Home for Good

My conference at the Upaya Zen Center ended on Sunday, May 3.  As nice as it was to be in New Mexico, I was ready to be home.  As if by gentle reminder, fate turned me off on the wrong highway before I was ten miles outside Santa Fe, so I ended up driving for two hours through some stark, abandoned country with table-top plateaus that rose into jagged peaks.  Beautiful.  Back safely on I-40, I watched the landscape roll by like a movie backdrop.  From the earthy brown and red of New Mexico, it turned gradually more lifelike.  Oklahoma was a blend, and then Arkansas began to show real green.  By the time I pulled into home on Monday night, East Tennessee was being washed in a rainstorm, bringing out the vibrant green of the lush spring that we’ve had.  After a week of death and dying at the Zen Center, I have found myself grateful for simple things.  Like the rain.  I love the description of gratitude as “wanting the things you already have.”  That has been my state of mind and soul since coming back home.

Last Thursday, May 7, was the first day back at ORUUC; it is satisfying and sweet and silly to see everyone here, and to come back into these relationships that now have some history to them.  The church seems to be in a very healthy, strong place, due to the faithful persistence of many people.  I am a happy man, and a lucky man.

Sunny Skies in New Mexico

By coincidence, the annual Gathering of Nations is in Albuquerque this weekend; so, today, we’re going to go downtown to soak up the Native American culture. I hope I see some dancing; that was my favorite part of a couple of the indigenous rituals we saw in Mexico.

Yesterday, I had lunch with HW, who relocated out here from Oak Ridge last fall with her husband, KW, who died a few weeks ago. She is doing well, and keeping active with her loving family all around.

Tomorrow–after another breakfast featuring the addictive green chili sauce–we’ll head north to Taos to visit one of Mrs. Easybreather’s friends. Then, on Sunday, I begin the week-long conference at Santa Fe’s Upaya Zen Center, called “Being with Dying.” I’m not sure how much access I’ll have to the internet out there, so this may be the last post for a while. I’m excited to get back to Oak Ridge and see everyone!

In New Mexico

I’m startled that a month has passed since my last posting!  It’s been a full month. 

Through March, we were at home, with projects and the usual mix of domestic life.  We enjoyed being home in Oak Ridge so much that we shortened what had been an idea for a longer trip.

Then, on April 11, we departed for our trip west, the great conclusion to a grand sabbatical.  First stop: Birmingham.  My sister and husband had received extra tickets to the musical, Wicked, so Mrs. Easybreathing and I went with our niece.  What a great show!  What a great message!  What great songs!  I was introduced to the Wicked story and soundtrack by an ORUUC-ian on a long drive south to General Assembly last June, so it was nice to re-live the experience, this time with the full production.  In Birmingham, we also got to celebrate Easter as regular citizens, with an Easter morning egg-hunt for the cousins and then church at my sister’s Methodist church–very nice folks there.

Next stop: New Orleans, for two nights.  Walking around, listening to bands on the streets, enjoying beignets and coffee, and taking in the environment.

Then, Houston, staying with a friend.  In the morning, we found a park next to an Episcopal Church.  Our cellphone needed charging, we discovered, so I wandered into the church, unshaven, and said to the Church Secretary, “My family and I are just traveling through, and I wondered if you could help me…”  And then it struck me–how many mornings or late afternoons I have met someone who comes to our church with the very same line.  The Church Secretary here was so gracious, unflinching and open even before she understood what it was that I wanted.  Even though 99 times out of 100 it is someone with a dubious story who usually just wants some money, and most of the time, the best I can do is to refer them to social services which Oak Ridge doesn’t have much of for folks traveling through, I hope that I can be as open as this woman was to me.  It’s good practice to be a stranger at a church.

Then, to Austin.  I lived there for 4 years in the early 90s, and have only been back for two days since, so this was a treat to see the town.  Despite sprawling growth, it has held onto so much of its character–with independent businesses and music at every turn.  At the same time, there is a beautiful new architectural vocabulary that has sprung up in the last decade.  It seems both indigenously Texan, but also Japanese.  It uses mostly stone, wood details, and then shiny–almost industrial–steel for accents.  There is an austerity and simplicity that I found beautiful.  In Austin, we reconnected with a few of Mrs. Easybreathing’s old friends; one of them set us up with a beautiful home to stay in.  I also ran into some old acquaintances, who caught me up on the gossip I’ve missed in the last fifteen years!  I went to see a punk rock show, which was fun.  Overall, the visit to Austin was like a pleasant dream; I don’t even know that I’ll visit there again any time soon, but it sure was nice to pass through.

We drove for hours to get to Carlsbad, and then spent the morning in the hotel watching a sentimental movie that never fails to produce moist eyes in me: “The Rookie.”  It features Dennis Quaid as a high school science teacher who has the unlikely experience of being able to play minor league baseball, and then get called up to the majors.  Unlikely?  Yes.  Tearjerker?  Oh yes.

We got to Albuquerque on Sunday afternoon and went to a park with my cousin, who expects her baby any day now.  Her sister, my other cousin, is our host here in ABQ, and made us a big welcoming dinner that night.

Yesterday (Monday), we headed west again, to visit beloved ORUUC-ian, CVB, who moved out to New Mexico last year to live with his daughter.  His daughter, son-in-law, and he welcomed us to their rugged pioneer life on a sandy, mountainous property right near the Navajo reservation.  They have, almost literally, carved a life out for themselves on the mountain and were great hosts, explaining how they’d devised different ways of living on what many would consider uninhabitable land.  CVB looks great, full of energy, and has become the local egg-man, providing eggs for the surrounding community from the brood of 30 or so chickens right next to his house.  It was really nice to see him, and they sent us off this morning well-fed!

A friend here in Albuquerque mentioned how expensive all this traveling must have been over the last few months, and we did save up for it over the last year or two.  But really, whether it was free housing in Mexico, staying with friends along the way, eating peanut butter or homemade burritos instead of restaurants, and visiting zoos and children’s museums (using our reciprocal passes from home), it has been only a hair more expensive than living at home.  Maybe we’ll write a travel guide: “Mooching and Scrimping Across North America.” 

The rest of this week, we’ll be in Albuquerque.  This Sunday, I’ll begin my eight-day conference on death and dying at the Upaya Zen Center in Santa Fe.  I’ve been looking forward to attending this conference for several years, and it’s almost here!  I have high expectations–though the Zen Priest who leads the conference (Joan Halifax), I’m sure, would discourage any preconceptions or expectations.

Then, on Sunday, May 3, we begin our trip back east. 

The morning of Thursday, May 7, I’ll come to church and begin meeting with folks.  I’m really looking forward to seeing people and giving big hugs and hearing how you have been.  And I’m sure we’ve got news to share: for instance, Littlest Easybreather has been taking his first tentative steps these last few days, so by the time we come back, he’ll be a full-on walker, I’m sure. 

It has been a wonderful time these past few months, but I’m ready to be back.

Weird Wisdom

I’m re-reading a book from divinity school on preaching–”The Homiletical Plot”–which encourages an inductive approach to preaching (exploring the avenues of a problem) over deductive methods (“tell ‘em what you’re going to tell ‘em, tell ‘em, and tell ‘em what you told ‘em”). It says a sermon should be like a detective story: after stating a gap between how things are and how they ought to be, the preacher then investigates why (is it because of x, or y? Maybe z?). What strikes me is that the resolution is often found in a reversal of expectations, a paradox, a surprising twist. Like the puzzle in which you’re presented nine dots and asked to connect them using only three lines, resolving the puzzle requires “breaking the frame,” upsetting the conventional view of the problem–rather than merely choosing between different conventional responses to it. This echoes the books on Zen I was reading last week, in which much of the discipline of meditation or working on koans is to see the world as it truly is–requiring a person first to somehow let the conventional understanding of the world (how it runs, what it looks like) drop away.

As I think about this, it seems that much of the world’s wisdom literature gives voice to odd viewpoints. In the Tao te Ching, we hear that “the gentlest thing in the world overcomes the hardest thing in the world.” In Jesus’ parable of the Prodigal Son, it’s the wayward partier who is rewarded, over the conscientious and hardworking son. In the Aqedah–the story of Abraham binding his son, Isaac–we are led to believe that Abraham’s greatest expression of faithfulness would be to kill his own, long-awaited son.

In all these cases, the conventional response is to say, “Yes, that’s true,” or else, “That’s not true at all.” But the way of wisdom seems to be to find a third, creative response.

I’m so glad the culture wars seem to by dying out somewhat. In their black/white, yes/no framing of the world’s situation, they have framed a public conversation that has been heated, but not wise.

People who go to church–including, maybe even especially myself–tend to be conventional good citizens. Oh, we might have strong opinions about things, but generally we uphold the way things are. But wisdom literature seems to call for revolution in our behavior and our relationship with one another, with God, and with Life. Wisdom seems to be not staid constraint nor careless abandon, but living according to some rhythms even deeper than social norms. To be wise, it seems, is to be openly, honestly, joyously weird.

Rainy Monday

Over a decade ago now, in Iowa City, some friends and I had a weekly backgammon club–about ten of us would convene to play each Wednesday afternoon. For about a year, I played hundreds of rounds of backgammon. One of the reasons I liked the game was that it seemed the perfect balance of chance and skill. You couldn’t control the roll of your dice, of course, but you could decide how to move your pieces in response. To me, it seemed a lot like life.

Now, Mrs. Easybreather and I are engaged in a similar game that combines skill and chance: gardening. This was one of her priorities during the sabbatical; but in the past two weeks, it has become for me not only a way to support something she likes, but also something I myself might enjoy. I have never been enthralled with the prospect of physical labor. My favorite position is prone, a book held aloft. But as our humble garden has taken shape, I am coming to understand some of the pleasure that others have described in gardening. There has even seemed something sensual about being wrist-deep in loose soil, tugging the root of an old weed free from the depths. And now, with our “crops” in, I find myself more attuned to the weather. Before, the rain was a nuisance. Now, it is food for our little sub-terranean vessels of hope. And, ok, still a nuisance, as well. I’ve been thinking of how odd it is that the metaphor used to depict purity in the Hebrew Scriptures, with the story of Adam and Eve, is a garden. How far from the fixed perfection of purity is the earthy stew of the soil we’re tending, clotted with compost, clay, scraps of matter of indeterminate origin. Into this murk now we have invested a vision of vegetables come summer. But no matter our effort or skill (though that word overstates it), there is also something else afoot in the process. Call it chance, call it God, call it life. Whatever it is, we are only cooperating with it, trying to bring it to blossom.

Men in the News

This week’s news has been so sad. On Saturday, a UU teen from Cincinnati was abducted and killed while out jogging. The church shooting on Sunday, of course, brought back last summer. Mass killings in Alabama and Germany in the last two days. And the story on NPR about the eviction of Doctors Without Borders from Sudan, in response to the arrest warrant for the President there, brought tears to my eyes–the violence of neglected poverty and untreated disease was awful.

As the father of two boys, I can’t help but notice that the common thread through all of these seemingly disparate events is that the perpetrators in each have been men. I have never heard of a female mass murderer. I don’t buy into the simplistic notion that women are all good and men are all bad. But evolutionarily and culturally, men are more oriented toward violent responses, and that is a serious problem among us. Men are often discouraged from forming the supportive relationships that women often have, and yet encouraging men to be more like women doesn’t seem to be the answer. Reading a parenting book recently, I saw the line, “My strength isn’t for hurting.” I liked that very much, because strength is such a positive masculine virtue, and yet it can easily be confused for meaning “dominance.” As a parent, a minister, and a man, I find myself wondering about how to promote a positive masculinity whose strength isn’t for hurting.

Meanwhile, in a world in which trauma can tear the fabric of community safety, I thought I would share word of a training I have organized, at TVUUC later this month, to certify attendees in critical incident stress management–the modality that the on-site folks last summer were using at TVUUC. If anyone is interested in participating, there is a description at the Thomas Jefferson District website, with an online registration.

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

To travel has been such a luxury and a privilege that I hate to admit how much I like being home. 

There’s not much to comment on here–experiments in crock-pot cooking, more reading, making towers of blocks with the kids that we tumble down again–but as little drama as there is, it’s the good stuff that’s here at home.

We’ll be here, taking little side trips, day trips, and hikes here and there, through the month, and then one last trip out west for April.  I’ve seen several church-folks out and about town, and it has been so nice to see folks–and I’ve appreciated people not mentioning church business with me.  How nice to greet each other as regular folks! 

There’s a story about a rabbi who was known to pray an hour each morning.  “But rabbi,” someone asked her, “what do you do when things get really busy?”  The rabbi paused, then said, “Well, on those days, when I’m really busy, I don’t pray for an hour.  I pray for TWO hours.”  The sabbatical pace, with time for meditation, exercise, etc, has gotten me calmer and more centered than I’ve felt in a while, which has also meant more perspective than I sometimes had.  I’ve been wondering how I might bring some of this calm back to normal life, on May 7.  Hmm…

Going to Headquarters

It’s been a quiet few days, visiting Mrs. Easybreather’s friends and relations in New England. We’re in Western Mass now, where the Elder Easybreathlet and I went sledding this morning. I spent the afternoon in the “Bookmill.” The Bookmill is my favorite bookstore in the world–a converted old mill, hanging over an icy, burbling river. The building is full of nooks with small windows, so I spent six hours with my feet up, reading a history of Mormonism and a book on the Russian Orthodox church. This last week, I’ve been reading about church finances, so this was a nice change of pace. In our first year of marriage, when Mrs. Easybreather was commuting from Western Mass to Vermont for graduate school and I was commuting from Divinity School to Western Mass, I did a lot of my reading and studying in the Bookmill, so it holds special memories–and our car now features its bumpersticker: “Books you don’t need in a place you can’t find.”

Tomorrow morning first thing, we drive to Boston where I’ve got a day and a half of meetings set up with financial folks at the Unitarian Universalist Association, to pick their brains about money and spirituality, fundraising, and church budgets.

Winter Wonderland

We arrived back safely in the US last week. It was so nice to be back in Oak Ridge, and on our wonderful street, for a few days. Around town on errands, I saw a few folks from church, which was very nice. Even though I’m immersed in good things–reading, thinking, family–I’m also starting to get a flicker of a pang of looking forward to getting back.

We are in New England, visiting the in-laws and the snow. The Elder Easybreather experienced sledding and ice-skating for the first time yesterday. The Younger is setting himself to the task of climbing any vertical obstacle–stairs, bookshelves, rocks, etc.

Being with Dying, Dancing, and Camp

One of the pleasures of this time away is reading, reading, reading. Luckily, the local English-language library is stocked with great books. But two days ago, I finally broke down and bought ¨Being With Dyin¨,¨by Roshi Joan Halifax, who is the Zen priest and anthropologist I´m going to study with in New Mexico this April. She has worked with dying people for forty years, and her clear-eyed Buddhist take on things challenges notions of a ¨good death,¨or ¨dying with dignity,¨ or anything that would lay judgement–good or bad–on a process larger than we can capture. The work is to be present, to notice, and to balance equanimity/acceptance with compassion/helping.

I´ve been reading different things on death and dying while here, but this is the most straight-forward and practical–which is also to say, the most spiritual. I´m very excited to study with her. In the last two days, I´ve been doing a few of the meditations in her book–like envisioning the kind of death I would like for myself, and the kind of death I fear.

Today, I went to visit the local hospice here. It is the only hospice in the whole country of Mexico. I spoke to the director and to the thanatologist/social worker who works with the Mexican population. We didn´t get to talk for long, but as I talk to people here and there, and as I read, I feel myself shining a light into this mysterious landscape of death and dying.

Of course, from a Buddhist perspective, the thing to do after acquiring all these concepts and images would be to renounce them all in favor of ¨beginner´s mind,¨open to whatever is happening.

Meanwhile, this morning, the boys and I had another of our newly-traditional kitchen dance parties. There is a polka band called Brave Combo I used to go see in Austin, and we listened to their yodeling hit, ¨My Backpack on My Back¨this morning more times than is probably advisable.

In other news, the summer camp I work with–the Appalachian Institute for Creative Learning–is posting the curriculum and registration on the website (www.appalachianinstitute.org) this weekend, so if anyone reading this knows of a bright, funny, curiuos child or youth between the ages of 8 and 18, please let them know.