Fear

Fear. I have a lot of fears. Some rational, some not. For example, a fear of falling onto the tracks from the subway platform - totally rational. My fear of looking out windows at night - not so rational. My fear of losing someone I love - rational. It happens. My fear of losing everyone I love on the same day in a series of unfortunate, unrelated, cataclysmic events - probably not rational.

A lot of people have a lot of things to say about the subject. Bob Dylan said people's greatest fear is silence. Rosa Parks said that knowing what one must do diminishes fear. A Japanese proverb says fear is only as deep as the mind allows. And (you knew this was coming) the Dalai Lama says that the key to ridding yourself of fear is to practice compassion and inner peace. This just happens to be his answer for, well, everything.

When I was a kid, the Bible was an answer for everything. The Good Book talks about fear a lot - all types of fears - cowardice, godly fear, guilty fear. "Do not fear, for I am with you". (Isaiah 41:10) This scripture was recited constantly as a cure-all for the fears of my childhood. Of course, we're also told in this same book to fear God, to fear his wrath, then not to fear, we have no reason to fear, only the unrighteous are fearful ... it can all be very confusing. The situation is not helped by the fact that there are several Hebrew and Greek words, with different meanings, that all translate to the one English word, fear. For example, the Hebrew word yare', which depending on how it's used, can mean to feel afraid, to be in awe of, reverence, honor, respect, to inspire reverence, to cause astonishment. I wonder how many people who read the Bible and allow it to guide their life actually consider the meaning of each instance. Maybe all of them do, I just don't know. If one were to look up the word fear in an English dictionary, it would list a meaning of reverential awe, though I very rarely hear the word used in this way. If someone were to mention feeling fearful when they were at the Grand Canyon, for instance, they would likely be referring to the height and a fear of falling over the edge, rather than the awe and amazement they felt at it's size and grandeur.

This past week I've been trying to notice each time somebody mentions a fear or feeling afraid. My very in-depth and totally accurate investigation which I carried out by basically eavesdropping and then trying to remember what was said (that's how it's done, right?) has revealed to me that, surprise! we're all the same. The list of things that we're afraid of includes abandonment, bugs, loss, death, life, failure, success, intimacy, commitment, getting caught, change, reality television, calories, poverty, money, heights, losing, winning, love, hate, alienation, flying, regret, solitude, illness, suffering, terrorists, Cheney, Guiliani, ignorance, just to name a few.

So, what to do? Well some fears are totally manageable. My fear of going over the edge on the subway platform? I just stay behind the yellow line. And I also keep an eye out for crazy people who may want to push me over the edge. (Look, it happened on an episode of Homicide: Life on the Street, and as we all know, TV is an actual portrayal of real life.) My fear of looking out the window at night? I just don't do it. Fear of losing the people I love, one at a time or all at once? Well, the fact is that I will lose the people I love eventually. Death is a part of life. All I can do is try to be good to them, and love them as best as I possibly can in each moment. Rosa Parks says we should have a plan, H.H. the D.L. says we should practice compassion and seek inner peace, and the Japanese say, don't let fear in. The Apostle John said there is no fear in love. I get his point, but love is pretty darn scary. And if we really think about it, don't all fears boil down to a fear of losing who and what we love?

A very good friend of mine responded very wisely to one of my earlier posts with advice that I think is excellent. In my post about prayer, I mentioned my fear of take-off and landing while flying. He said the way he deals with anxiety while flying due to turbulence, for example, is to say, "This is where I am, and this is what is happening". Isn't my friend smart? I really hope I don't lose him in a series of unfortunate, cataclysmic events.

What do you fear, dear readers? And what do you do about it?

The Dalai Lama Says ... :Thanksgiving Edition

"The roots of all goodness lie in the soil of appreciation for goodness"

I read this quote just the other day. Since it is the season of giving thanks, I've been thinking about all the things for which I am appreciative this year. Usually, I would say something like, "my friends, my family, my health ...". Often times, when we say we're thankful for something, we're actually saying that we're grateful for the lack of problems in these areas. For example, " my friends aren't dead, my family is somewhat functional, and my health isn't deteriorating rapidly". Maybe it's just me, but I think my thankfulness is usually about an absence of badness, rather than an abundance of goodness.

Dear readers, this is the year it changes. Rather than thinking, "Thank goodness it didn't all go to hell this year", I'm going to focus on the very wise words of H.H. the Dalai Lama and really concentrate on all the genuine goodness that surrounds me. It's been a good year in my fair corner of the world...

I have wonderful friends, inspiring individuals, one and all - they are falling in love and getting married and staying married and having babies and getting books published and graduating school and teaching school. Signs of love and growth abound.

I have about a billion nieces and nephews (okay, not a billion, more like two dozen or so) who are growing up into fascinating people, with opinions and expressions all their own.

I have my five senses (some sharper than others) which make my days full of colors and sounds and smells and tastes and textures that enhance each moment.

I have experienced many emotions this year that have all led to personal growth and a truer understanding of who I am. This may perhaps be the thing for which I am most thankful.

I also appreciate several things that are admittedly less meaningful, but still good - the newest Velvet Revolver album, for example. The taco cart on Queens Blvd and 40th Street, the Green Market in Sunnyside, the vanilla bean french toast at La Flor ... and yes I did notice that three of the four things on this list have to do with food. Which is apropos, since Thanksgiving is all about being grateful and stuffing ourselves silly. (Oh, I am also grateful for my step-father who taught me the word "apropos" when I was seven)

What goodness do you appreciate, dearest readers?

Hot for Hillary

I read an article earlier today that said that both male and female feminists have better and more satisfying relationships. (more and better sex, too!) I was enjoying the article immensely until I got to the end where it said that the suspected reason that men who said they were married to feminists were more satisfied is perhaps because they have help sharing the financial burden. Are we still defining feminism in such narrow terms? And is this the only good that has come from feminism? Help paying the mortgage?

Feminism is still a highly misunderstood word. I once dated a man who announced to his family that I was a feminist, but not THAT kind, so not to worry. You know the ugly bitchy angry man-hating lesbian kind that many people picture when they hear the word.

There's this person, named Hillary Clinton, seeking the democratic nomination for President. You may have heard of her. She's a woman, as my pronoun suggests. This is drumming up a lot of conversation about women in this country, as it should. Hillary has been accused of playing the feminist card when it's convenient for her. (as far as I can tell, this is just how Hillary rolls) If Hillary captures the Democratic nomination, I will vote for her. Not because she is a woman, but because I believe she is better suited for the job than any of the Republican candidates. But I have some qualms. I fear that Hillary will do the job "like a man". I wonder if she has any choice. Perhaps the only way to achieve that level of power is to behave in a masculine way (all the while being criticized for it). And if that's true, then Hillary being elected President really isn't an indication of how far women have come. If we're still requiring women to act like men in order to achieve the same status that men have held for years, then all we've really accomplished is gender-ignoring.

Hillary's supporters right now are young, single, working, and middle to low class women. Older, wealthier, white women don't like her very much. I find this interesting since Hillary herself is an older, wealthier, white woman. Self-hatred? Perhaps. Maybe the difference in opinion lies in the fact that young single women's ambitions are still intact and haven't yet suffered through the compromises required to "have it all" in a patriarchal society. Older married women, on the other hand have been through it. Maybe they tried to balance a family and marriage with career and personal ambitions and maybe it hasn't worked out the way they'd imagined. And then comes Hillary - ambitious and still thinking she can be the woman from the Virginia Slims ads. Hillary's ambition has always been her downfall. Women hate her for it just as vehemently as men do. How dare her want what men have wanted for centuries! How dare her stay with her cheating husband, without apology, for political gain! (Sarkozy, anyone?) Or worse, for love! How dare her!

I do love the idea of a woman president, but voting for a woman just because she's a woman - well that's anti-feminist. Feminism would require that you vote for the person who will best further and uphold feminist ideals of peace, equality, and freedom for everyone, male or female. I think Kucinich is probably the only candidate who is a true feminist, but we all know he'll never get the nomination. He's not masculine (or tall) enough and therefore himself a victim of this patriarchal system (and the munchkin genes).

So what's a girl to do? Well this girl bought her brother a t-shirt that shows support for Hillary by objectifying her, and then made him wear it in front of his mostly Republican family. And then took a picture.

I Remember Now

Yesterday, I was on the ol' Q32 on my way home. An adorable older couple got on. They'd been shopping at Bloomingdale's. There were no seats available and about 5 people jumped up to offer them theirs. The couple graciously accepted two of the offers and then smiled at and thanked everyone who was looking in their direction. We all nodded and smiled and thanked the people who had jumped up and offered their seats. Then we all smiled some more.

THIS is why I live here, I thought. You can have a rough week in New York, but then something happens that reminds you of why New York is so great. Living in a big city like ours provides so many opportunities to witness random acts of kindness. And, gosh, that makes you feel good.

Oh, New York, how I love thee ... sorry I doubted you.

Why do I live here?

MONDAY - After spending a lovely weekend in a fare city, in a faraway land called Virginia, I landed at LaGuardia, to be greeted by a taxi strike. It cost double and took twice as long as it usually does to get home. I had to share the ride with three other disgruntled travelers who chose to take out all of their anger and frustration on the driver. After about 20 minutes of enduring their misery, I finally piped up and asked them to leave the poor man alone. He's just trying to feed his kids. My decision to stand up for this man was a risky one and to tell you the truth, it didn't pay off. Not only did the disgruntled travelers turn their frustration and anger towards me, but so did the driver. He didn't need no stinkin' woman defending him. Well, pardon me.

TUESDAY - I went to my usual deli to get breakfast. I was standing in line waiting, and just as it was my turn, a suit walked in and started ordering in my place. The guy behind me got all upset on my behalf and I told him not to worry. It's just breakfast. But then the woman who had been before me turned around and asked, "How can you let him do that to you?". She was outraged. Not by him. By me. I said the same thing I'd told the other guy - it's just breakfast. Clearly, the suit thinks he needs it more urgently than I do and I'm not going to pick a fight about it. She made that noise that people make in the back of their throat when they are disgusted - you know the one I'm talking about - ughcchchch. It was accompanied by a very dramatic eye roll followed by a look of pity that was mixed with more disgust and perhaps a dash of scorn. Well, excuse me. I'm sorry?

WEDNESDAY - I get on the bus to go home. At the next stop, an older woman gets on. She's not old old, but she's no spring chicken. She's probably a grandmother and she looks a little unsteady. So, I offer her my seat. Would you like my seat, ma'am? She responds with, "What, I'm too old to stand?". Deepest apologies, ma'am.

THURSDAY - I had a meeting at 10:30 with a woman who is a low-talker. Besides being a low-talker, she has the unfortunate affliction of not being able to match her facial expression to what she's saying. So, she asked me a question. I didn't hear her. I asked her to repeat herself. She asked me again. I was straining my ears to hear her, but it didn't work out. I still had no idea what she was saying, and her facial expression was giving me no clues. (If I could have trusted her facial expression, I would have guessed that she was telling me that she'd gotten a whiff of something awful) So, I apologized, and asked her to repeat herself one more time. She responded by yelling, " It's 10:30 in the morning! Time to wake up! What's the matter with you?". I only wish she'd been able to muster that kind of volume when she was asking me if I needed anything.

FRIDAY - It's pouring. It's cold. It's rush hour. Everyone is speeding down the sidewalk. Umbrellas are colliding, getting stuck one on the other. Owners of umbrellas are glaring at each other as their umbrellas collide. Control your umbrella, their looks say. The umbrella-less are glaring at the umbrella owners. Make your umbrella stop dripping water on me, is what their looks say. Walking through the streets of Manhattan with an umbrella is a blood sport, and I'm losing. These very same $5 umbrellas that we were all forced to buy from the guy on the street when we very foolishly left our houses without checking the weather forecast, will be scattered like dead carcasses on the streets and in the trash bins on the corners by morning. The wind will have destroyed them all. And then what will we glare at each other about? Huh? What?

Why do I live here?

No, seriously ... why?

Prayer

In his public talk on Sunday, the Dalai Lama mentioned prayer briefly. I was a bit surprised by what he said, which was essentially that prayer wouldn't change anything. It was said in the context of the war in Iraq and I believe he was referring to the need for action and not only passive prayer. It would be a mistake to only pray and wait for God to do something. H.H.'s point was well taken by this listener but it got me thinking about prayer. I began to wonder - do most people pray because it makes them feel better or do most people pray because they truly believe that God listens to and answers prayers?

I grew up in a house heavy on religion, light on spirituality. Prayer was a huge part of my life growing up. I had to pray before every meal (before a morsel of food touched my lips!, my mother would say) before bed, before during and after our weekly meetings, when I woke up, when I was anxious, scared, or sad, when I was happy or thankful. I was taught to pray continuously and to "persevere in prayer", as our good friend Paul wrote to the Romans. Not only did I have to spend almost every waking minute speaking to God in fervent prayer, but I had to be original. We were taught that it was sinful to repeat prayers. The Lord's Prayer was simply a model and not meant to be recited over and over again. Prayers had to be genuine and heartfelt. I spent many sleepless nights as a child and young adolescent worrying if perhaps the prayer I had just said was too much like the one I'd said the night before. Would God consider it a repeat? Shit! Maybe I'll only ask Him to take care of the widows and orphans every other prayer.

It was a lot of pressure. Imagine having to be interesting all the time. And not just interesting to your friends or family, but to, you know, God. Surely he was getting bored of my prayers. And sometimes, I just didn't know what to say. I have a fear of flying. Well, not the actual flying bit, just the landing and taking off bits. Two necessary bits of flying, I admit, but not the speeding through the air at high altitudes bit. Well, back when I used to pray incessantly, flying seemed like a good time to pray and beg God not to let me die. What I wanted to pray every time was, "please don't let me die, please don't let this plane crash on landing or takeoff, please don't let me die, I don't want to die in a plane crash". But, as you know, I had to be original. That prayer only worked the first time. Every other time I got on an airplane, I had to come up with more original ways to beg God not to let me die. I didn't want to offend him by repeating my original plea - especially not when my very safety depending on him wanting to answer my prayer.

And so it was that prayer came to be for me an obligation. It was like eating, only less enjoyable. If I wanted to live, I had to pray. The issue was not whether or not I believed in God. I did. The issue was, why couldn't I just say what I was honestly feeling each time I approached him? What if my desires, wishes, hopes, feelings hadn't changed during the day, and so my morning prayer and evening prayer were the same? Or what if I didn't know what to say? What if I just wanted to pray to feel close to God? Why couldn't I recite a prayer in these moments when I couldn't find the words? Why did he create me to find comfort in ritual and routine, and then demand that my prayers to him belie those things?

The religion in which I had been raised kicked me out when I started asking questions like these. It was then that I realized that perhaps the world-view I'd been taught, including all my ideas about God and prayer - it was all probably a big stinking pile of mumbo-jumbo. I didn't pray for years. Belief in the existence of a Creator became a distant memory - a memory that was laughable and almost quaint. I started condescending to my former self - awww... isn't that cute? We used to believe in God. How silly and irrational we were.

The good times couldn't last, though. At some point, about two years ago, my mind started revisiting this maddening and provoking issue of "god". Two years later, this issue still falls under the category of Things I Don't Know, and under the sub-category of Things I Don't Know That Make Me Crazy. I do believe in some thing. I don't know what form this being takes. Is it Love? Is it Nature? Is it Us?

Without having an answer to those questions, I've managed to configure a spiritual practice that is both refreshing and satisfying. No small feat given where I've come from. My daily meditations are a type of prayer, I suppose, though they resemble in no way the prayers of my childhood. A few months ago I caught myself praying a familiar prayer. I was on a plane - it was my birthday - and I was saying, "please don't let me die in a plane crash on my birthday, please don't let me die in a plane crash on my birthday ...". It was unexpected, though not surprising, as by that time I had already determined that the prayers of my past were all about making me feel better. I knew God wasn't going to keep my plane aloft just because I asked him to. Surely the prayers of the people suffering from hunger and war and poverty were more urgent than mine. But I prayed then because it made me feel safe - the act of praying was a ritual in which I found comfort, if not the prayer itself.

So, to answer my own question - I think prayer serves the purpose of consoling us. It is easier to ask an all-knowing and powerful being for help than it is to ask ourselves and to tap into and to trust our own power. This is what I think. I, of course, don't know.

What do you think, dear readers? What is the purpose of prayer, and why do people do it?

The Dalai Lama says ...

A few years ago, when I was first discovering and investigating Buddhism, I read several books about and by His Holiness the Dalai Lama. Much to the chagrin of, I assume, everyone I spoke to, I started beginning every other sentence with, "the Dalai Lama says ....". It became a bit of a joke among my friends. The subject didn't matter - we could have been discussing toupees or politics, or cheese. In my mind, the Dalai Lama had said something that somehow applied. What can I say? It was the beginning stages of love. Anything and everything he said was wonderful and amazing. Some time has passed now, and while I still occasionally whip out a "the Dalai Lama says ...", they are fewer and farther between.

The Dalai Lama was in NYC last week for several days of teaching. His talk on Sunday was about Peace (the inner kind) and Prosperity (the non-material kind). It was my first time in his presence and I was struck by his obvious humility and joy. He emanated both equally. At the end of his talk, his interpreter read him questions that had been emailed in advance of the talk. One of them made reference to how H.H. has said in the past that NYC is a wonderful place to practice compassion, tolerance, patience, etc. due to the many opportunities that present themselves on a daily basis. This person said they were having trouble with those things - what should they do? H.H. reiterated the need for practice, practice, practice and then finally suggested that if NYC was proving itself a difficult place to live, this person should consider moving. After all, "I think America is a big land, no?", he said. Another person asked what we could do to help the situation in Burma. After a brief, almost imperceptible look of pain crossed his face, he told us what he himself had done, but then readdressed the question and answered simply, "I don't know".

Of the many lessons that I will carry with me from this particular Sunday afternoon, the greatest may perhaps be that if the Dalai Lama can say, "I don't know", it's sure as hell okay for me to say and to feel and to sit with not knowing.

And thus, the name of this blog. This is where I will go on, probably endlessly as that is my style, about things that I don't know. It will be obvious to you, gentle readers, that I don't know. Perhaps you will know, and perhaps you will share what you know. That is my hope, though not my expectation, because as the Dalai Lama might say ... there is no blog.