Navigation Menu+

The Dalai Lama in Williamsburg

Posted by on October 14, 2012 in Blog, Healing Corridor, Teachers

The Dalai Lama in Williamsburg

I had the opportunity last week to see the Dalai Lama speak in Williamsburg.  He’s currently making a tour of small colleges and he was appearing at William and Mary, where my daughter is a student.  It made for a delightful visit. Tickets for the event had sold out within 15 minutes.  More than eight thousand people attended.  The line into the arena began two and a half hours before the event—and these were all people with tickets.  So interesting.  The student who introduced him said we would likely remember this day for the rest of our lives.  I loved that he marked the gravity of the moment. The student handed the Dalai Lama a green William and Mary visor, which the Dalai Lama promptly placed on his head to loud applause.  He then placed a white scarf around the student’s neck and proceeded to wear the visor for the remainder of his talk.  It was a lovely beginning—and a wonderful way to undercut the gravity with a sense of lightness. The Dalai Lama greeted us as brothers and sisters.  He made a point that people make too much of secondary differences like status.  He then began by emphasizing that we are entering a new reality which is going to require a new kind of thinking. His main emphasis was, not surprisingly, on the need for compassion.  But there was a teaching here that I hadn’t heard in quite this way before.  He made a sharp distinction between animal compassion and human compassion.  All animals have compassion toward their young and those whom they have a positive connection with.  Human compassion gives us the intelligence to extend our compassion—beyond our families and our groups.  He repeated over and over that it’s a mistake to think that this compassion is primarily for the benefit of others.  This compassion is first and primarily of benefit to ourselves.  How our compassion is received is beyond our control—and not our business.  A person might respond negatively because of their mind but we shouldn’t be afraid of that or pretend because of that.  Compassion helps us.  It benefits us.  It changes us. He told a story about Cuban refugees who he met who were praying for Castro.  They were praying that he would die and go to heaven.  This story made the Dalai Lama laugh quite a bit.  He seemed to be approving of their skillfulness in this prayer—that they had managed to extend compassion under difficult circumstances. He laughed often during his presentation, as if so much of what he said tickled him. He made a sharp distinction between actions and actors.  We can believe, he said, that an action is wrong and still care and feel compassion toward the actor.   He told about meeting George Bush.  (I believe he meant the son, George W.)  He talked about feeling such a good sense of friendliness.  He called him his friend, and went on to say he approved of his motivation, wanting to spread democracy.  “But not his method—force.”  He went on to say that violence has unintended consequences.  He was very clear that one could disapprove of a person’s action and still call that person friend. He was gracious throughout. He received at least 3 standing ovations. He thanked us for being attentive....

read more

The Armful by Robert Frost

Posted by on August 5, 2012 in Blog, Book, Healing Poetry

The Armful by Robert Frost

This poem by Frost can be about a lot of things, I suppose.  For me, this week, it seems to be about revision–and how hard it can be to hold coherent images and ideas and how sometimes you just have to put them down and rearrange them–again.  Madness, perhaps–but also it seems now a necessary madness. I went back to earlier chapters of One Year of Writing and Healing to pick up some threads to carry forward–and realized that deep revision is again necessary.  Chapter 2 as it stands now is just wrong–and changing that begins to change everything.  Madness. For every parcel I stoop down to seize I lose some other off my arms and knees, And the whole pile is slipping, bottles, buns, Extremes too hard to comprehend at once. Yet nothing I should care to leave behind. With all I have to hold with hand and mind And heart, if need be, I will do my best. To keep their building balanced at my breast. I crouch down to prevent them as they fall; Then sit down in the middle of them all. I had to drop the armful in the road And try to stack them in a better load. I’m heading back to teaching tomorrow.  Launching a new semester.  I’ll be returning to the work of these chapters and this site (which also needs some serious tinkering) when I can.  Sitting down in the middle of it all and trying to stack the pieces in a useful way. Thank you again to everyone who has offered support and help along the way.  It has been a joy to have emails pop into my box as surprises and encouragement as I work away at this. __________________________________ Photo from Quiet Commotion...

read more

All Shall be Well?

Posted by on July 17, 2012 in Blog, Healing Grief, Healing Poetry

All Shall be Well?

For some reason a couple weeks ago, I found myself looking for the quote by Julian of Norwich about all being well. I found this: All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well which T.S. Eliot then included in the fourth quartet of his Four Quartets: And all shall be well and All manner of thing shall be well And I also found, unexpectedly, this song, which I quite like, by a young man by the name of Gabe Dixon. The song is called, “All Will Be Well.” ____________________________________________________________________ The photo at the top of this post is from Wikipedia.  Julian of Norwich was a Christian mystic in the fourteenth century who is described as an anchoress.  I had to look up the term and discovered it’s the female form of the term anchorite and refers to a kind of Christian hermit who devotes their life to prayer.  Anchoresses lived in simple cells or anchorholds built against the walls of a church. The photo is of one such cell or anchorhold. She lived during a time of plagues. It’s possible (history about her is sketchy) that she could have become an anchoress after losing her husband and/or children. Or it’s speculated she may have become an anchoress to become quarantined.  In any case, it does place her famous quote in an interesting context. Plagues were spreading and encroaching all around her and she was writing that all shall be well.  Denial?  Insanity?  Radical...

read more

Figuring Out the Good Part

Posted by on July 10, 2012 in Blog, Book

Figuring Out the Good Part

  It is raining this morning–a lovely reprieve after days of dry heat–and I am happy to report that I am posting Chapter 7 of One Year of Writing and Healing: Figuring Out the Good Part. I am attaching it here: Chapter 7: Figuring Out the Good Part You can also find it at Chapters along with the 6 chapters that precede it. Feedback, as always, is...

read more

Talking to Grief by Denise Levertov

Posted by on June 18, 2012 in Blog, Book, Healing Poetry

Talking to Grief by Denise Levertov

  The title for the chapter, “Making a Place for Grief,” was inspired by and begins with an excerpt from “Talking to Grief” by Denise Levertov: You long for your real place to be readied before winter comes. You need your name, your collar and tag. You need the right to warn off intruders, to consider my house your own and me your person and yourself my own dog. I think there’s a kind of brilliance in this poem, that resonates with so much that I understand about imagery and the way it can help us move through the more difficult passages of our lives. This notion here of imagining grief as a dog, perhaps a much-loved dog. And then taking that next step–speaking to him or her directly. Offering to make her a real place. A home. The chapter ends then with what seems to me a kind of mirror image: this excerpt from Rumi’s poem, The Guest House, that has become, I suppose, a kind of theme song here: This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival.   A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor.   Welcome and entertain them all! Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, still, treat each guest honorably. He may be clearing you out for some new delight. This is a kind of goal I’m setting for myself this summer–to become, as much as I’m able, a guest house in this way.  To welcome what arrives.  I remember the poem sometimes when I’m sweeping my steps and my patio in the morning.  I remember the way a thought or an emotion–or a wave of emotion–or a person–a snatch of conversation–the line of a poem–or a song–any one of these could come and sweep us clean–prepare us for the next thing. May your summer be a guest house in the best possible way–or perhaps a broom–preparing you for the next thing. ____________________________________________________...

read more