Life is But a Dream

Walking down a dusty Whitefield road this week to teach Armchair Yoga, I began to think about “what we leave behind.” The scooters and lorries (trucks) leave clouds of choking dust. The man who washes two vehicles every morning up on the bank sends streams into the traffic; there is always a giant mud puddle in front of his home.

What have I left behind? What is in my wake?

For many years, I believe I left wreckage. My inner conflicts were so great; I could only survive by generating a similar level of confusion and noise outside myself. Like the cell membrane that won’t be satisfied until the contents outside the wall are the same as what is inside, I needed equilibrium.

Only when my interior was emptied of the pain and fear did my footprints change. Once I found that peace and contentment I had misplaced within, I could leave it without. I am reminded by the old rule we learned in Girl Scout Troop 249, in Kalamazoo, Michigan, when we would go camping at Merrie Woode: “Always leave the campground cleaner than when you found it.”

~~~
A few mornings ago, I woke with the old nursery rhyme, “Row, row, row your boat,” singing in my head. For the first time, I listened to the lyrics: “Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.”

Wow! Was the author a Buddhist? A yogi? Seeing life as an illusion, as maya, is one of the central teachings of the rishis, the ancient sages of the East. We are taught to not get fooled into thinking that what is projected on the screen is real. Only the screen is real.

So the daily dramas, come and go, in our own lives and in the world at large, and every where in between. Yes, when we know that all of it is a dream, that it is not what or who we are, we can remain merry. I wonder if the original lyrics could have been, “Verily, verily, verily, verily,” as the little verse contains such a Mighty Truth.

“When you are in the flow life ceases to be a struggle. You don’t have to fight for what you want, or defend what you have. When you are in the flow, your every need it met so easily, so completely, so consistently, there’s only one explanation for it. There must be a higher power at work on your behalf.” So writes Steven Lane Taylor in his book Row, Row. Row Your Boat, a Guide for Living Life in the Divine Flow. I found it through a Google search, after my dream. (www.rowrowrow.com)

Lane continues, on his website, “It makes no difference whether you picture this higher power as a very real supreme being or some kind of conscious cosmic energy. The effect is the same. It feels like something infinitely greater than yourself is operating in this world and you are directly benefiting from its existence.”



When you are in the flow, life ceases to be a struggle, and we no longer leave wreckage, dust, debris or dirty water behind us, in our wake. Rather, we join the great river of life, moving with the current, and like the river, there is truly, only, the present.

Like the river, we are constantly changing. The river is not the same as it was this morning, and neither are we.

What I hope I leave behind is no misery or mess.
What I hope I leave behind is the faint scent of roses and sound of laughter.
What I hope I leave behind is a kind word and deed.
What I hope I leave behind is gratitude for all that I have been provided.

Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.

You Are Not the Economy, Nor is Your Mood Determined by It

To an American friend:

I am listening to Vermont Public Radio tonight (your morning) and stunned by the fear-based, obsessed coverage of the world stock markets. Reports on "damage around the world, a bad day on the Chinese, Japanese, Indian and other exchanges."

Knowing your world, and who is in it, I am guessing conversations must sound a lot like what I am hearing on the radio....a lot of concern, worry, projection, what-ifs, doomsday talk.

Please hear me now: no matter what happens to the economy, we can and must remain the good people we are, with the same values and commitments, the same compassion and personal relationships and standards. Just like the weather, the economy does not make us who we are. That is a comfort. Many people need lots of $$$ and stuff to maintain their identity. We are not that. In the midst of all the incertainty on the planet, be it our wealth or our health, we can be conforted by knowing that we can handle whatever comes our way. Our essence is unchanged by these variables. Sunsets are still gorgeous, flowers still have fragrance, birds still sing.

Secondly, when there is an up, there is a down. When there is life, there is death. When there is health, there is illness. These poles are reality. Some call them opposites or compliments or partners. I see them as the poles of an issue or subject...the range that some thought or action can move between.

Who ever told us we could expect the economy to only hang at the plus end of the pole? What an insane expectation! Like thinking a car will NEVER get a flat tire, and to do so, would be a sign of a failed vehicle design. In truth, such natural reckonings in the natural or manmade world are always, ultimately, for our higher good. For evidence or proof of this claim, we need only look at our own lives...how we have grown from both the ups and downs.

Because the media is almost exclusively owned by major corporations, whose very life pulse is tied to the stock market, television and radio are fanning the flames of fear. Don't get caught in the blaze! Remain grounded in knowing that what you value and what makes your life meaningful is much more permanent and beautiful.

Of course we must make adjustments when storms come...be they in the skies or on Wall Street. I am reminded by the chant all Sivananda yogis are taught: "Adapt, adjust, accomodate. Be good, do good, be kind, be compassionate." Seems like good advice today.

You will be told this is an unstoppable crisis, a reason for panic and desperation, that nations are in need of rescue. Don't let this anxiety into your mind or body. Hold on to what you believe in, and stock up on positive thinking and words of inspiration. This too shall pass. And you will still be you.

On Making Sense of Death

My thoughts on death, written for a friend who is sitting at the bedside of a terminally ill family member. (Names are changed.)

I am so sorry, such a hard time for you all, my friend. Yes, I would like to be there and take a walk in the cold and sit in your kitchen and help you make sense of all this.

We have an attachment to WHEN life should END. While many of us resist even a natural, timely death...one that comes after a grand a glorious LONG life, a death like Mindy's is even harder to accept...too soon, too short, too painful. Even the merciful quality of death, after she has been through so much, doesn't seem like enough to take away the sting.

I have learned in my studies and meditation that our suffering comes from what we bring to the situation. The facts are not what cause the suffering, they are simply the truth of This Moment, what IS. The suffering, the pain, the misery is what we do with the situation.

A small example would be a child crying because he can't go to a friend's house, because he has no ride. The fact is, there is no ride. It is just his attachment to going to the friend's house that makes him sad.

On a grander, more mighty scale, our resistance to death causes us massive agony and grief. We don't want to say goodbye, we feel sorry for ourselves and all other survivors, we regret what has been done and also what is left undone. Yet, we owe ourselves this question: why do we think we know better, when death would be ok? Why do we resist or refuse the reality that one's time has come? Can we play the part of the Creator, deciding when it is Mindy's time, Our time, Your time?

Your mother has said so often to me, "Expect nothing, and you won't be disappointed." The older I get, the more profound this wisdom becomes.

We expect a full 80+ years for everyone. We fight against anything less. But again, can we actually think that we should be in charge of such events? I personally would never want to decide Who or When.

All that said, your family's pain at this moment is why I am writing. The pain that comes from our belief, our clinging to a wish that loved ones stay in our presence a little longer.

I have begun to wonder what death would be like if we simply accepted it like all other natural events in our lives...having our baby teeth come in, going into puberty, that first gray hair. Of course, our response to it is all to do with our very sense of the meaning of life. Why are we here? Is this all there is? Will we meet again?

Living in the present moment, appreciating what we have, seems like a more humane and loving way to be with ourselves and others, than grasping for one more day. As I read about the tender moments you are having at Mindy's bedside, I can see that you have made her passing a beautiful time. All the personal attention, the honest conversations, the clearing of the air....these are marvelous ways to use a day. How many of us avoid reality, and then wonder why we feel lonely?

You are living life on its own terms, facing it and death, and finding ways to continue to be loving and kind and make sense of the nonsensical nature of it all.

What an irony we find in death....we spend time finding people to love and learning to love, only to say good bye. Yet, that is the condition of life, that it is finite, that we aren't here forever, in this form.

I read once that our responses to birth and death are backwards. We act so shocked that death arrives, as if we never thought it would. We often fight and resist it, not believing it could possible enter our lives. Yet, its inevitability is all that we can be certain of! We surely cannot expect birth, that is a miracle, indeed.

How funny, we act like birth is a given, ("When is she expecting?") we expect it. What if we were to treat death in the same way? Not careless or casual, just realistic?

When I volunteered as a hospice worker, I heard about a woman dying of cancer who made everyone promise to not tell her young children she was dying. The charade was played out, the two kids (between 8 and 10 years of age) were told "Mommy has the flu," and no matter how much they asked, the answer was the same. One day, they returned from school, to find Mommy dead.

What favor did this mother do, pretending death wasn't coming? How cruel to deny her children a chance to say good bye, to share in some final moments of pure love. And what will they think if they hear someone else "Has the flu"? I would imagine their whole lives will in someway be twisted by this unfairness, this lie.

So, in the midst of your pain, you are being so real, knowing it is time to let go. I salute you. Having conversations about Mindy's preferences for a funeral or memorial service, the music, the minister...this is all so healthy. You are willing to step into her day with her, to live in the present with her. It must be a great relief to her, to have your honest and loving self at her side.

Your family has all grown strong and close through her illness. You have continued to find the good things her final days brought you: long drives to distant hospitals, different family members pitching in, making time for each other. How beautiful it has been to see your son become a caregiver, and such a tender one! I believe the benefits will continue to reveal themselves, long after she is gone.

While I am not suggesting you can avoid or even should avoid the grief and mourning, I am encouraging you, as much as possible, to see it all as a natural and expected part of life. Bringing this attitude of acceptance to the challenge can spare all of you the darkest of moments. Being a realist doesn't mean you don't love her and you won't miss her. It means you also love yourselves, and don't want to slip into paralyzing sadness. Attaching to something that, by its very design, must leave, is not loving yourself.

Celebrate her life, and all the good she has brought to your family! Try and get some rest! And know that many friends, including me, are lifting you all up in prayer, that you will find peace and strength. May her final days be ones of great love and comfort. For all of you. Love, B

p.s. I am including some Words of Comfort; I hope you share them.

Words of Comfort
Compiled by Bethany Knight
Ecclesiastics 3:1-8
To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven;
A time to be born and at time to die;
A time to plant and a time to pluck what is planted;
A time to kill and a time to heal;
A time to break down and a time to build up;
A time to weep and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones and a time to gather stones;
A time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to gain and a time to lose;
A time to keep and a time to throw away;
A time to tear and a time to sew;
A time to keep silence and a time to speak;
A time to love and a time to hate;
A time of war and a time of peace.

~~~
In a little while I will be gone from you, my people, and whither I cannot tell. From nowhere we come, into nowhere we go. What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of the buffalo in the winter time. It is the shadow that runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.
Chief Crowfoot

~~~
Miss Me...But Let Me Go
When I come to the end of the road
And the sun has set for me
I want no rites in a gloom filled room
Why cry for a soul set free?

Miss me a little...but not too long
And not with your head bowed low
Remember the love that we once shared
Miss me, but let me go.

For this is a journey that we all must take
And each must go alone
It's all part of the Master's plan
A step on the road to home.

When you are lonely and sick of heart
Go to the friends we know
And bury your sorrows in doing good deeds
Miss me...but let me go.
Anonymous
~~~
After the Darkness
After the darkness
The daylight shines through
After the showers
The rainbow's in view
After life's heartaches
There comes from above
The peace, the comfort
Of God's healing love.
Anonymous
~~~
Do Not Stand At My Grave
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep
I am the diamond glints on the snow
I am the breezes, whispering low
I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn's rain
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight
I am the soft star that shines at night
Do not stand at my grave and cry
I am not there, I did not die.
Anonymous
~~~
In Memory of Charles
Your memory fills my soul at this solemn hour.
I remember days when you dwelt on earth.
It revives in me thoughts of the love and
friendliness which you bestowed upon me.
You have gone from me, but the bond
which unites our souls can never be severed.
Your image lives within my heart.
May the merciful Father reward you
for the kindness you have shown me.
May He lift up the light of His countenance
upon you and grant you eternal peace.
The body is the temple for the soul
May God keep Charles in his eternal care.
Written by Mrs. Isabel Edwards, in memory of her late husband Charles, who died at the Gill Nursing Home in Ludlow, VT

~~~
My Dear Children Who I Love in Christ
The Lord has closed my eyes on this earth to return me to Eternity. Alleluia. Be consoled. I will always be with you invisibly, believe me.

Pray for me, speak to me and I will answer you and I will console you.

I believe that I will be with your father in the beautiful heaven that God reserved for us. Alleluia.

Please forgive me if I offended you with me impatience. It was not from malice of heart but the workload was so heavy that I lacked the strength. I hid and cried in secret. I was forgiven as God is so good and His Son is so merciful. I am now at Peace with the love of Jesus and Mary whom I love so.

Your father and I wait for you in the Kingdom of Heaven, which we worked so hard to deserve. Alleluia.

Love each other as brothers and sisters in Christ, for that is the love, the peace and joy that I wish for you from my heart.

As you found joy in preparing for my 75th Birthday Party, let us prepare ourselves for the same joy of eternity. GLORY TO GOD...

From your mother who loves you tenderly
Written in October, 1979, and found among the possessions of a resident who died at Rowan Court Nursing Home in Barre, VT.

~~~
Oopick's Death
Grandma Oopick was found dead in her bed...She had reached the very old, old age when dark hairs start to grow in to replace the gray. It was said this happened to the very, very old and that their eyesight also begins to improve after a certain age.

The men placed Oopick in the grave with her few most treasured belongings...tears rolled down granddaughter Nedercook's check. Mother Kiachook said nothing, but put her arm around her daughter for a little while. She knew that some grieving and tears were healthy.

That evening, and for the next six nights, Villagers brought food and gathered in the Big Dance House, to eat and sing. There was some dancing to celebrate Oopick's departure to the spirit world. Kiachook let Nedercook cry without restraining her for the first day, nor did she say anything to stop the sniffling and sobs during the first night. On the afternoon of the second day, as the evening approached, she walked to where Nedercook stood rubbing her red eyes, and placing an arm gently around her should, she said, "You have cried enough. Now it is time to stop, for they say that too many tears will but wet the grave of the departed. She suffers not, but would be saddened to see you so unhappy."

After a brief silence, Kiachook added, "Daughter, where grief comes into you life, try hard to keep doing the things you are used to doing, and eat as you always have. If you don't eat and work, it will want to become a habit and it will be much harder for you later on." Then she looked into her daughter's red eyes as she said, "We will go to the Big Dance House tonight and give our help to the others who are celebrating Oopick's admission to the spirit world."
from Once Upon An Eskimo Time, by Edna Wilder

~~~
Prayer of Remembrance
O Divine Creator,
why does the beautiful blue bird disappear from our view? Where does the world beyond our window go? Only you know.

Lord, we struggle with our good-byes, not understanding why we lose what we love. We are so fragile, wondering why we have been left behind, with only our faith to keep us warm.

We do know that from tribulation, comes patience, from patience, comes experience, and out of experience, comes hope.

In your lovingkindness, you give us hope. Today, in this moment of hope, we recall with fondness those fellow travelers whose journey has taken them past our horizon. We thank you, dear God, for these cherished memories. May they fuel our hearts in the days ahead. Amen.
Bethany Knight
~~~

Prayer
Eternal God, give us now your grace, that as we shrink before the mystery of death
we may see the light of eternity.

To all of our loved ones
whom you have graciously received into your presence,
grant your peace.
Let perpetual light shine upon them;
and help us so to believe where we have not seen,
that your presence may lead us through our years,
and bring us at last with them
into the joy of your home
not made with hands but eternal to the heavens;
through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

United Methodist Book of Services, abridged

~~~
If a seed
in the black earth
can turn into such beautiful roses
what might not
the heart of man become
in its long journey
towards the stars.
G. K. Chesterton

~~~
Gone From My Sight
I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts fro the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength. I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speak of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says: "There, she is gone!"
"Gone where?"
Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at the moment when someone at my side says: "There, she is gone!" there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout: "Here she comes!"
And that is dying.
Anonymous
~~~
Forgive me, Lord
If I have judged the different to be bad because it was strange to me,
Forgive me, Lord.

If I have condemned those who struggle with the new,
If I saw anger or disrespect where there was none,
If I have been harsh toward those whose vision made them
see danger or disrespect where there was none,
Forgive me, Lord .

If I have silenced music,
If I have paralyzed the dance,
If I have slashed the canvas, burned the books,
cleared the stage, choked the laughter,
Forgive me, Lord.

If I have fostered mediocrity for the sake of acceptability,
If I have shunned awe in the presence of the sacred,
If anger or fear has led me to dishonesty or distortion,
Forgive me, Lord.
Elberta Farrar Herrin
~~~
...and think of her as living
in the hearts of those she touched...
for nothing loved is ever lost-
and she was loved so much.

Audrey Young, on the death of her mother, Cordelia Young
~~~
Twenty-Third Psalm - An Indian Version
Father, guardian of earth and the heavens
Along with all things, I am your creation.
You are the tree of life, I am a branch
Flowering, thankful, and contented.

The marvels, the natural elements you have made
I am in awe and reverence about them.
Through your love and guidance, you give me a precious vine to hold on to.
It is the thread of life to follow.
It leads me satisfied among the fragrant meadows and calm waters.
It is you who has provided the fruits of life, and I am happy.

You provide my sustenance, and nourishment
From the land, the waters, and the air.
I am bIessed, I give thanks for all.
I am satisfied, my bowl is plenty.
You arc the Spirit at our center.
With you I am strong, my heart good.

Sometimes it is not easy, this life's road.
Sometimes I fall, tested.
You give me strength and direction to carry on.
To pursue a path of goodness, and to care for others.
Life is but a part of a cycle- a beginning.
As with all things in time, I know I must leave behind this Earthly life
Entering another journey
That I shall travel with no fear, for you are with me Now, Then and Forever.

Bad times come with the good,
But good will prevail.
I speak from the heart.
I have done my best to follow the good path
Ready for the next journey.
I am prepared.

It is then in the great heavenly lodge rejoining my relatives
With pride in a life lived
That I will humbly present myself Spirit Father
In heaven, as on earth, forever.

Emma Henderson, Bagdad, Kentucky
~~~
The Baseball Game
The park has now grown quiet
The fans have all gone home.
But if you listen closely
You can hear the cheers go on.
For fast balls thrown as strikes
And balls hit as home runs.
As we look the field is empty
But we remember all the fun.
Although the game has ended
For Brett its just begun.
Jana Gilbertson, in memory of her son, Brett

~~~
The Rose Beyond the Wall
A rose once grew where all could see,
Sheltered beside a garden wall.
And, as the days passed swiftly by,
It spread its branches, straight and tall.
One day, a beam of light shone through
A crevice that had opened wide—
The rose bent gently toward its warmth
The passed beyond to the other side.
Now, you who deeply feel its loss,
Be comforted, the rose blooms there---
Its beauty even greater now,
Nurtured by God’s own loving care.
Anonymous

~~~
When Tomorrow Starts Without Me
When tomorrow starts without me,
And I'm not there to see,
If the sun should rise and find your eyes
All filled with tears for me;
I wish so much you wouldn't cry
The way you did today,
While thinking of the many things,
We didn't get to say.
I know how much you love me,
As much as I love you,
And each time that you think of me,
I know you'll miss me too;
But when tomorrow starts without me,
Please try to understand,
That an angel came and called my name,
And took me by the hand,
And said my place was ready,
In heaven far above,
And that I'd have to leave behind
All those I dearly love.
But as I turned to walk away,
A tear fell from my eye
For all my life, I'd always thought,
I didn't want to die.
I had so much to live for,
So much left yet to do,
It seemed almost impossible,
That I was leaving you.
I thought of all the yesterdays,
The good ones and the bad,
I thought of all the love we shared,
And all the fun we had.
If I could relive yesterday,
Just even for a while,
I'd say good-bye and kiss you
And maybe see you smile.
But then I fully realized,
That this could never be,
For emptiness and memories,
Would take the place of me.
And when I thought of worldly things
I might miss come tomorrow,
I thought of you, and when I did,
My heart was filled with sorrow.
But when I walked through heaven's gates,
I felt so much at home.
When God looked down and smiled at me,
From His great golden throne,
He said, "This is eternity,
And all I've promised you."
Today your life on earth is past,
But here life starts anew.
I promise no tomorrow,
But today will always last,
And since each day's the same way
There's no longing for the past.
You have been so faithful,
So trusting and so true.
Though there were times
You did some things
You knew you shouldn't do.
But you have been forgiven
And now at last you're free.
So won't you come and take my hand
And share my life with me?
So when tomorrow starts without me,
Don't think we're far apart,
For every time you think of me,
I'm right here, in your heart.
Anonymous
Don’t grieve for me, for now I’m free.
I’m following the path God laid for me,
I took his hand when I heard him call
I truned my back and left it all.
I could not stay another day to laught, to love, to work or play.
Tasks left undone must stay that way.
I found that place at the close of day.
Perhaps my time seemed all too brief.
Don’t lengthn it now with undue grief.
Lift up your heart and share with me.
God wanted me now, he set me free.
Anonymous

~~~
No Vermonters in Heaven

I dreamed that I went to the City of Gold, to Heaven, resplendent and fair,
And after I entered the beautiful fold,
By one in authority there I was told
That not a Vermonter was there.

"Impossible, sir, for from my own town
Many sought this delectable place,
And each must be here with a harp and a crown,
And a conqueror's palm and a clean linen gown, received through unmerited grace."

The angel replied: "All Vermonters come here when first they depart from the earth,
But after a day or a month or a year,
They restless and lonesome and homesick appear, and sigh for the land of their birth."

"They tell of ravines, wild, secluded and deep, and flower-decked, landscapes serene,
Of towering mountains imposing and steep,
Adown which the torrents exultingly leap,
Through forests perennially green."

"We give them the best that the kingdom provides,
They have everything here that they want,
But not a Vermonter in Heaven abides;
A very brief period here he resides,
Then hikes his way back to Vermont."

Ernest Fenwick Johnstone

The Sky is Not Affected by the Clouds

With more than one billion citizens, India’s transportation runs 24 hours a day, to get everyone where they are going. Traveling by night is common and the most affordable.

Suja and I set off from Bangalore on the midnight train January 3 for Chennai, where we would catch a short flight to Colombo about 24 hours later, arriving in the Sri Lankan capital about 1 a.m. January 5. We planned a five day pilgrimage, visiting temples where Buddha preached.

In Chennai before dawn, we were greeted by hard rains filling the streets. A three wheeled auto rickshaw was our transport to Suren and Boona Rao’s home, Suja’s kin we would spend the day with until heading to the airport around 8 p.m.

“The Buddha visited temples 2500 years ago in Sri Lanka,” Suja said, quoting various travel guidebooks. A Buddhist herself, Suja had lived in Colombo as a young girl when her father was posted to the Indian embassy. I began studying the Buddha’s life and words last spring, and was keen on following his footsteps. “He must have come by boat,” I said, picturing him traveling down the east coast of India to the small island of Sri Lanka in the Indian Ocean.

British occupiers were the more recent visitors, leaving only one year after India was freed from being a colony of England, in the late 1940s. I had been reading a book on India’s small oil industry that boomed in the late 1800s and early 1900s, and learned something that seemed so interesting, yet obvious. Once the British Empire was certain of Napoleon’s death, funds previously allocated to defense began pouring into exploration for natural resources. Quests for gems, coal, oil and more were launched. Sri Lanka was known as Ratnadvipa, the Isle of Gems. King Solomon was said to have given a great Sri Lankan ruby to the Queen of Sheba, and Marco Polo came shopping in the 13th century for jewels. A 400 carat blue sapphire in the British crown was mined in Sri Lanka, then called Ceylon.

Maybe I will get some earrings, I thought. For 10 years, I have only worn a pair of gold amethyst hoops made for me in Chennai in 1998. That year, I accompanied the Dali Lama on the Way of Peace, a pilgrimage he co-sponsored with the World Community for Christian Meditation. I remember one of my fellow pilgrims, an American named Maryellen, chided me for buying jewelry on a pilgrimage.

“Bethany, this is the time for detachment!”

My husband Thurmond had given me money to buy myself something beautiful. “Maryellen,” I explained, “I need something to detach from.”

Wearing my birthstone, a purple stone considered to carry spiritual powers, has suited me well. But the idea of a different stone, set in a smaller earring, has been coming up. I joke I buy my earrings for others, as I can’t see them when I’m wearing them! Perhaps that sounds silly, but I actually mean it. What colors frame my face, what design do I present the world? Here I was, on yet another pilgrimage, still thinking about what to detach from!

The Triple Gem
A central teaching of the Buddha’s 45 year ministry instructs us to, “take refuge in the triple gem and be freed from suffering.” This treasured trio includes the Buddha, who teaches us to be good; the Dhamma, the teachings of the Buddha and the Sangha, the community of his disciples. My grandmother Purcell gave a similar instruction, “If you want to be happy, be around happy people.”

It is said one formally becomes a Buddhist by seeking refuge in the Triple Gem or Tisarana. Rather than chasing happiness and fearing sorrow, the Buddha taught a disciplined, moderate approach, called the Middle Path or Way, to be liberated from misery. He also said that the greatest refuge is oneself.

It has been fun to find so many of Buddha’s words mirror the teachings of Jesus, perhaps none as basic as the importance of fully loving ourselves before we can genuinely love anyone else. Self love has been a big challenge for me. About three and a half years ago, a new friend said she wished I would make loving myself my New Year’s resolution. Thurmond readily agreed with her. I couldn’t image the process, it seemed unrealistic and mysterious.

“You can search throughout the entire universe for someone more deserving of your love and affection than you are yourself, and that person will not be found anywhere,” Buddha said. “You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.” Contemporary Buddhist author Sharon Salzberg writes in Lovingkindness, the Revolutionary Art of Happiness, “When we truly love ourselves, we want to take care of others, because that is what is most enriching, or nourishing, for us.”

I understand that nourishment. One of my computer files is called Self Care and Development. Over the years, it has grown to include precious folders, including essays on India, dream journals and dietary wisdom. My study of Ayurveda began with yoga and quickly grew into a desire to share the common sense health care wisdom of India with friends and family. Well established in self care, I became a servant of others. These days, when I look in the mirror, I see my mother and my Grandma Tante, and it is easy to love me.

Steeped in Buddha and Ceylon Tea
Anticipating long periods of sitting on trains and in airport lounges, I packed a backpack of books for the journey. I also bought another bag full in the temple bookshop and Buddhist cultural center to keep my mind and heart centered in and on Buddha.

Training the mind, like a playful puppy, is a mighty theme of my fifties. The Buddha calls hunger the greatest affliction, as, unlike other afflictions and addictions, it has to be appeased daily. When we spend our days either consciously or unconsciously fixated on what and when we will eat, all our interactions are driven by craving. “I want, I want. I don’t want, I don’t want.” Watch your thoughts for an afternoon. See if you can find something that isn’t a like or dislike. As Salzberg says, “It is not a coincidence that the word passion derives from the Latin word for ‘suffering.’ Wanting and expectation inevitably entail suffering.” Greed springs from craving.

The shorter our list of demands on the world, the greater our experience of joy. If I really want tea for breakfast, and am unwilling to enjoy a nice steaming cup of just hot water, suffering follows. I am having such fun seeing how little I need to feel joyous!

Intellectually knowing the folly of craving is not necessarily enough to kick this primal habit of craving. I have had to create disciplined routines, reducing the frequency, proximity, amounts and types of foods I eat. Such limits have taken the charge out of mealtime, so I honestly am only thinking of food when I’m hungry. What a concept!

With the greatest affliction at least identified and contained, I have been awakened to another way of being in the world. Rather than seeing it as something out there to react against or toward, it has become a welcoming and intimate home. Separation is no longer a theme. Instead, I am experiencing something beyond connection, almost a shared identity or union of inner and outer world.

Just this morning, I caught a wasp that flew into my room. He was working so hard at the screen to get out. Trapped in my metal cup, his cries were amplified, and sounded nearly identical to toddler Nagesh’s cries I heard through the night. Their insistent, high pitched whines both signaled something must change; Nagesh heads to the pediatrician today for deworming.

One of my many book companions on the trip described the process of meditation, which I can also apply to how I feel in the world today. At first, we observe life as out there, seeing what is happening like waves riding the ocean, coming to shore and disappearing. Eventually, we see ourselves as part of the ocean itself, underneath the water, completely emerged in life. Finally, we know we are the water itself, no separateness. I do know that now.

The Teachers of Colombo
Our teachers in the capital city were the door men, the waiters, the soldiers and the beggars.

At the Grand Oriental Hotel, built in the British heyday at the port authority, pairs of men would stand for 12 hours a day, graciously greeting us and holding the doors open for our arrivals and departures. Our frequent treks in and out, to temples, churches and restaurants gave us multiple contacts with the doormen. Simply waving and passing through was not an option. On our fifth and final day at the GOH, I saw Isanka as my son. His attention was so kind and present; like I was the only woman he was opening the door for today. (We are emailing now, I am helping him polish his resume and cover letters for employment in Italy, as any mother would.)

Our waiters were very similar. There expressionless, professional faces quickly gave way to beaming, radiant smiles when we complimented the rice or pointed to our empty plates. Clearly, they had figured out that service can be joyous.

Like Ireland, an Island of Bloodshed
Continents and time zones apart, Colombo reminded me of Belfast. Two islands, the cultures and rules twisted by British colonization, engaged in ancient, ongoing battles over power and resources.

Since 2002, the fighting in Sri Lanka has escalated, when peace talks broke down between the natives and the Tamil Tigers, a segment of society that originally came from India as laborers. When independence was achieved, unlike Singapore, the Sri Lankan government did not declare all factions within the country on equal footing. Rather, Sri Lankans are given preference over Tamils in hiring, housing and the like. Such discrimination foments rage and revenge. The day we arrived on the island, we learned one of the government ministers had been gunned down by the opposition when walking out of a temple. The day we left, we learned of a roadside bombing near the airport, that killed several, including members of the opposition. Throughout our stay, we heard of other bombings and were stopped repeatedly at armed checkpoints to show our passports.

Manning those checkpoints were skinny Ceylonese youth in camouflage, holding huge and heavy 40 or 50 year old rifles. Wary as they bent down to look into our cabs, they worked hard to look tough, even suspicious. Again, seeing them as my son, we parted with big smiles and nods, assuring one another of our safety. How frightened they must have been facing every oncoming vehicle in the smoky night air: would they live to see our taxi pass?

Simply walking out of the hotel or into a church required using certain sides of the street, crossing on approved corners and answering questions. My heart ached for this little country, surrounded by one sea yet drowning in division.

Temple Ceremonies
From the moment we entered the Gangaram temple in the heart of Colombo, Suja and I were both wrapped in the serenity. Giant painted clay Buddhas, from five to 20 feet in height, stood silently or reclined along the walls, giving us the tiniest of adoring smiles. Around us, Buddhists and tourists moved through the ancient halls, some snapping pictures, others chanting reverently and leaving fruit and floral offerings at Buddha’s feet.

Our plans called for visits to three temples: Gangaram, Kelaniya and the most famous in the central city of Kandy, an eight hour round trip cab ride.

We also enjoyed an English mass at St. Philip Neri’s, a beautiful Catholic church in the heart of the rundown market district and some quite prayer time in St. Peter’s Anglican Church near the seashore.

Of course, the pilgrimage was really an extension of our New Year’s Day Extravaganza. Suja described it as, “doing our rounds.” We began at 6 a.m. meditating at the Sri Aurobindo Ashram in downtown Bangalore, followed by meditation at the Sikh temple, the Gurudwara; followed by Mass and candle lighting for the New Year at St. Mary’s; and lastly, pujas with one of our cooks, Lalita, at a majestic Hindu temple. In all places, we lifted up the world’s families, asking for the end of misery. “May all sentient beings be happy,” we asked, in the words of Buddha.

At Gangaram, a young Sri Lankan Buddhist priest took us into the temple’s private museum, where hundreds and hundreds of precious gifts from all over the world are displayed in dark wood and glass cases. Buddhas from Korea, Malaysia, Thailand, the Philippines, Japan and beyond stared back at us, with varying expressions of disinterest and loving-kindness. I thought about the artists who carved, painted or sculpted such tributes. “All of these were made with love, Suja,” I said. “Only love causes one to create such work.”

Our young priest also gifted us with multi-colored bracelets of blessed thread, which he tied on our right wrists. We received additional blessings from him, and simply by being allowed to meditate on the holy grounds.

For the Kelaniya temple, we bought purple lotus flowers to offer and a large plate of mixed fruits and nuts. Cashews are one of the country’s premiere crops. The custom of putting these gifts at the alter is not hard to understand. What is different than Western customs is that after the prayer time, we were expected to take our platters and walk about the temple, offering the foods to strangers. Suja said her personal prayer has always been, “May no one go hungry in my presence.”

Photo caption: Receiving blessing from the priest at Kelaniya Temple in Sri Lanka, January 2008

As her tenant for two winters running now, I can assure you, hunger is no visitor in her home!

Another Buddhist custom is to ceremoniously water the Bodhi tree. Buddha’s story begins with him sitting under the Bodhi tree, and declaring he wouldn’t get up until he figured out the meaning of life and how to be happy. A friend mentioned how close Buddha’s 39 days of waiting for enlightenment under the tree are to Jesus’ 40 days in the desert.

Bodhi trees are a big part of all temple grounds; devotees are invited to fill steel or plastic pots with water and thoughtful walk around the tree, splashing water upon the trunk. Watching the young and old carry out this task with such earnest joy was my privilege.

We both found our silent meditations in the temples extraordinarily easy. The cool marble floors held us securely, and the past echoes of other meditators seemed to keep us upright yet grounded. Though I have learned to not be attached to the quality of any meditation, I will remember these as among the deepest and most restful, to date.

Bookstore Gentleman Beggar
Both book addicts, Suja and I were excited about perusing the shelves of the temple bookshop in Kelaniya. Directly to the right of the threshold, a gray haired man with a bandaged right leg sat, propped against the building. So dignified yet friendly, he didn’t initially appear to be begging. His approach was not the standard one we see on the streets of India and Sri Lanka, where an infirmed person points to their trouble or pantomimes the need to eat and stares painfully into your eyes. He simply sat and briefly looked at us.

As the doormen, waiters and soldiers became my son, I easily greeted this gentleman as my father. Who else could he be? I first gave him a modest contribution, and went back into the book shop. Suja did the same. But standing at the shelves, a feast of affordable Buddhist literature, (I bought Buddha’s most famous work, the Dhammapada, with a full commentary and translation for $4 usd) I could think of nothing but the intense wish to go back out and give more to my father. We had a package of cashews with us for a mid afternoon snack; we both consider this nut one of the greatest of earth’s creations.

I put more money and the cashews in the gentleman’s hands. He nodded. I swelled with love and dodged back inside to hide in the dispassionate presence of books.

Finishing our transactions, Suja and I stepped back outside, and she again, gave the gentleman some cash. I looked at him and felt we had known one another forever, and loved each other in that knowledge.

Buddha calls such donations Dana, the Pali (ancient language) word for the practice of generosity. Generosity in itself has a transformative power, as it allows us to both let go and give away at the same time. Free of our wanting and craving, free of our sense of mine and my, we experience layers of joy within one generous act. I felt joy knowing I wanted to give the cashews. I felt joy giving the cashews. I still feel joy writing about giving the cashews.

Dana is the first of the 10 qualities of an awakened mind, according to the Buddha. I think the Buddha may well have become an accountant if he hadn’t become the Enlightened One, as he has so many numbered teachings: the eight fold path, the four noble truths, the four necessaries, the three modes of discipline, the three moral roots, the three immoral roots, the ten kinds of evil, the ten meritorious deeds and more.

Our last stop within the temple grounds was before the giant white stupa, the familiar domelike building with a pointed, steeple-like top associated with Buddhist shrines. I saw the stupa point to the brilliant blue sky, thin clouds crossing, and recalled another line from the Buddha, also mentioned in Salzberg’s book: “A mind filled with love can be likened to the sky with a variety of clouds moving through hit---some light and fluffy, others ominous and threatening. No matter what the situation, the sky is not affected by the clouds. It is free.”

Over and over, Sri Lanka was teaching me about this freedom. My life, all of it, is my own making. I am the architect of this house. I choose to be attached to some belief that later causes me pain because it doesn’t pan out. I choose to share in the lives of those I am near at this moment, rather than yearn for my companions on the other side of the world.

(Ironically, on our third day in the city, a Sri Lankan native who managed our hotel restaurant confided that the Buddha had, in fact, never come to this country. But it was good for tourism to promote this myth, he added. Fortunately, we weren’t attached to needing this truth to enjoy our visit.)

From the moment we entered our third class train in Chennai, and found our seats right next to the stinking toilet, we had choices to make. We chose laughing, and stuffed wet wipes in our nostrils, sleeping solidly for 6.5 hours. There was the situation, and then there was what we brought to it. The situation in itself had no power, we infused it with power.

(Seated next to the toilet on our flight to Sri Lanka and our train back to Bangalore, we laughed even more. Each time we were seated by a toilet, I would ask Suja, “Are we enlightened yet?” Thurmond has pointed out I have a proclivity for toilet closeness. My little trailer in Florida is across the road from the treatment plant. And my tent in the Sivananda ashram in 2004 in Neyyer Dam, India, was next to the composting toilets.)

If you can’t laugh when difficulties arise, one way to respond to them is to imagine how the Earth handles changes and calamities. It observes, it remains, it is accustomed to change. It bears all without emotion. Just like the sky, unchanged by clouds.

What Do I Really Need, Anyway?
Beyond seeing my role as chooser, I see the distinction of wanting something outside myself is an alienating act in and of itself. What do I really need, anyway?

Our first morning in Colombo, crossing a major intersection in the city and obviously looking confused, we were approached by a kind young man who inquired if we needed help. One word led to another, and we were soon traversing the city to a jeweler he knew was having a sale! Without mentioning jewelry, it was being mentioned to me.

A hour or so later, I walked out of Traditional Gem Mine, Ltd, wearing pale blue natural topaz earrings. Jeweler Ramahan spoke with me and we talked about meditation. He was interested. I shared what I knew and told him it would help with his overeating and tension. He pledged to begin his practice. He said, “I am no longer approaching this as a sale. I want to have you wear something that is just for you.” He looked into my eyes, and we smiled. Walking over to a drawer, he pulled out the earrings. “These are pure, clear and peaceful. These go with your eyes and with you. This is what I want you to wear.” Suja inspected and declared they were good quality and a good price. I felt as if my husband had become the jeweler and gifted me with beautiful stones and sentiment.

The Buddha taught about the compassionate heart, the motivating principle of his life as dedication to the welfare and happiness of all beings, out of sympathy for all that lives. Salzberg brilliantly concludes, “Out of this arises a sense of purpose, a sense of meaning so strong in our lives that no matter what the circumstances, no matter what the situation, our goal or our greatest desire at any moment is to express genuine love.” In Buddhist or Pali terms, that expression of genuine loving-kindness is called Metta.

Blessed with my gems, the bigger gift of the day was blending into the lives of supposed strangers, expressing and experiencing genuine love. In Sri Lanka, I chose to end the distinction of stranger. It no longer makes sense. Like craving and aversion, the separation of stranger is a self-created force, destined to bring me sorrow. Buddha teaches that craving and aversion come from ignorance, and ignorance is the root cause of all of our problems, our defilements. “Delight in the destruction of craving,” he preached. “Self conquest is the best of all conquests. Attain purity by eradicating craving. Purify yourself gradually.”

All of this change is achieved through practicing equanimity, that balance that Vipassana meditation teaches (see my essay on Impermanence). Meditation teaches us to be in the present, realizing that the past and future are our own inventions. Both are simply present moments. That is all we have and it is plenty. We learn to see without judgment or expectation, but with clarity and compassion. Anger is no longer generated. Nor is loneliness. Every point and every moment is now home. As Buddha said, “They abide in peace who do not abide anywhere.”

Leaving the jewelry shop, our young host shared his worries, as both his parents had died of diabetes. I again spoke of yoga, meditation and the need to reduce white rice consumption. (Studies have shown excess rice is converted to glucose and results in higher rates of diabetes in this part of the world. All Basmati long grain brown rice is exported and it is not possible to buy any in India, I’ve tried.) He called us his Indian and American mothers. We knew he would get a commission from bringing us to the shop, and we were thrilled. Yes, we had yet another son and he was successful.

We Miss Kandy Temple
Driving back from Kelaniya, Suja and I were quiet.

We had listened to elderly women, dressed in white, a sign of purity, chant from their worn prayer books. We had seen young mothers teaching their tiny children how to water the Bodhi tree. We had watched our taxi driver lovingly distribute the fruit platter to others. We had looked into the eyes of Buddha statues, paintings and carvings.

After lunch and a rest, we ventured out for one of the fanciest five star hotels in the city. Our modest hotel lacked the grandeur of the Cinnamon Hotel, the Taj and the Hilton. So, we would auto rickshaw to these majestic buildings at the end of each day, with our bag of books, plonk down (Suja’s verb) on one of the marvelous giant couches and order a pot of tea with extra pot of water and heated milk. Drinking tea in this land of tea with our books and temple memories was the height of contentment.

When a live jazz quartet from Germany played, we were over the moon. No one else was in the lobby! The concert was for us alone. During the week, we also were treated to marvelous piano and two bands singing golden American oldies. We gratefully embraced these moments, not craving, just appreciating.

Tapping and wiggling in our cushy seats to the German jazzmen, a truth crossed my mind.

Returning from Kelaniya temple, I told Suja I didn’t need to go to Kandy temple the next day. “It is an eight hour drive and I don’t need to see another temple. I get it now. I get what Buddha was teaching. I don’t need anymore evidence.”

Beyond expressing her great relief at not having to make the grueling trip she asked, “When did you decide this? Why?” I couldn’t give her an exact answer.

Suddenly, during one of the livelier jazz numbers, I could.

“It was the moment the man smiled, when I placed the cashews in his hands,” I wrote on a note I passed her. “I knew I needed no more temples.”

Bethany Knight
Bangalore, India
January 11, 2008

This pilgrimage was dedicated to Buddhist friend Janice Tait, who we hope will travel with us on our next spiritual journey.

For further reading:
Salzberg, Sharon, Loving-kindess: the Revolutionary Art of Happiness, Shambala, Boston, 2002

Rosenberg, Larry, Living in the Light of Death, Shambala, Boston, 2001