A quiet fortnight

I am leaving later today to go on a 2-week silent meditation retreat. It's a small group-- perhaps 20 of us. This will be the longest time I've spent on retreat. I feel happy that we will be there supporting each others' practice. Sometimes the impression is that meditation is a solitary, even an isolated, activity, but it is not.

More words to come here in October...

Failure of Imagination at Burning Man?

Joel Makower, a long-time consultant, analyst, and supporter of green business, went to Burning Man this year. He was intrigued by the Green Man theme, and had also been invited to engage in a public dialogue with his friend, the editor of Conscious Choice magazine.

Makower wrote an interesting blog entry about it. Here's the part that caught my eye:

There was more than a little skepticism about companies' motivations in "going green," but more than that I was struck by the audience's failure of imagination. I asked the group, which seemed overwhelmingly to dislike Wal-mart, what it would take for that company to be seen as green. No one had a clue. I threw out a few ideas -- "What if every Wal-mart store had a 'small-mart' inside with outlets featuring local merchants and products?" "What if every store was solar-powered, with excess energy fed back to the local community?" -- but there were no takers. Even this relatively creative bunch couldn't envision how a behemoth retailer could ever be an environmental role model. That's a concern -- not just for Wal-mart, or retailers in general, but for any big brand seeking to be seen as a model green citizen.

Attendees-- nay, devotees-- of Burning Man pride themselves on their outrageous imaginations and unrivaled creativity in the face of a habit-prone, half-asleep society. Much of that slumber is, in my view and probably theirs too, due to the numbing effect of modern business. Did they really have no creative ideas except to throw out the whole concept of Wal-Mart?

Hmmm. Let's take a broader view. I am not sure I would call the audiences' non-responsiveness a failure of imagination. After all, the culture set up at Burning Man is consciously non-commercial. Transactions are based on gifting or barter, rather than money. Essentially, participants are creative enough to imagine and enact an entire system that is different from the one we usually live in. If I were in such a mindstate, it might indeed be hard to get back inside the commercial viewpoint and start imagining different possibilities for a company like Wal-Mart. My guess is that Makower simply encountered the people in the audience at a time when they weren't in the right mode to answer his query.

However, there is no need to choose which kind of creativity is "better." We need imaginative solutions for companies right now, as well as imaginative options that launch us beyond the current system. Both the present and the future need to be transformed, so we can celebrate the fact that people are working on both fronts.

Maybe the best ideas and actions are the ones that transform both the present and the future. What might those look like?

Subtle but important

Experience does not happen to us; experience is what we do with what happens to us.
--Gervase Bushe

10 Questions for the Dalai Lama

A couple days ago, I took a voyage down to Monterey to see a movie: 10 Questions for the Dalai Lama. Oh, it was worth the trip. This movie is moving, thoughtful, painful, and beautiful. I cried many times, both from compassion and from inspiration.

Here’s the descriptor from the website:

How do you reconcile a commitment to non-violence when faced with violence? Why do the poor often seem happier than the rich? Must a society lose its traditions in order to move into the future? These are some of the questions posed to His Holiness the Dalai Lama by filmmaker and explorer Rick Ray. Ray examines some of the fundamental questions of our time by weaving together observations from his own journeys throughout India and the Middle East, and the wisdom of an extraordinary spiritual leader. This is his story, as told and filmed by Rick Ray during a private visit to his monastery in Dharamsala, India over the course of several months. Also included is rare historical footage as well as footage supplied by individuals who at great personal risk, filmed with hidden cameras within Tibet. Part biography, part philosophy, part adventure and part politics, "10 Questions for The Dalai Lama" conveys more than history and more than answers - it opens a window into the heart of an inspiring man.

The film shows many sides of the Dalai Lama. I enjoyed seeing his playful side in particular, the part that is bored with religious ritual (despite his embodiment as a religious leader). There was amusing footage of the Dalai Lama dashing delightfully into the crowd that had gathered to watch a religious procession because he recognized someone there. During long pageants and celebrations, he sometimes gazes at other people or examines a nearby flower arrangement.

When he traveled the world in the 70s and 80s to gain support for Tibet, he traveled coach class. His logic was that if world leaders were truly welcoming him as a person, it would not matter what door of the plane he walked out of.

There was a moving interview with a Tibetan monk who had been imprisoned and tortured in China. The monk had begun believing in nonviolence, but after being tortured, his mind was filled with hate and revenge, and he told the Dalai Lama that they should use weapons to attack the Chinese. In his account, he talked with the Dalai Lama for two hours, after which he returned to favoring nonviolence. The Chinese may be powerful enough to make a monk want to kill, but it took them years of torturing him to do that. The Dalai Lama altered him back to a mind of peace and goodness in just two hours. Which is more powerful?

Some of the most amazing footage is that filmed in secret in Tibet. Some is being released for the first time in this movie. It shows Chinese forces attacking monasteries and towns, sometimes beating unarmed monks and citizens.

I very much appreciated seeing the Dalai Lama’s compassionate and equanimous side in the movie also. He takes in the violence of the world—really sees it—but fashions a skillful response. He does not get upset or vengeful. Nor does he deny it or condone it. He deals with it, patiently trying to transform what he calls “negative emotion” into feelings of connection. It’s a long task, given the floods of negative emotion running through the world, but he’s a patient man. He never stops this task. Every chance he gets—from encountering a minor annoyance to facing the brutality of war—he finds a way not to fall into the trap of perpetuating hatred, ill will, greed, or fear. In every case, the buck stops here. It’s inspiring to watch.

I highly recommend this movie.

Anita Roddick flies free

Died last night at age 64. May she find peace. She certainly enhanced the world with her presence.

Face time

'Tis Kim.

The Joy Diet - my own take on Slow Food

I've been seeing more and more "sustainability diets" -- 100% Organic, The Food Stamp Diet, The 100-Mile Diet, even The 100-Yard Diet. Having just read Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, my eyes are attuned to such things, and I've even been tempted to try one or the other of these culinary challenges.

But I'd rather invent my own. Why? Because many of these diets seem to miss the point by containing an air of moral superiority -- who can eat the most sustainably? As if there is a single, knowable answer. If the perfect sustainability diet becomes a formula you can follow without thinking in order to achieve a guilt-free lunch, how is it different from the weekly diet fad portrayed in the tabloids?

I can see it now: Lose 10 tons off your carbon footprint in just 10 days! Without going hungry!

The diet I am inventing contains the essential components that have meaning to me. I invite you to examine your own priorities and do what feels right to you. Here's what I want from my food: Joy. Not only the joy of eating something that tastes good or that I know is healthful for my body. I want to know that the food was provided to me with joy, by people who care about food, healthy living, and respecting the Earth. It's a lot like the Slow Food concept, but I'm using my own language.

We may choose a vegetarian diet to avoid cruelty to animals, but can we really feel good about eating vegetables from a farm that exploits Mexican laborers? In the Joy Diet, a strawberry picked in resentment by an underpaid illegal immigrant laborer would be shunned in favor of one picked by a person who sincerely cares about berries.

Other parts of the food supply chain matter too. I'd like to buy food from someone who smiles at me and genuinely hopes I enjoy it (say, the person at the farmer's market) than from a minimum-wage checkout clerk whose personhood has been diminished by the command-and-control environment of many large supermarket chains (this is not the clerk's fault, of course). And I'd like to eat food that was prepared lovingly by myself, a friend, or a dedicated chef, rather than mass-produced and put in a package identical to a million other such packages.

The Joy Diet is about eating food that was grown, sold, and cooked intentionally, for the purpose of nourishment and connection. This is a difficult diet to follow because such information is not always available (although it does favor items grown in your own garden and from smaller farms). We can never guarantee that every step of the chain contained that intentionality and joy, but we can do the best we can.

At the very least, I can assure that I am one step of that chain: When I sit down to eat, I can remember all the people who contributed to bringing that food to my plate, and I can have a brief moment of appreciation for their contribution toward keeping me alive for another day. Doing this, I assure that no meal contains zero joy.

When I started thinking about who follows this diet most closely, the answers were interesting. One group is obviously people like Barbara Kingsolver's family, who committed to eating food from their own area (and mostly their own farm) for an entire year. In most cases, they knew who had grown the food they were eating. Another group includes the Buddhist nuns to whom I offer a meal from time to time. Buddhist monks and nuns cannot buy or cook food-- everything they eat is donated by laypeople, and they eat just once a day (or sometimes twice, but never after midday). In other words, they exert no control over their food-- no organic, no local, no vegan, etc. And yet, everyone who gives them food is doing so out of desire to support their practice, out of devotion to the way they are living their lives. So they are always assured that two steps in the chain contain intentionality: Those giving the food, and themselves eating it. The rest of us just get the second one. But if we are diligent, we can aspire for more by buying from farmer's markets, choosing organic options, and other elements that might be found in more formulaic sustainability diets.

I feel that if people were committed to growing and eating food that is healthful and brings us joy to cook and serve, then many of the other problems with our food supply and food choices would resolve themselves. We would naturally stop overusing pesticides and nitrogen-based fertilizers, and would treat farm labor more humanely. We would cook more and rush our meals less. There is plenty of room for individuality in the Joy Diet-- no need to become a tofu-lover or give up dessert. Just pay attention.

I can say from experience that this way of eating has good results.

The electric car isn't dead yet

I just saw a cute electric car parked by Trader Joe's. License plate: WATTGAS. I love it.

Tai chi and calligraphy

Another interesting detail from the CXW workshop (see below) is that Grandmaster Chen is an accomplished calligrapher. He showed us samples, which were stunningly gorgeous. I certainly don't have a trained eye, but the balance and grace in the characters sang forth from the scrolls. He explained that the tai chi movements inform the strokes. I imagined him doing the xin jia form that we learned at the workshop-- with an inkbrush in his hand.

The Grandmaster of Chen tai chi

Yesterday I attended an all-day tai chi workshop with Chen Xiao Wang, a current Grandmaster of the Chen tai chi form. He was visiting from China. It was a pretty big deal. We don't think about these sort of time scales in the West, but Chen tai chi was founded centuries ago.

The training was physically tiring (9 am - 6 pm), and yet in that tai chi way, also physically energizing. The workshop was large-- maybe 50 people, (in a hot gym with loud fans.) CXW speaks English reasonably well, or at least adequately to lead a workshop. His voice was quiet and gentle, but he was firm in making us do what he wanted. He was particular about where we stood, and spent a lot of time adjusting us in our rows throughout the day. We alternated doing the form and sitting in a circle while he demonstrated portions of the form. The atmosphere was quiet and formal, with no chitchat among the students except during breaks. As a meditation retreat veteran, this felt normal and comfortable to me. I realized it might not be to everyone when my tai chi teacher (also a student at the workshop) commented on it to me at a break, as if to make me feel more comfortable. I didn't actually need that.

The form we learned was "xin jia" or "new framework," which I hadn't done before. Some of the moves were familiar-- lots of tai chi is combinations of familiar stuff. (Kind of like cooking uses all the same ingredients in different combinations). But overall, I always had to take my cue for the next move by watching CXW or an advanced student nearby. An hour or so into the workshop, I realized that my intention was really not to come away knowing the xin jia form-- that would be impossible in just one day. That made everything easier! Then I just fell into feeling the moves, as clumsy as I was, with no obligation to actually learn the form. In doing so, I learned some tai chi-- how to move the energy and feel the body-- if not the specific form itself.

Learning from Grandmasters and other "stars" has a distinct quality. We can intuitively sense when a person is truly accomplished in an art -- that's why they are respected as a Grandmaster -- and hence we know we are getting a really high-quality lesson. Just watching CXW's body move was like witnessing the purity of nature: A sunrise, a powerful redwood tree, a running hyena. And there is a communication there that goes beyond words. My body can learn just from mimicking his, and the learning is at a direct level that doesn't require my brain to intercede.

At this time in the world, such Grandmasters can travel widely, influencing large numbers of people through these types of workshops (and less intensively through videos). But very few students get access to them as direct apprentices for extended periods because they are so busy travelling the world. (Or at least, the ones I see are. Now that I write it this way, I realize that there are also quiet Grandmasters who still carry the tradition of training proteges directly).

But that leads to the next point: Day to day practice. That's where the real training comes. We can't improve ourselves just hitting the one-day workshops with the highest Grandmasters we can find. We grow through steady, unglamorous work. Now, we do need a teacher. Any skill worth really learning will be hard enough that we need a mentor and guide who gets to know us personally and trains us in a way that works for us. But absent being able to work directly with CXW, the Buddha, or Mozart, we can still benefit greatly from a reasonably accomplished teacher who is both humble and confident, both compassionate and challenging, and who genuinely wants us to succeed.

So if you don't know any Grandmasters, don't worry about it. Just keep practicing; that's what counts.