3-29-05 A non-apology

Technically, I owe an apology to my father.
In one of our forbidden discussions, he mentioned the quote "there will always be poor", attributed to Jesus, and allegedly spoken to Judas.
"That's not in the Bible." I said. "That's from Jesus Christ Superstar."
"I know it's in there. But, they got it from the bible."
"No. they didn't." I said. "It's not. A lot of things that people think are in the Bible aren't.'
"I'm pretty sure it's in there." he persisted.
"No. It's not."
Now, the reson that I say this discussion was forbidden is that my father and I are not allowed to discuss anything political. A treaty was reached earlier this year between my father, mother, wife, and myself, wherin my father and I are forbidden from political discussions for the overal well-being of the family. Our discussions have a tendancy to reach a level that is unhealthy for everyone involved.
Nevertheless, we occasionally slip several lines into one such discussion before one or the other of us gracefully bows out. The Jesus quote came in in one such slip. The conversation had to do with socialism, a forbidden topic.
My rebuttal was, of course, incorrect.
The actual quote is " The poor you will always have with you; but you will not always have me" according to the New American Bible, Matthew, Chapter 26 verse 11.
Please note that in the opening of the entry, I have noted that "technically", I owe him an apology. However, as the error occured in the course of a forbidden conversation, I could not admit the error to him, nor rightly apologize, without acknoledging the forbidden conversation occured - an offense for which we are equally guilty. His comment (though it is true, in contrast to my rebuttal) was an equally offensive violation of the original treaty. It was designed to stir a reaction and invoke a political discussion.
So, I will mention the matter no further to my father, nor to any other of the treaty's original parties. But, to the reader of this blog, I can confess: i know now that my statement was erronius. I hereby admit the error and apologize to the principal of accuracy.
Now, let's talk about Jesus.
Matt 26 : 6-13 reads:
"Now when Jesus was in Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, a woman came up to him with an alabaster jar of costly perfumed oil, and poured it on his head while he was reclining at table. When the disciples saw this, they were indignant and said, "Why this waste? It could have been sold for much, and the money given to the poor." Since Jesus knew this, he said to them, "Why do you make trouble for the woman? She has done a good thing for me.The poor you will always have with you; but you will not always have me. In pouring this perfumed oil upon my body, she did it to prepare me for burial. Amen, I say to you, wherever this gospel is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be spoken of, in memory of her.""
The line "There will be poor always" was uttered by Jesus. What does it mean. Did jesus consider poverty an incurable social condition? If so, did he advocate leaving the poor to their own struggle, or striving to end poverty? Did Jesus value charity, or did he believe, in the Ayn Rynd or libertarian tradition, that it was a waste of time?
Let us consider some other quotes from Jesus:
"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." (Matthew 6:19-21)
"You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me." (Mark 10:21)
"Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one's life does not consist in the abundance of possessions." (Luke 12:15)
"The land of a rich man produced abundantly. And he thought to himself, 'What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?' Then he said, ' I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, 'Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.' But God said to him, 'You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?' So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God." (Luke 12:16-21)
"Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you." (John 6:27)
Also, there is the Matthew 25:30-46 parable of "Whatsoever you do for the least of my brothers, that you have done unto me."
A friend of mine is a Christian who is currently taking a class on personal finance from his church. I spoke to him last week, and he reported that he was finding the material tought to swallow. The class was teaching that possessions and money were not the end aim of life. As such, the class taught that regular contributions, both to charity and to social social institutions (in that case, likely the church giving the class), are essential components to Christian life.
After all, it is supposedly easier for a camel to fit through the eye of a needle than it is for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God, according to Mark 10:24.
Now, as to the socialism, and caring for the poor, that was the topic my father's and my forbidden discussion:
Many in the US don't realize that the socialist revoloutions in latin America in the last 50 years are based on Christian theology. "Liberation Theology" was the name given to a school of catholic theologians in the 1960s in latin America who aregued that the division of poor and wealty, the oppression of poor countries and economic segments to serve the betterment of the wealty, the denial of human rights to oppressed peoples, exclusion, marginalizaion, and the participation or endorcments of these systems formed a "social sinfulness".
From Castro and Che, to the recently challenged leaders in Venezuala and Haiti, this thology is very popular with the Catholics of Latin America.
Of course, since socialism is the enemy of capitalism and the US, I was taught that Castro and Che were evil people. I was genuinly surprised to find out that both are (were) deeply religious.

3-27-05 Movie Review - The Trails of Henry Kissinger

I watched this movie this weekend.
And posted my review to Netflix, but I never can be sure if they get them or not, so I'll put it here.

The Trials of Henry Kissinger(2002)

If you are the type of person who would rent this movie, you will like it.

If, on the other hand, you've ever used the word "anti-american", go ahead and steer clear from this one. It's not for you.

"Trials" is an exercise in debunking the double standard whereby atrocities committed by non-US armies are condemned (i.e. Nuremberg trials), but those shameful moments of US military history and foreign policy are condoned. The film begins with the example of the Spanish government arresting former Chilean Dictator Augusto Pinochet, and putting him on trial for "crimes against humanity", and is based on the support of the concept of an international criminal court. The film lays out evidence on Kissinger, the former US National Security Adviser and Sec. of State under Nixon and Ford.

The three cases discussed are: Cambodia, East Timur, and Chile. In the Cambodia segment, the case is strong, and the human costs were enormous. In East Timur, the case is flimsier, and the human costs are less detailed. In the assassination of Chilean General Schneider, the evidence is good, but the discussion of human cost is not included. It relies on the viewer's familiarity with Pinochet.

The film is good to watch. It's well made. The filmmakers had good access to interviewees, and found some "shocker" quotes in declassified documents to make it fun.

Ultimately, this is why the US boycotts the World Court. Being the most consistent world power since the 1950s, it has most actively exercised world power, and has accumulated quite a body count. While the power holders (government, military, corporate) will not change in their ways, films like this educate the citizenry on the double standard that we are supposed to approve of, and stand behind, waving our flags.

It is not "un-american" or "anti-american" to reject a double standard on human atrocities. It is simply the exercise of individual moral judgment against a backdrop of a repeated nationalistic assumption of exemption.

03-11-05 Yacub's Last Child

It was 11:00 on a Friday. I sat at my desk in my office, considering the adventure that I was about to take. Less than 2 miles from my office was a Muslim mosque. Their "Friday Prayer" service began at 12:00 noon.

I opened my web browser and did a search for "how to do Muslim prayers". A web site popped us, with the title "How to Perform Salat, the Muslim Ritual Prayers" I read it briefly. Obviously, I wasn't going to be reciting any thing in Arabic, as I don't know or speak a single word. But, I got the gist of the different stances. I printed the document, and rushed to the common printer to retrieve it before anyone saw it. I didn't want to have to explain what I was reading.

I left my office at 11:30 in the morning. Our firm closes at noon on Fridays, so I wouldn't have to return. I walked out a back door of the office, carrying my surfboard, which had been stowed in a storage room. I knew that Muslims had a specific ritual washing of the hands, feet and face that they have to do before prayers. I stopped in the bathroom, washed my hands, and splashed my face. The rest of me I would have to consider "clean". I wondered if the ocean counts as a cleaning.

In the parking lot, I packed my surfboard and wetsuit into the back of my truck. I looked one time at the address and the directions, put on sunglasses, and drove off.

As important as it is for the people in the US to understand Muslims (which will never happen), it may be equally important for Muslims to understand that we are genuinely afraid of them (which will also never happen).

Granted, we fear Muslims for all the wrong reasons. We are taught by "truth by repetition" that Muslims are terrorists, that Arab men regularly beat their wives mercilessly. Women have no rights and they are second-class citizens in the Arab world and the Muslim faith. As children, our history teachers tell us in school that the Middle East region is a historical bloodbath of savages. In our movies and TV shows, Arab and Muslim people carry bombs, sweat profusely, operate convienance stores with Slurpie machines, and yell a lot. Our president mutters under his breath that jihadist terrorists have "hijacked a good people's religion", and then loudly announces that Islamic extremists "hate freedom".

In my lifetime, I have never heard a piece of positive news about Iran, Lebanon, Palestine, Afghanistan, or Syria. The only positive coverage I have ever seen of a news story in an Arab nation was war propaganda about Iraq. One that showed the great white US soldiers opening schools in Iraq and holding

Until very recently, I was under the impression that only Arabs were Muslim. I don't think it is widely known in the US that a great number of Muslims live outside of the Middle East. To us, Arabs and Muslims are synonymous. They are the corpses in the wake of our quest for oil. As a people in the US, we are desensitized to the killing of Arab people, Muslim people. I can look at CNN and know exactly how many US soldiers have died in Iraq, but I have no way of knowing how many Iraqi people are dead as a result of this warfare. Even if I wanted to know, I could not. The information is simply unavailable to me. Not even the anti-war movement knows.

I was nervous as I pulled into the office park where the Islamic Education of Orange County is located. The park is immediate adjacent to the Santa Ana airport. The planes on the runway are visible from the parking lot. From the outside appearance of the building, one could never guess that there is a mosque here. There are no golden domes, or anything to betray its location, other than a large tin coffee pot on a folding table outside the front door.

I circled the parking lot, looking for a place to park my truck where the surfboard in the back would not attract the immediate attention of anxious thieves. While the possibility of someone stealing my surfing equipment from the parking lot of a business complex is fairly slim, it is a consideration. Having found a suitable spot, I parked the truck, breathed deeply, and walked towards the mosque.

At the entrance, there were several people walking through the doors. I entered into a small lightly decorated foyer. A man looked at me and smiled, greeting me in Arabic, to which I had no response other than "hey"

"Can I help you with something?"
"You guys are having services now. Can I attend?"
"We are..." he stammered.

Another man had taken notice, and quickly approached. He was shorter than the first man who had greeted me, and wider of shoulder. His face was round and cheerful. He wore a light colored coat and pants with a collarless black shirt. I would later find out he was of some importance to the community, as he would be the leader of the "call to prayer".

"You needed something?" he asked me.
"I just wanted to go to the prayer service. This is where it is, right?"
"Friday prayers?"
"Yes. Can I go?"
"Yes. Yes." he said rapidly. "Have you never been here?"
"No."
"Have you ever been to Muslim Friday prayers before?"
"No. Never. What do I do? Do I take off my shoes?"
"Yes. Remove your shoes."

I took off my shoes. I also placed my watch, wallet and keys into the shoes. In some religious traditions, these accessories may be inappropriate to bring into a ceremony or mediation. I decided not to ask, but to err on the side of caution. I would later see plenty of men wearing watches, and carrying wallets and keys.

At that moment, a slightly balding man in a black shirt and jeans approached our location, carrying a book with a golden colored binding. The leader grabbed him by one upper arm.

"You go with ____, here." the leader said. I immediately missed the name. "He's a good guy. You go with him. Sit next to him. He show you what to do."

The new guy looked at me and nodded. I must have looked like an inquisitive child, with a face begging for direction. The leader had left.

"Ok." I said. "So, what do I...."
"Have you ever been here before?"
"No."
"Have you ever been to Muslim prayer before?"
"No."
He nodded, smiled weakly, and led me out into the main room of the mosque.

---
While telling the story to my wife, later in the day, she interrupted at this point.

"Didn't they ask what you were doing there?"
"No."
"Not once?"
"No."

She was flabbergasted. She simply couldn't imagine a chalky white boy walking into a Muslim mosque for the first time in his life, clearly completely ignorant of everything that was going on, without being asked: "what the heck are you DOING here?!?!?"

But no one asked me that. Later, I considered my wife's question. "Think about it." I told her. "If a stranger walked into your Christian church, and didn't know their way around, would you ask them what they were doing there? Or, would you just be glad that they were there and show them the ropes?"

"It's different." She said.
-----

The main room was square, with no ceiling and exposed ductwork. (I always notice the air conditioning. it's my business). One wall was clearly the "front" of the room. On that wall there was a podium, an arch structure, bookcases containing a good number of the golden books that my mentor was carrying, and cloth banners of many colors. The banners were in bright colors or red, green, blue, yellow, and purple. Most of the banners were cloth and featured stylized Arabic language text. Around the room, the walls were decorated with similar posters and paintings. In one corner was a raised chair, looking very much like some kind of throne. At the back of the room were several rows of chairs, were several women were seated, their clothes modest and their heads covered in the traditional headscarf. The floor of the entire room was covered in Persian rugs.

"Sit down here." my mentor told me.

I sat cross-legged, and looked around. The floor of the room was sparsely populated with men. Some were reading the golden books. Some chatted with one another. Some performed the standing, kneeling and prostrating of the Muslim prayers, chanting in Arabic.
"Did you come here to pray today?" my mentor asked.

"Yea." I replied. "Sure."

He pointed to a brown block on the rug in front of him. "Did anyone give you one of these?"

"No. What is that?"

He stood and walked to the front of the room, retrieving an object from a small tin bucket. He placed it on the ground in front of me. It was a brown block with an elaborate decoration in relief.
"When we pray, we are supposed to touch the ground." he explained. "This is a piece of ground. It comes from a very holy place, and has been brought back here so that you can use it to pray."

I nodded, touching the block softly.

"Do you know about the Muslim prayers?"
"No."

He began to explain. "When we say our prayers, there are three positions that we use. First, is the standing position. Then, is the bending position, where you bend at the waist with your hands on your knees. And then, we go all the way down."

"When you go down to the ground, you should have seven points touching the ground." He pointed to each. "Your two hands, the knees, the toes, and the forehead. Your toes should be pointed forward, like this."

He demonstrated kneeling with the toes pointing forward, perching on his toes and knees.

He started to explain the numbers of prayers every day, and how many repititions of the same patterns each of the prayers consisted of. I had read this before. Muslim prayers are structured in a sort of "unit". A set of motions and utterances equals one "unit" of prayer. The various prayers during the day consist of different numbers of "units". Some prayers are four-unit prayers. Others are two unit prayers. What we would do as a congregation would count for two of the required daily prayers for a total of six "units" of prayer.

"When you go to Friday prayers," my mentor explained, "you don't have to even say the prayers. You can, if you want, and some of us do. We will say it along with him. But, some people don't, and you don't have to."

I nodded. I, of course, would not be saying anything along with anyone. I knew neither the language nor the phrases that would be required to do so.

"Actually, most of us don't even know some of the prayers that he'll say today." he chuckled. "But, when you go to Friday prayers, as long as you are behind him, it counts. So, you don't need to say it along with him. It still counts."

------
While telling the story to my wife that afternoon, she again interrupted.

"What does it count for?" she asked.
"I don't know."
"So, what does that mean, 'it counts'?"
"I'm not sure. But, whatever it is, I now have two points, and you have none."
"Oh great."
"That's right. The score now reads: Travis: 2, Jennifer: 0"
"I think that if you talk like that, you'll lose your points."

-------
The leader in the light colored coat and pants, whom I had met at the entrance now stood in the front of the room. He walked over to check up on me, checking to see that my mentor had been providing good guidance.

"He's a good guy. You stick by him. You'll be good."

The room was nearly full when the Imam entered. He was dressed in black robes with a black headpiece. Several men stood up to shake his hand as he approached the front of the room.
The leader with the light coat took a stance at a microphone, and began to chant melodically in Arabic.

"This is the call to prayer," my mentor explained to me. "This is how we call people outside to know that it is time to come in. it is time to pray."

The remainder of the congregation filled the room. Men in front of me shook hands and greeted their friends. The imam approached the microphone, and began the proceedings. There were a few opening remarks, a call and response exchange between leader and congregation.

The Imam then recited a verse of the Koran, and began his sermon upon it. The sermon was on the topic of infallibility. He discussed the infallibility of the Prophet (pbuh) and the leaders of the religion. He said that the infallibility, or lack of sin, in these people, or any aspiring to infallibility, was not due to Allah rendering them incorruptible or immune to temptation. Rather, in fallibility was a result of the needed power, granted in grace by Allah, by which the infallible could chose to avoid temptation. Also with the grace and power to resist temptation given to the learned and favored, he told us, came a responsibility. Allah may forgive an ignorant man a hundred greater sins before he will forgive a learned Muslim one minor indisression.

That was comforting.

The second sermon began after a second round of call and response formalities. The Iman again recited a passage of the Koran, and told a parable about the Prophet (pbuh) meeting a group of men who were having a rock-lifting contest to determine who was the strongest. The Prophet (pbuh) told them that he could inform them who was strongest without the need of lifting rocks. The strongest would have the following three characteristics. (1) The person, when happy or satisfies, would not allow such happiness or satisfaction to cause deviations from his integrity, or result in evil. (2) The person, when angry or upset or saddened, would not allow such anger, upset, or sadness to cause deviations in the integrity of his behavior, or result in doing evils. (3) The person, when placed in a position of power over other people or a community, would not allow that power to corrupt the integrity of his behavior, or result in the mistreatment of those who trusted him with power.

----
After the two sermons, there were a few more call and response exchanges, and then the congregation stood. My mentor nodded to me to stand, and I did.

For the opening stanzas of the prayer, I stood facing forward with my arms hung and my palms facing back, looking downward to the rug. The Iman recited a stanza that I could not recognize, but knew to be the first stanza of the Koran. I struggled to remember the translation that I had read.

The congregation then bent over, each of us with our hands on our knees. All around me, the men uttered a prayer under their breath. The Iman spoke the phrases into the microphone in the front.

From bent over, we returned to standing, then to kneeling, and then to prostration. From the kneeling position, we repeated the prostration before standing again.

At each change in position, the phrase "Allah Akbar" was uttered. (Translated, this means simply "God is Great").

When the first round of prayer was over, the congregation returned to sitting. The Iman said some words and the people began shaking hands with each other. The men to my right, left, and in front of me offered me their hands and gave me a greeting in Arabic. I knew no response, so I smiled and returned their handshake.

A second round of prayers began, followed by more hand shaking.

At the end of the second round of prayers, the group sat back down. The leader began a chanting. Some men were seated. Others stood. My mentor stood, but placed his hand on my shoulder, indicating that I should stay seated.

I sat and slipped into quiet meditation, focusing on my own breath and gazing thoughtlessly at one of the many tapestries on the wall. In my peripheral vision, some men were standing and leaving. I stayed seated. My mentor was going through the motions of another set of prayers. When he was finished, he turned and walked from the room.

I stayed seated a while longer as the room cleared.

Finally, I stood, picked up the piece of stone and returned it to the metal bucket in the front of the room. On my way out, I stopped to retrieve my shoes from the cubbyhole I had left them in.
In front of the center, there was a coffee pot and some snacks set up on a small table. A few people lingered, nibbling and conversing. Most of the crowd was leaving expediently. It was, after all, lunch hour in the middle of a workday for most people.

I walked from the center to my truck. The surfboard was still in the back. Not that I really feared someone stealing it, but I was still grateful to know that it was still there. I propped it up on the tailgate, strapped two elastic cords over it, clipped the coat hanger with my wetsuit to an eyebolt in the truck bed, and drove home.


Notes:
1. The article I read on "How to perform Salat" can be found here
2. The mosque that I visited was the Islamic Education Center of Orange County. The leader is, I believe, Shia, in case you were wondering.
3. The Muslim greeting, referenced several times within is "As-Salaam-Alaikum" (May peace be upon you). The appropriate response is "Wa-Alaikum-Salaam"
4. The title of this article is a reference to Mr. Yacub, the mad scientist who created the devil white man on the island of Patmos, according to the teachings of the Nation of Islam.
5. The (pbuh), where it occurs in the text, is my attempt to be polite and conform to the Muslim ettiquite. Whenever the name of the Prophet (pbuh) is mentioned, it is followed by a blessing. In writing, this is often abreviated by (pbuh) , which stands for "peace be upon him". If I have inaprapriatly used this, Please let me know in the comments. I can assure that it is from ignorance and not malice of any kind.
6. The surfboard in question was my 7' 6" funboard shape. It doesn't fit into the back of my truck without letting down the tailgate. If I go surfing on a Friday, and go back to the mosque, I'll simply have to remember to bring my shortboard (6'8") which can fit in the cab of the truck when I have to leave it parked. Gosh, I got a rough life, don't I? I have to figure out the best way to cart my surfboard around. It's hard, I tell ya.

03-10-05 Slavery

Boy, here's a real accomplishment in human rights to set your sights on.

In a very liberal story in the OC register, (liberal in the sense that they even covered a worker related issue), Michael Peltier quotes ex-president Jimmy Carter as follows: "I am pleased Taco Bell has taken a leadership role to help reform working conditions for Florida farmworkers and has committed to use its power to effect positive human-rights change."

Wow, Taco Bell getting props from a former Democratic President for their "leadership role" in "positive human rights change". Sounds heavy, doesn't it?

Here's what really happened. The Coalition of Immokalee Workers (CIW), , a worker's rights group based in Florida, where slavery still exists among immagrant farm workers (No, I'm not kidding, federal courts have actualy issued convicions for slavery in recent years), called for a boycott over four years ago. They did four years worth of hunger strikes, protests, marches, media pressure, and organization. They actuall convinced 20 US universities to end franchise agreemenmts with Taco Bell before Taco Bell finally gave in yesterday.

So, what did Taco Bell give in to? Here's the deal. Taco Bell agreed to pay ONE FRICKIN' PENNY more on every pound of tomotoes. Now, before you go off and call big daddy Taco Bell a cheap bastard, consider that Taco Bell, by it's own estimates, buys about 10,000,000 pounds of tomatoes every year. So, this move is going to cost Taco Bell a whopping $100,000.

According to the CIW, many of the several thousand workers in Florida are earning less than $7,500 a year. $7,500 bucks a year to live in Florida and send money home after you pay off the cyote that brought you here. Can you imagine?

Now, Assuming that this extra $100,000, that Taco Bell resisted for four long years while these people worked for slave wages, is going to be evenly distributed among 1,000 workers (that's the OC Register estimate), these workers will now be making.... let's see..... $7,500 + $100 = $7,600 per year. Wow.

Two words: STILL SLAVERY!

I mean, this is a joke, right? President Carter is sucking Taco Bell's dick because they gave their slaves a 1% raise?

Of course, the libertarian / free market folks would commonly reply that in the free market, the agreement to work for money must not be regulated, and that the worker will simply refuse to work if the price of labor drops too low. That may be true. But, I would warn that you take heed. Yum Foods, a company that reported $4.5 billion dollars of profit on $9 billion dollars of revenue last year, is endorsing the idea that the value of human labor can be as low as $20 a day. Oh wait.... make that $20.20 a day.

Marketing 1001

Here are the notes from the depressing books at the library:

1. Proposal includes: (1) cover letter (query), (2) cover title page, (3) overview (the quick pitch), (4) marketing information, (5) competitive analysis, (6) outline, (7) Author Bio Sketch, (8) Sample Chapters, (9) Endorsements, (10) Attachments

2. Overview includes: (1) what it is about, (2) why it should be published, (3) why you are the perfect person to write it.

3. Marketing Analysis Includes: (1) Audience - who they are and why they'll buy it, (2) Book and readers, (3) how big is the base, (4) will it increase, (5) shelf life, (6) shopping - where will they buy it and why.

4. A checklist for the proposal: (1) Is the idea concrete and does the outline communicate that?, (2) Research - how is this project unique, (3) Sample Chapters, (4) Publish Journals, (5) Brainstorm 3 or 4 subject categories and communicate these, (6) use index, (7) query.

AAR - The Association of Author's Representatives

03-06-05 Meditation Punx

The room was an eclectic mix of people. To my right was a Biodiversity major from Humboldt State. Across the room, a flamboyant homosexual man with short cropped hair and tight jeans sat cross-legged in his chair speaking loudly to his neighbor, an overweight middle aged man who looked like a midwest football fan. An old hippie with long gray hair and a tie dyed t-shirt was on my left, next to two Asian teenage girls. There were young and old, Christian, pagan, Buddhist, and atheists. It was a strange aura of congregation.

Though I realize that this is lousy journalism, I cannot disclose the time, place, or invitees of this this "mediation workshop". I cannot even say how it is that I came to be there. I know that this deprives the reader of a just understanding of the experience, but that's how it has to be. Suffice to say that my brother and I were there, among the wildly mixed crowd, and that outside it was raining heavily.

The leader of the workshop, a man named Steve who I later had lunch with, introduced himself with a smiling hospitality and asked if we could go around the circle and do a "check in". He was interested in what we all did to practice meditation in our lives.

The sharing began. At one extreme, a girl in the room said that she did two hour long mediation sessions every day. At the other extreme were those of us (I include myself here) who knew no regular practice of mediation, and had only come out of interest to learn. Many of the participants had been trained in Transcendental Mediation ("TM", as they called it). Several women spoke of being active at community "Meditation Centers", and having been on weekend ling or five day "silent retreats".

At the idea of a silent retreat, my brother and I mumbled to each other. ("We should do that." "Dude, you should send your wife.")

One man even mentioned "I've done Est.". My ears prickled at the reference to the Werner Earnhart large group awareness training seminars that were popular with the high powered business seminar crowd in San Francisco in the early 1980s, and made Earnhard a fortune before the Scientologists ran him out of the country with a fabricated 60-minutes exposé piece. I had been exposed to the "technology" of Est through Landmark Education, Inc. in Newport Beach, an organization with a history of legal action over journalists and scholars who have described them using the word "cult". A former employer of mine had spent so much time at their Newport Beach center taking expensive seminars and learning to create possibilities that he had to lay me off for lack of attention to his business.

Many of the participants were Christian, or non-denominational practitioners of spirituality with a western base. Some utilized prayer books, daily reflections, or the like, similar to "Chicken Soup for the Soul".

A common complaint was the inability to shut down thought for meditation. One girl expressed "I just don't get the whole 'gentle passing of thoughts' thing. My thoughts aren't gentle. They won't be ignored, and they never stop."

Another lady gave some advice that she had learned. "I think that it is mean to try to shut down your thoughts. The mind is a thinking device, and to tell it to stop is really mean and hard to do. I just recognize the side line thoughts as what they are. 'Oh'. I say. 'There is a thought.' Then I return to the focus of the meditation. They keep coming, but as long as I keep returning to the focus, then I hold the meditation. I can't be angry with my mind for producing thoughts. That is it's nature."

It made sense to me, in concept.

When my turn came up, I said. "Well. I don't really meditate regularly. I pray sometimes. Sometimes I don't. But, I do value quiet. I do enjoy silence, and can find a sort of peaceful stillness sometimes. So, I guess the closest I come to mediation is the quiet time between wave sets when I go surfing in the morning before work."

The leader's head peaked at the mention of the spot that he and I obviously shared in common.

When the group check-in was done, Steve told his story of spiritual growth. It was far from any straight line path through any particular organized religion. He readily mixed Christianity, to which he still claimed a belonging, with eastern practice. He told us a story of an extended walking meditation he had done in Europe. For the lesson, Steve talked about a book called "Dharma Punx", by a man named Noah Levine. Levine's story is one of downward spiral followed by spiritual enlightenment. His story moves from punk rock, drugs, gangs, and prison to teaching the Dharma to the urban community.

At the end of the workshop, Steve led a guided breathing mediation from the book, "Dharma Punx".

After the seminar, it was lunch time. My brother, his friend and I joined Steve and another group in a walk to a local Thai food take out shop, where I got to talk to Steve a little more. He was a very laid back individual. Our discussions turned to surfing, family, and some light discussions of progressive politics. (In mixed company, I naturally elicit these comments merely by mentioning that I am from orange County) He was a watercolor artist, with an interesting portfolio of watercolor paintings of industrial society. If you can imagine, Steve does water colors of cars, shipping trucks, and the oil refineries on the Los Angeles harbor. I left with his email address and told him we'd get together when the surf got a little better.

03-06-05 Buddhist Church

I was thirty-one years old and as white as a surfer in a teen Hollywood movie when I walked into the Buddhist Church in Anaheim. I had never been to a Buddhist service or ceremony at any time in my life. And my deepest association with Japanese culture had been the repeated viewing of "Kill Bill".

I was, of course, late.

My first impression was that the place was very crowded. For some reason, I had somehow expected that the Buddhists would be a quite, keep to themselves, organization of a few dozen people. But, arriving at 10:00 am for the 10:00 service, I had to park in a residential neighborhood three blocks away and hustle to the church.

The church building was one of three or four buildings surrounding an elevated square courtyard. In the courtyard, children and parents meandered. It was "girl scout" day at the church. The girl scouts had set up tables for selling their famous fund raising cookies. Inside the church, girl scouts announced the different parts of the ceremony.

At the door to the church, a group of people crowded in a vestibule, awaiting an opportunity to enter with minimal disturbance to the proceedings. When one happened, I was rushed in with the crowd. All the pews in the room were filled. I found a metal chair set along the back wall in the corner and took a seat.

The room was chanting in Japaneeese. At the front of the hall was a raised stage. On the far right ride of the stage was a podium for the speaker. A large shrine of decorative construction, the purpose of which I cannot even guess, occupied the center of the stage. Along one side of the shrine was a man in a black tunic, with a gold inlaid sash hanging about his neck. He had a set of thick percussive sticks and was providing a beat for the chant. On the left side of the stage, two other men in similar robes chanted.

A lady next to me handed me a book. She had opened the book to the proper page for me, and pointed to a grouping of text somewhere in the bottom of the first of three columns of text. "We're somewhere around here" she whispered. I thanked her, and tried to find the place in the text. Of course, the language was completely foreign to me, and the phonetic pronunciations spelled out in the book were very difficult to identify. I tried to find my place, but then gave up, and tried to get a feeling of the chanting. The rhythm was soothing. I listened for a few minutes, matching my breathing to the chanting crowd. After a few minutes of taking in the scene, I looked again at the text, and managed to identify the place. I chanted under my breath, afraid to say words incorrectly or out of turn, but allowing myself to utter as a part of the unity of the group.

Near the end of the chant, the leader switched from his percussive blocks to a round metal bowl with a rich, sustained tone. The lady next to me got my attention. "The translation is in the back," she whispered. I leaned over and she showed me a page with a translation of the "sutra" that we were chanting. The translated language confirmed what I had suspected. The sutra was pretty standard religious glorification. Gosh, our religion is cool. It's really swell. It's grand. We like it a lot. It's so good for us. We like it a whole lot. We're grateful, and so on. I don't mean to demean the poetry or ideas in any way, as I only browsed them briefly. But, I recognized the concept that any religion celebrates itself in a similar manner.

After the chant, a girl scout asked us to stand for a song, and told us a page number. The song was in English, with a simple theme played on an organ. The organ and the singing sounded very familiar, and could have just as easily been a part of any generic Christian church service in Montgomery, Alabama.

When the short song ended, we turned out pages again at the direction of another girl scout, and read a passage on the Buddha, Dharma and Sangra. I had heard of these "three jewels" before, but cannot at this point explain them fully. To let the reader know my level of understanding at this writing, I can say that it is my understanding that to "take refuge in" the Buddha jewel is to reflect on the person of the Buddha, his life and example. To "take refuge in" the Dharma jewel is to appreciate the teachings of Buddhist doctrine (called the Dharma), both in the sense of the teachings themselves and the scriptures containing them. And, to "take refuge in" the Sangra jewel - well - I have no idea what that is. I think it has something to do with community.

The sermon followed this reading. The teachings were based on the story of Hisako Nakamura, a Japanese woman who, through frostbite and gangrene has lost both hands and both feet at a young age, and had grown up severely disabled. As a speaker, the reverend, or sensei, was quite charismatic. He opened my using young volunteers from the audience to act out a portion of his message. He had one young boy picking up pistachio nuts with his feet to act out not having hands. Another boy was blindfolded and asked to identify items by smell alone. A girl was asked to write "abc" using a pen in her mouth. "Don't worry." He told her. "I washed it this morning." Each child that volunteered, he gave a bracelet of beads.

The sermon continued, never reaching a message of direction or a "we should", but always as a reflection and lesson.

After the sermon, there was an organ song, and a series of announcements from the community. Then a girl scout told us that it was time to offer incense. Some of the congregation stood to leave at this time. Others walked forward to offer incense. I have no clue what the incense ceremony is all about. I followed some people outside to the courtyard.

After the main service, the congregation broke into different activities. There was a Japanese school, a class for children, and an adult "dharma school" session. I knew that I wanted to go to the adult session, but didn't know what building it was going to be in. I waited outside the front doors of the church building to see if I could get a clue from the crowd. When I saw a single, white male walk out, I followed him with my eyes. He joined a line of people going into a low foundation building directly across the courtyard. I assumed this was the place I should go.

The line was for coffee, tea and donuts. It also passed a book table. I was tempted to browse the book table for books. Fortunately, I had no cash. I would have considered asking if they accepted plastic payments, but I recognized that I actually owned two books on the table, neither of which I have completely read. I reminded myself that I am also a very slow reader, who currently has a library book on his nightstand.

The crowd thickened, with most people carrying plates of deserts to their seats. The teacher entered, and passed out some photocopied pages from Hisako Nakamura's autobiography. After a few minutes to let people get seated, he began, by placing his hands together and chanting "Namu Amida Butsu", "Namu Amida Butsu".

He spoke about the book in greater detail, telling us more of this woman's inspiring life story and adding some personal experiences to the lecture. He then read the passage from the book that he had copied for us, and a poem written by the woman. The poem was in English, with the exception of two lines: ""Namu Amida Butsu, "Namu Amida Butsu"

The session was short and very informal, with an open question and comment time at the end. Several of the audience asked questions and added commentary. When the teacher announced that class was over, the people milled and chatter began. I turned to the man next to me, and pointed to the two lines in the poem.

"What does this 'Namu Amida Butsu' mean?" I asked.

He smiled at me. "OK." He said. "You should ask the reverend. He can tell you about that."

I lingered around as the reverend spoke to a lady and then to one of the children volunteers from the church service, then asked him by question.

He picked up a piece of chalk and went to a chalkboard, writing: "Nembutsu," and: "Namoamidabutsu"

He explained that the words represented that name of the Buddha, and that this was the focus of shin Buddhism. As Zen focused on mediation, shin focused on reflection on the concept of the name of Buddha, his life an example.

"Of course." He said "the meaning gets deeper from there."

Of course.

A white woman walked over to the conversation. "Here" she said. "You can have this." She handed me a glossy three-inch by five inch, twenty-page photo and text pamphlet entitled "Buddhism, the path to enlightenment."

I flipped through it as I walked the three blocks to my car, sensing that I would pass it along to my wife, and that if I returned to this church, I would come early next time.

03-01-05 Islam for Dummies

I posted this to a forum here in response to a string on Islam:

Re: Hear, hear!

Islam means submission. to simplify for westerners, this means that Islam has a whole lot of rules to submit to. an interesting way to look at these is here (http://www.sistani.org/html/eng/main/index.php?page=4&lang=eng&part=1 ) where a grand ayatollah in Iraq (similar to a pope, to put a Christian perspective on it, offers his interpretations of the many rules from the Koran.

however, as a comparative religion, the basic practices of Muslims are quite admirable - and stand as quite an example to all religious people.

most fundamental are the five "pillars" listed below (with my comments)

1. declaration - similar to any faith, the foundation of Islam is to declare faith. "there is no god but god" is the translation of the spoken Arabic phrase. once you say that, you can call yourself a Muslim. the "oneness of god" is really the theological meat of the Islamic faith. one god for all people. period. one god who loves all people equally. period. according to Islam, Allah is the god of the Jews, the Christians, and anyone else who prays to any god by any name - it's like all their mail just gets forwarded to Allah anyway.

2. prayer - to pray or ritually meditate often is a recognized practice of nearly all human religions. Islam is pretty clear about this. 5 times a day, there are set prayers, done in a prescribed manner. the western Christian may complain that the format lacks individual freedom of expression - but, hey, how often do you pray 5 times a day?

3. charity - not optional to Muslims. the Koran is very specific in charity to social institutions and direct charity to the poor. a Calvinist revolution is unlikely. Muslims are socialists by order of scripture. it's pretty simple. that's not to say that there aren't abuses of this in the world, but the principal is built into the faith.

4. fasting (during Ramadan) - similar to lent, or a silent retreat, the concept is pretty universal. as far as fasts go, the Ramadan rules seem fairly reasonable. Muslims can't eat or drink from sundown to sunset. i have a friend at work from Indonesia, and he told me that during Ramadan, people would ring bells in the streets to wake up hours before dawn so they can eat.

5. pilgrimage - the "hadj". every Muslim is supposed to go at once in their life, if able. i once held hands and said a prayer with 60,000 people in a stadium. it was a pretty awesome and humbling experience. imagine doing noon prayers with several hundred thousand Muslims from every corner of the world, all dressed in the hadj robes, saying the same thing together - that's got to really be something. the experience has been described by writers (check out the autobiography of Malcolm X for how it changed his outlook on life).

in my research on Islams, this is my understanding of how Muslims live, and what they do.