on winter solstices, until 1914. In the Tiantan Park surrounding the temple grounds of heaven and earth, musicians played classical Chinese instruments. Among old hutongs, on narrow alleys that have been the hub of Bejing life for 700 years, we found an ink brush factory, tea shop with Jasmine, Chrysanthemum teas, open markets and a vibrant pulse of humanity. The last dinner, a party with Jing Jing’s father, a composer and professor who spoke no English (and did not speak to me slower) and Shauzing, an ink brush artist and family. Wonderful food and sharing the last night.

Free Tiger Returns to Mountain was a new show at the Pace Gallery in “798”, paintings of tigers (a power symbol for China), of ash and water. Under shade trees and along canals we saw groups of men playing mahjong and card games. Horns honking, bicycle bells ringing, children playing, nannies walking their charges, workers continuously working, destroying old hutongs and building more tall buildings. I fly away with feelings of connection and appreciation for the people of the Middle Kingdom and the ancient civilization of China with its art, artifacts and vibrant humanity. I could feel in the depth of meditation, walking along canals and sitting in café’s a true connection with the human spirit there. And a strong feeling of the spiritual renewal in and through it all. We are one.

Now we can concentrate and work on peace. Be peaceful. Practice peaceful ways of communicating and working things out.

Peace.

China

Echoes of China Part I.

We flew around the Pacific Rim; over P.A., Vancouver Island and many other Canadian Islands, Alaska, Far East Russia, Sakhalin, Manchuria, mountains that resemble the Bad Lands, then farms, rivers and into Beijing. Met with open heart by our son we eased into the fourth ring. The sounds in the city, honking horns, construction and many millions of people join in a cacophony like a symphony tuning before a concert. The food we shared was marvelous, from the first night at a North Asian Fusion Restaurant featuring Max, a chef from New Orleans.

One of the eye opening places, to me, was the art district called “798”. It was a factory site for munitions, textiles and electric products, built in the 50’s with help from East German engineers and equipment. Now it is the home of art galleries, studios, shops, cafes and coffee shops. Beautiful creative use of space. Artists, curators and gallery owners and people just like us.

Went to the Palace Museum after lunch at Ho Hi along one of the many canals connecting the country with the capital. A crush of people poured in and out of the Forbidden City as we wove our way through the fascinating maze of walls, gates, gardens and halls of stone and wood. Hall of Supreme Harmony, Hall of Persevering Harmony, Gate and Palace of Heavenly Purity, built with sacred geometry for the emperor who was deemed Son of Heaven. The Purple City has been the center piece of political cosmology since its inception 600 years ago. Outside the east gate we found Courtyard Gallery, infamous haunt of art dealers here and there. At the Tiananmen Gate, Gate of Heavenly Peace, we paused for pics with Mao whose portrait adorns the massive red wall. Across Tiananmen square we found rest and refreshment in a Starbucks with familiar songs of Rosemary Clooney.

Bicycles, tricycles, rickshaws, pedicabs and bikes used like pickups with beds to haul just about anything they could manage, crowd the streets and squares. The jingling of bike bells and horns fill the air as we walk in the city. Into a classic Chinese noodle café where we are greeted with a startling shout in our ears, which occurred each time new customers entered the place… ‘hey, here we have another one…” Good food.

Back to “798” to read and relax while Jane sat and sketched colorful scenes. Then to the Dirt Market, in west Beijing where merchants and traders have brought antiques and statues to sell for centuries, originally some dug up from graves, now mostly things for locals and tourists, the sounds were wonderful. I thought I heard Paul Horn echoing in the throng.