Auld Lang Syne

My uncle became a millionaire.

There was an army base in a dry county. The story goes: there were so many servicemen who died in drunk driving accidents, because they had to drive an hour away to drink.

My uncle incorporated a town just across the county line, and opened a liquor store. You know, to save lives. And to become a millionaire.

After the divorce, we didn't see or hear much about him. My aunt was the heart of the family, and he was just (to my child-mind) just some guy now.

I don't remember the last time I saw him. I was probably five, or younger. I know his kids, eventually, had not seen or heard from him for many, many years.

Then, one day, he just showed up. He came to the family house, and everybody was shocked and glad to see him.

He was no longer a millionaire; he was, in fact, destitute. And he said he had never been happier. He had not come around for money or support, he was just happy and wanted to be with his family. 

Not long after, my cousin, his son, had met a Christian lady, and decided to convert to Catholicism. He was being confirmed and, because of his history with drugs, and all kinds of other terrible behaviours and habits, the whole family just had to see it. Call it perverse curiosity.

So my uncle had been welcomed back into the family just in time to attend the biggest reunion our family has ever had.

The next day, he was found dead in a lake. All signs suggested this was an intentional death. Nothing before suggested his intention. I choose to believe he had simply never been so happy before, and decided that was how he wanted to feel at the end of his life.

-

Last week, I attended the largest reunion My chosen-family has ever seen. There were fourteen of us, and only one person I met for the first time. Everyone else, I had met over the past twenty years.

It was so lovely, so loving. A culmination of so many paths, beginnings and ends, joys and heartaches.

I went into this, thinking of my uncle.

The past ten years of my life have been the worst ten years of my life, I think. I did not show up at this party at my pinnacle; I came to see the end of a hard time, and to set an intention to move forward well, in the company of such great hearts.

I promised myself, so many years back, that I would not kill myself. It is maybe the only promise I have ever kept, and I will keep it.

I am not my uncle, but I want to know what he knew, that next morning.

I am still wondering, and wandering, and lost.

you can't look forward while you're looking back

I did it. I lived the adventure of living like a real person in this society.

Bank account, name on lease, car payment, utility bills. I have held a job for over five years, which pays enough for me to live on my own.

At least, it did until now. Now that rents are increasing 25% or more all over the place.

Last year, I visited Colorado, and saw a friend I met at work in 2007. A few months later, another friend from that same job came to stay with me for a week.

I worked at that job for nine months.

Several months ago, I received my five-year bonus, and realized in this time I have not made friends a closely as I did in such a shorter time.

I have not let myself get close to anyone in a long, long time.

Then came the rent increase. I suppose technically I could afford it, but it got me thinking, how much is this life worth? 

This life of living to pay rent, this life of making arm-length friends.

So lucky am i, to have found this life as we entered a pandemic. Stability has never felt so precious! But how long can I stand it? To be less than I am? 

What does it mean, to think I am bigger than this life? 

So. Here I am, freshly once-again homeless. So close to falling in love. Still employed, still the caretaker of my ex-step-dad; still anchored. But less so, and almost ready to let go of the last tethers.

Will I?

Can I?

The Escapist

"All these walls were never really there,
Nor the ceiling, nor the chair.
I'm eking weeks of peace at the beach
I see the breezes weave the trees,
These walls, you'll find, are yours and mine
Defined not by them, I"
-The Streets, "The Escapist"

Day... one? Day nine?
I left the monastery on October 5, riding with Trime to Halifax, on the same flight as Trime to Boston. My cousin & her husband allowed me to stay in their house, with a quiet hideaway, a luxury apartment of a basement. All the noise--the talking, the music, the cars, the hammering, the music, the televisions--was a lot to take in, and I was easily exhausted. I learned some balance between kindness to myself, and discipline.
So moving forward really began last Thursday, the 13th.

Robin and I walked through Boston. I had loved the city when I visited for her wedding, 21 years earlier, and always wanted to return.
This time, walking about, my brain kept checking it against the landscape in Assassin's Creed 3. Was reverting to video-game memory escapism? Or was I appreciating the quality and educational value of the game? No reason to think it wasn't both.

After a good day & a few drinks, Robin dropped me off with my couchsurfing host.
I found his situation via couchsurfing.org, which has been such a valuable resource as I've traveled. This fellow had good references, lived around where I needed to be the next day, and responded promptly. Trifecta.
When I rang the doorbell, he came around the corner of the house & indicated I should follow him. The door on the side of the house was small, and I had to duck to enter, down the stairs, into the basement. (Cinderblock walls, a table, two chairs, and a refrigerator.)
Through a door, into a furnished area (white tile floors, finished walls painted taupe) and into a room with three twin mattresses, spread wall to wall with only a few inches between them. I ask if there are other guests, and he points out that the middle is his bed. Mine is the farthest from the door. Another guest will occupy the third, yes.
We sit and talk. He's friendly and funny. Brazilian, living in Boston now 14 years. He offers me a drink, but I'm not yet sure how I feel about where I am so I decline.
His English is good, but he's had no context to learn about Buddhism or monasticism, so when he asks about what I've been doing & about the weird clothes he saw in the photos on my profile, we hit a language barrier.
I ask about him. He watches Brazilian football, Brazilian teledramas. He hosts a lot--he's actually moved down to the basement because his roommates upstairs complained about having so many guests. I wonder why there are only six references on the website, if he hosts so often.
I use the bathroom. There's no door. I don't wonder about the references any more. What can be said? Where does one begin?
I admit to myself that I'm not going anywhere, and accept his drink. Brazilian Caphirinha. Made strong, with lots of sugar. It is enjoyable, but I haven't had much sugar this year. I wake up at 1am and can't get back to sleep for three hours.

The next morning, I'm waiting for Deidra with my luggage. No harm, no foul, but I am out of here.

Here we go. Back on the road.
In 2013-2015, I had (gasp!) settled down.
It wasn't intentional, but a good job (a great job, even) plus a cushy living situation (read: free house) lured me into complacency. As Ani Pema taught during Yarne, when one spends one's time inside their comfort zone, that comfort zone gets smaller and smaller. I had seen it happen to people, but had somehow overlooked it happening to me.
Time with friends was entertainment, time alone was music & drinking--filling space and time. Life was good, no? People wish they had it so good.
But within the first few months at Gampo Abbey I realized that this life hadn't just been uneventful. It had been harmful. Willpower & self-discipline diminished, relationships atrophied, bravery & confidence almost completely absent. I still recognized my ideals on an intellectual level, but was no longer walking the talk. Heck, I wasn't even talking the talk after a while.

As we studied and discussed "The Thirty-Seven Practices of a Bodhisattva," I realized that giving up my home & belongings had been a form of generosity; constantly moving & interacting had kept me in my practice. There's no one right way to live, but living on the road is my way.

And so here I am.
Halifax to Boston, Boston to Karmê Chöling, to Burlington, to NYC, and tomorrow to Chicago. Then Denver, then San Francisco, then Portland, Seattle, and back to Boston.
At least, that's what the plan looks like today.

Fast Unfolding

While visiting Wisconsin last summer, Sam Dodge told me I seemed haunted. And I was. John and Oshinn had moved on, the farm was out of my hands, and I was haunted by the ghost of the purpose that had fueled me for the two previous years. I was just coming to realize that the farm had gone the way of the boat, and that it was time for a new Rosewater vision.

In September I attended a six-day retreat which featured daily teachings from Thich Nhat Hanh. The idea of accepting his Five Mindfulness Trainings (a contemporary form of the Buddha's five precepts to become a monk) was presented early, and it took me days of consideration before I decided to accept them.
This retreat had upon me the same effect that I'd experienced after my time in the hospital in 2005--I had rediscovered my volition.

These days, not an hour goes by that I don't consider the teachings I encountered at Magnolia Grove in September. Even though my practice is built upon my own experiences rather than others' teachings (and this is something I sometimes struggle to remember), Thây provided a framework that I find infinitely useful for organizing how I think about my experiences.
I feel more excellent every day--even the bad days.

Also in Magnolia Grove, I had my first experience of Sangha. Through my studies of Buddhism I had a book-learnt appreciation for sangha, but no practical experience.
Sangha is the Sanskrit word for a community of practitioners. At the retreat, we would split into smaller groups of 15 or so people (determined by "family names" on our name tags--my family was "Timeless). We would sit in a circle with a nun. She would talk about a few things, introducing a topic, and we would each in turn share our thoughts on it.
This might not sound like much, but it was amazing.

I intended to join the sangha in Nashville after returning, but never quite got around to it.

Then Leslie visited in February, and asked me to join her at the meditation center where we used to go all those years ago. On Sundays, the Nashville Shambhala group meets there and, since Leslie is so richly involved in the Northern California Shambhala community, they were happy to turn part of the session over to her.
She led the group in social meditation--a form of meditation that is growing out of Boston Shambhala, and that is not very unlike what I experienced with Timeless in Magnolia Grove.

While socializing after the session, one of the coordinators said she would love to have a young meditators' group like Leslie has in San Francisco.
Leslie told her they should have me lead it. And from that moment on, that's been the plan.

Three weeks ago, I went to San Francisco for a summit of young meditator group leaders from around the world, and was introduced to the Ziji Collective. This is a collection of meditators (mostly involved in these young meditator groups) with an eye on social engagement. Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche came to speak to us, discussing the significance of the Ziji's work to the Shambhala vision of enlightened society, and then we spent several days in each others' company--socially, as well as in meditation and in workshops.
In such a community, I found it so easy to be open, both inwardly and outwardly. To share that with so many people for such a long period of time was incredible. Each connection was like those that I've reserved for the few people I've been "in love" with; the entire experience felt like falling in love again and again.
Leaving that could have been difficult, if it hadn't also fostered the intention to let go of attachments.

I was very excited to bring that back to Nashville, to my first group session the next week.
But then there was some discussion over the dates of our meeting. And then there was more discussion.

By this past Sunday, two long weeks (seriously? it felt like months) since returning from San Francisco, I felt the last of that energy slipping away as I walked up the stays to the Dharma Center. "Longing" was the word that kept coming up in conversations at the summit; this day the word I felt was "lament."
This stayed correcting itself right away, thigh, as I walked in the door. I walked right into a meeting determining the definite days for my group to meet (twice a month, rather than once!). And during the announcements at the end of the session, there was an exciting exchange.
One of our practitioners mentioned that she was going to Karme Choling in Vermont for level 2&3 training. Another mentioned that she had a friend in Boston Shambhala who would be assisting there. This friend from Boston had also been at the summit in San Francisco. BOOM. All the energy was reignited.

In the entrance room, there were six of us who stayed behind for conversation, already excited for the potential that the Ziji energy has in Nashville.

This is also the Rosewater energy.
I am very excited.

The Jubilee Rolls On

Historically, Jubilee is a time of absolution and the lifting of burdens. In the Holy Bible, the Book of Leviticus (perhaps best known today for telling people how to live), we are encouraged to celebrate Jubilee every fifty years, by freeing slaves and absolving debts.

That's the spirit behind Strike Debt's Rolling Jubilee project, and the letters mailed to the 44 people so far who have benefited from it: "You no longer owe the balance of this debt. It is gone, a gift with no strings attached. You are no longer any obligation to settle this account with the original creditor, the bill collector, or anyone else."

Today's economy is weird and complicated, working in ways more mysterious than God. Part of it involves the speculation market--companies buying, insuring, and ultimately gambling with our debt. Basically, for pennies on the dollar, the part of you that Company XYZ used to own now belongs to Company ZYX. They don't expect you to fully pay it off--in fact, if you do, then they have one less chip in the game. Debt is big money, and with the Rolling Jubilee, Strike Debt is buying in.

Originally, the goal was to raise $50,000, use that to buy $1,000,0000 worth of distressed medical debt on secondary debt markets, and then... let it go. The project launched on November 15, 2012, and by the end of that day the site had raised nearly 10x its goal. In mid-December, the first purchase was made: $5,000 was enough to absolve 44 lucky people of their medical debts.

Please, check out the Rolling Jubilee website. Read it all over (more important than money is knowledge, and the site provides several kinds of it) and, if possible, make a donation. Even if you con't make a donation, consider spreading the word. Share it on Facebook. Share it on Twitter. Tell your mom about it. Tell your pastor, your neighbor, your bartender, the person beside you on the bus.

In the first two days of the campaign, enjoying a good amount of media attention, the site raised nearly $500,000... and yet, in the sixty-four days since then, the site has raised less than $50,000 more. I don't have the money to spare for a donation, but clearly, this idea takes off when it gets attention.
And I believe it deserves attention.

What is the problem?

These three articles:

God Is Not A Christian: Desmond Tutu And The Dalai Lama's Extraordinary Talk On God And Religion

The Blessings of Atheism

Guns don't kill people; people do … with guns

yesterday's choices through today's eyes

Stephanie recently asked me these questions about some of the decisions I've made in life. It gave me a good excuse to look back and see what got me where I am today. ***What encouraged you to pursue the path of a Buddhist monk? I spent a lot of time alone in the woods growing up, and noticed there was a certain aspect of life that was present in solitude that disappeared when I was around others. Whatever it was, I loved it and lived for it. Even though I like being around people and love my friends, the solitary life, for pursuit of whatever this thing is, is what I most want. I was a monk before I knew a monk was something to be. I had looked into a few religions, and for a while considered myself more Hindu than anything else. But I was raise Christian, and am a fan of the Catholic monk John Michael Talbot, so when I decided to make my monkhood official, I intended to join his monastery, The Brothers and Sisters of Charity. I focused my studies from general to Catholic, but eventually had to admit that I could not reconcile what I was learning with my personal experience of the world. The cognitive dissonance was maddening. So I went back to a general study of philosophies, and stopped trying to force myself to see things in a certain way. When I learned of the Nyingma Institute, I asked a Buddhist friend if he knew about it. He had, and suggested over 100 books (many of which they used to teach at that school), and that I take the Bodhisattva vow. I bought many of the books and studied from them. After reading about the vows, I thought and felt that was the experience I had been looking for. ***What finally deterred you from it? Nothing is final, and perhaps "detoured" is better word for what happened. It was a string of coincidences I followed toward Nyingma, so when those coincidences pulled me in a new direction, why would I refuse? As I said, I was a monk before I knew it. Not reaching the destination is, so far, the world I have learned to accept.