When is it Enough?

When is it Enough?

When is it enough?
5000 years and counting
Deaths too many to count
But still counting.

How many tears have been counted?
Do they have stats on that?
Blood on the streets
And in the homes.

Children left,
No parents, no homes
Is being right worth it?
Do we count nights that they cry in bed?

We blame God,
The president,
The Terrorists. The Jews.
We can count on blaming.

Merton said we were,
“Guilty Bystanders”
Does that include me?
But I voted against the war!

How am I guilty?
Is it the sports machine I oogle at?
Maybe it is what I am not doing,
When was the last time I did anything to stop war.

Every war has its cause, right?
Isn’t that what they say?
Is money a reason? God? Oil? Mount Sinai?
What about a woman, is she worth the cost?

I want it to end.
I do not know how.
Or even if it can,
Now or tomorrow.

Is lost hope the crime,
That I am guilty of?
Is silent acceptance my B-52?
Is my special ops training called comfort?

Is it enough yet? 60 million plus in WWII.
Each day more families ceased,
Than The War on Terror in its entirety.
Who are the terrorists now?

Do terrorists own mirrors?
Can they sleep at night?
Do generals tuck their kids in cold winter nights?
Are Green Berets counting the blood left on our greens?

When did hard choices,
Translate into hearts hardened?
Security and safety,
Defined stealing it from others?

Is it enough yet?
When calculators can’t total
The causalities, the Souls, the tears.
If not, when is it enough?

Covered: A letter to two spiritual companions

January 3, 2009

Dear B. and M.M.;

It came to me in meditation this morning to share with you some reflections and experiences I had on a trip I just returned from Malaysia on Friday. It may be quite long, so I invite you to read it when you have the time and a cup of hot tea.

When I was making arrangements to go to Kuala Lumpur and Penang, I was struggling with eh idea that I was going on a vacation to a tropical country. As you both know, we do not do vacations. But I had this strong sense I needed to do this. I told myself that it was to get healthy since I have been struggling with three separate colds since the weather has changed here in Korea. I needed something to justify my journey.

Upon arrival in KL, I was immediately struck by the Islamic influence everywhere. Women covered in robes with hoods and men often wearing caps. They looked so clear and focused. When I looked into their eyes respectfully, they were clear, focused and present. When passing women on the street, they avoided eye contact with all men and me. A statement of which surprised and humbled me. I veer my eyes towards too many women lustfully and pay a price for doing=g so.

The first time I was passing a Mosque, it was right after the call for Prayer. There were many Muslim men and women focused onto entering the Mosque on time and in the state of mind. It reminded me of the Cabbalistic Chassidim I have observed with the same intensity and focus. Their clothes were distinctly different from what they wear during the rest of their daily life. The men wore robes or clean white cotton pants with either white or a soft tan top. Everything looked so clean and cared for; sacred. The women wore dresses or robes and their colors were a little more diverse but still simple. The simplicity and focus left me feeling somehow out of place in my shorts and t-shirt as a not so casual observer. Knowing that they were sweeping floors, cleaning dishes, nursing children, cooking food, selling products and laughing with friends and family minutes before in their street clothes reached a part of me I do not let touched often. They are doing it, really doing it. The balance between sacred and mundane was evident in every movement and step. I wanted to watch them in prayer but felt like that was not Ok although their were others doing so, and the sign said it was permitted. Not for me though. I was however given inner permission to walk around the grounds and sit on another occasion on a white cement bench about fifty feet away. I experienced a need to wear robes, and head coverings like they do. I am aware this can be done energetically but the physical covering seems to help hold the energy and intention. I am sense we can do this through Reiki as well.

My limited real life exposure to Islamic culture and living had previously been from friends, acquaintances, Muslim literature class and the Teachers that have been given to me like Rumi, Attar, Jami, El-Ghaazzali and Hadrat Ali. They visit me in my dreams and in meditation. I have never walked with them in their lives and communities to witness sacred community like I did in Malaysia. There were Mosques separated by culture- Malay and Indian, and those were common and shared by all. I was fortunate to be walking in between two of them on New Years Eve during Call to Prayer. It was powerful I=t of feel the Call in my bones and belly so deeply. I did not know what they were saying but definitely felt what they were offering.

My experiences amongst these Muslim peoples were humbling. I remember having a somewhat similar commitment and dedication just a few years ago. I have swerved sometimes far and not so far from this place to stand ad miss it. Seeing it so commonly and without fanfare or ego was embarrassing and inspiring. I have received Teachings for the Sufis but had never really felt the Presence in the lineage of the Islamic Teachers till now. I am now connected tot hem in a way that was foreign or ignored. It is not that I will now become Muslim or start following Islamic practices. It is more about the intention, commitment and dedication that are what is with me at hoe in Korea. I need to be doing this stuff the way that I made the commitments to do when I came in tot his life. This just getting by business needs to end. Time to step up and stand the way I have been trained and allow the Higher Self to be in charge again. My sense is that the forgiveness will come through renewed commitment and focus. The attention to detail that these focus practiced was also humbling and created a pinch of shame inside me. I know better than to be so involved I the world as I have been and will continue to be until I give up the need to stroke and stimulate the ego. That is my part. That is what I am responsible for.

On a personal note, the people and food in Malaysia was excellent. I was treated kindly, respectfully by the Malay, Chinese and Indian people alike. The food was incredible and very inexpensive. I am grateful to be home but already miss being there. I hope this message was not too long but felt moved to write it and share it with the two if you, and maybe others as well.

Peace and love,
michael

sarcasm enters stage left and right

Like the South Beach Diet for those who think “thin is in”, the low-casm diet, sarcasm that is, has stripped off pounds of negativity so quickly I forgot what I looked like with the extra weight. But like all fad diets, the low-casm diet imploded when faced with a free crème Berlet or Coffee Heath Bar Crunch ice cream from Michael’s Frozen Custard in Wisconsin. In this case, the desert of choice was keeping company with those who value sarcasm above all other forms of communication- English-speaking white people.

This weekend I was visiting a friend in Busan, South Korea during the national holiday Chusak. It is the Korean version of Thanksgiving that includes visiting and honoring ancestors passed. This weekend, I certainly honored ghosts of sarcasm passed when giving the opportunity. I was amazed at just how effortlessly it flowed out of mouth like waffles and vanilla ice cream dripping out the corners on an eighty-degree night in Seaside Heights, New Jersey. Yes, sarcasm is back.

I had no idea how foolish I was in believing the progress in letting go of the darkest form of humor had nothing to do with me or any miraculous leap in spiritual development. It was simply a case of not having accessible anyone who speaks enough English to understand sarcasm if I chose to express it. No growth, no step up in commitment, no crossing of the Threshold- just no vehicle to harness the hidden and suppressed hate, anger and resentment in disguise known as sarcasm. If you are trying to shed sarcasm from your daily diet; I can offer the quickest low-casm diet on the market- move to a country where no one speaks your language and it will fall away like The Atkins Diet with the same results until the source of the problem returns; then every inch of unnecessary cellulite regrows itself and looks less appealing than it did when it was part of your natural disposition. I now know what I look like without sarcasm; warm, soft, gentle, open; and putting on the same old tattered coat will never feel as comfortable or acceptable again.

It is time to let go of these extra pounds of weight that I no longer need to survive or navigate my way through the world. Goodbye sarcasm, I bid you farewell. I am sure when I am not paying attention, I will embrace you like an old friend who still owes me the six hundred dollars he borrowed from in 1989 when his father died and I helped pay his family’s mortgage so they would not have to find a new home.

Hello warmth and vulnerability. I want to introduce myself; my name is Michael and I have looked forward to meeting you for many years. I hope we become close friends.

If I Could Change One Thing

If I could change one thing,
I would smile more.
Pay more attention to you,
I would listen.

Listen, yeah, that's it,
I would listen more.
Hear what you have to say,
And really hear you.

No, i would pay more attention to you,
You deserve it.
It has been hard for you,
I know this about you.

Smiling is the thing to do,
Smiles, genuine warm smiles heal.
They make me come alive and sing,
Smiles like misery can be contagious.

If i could change one thing,
It would be none of them.
Loving Boldly with no limitations or restraints,
We deserve it!

Smiles are great but Loving Boldly,
There is no distance too great,
We can dissolve and dissipate hate.
Loving Boldly is the one thing i would change.

The Road Not Taken

It had been more than ten years since we last spoke. It was all so raw and painful back then. Her presence still felt like a hand cultivator clawing and scraping up and down my spine, slowly and deliberately. Just like the way I plant Lacinato kale every April except this one- slow and deliberate. Even though I was so happy she found the right man for her, I had not really ever let go of the questions in my mind.

Did I give up too quickly?

When Pastor Matt consoled me that I was not breaking my commitments with God by ending our engagement, did I use that as my get-out-of –jail-free-card?

Was I just not man enough to really handle commitment from all the pain and disappointment over the years?

Did I bail on the one woman I totally fell in love with and ached to be near night and day?

Ten years. So much has happened since then. All the physical scars from the biting, scratching and pinching have healed and been replaced with fresh new skin many times now that all physical evidence is filed away in a box with all the other Cold Cases. I had grown and gotten stuck and grown again so many times. She had gotten engaged again, broke up got married to a Navy man and lives in the suburbs of Virginia with their daughter Mary Elizabeth, she must be three by now. And then there was last year when she was placed in a state mental hospital by her husband and stepfather, losing rights to leave him with their daughter when she was finally released. After ten years, I knew it was time to face my demons and visit, not knowing why, just knew to visit.

“So you will really be here in a half an hour?”

“Yes, I think it will take me that long.”

“Really! I can’t wait for you to meet M.E. she is amazing. OK, so I need to take a shower before you get here, I look awful. Just let yourself in the front door. And since you know that if we are going to have lunch, you will have to make it. So, just come in, and look around for something to make us for lunch. I can’t believe you are really coming. I am so excited!”

I hung up my cell phone and took a deep breath. Am I ready for this? Funny, it is like history has stopped. I will be walking in her place because she is not ready, preparing food for us in her kitchen because she doesn’t do kitchens and no greeting at the door, no hug hello, no “I can’t believe you are actually here!” Just, “Let yourself in and make us something to eat for lunch.” Ten years, married, child and nothing has changed.

I got lost once on the way over but that means I will only have to wait about twenty minutes for her instead of thirty, the food won’t be completely cold by then. I slowly open the front door to their suburban mass manufactured house in a Desperate Wives look-a-like “community”. The blue Ford Explorer she told me to look for was in the driveway, so I knew I was at the right house and not just walking into somebody else’s house in this military families neighborhood. I did not want to get shot or deported. The house smells just like I remember her. This is a mistake, what am I doing here?

“Hello” I say loud enough for anybody upstairs to hear.

“You’re here? Already” I am not dressed yet. Just look in the fridge and make whatever you want.” “Mary Elizabeth, mommy’s old friend is here. Do you want to go down and say Hi to him?” “She’s being shy.” Loud enough for me to hear. She probably won’t come down without me, she is a bit agoraphobic just like her mother.”

I scrounge around the fridge and only see various kinds of over-processed foods I would not feed President Bush, let alone a little girl or myself. Oscar Meyer bologna, Wonder white bread, Pillsbury flake biscuits, Ahh, eggs an actual real food. Oh yuck, Kraft individually wrapped cheese food for my protection.

“Did you find anything? How about scrambled eggs with cheese, M.E. loves that.”

“I found that. I can make that if that is what she likes. Are you going to eat that as well?”

“I don’t really eat food anymore. The meds they have me on have depressed my appetite. Just make enough for you and M.E. I will eat whatever she doesn’t finish.” Her voice sounds closer and I hear two adult and two little feet starting to come down the steps. When they come within my view, a shot goes up my spine to my brain and the only word that comes to mind is “Crazy!” She has the look of all the clients I have worked with that are crazy. OK, we don’t call them crazy but that doesn’t mean they aren’t crazy. I can see it in her eyes and feel it in her energy. Crazy. I knew right at that moment that the road not taken was a road needn’t be taken. Freedom: all the questions have now been answered. No more questions, no more doubt and no more shoulda, coulda, woulda. Done. No, definitely did not need to have taken this road. Phew! By the Grace of God in spite of ourselves every now and then we step on the path that is ours and leave behind the road not taken forever. Freedom… at least for me.