A Short Break From Polemics

 Čzechs singing on a train, somewhere between Hustopeče and Brno, Czech Republic. Taken 2003.

I met Václav Havel at a nightclub in Washington, DC. Former Secretary of State, Madeleine Albright was there, too. They were simply hoping to enjoy the music of the Czech band, Plastic People of the Universe, but a small line had begun forming at the edge of their table. A line of people wishing to say hello and receive an autograph.

My friend Suzy and I waited in that line. I don’t remember for how long. But when it was finally my turn to greet them, my mind went blank. After a moment of just smiling and staring at Václav Havel (pronounced Vaht-slav), I managed to say thank you and thrust a copy of an article he wrote on the human rights situation in Cuba in front of him. He looked at it and Madeleine Albright confirmed in Czech, what he recognized as his own words translated into English. He signed it almost buoyantly and handed it back to me with a smile. I want to believe we shook hands, but I don’t actually remember if that happened.

I hadn’t intended to write about this. When I sat down, my intention was to write something heartfelt about our current political situation. Something that would address the anger and chaos. Something that would soothe the wounds currently being ripped open. Something that would awaken people to the love within them, goddammit.

I know. What was I thinking? No pressure or anything, dear self.

To this day, I don’t know why I became so drawn to Czech dissidents, like Václav Havel. Maybe it was because they asked questions I’d never heard anyone ask before (hello, Phenomenology). Or because their literature was like no other literature I’d ever read. And a lot of them went to jail for what they wrote. To jail. For writing. I was impressed. And moved.

So maybe it’s appropriate that rather than a lofty blog post, which would probably have just driven me nuts (and possibly you) anyway, Václav Havel came tumbling out of my memories today instead. Reminding me that the simple (but not always easy) acts of writing and asking questions are powerful and necessary. Asking questions, being the most essential, I think.

Keep asking questions. For the love all that is holy. For the love of humanity. For all of us.

“Foreigners are sometimes amazed at the suffering that we are willing to undergo here, and at the same time they are amazed at the things we are still able to laugh at. It’s difficult to explain, but without the laughter we would simply be unable to do the serious things.”

Václav Havel, Disturbing the Peace

(What I'm listening to right now: The Avalanches - Because I'm Me)

Into the Green Dragon

When a friend of mine loaned me a book about gardening at Green Gulch Farm Zen Center, I thought it would be interesting. I had no idea I would fall in love with it nor that it would spark such a fiery curiosity in me.

Let me be clear: I am no gardener. I have killed more plants than I’d like to admit. I’ve killed rosemary (rosemary) and even succulents (!). And although I grew up in the country, the wheat fields next to our house were tended by farmers who knew what they were doing. I had no clue (or interest).

But something has been gently shifting in me. I look at soil differently. I hug trees (my mom laughed recently as I hugged the three large cottonwoods in her backyard - which I affectionately refer to as The Three Sisters). I have successfully brought back to life an Autumn Joy, a Japanese Anemone and a small palm after nearly killing them out of sheer ignorance.

When it comes to plants and trees, I am like a child again. Wide-eyed and in awe of the growth around me that I’ve known so little about.

One of my fondest memories of the past year was planting a small tree in the rain back in April. I was feeling quiet and somber and digging my hands into the dirt felt satisfyingly gritty and nourishing. Far from separating me from earthly things (as some might mistakenly assume), my meditation practice seems to have flung me head (& hands & heart) first into the ground. In a very good way.

Some of my favorite things from 2016:

Favorite music: Novo Amour, Austin Basham, Odesza
Favorite song: Novo Amour - Anchor
Favorite video: The Chemical Brothers - Wide Open (feat Beck)
Favorite movie: Arrival
Favorite nonprofits: New York Peace Institute and YES Nature to Neighborhoods
Favorite book (memoir): Let’s Pretend This Never Happened by Jenny Lawson
Favorite nonfiction book: Gardening at the Dragon’s Gate by Wendy Johnson

What I'm listening to right now: DJ Shadow ft. Run The Jewels - Nobody Speak (be warned - this may press and offend your political buttons, but the very last scene...priceless. And pretty much sums up how I feel about this election year.)

In the Garden

I saw him out of the corner of my eye. A little boy, munching on the leaves of the nearby kale crop. Not wanting to alarm him but also hoping to entice him away from terrorizing the fields, I went up to him and asked him his name, how he liked Green Gulch and how his morning was going. He seemed to welcome the conversation and I breathed a sigh of relief as I managed to preserve both the fields and this child’s love of the garden.

I’ve been volunteering with the Youth & Family Program at Green Gulch Farm Zen Center for several months now. I was nervous at first. I mean, what do I know about kids? But there is something about seeing kids laughing and squirming in the meditation hall that delights me to no end. And seeing kids learning about gardening, as well as, their own hearts and minds, inspires me.

The first Sunday of November, we planted cover crop for the winter in the Children’s Garden, a small plot of land set aside just for kids. The kids LOVED it. They dug their hands into the inoculated seedy mix and threw them all over the soil in the way that only kids can. After Thanksgiving, I returned to see the cover crops bursting through their cloth covers and was thrilled. I hoped that some of the kids had also since returned and seen the progress of their messy fun.

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that being around these kids didn’t tug at my own sense of loss at not having children. A few years ago, volunteering with children probably would have been too painful for me to bear. But these days, I find myself moving into a different phase of my life. And I find that I really want children to be a part of it, in fun and creative ways. It seems clear to me that children need community to help them grow. And now more than ever, I see a need for children to feel close to nature. Whether that means nibbling on a kale leaf straight from the field or throwing seeds in the tilled soil of a small garden.

We have a special closing chant to help kids develop a kinship with both the land and their own hearts. It comes straight from Zen Master Eihei Dogen, the founder of Soto Zen and author of some of the most brilliant but densest Zen texts in existence. This one, however, is pretty accessible, to both kids and parents alike (it seems to really touch the parents, but maybe that's just me). It goes something like this:

Body like the mountain.
Heart like the ocean.
Mind like the sky.

(What I'm watching right now: Why children's drawings matter)