Wednesday, April 18, 2018

Say a Prayer for the Pretender

There's an interesting advice piece in the Washington Post today about religious employers and requirements of faith. It seems the person writing has "lost her faith" and no longer attends the required events. As a result she will be "immediately terminated" once her review comes. The columnist then notes that this kind of employer behavior is, in fact, legally sanctioned. That is, ironically enough, the right word. She recommends that the person in crisis go and declare a "crisis of faith" to reap the sympathy of the employer and keep her job while she sorts things out. But this is just false: the angst is about losing her job, not about whether she believes any longer. She doesn't. She doesn't mind the company of believers and wants her job. So what do to?

Here was my advice offered in reply in the newspaper.  But what I really have to say comes a bit later.  Stay with me.
***
If you need and love your job then just go back to church and pretend. Is it that hard? After all, all the rest are just pretending too.

Further, this advice columnist is giving you terrible advice. Your angst is about losing your job, not about whether you are having a crisis of faith. Your faith crisis is over, you don't have it. The rest is coercion, anxiety, and the pressure you feel to be what people want or expect from you. Those are legitimate concerns. Now what?

So as I said, if you want to keep the job, go back to church, pretend, say all the required things you need to say, act the part, and move on. Everyone else is living their fantasy too. Bad faith is not your problem. Your problem is religion itself and it's protected status in America. The law is on their side. Be practical. Besides, given who is president, lying is just normal. Now if that is too cynical, try this...

This is in fact no violation of your conscience. It's just another way Americans must use their wits to contend with religion as a protected category that prevents them from living freely. Your employers can demand, you must comply: that's America's religious freedom in a nutshell. Step up or quit, but it's all the same.

***
But this problem raises far more interesting questions not just about American law and religion but about the pretending and the _necessity_ of bad faith. I will take a more decidedly realistic line here---one that may not win fans. The reason is that I think the relationship between intention and action isn't just overrated, it's a false premise. What is important is the way we live _with_our "bad faith" as an _ordinary feature_ of our lives and then turn those less-than-perfect or even utterly compromised intentions into decent actions, both for ourselves and for others.

Do you not come to, say, a yoga class you are teaching and _really not feel like it_ sometimes and then just go ahead and pretend brilliantly? Sometimes you feel better and regain your "good intention," and sometimes you don't. You just need to act, either way. If one is pretending and the other is "good faith," so what? Do your friends believe or think things that you really don't and that, more honestly, you think are sort of ridiculous? Do you just tell them or do you just let it pass? The relationship between what you believe and your intentions and your actions is complicated. It not includes "bad faith," it depends on it.

Now your job may not depend on it in just the way that this person conveys: she apparently works for a religion that demands loyalty oaths _and_ behaviors. Because America. But the point is simpler: we're all doing what we must and trying to live with what we do. It's not just, or even primarily, a matter of good faith or honest intentions or real belief. It's how we negotiate with ourselves to do what we must so that we can tolerate ourselves, other people, and what the world expects of us.

I have been a college professor in the same job now for 31 years. I do my job and I try to do it in ways that are productive for the students and respects the rules of propriety. But no one gets to tell me how I feel or what I should feel. And _neither do I_. I'm happy to do it somedays, others I just loathe it and would rather be doing something else. But everyday I show up and pretend in ways that I am supposed to. This is at least in part what Mahabharata describes as "Dharma," as your duty. You're not obliged to _feel_ good or even to have good intentions so much as you are required to give others their due. What you give yourself is your own yoga and "yoga" is how you engaged your disparities, your needs, whatcha'gotta do to live day in and day out so that tomorrow you can do the same.

So your "truest" intention gets the job done, it creates some good in the world no matter how you feel, and it attends to your needs. That would include "I need this job." How you decide to live with yourself is up to you. Some may need "good faith" but I suspect that that is another false consolation  we use to deal with the simple fact that our conflicts between what we feel and what must do are not matters we resolve with faith. They are matters we don't resolve. We live. Live on. Try to live with yourself best you can.  We're all pretenders.

And when the morning light comes streaming in
I'll get up and do it again
Amen
Say it again
Amen
---Jackson Browne

Sunday, April 8, 2018

A Note on Community, Character, and Shared Values, Because Sometimes Obvious Things Need to be Said

Most of us here, I'd venture to say, have left institutional religion, which is why so many prefer to use the term "spirituality." In academic worlds "spiritual" is a technical term and academics protect their authority much the way medical professionals do when we try to call Trump "mentally ill." Be that as it may, most of us here too did not leave familial religious customs like Christmas or Jewish holidays, and we all know that the imprints and shadows of our upbringing, religious or not, are never going away. We want a host of things from that religious/spiritual feature of our lives but here are four to think about.


First, we want from our inner lives, our spiritual contemplations one of the most important things we want from intimacy. We want our autonomy, we want to feel secure and protected to lay claim to our own experiences, preferences, and desires. We want to feel like those experiences are valid simply because they are ours. And since no one can tell what _your_ experience is, we want some kind of validation that is more than our own. Humans are too social, too collective not to want to feel that personal feelings need some level or kind of validation. We all want to know we're not isolated or alone or delusional. Well, some of us do. But the point is simple enough: we want some kind of family, friends, or community to validate and protect our private experiences.

This takes us to point two. Whatever our relationship to family or immediate community, or to the strained, difficult, nearly impossible forms of polity in which we survive, we want community. We want to have a sense of shared interest (turns up the temps) and importance, that is, things we care about enough that give us pause. Community is fractured in our post-institutional religious lives because that is one of the most obvious features of what religions do: they give you a community that extends beyond family, that acts in ways as an extended family. We need that because we only flourish when we are more than a few, isolated. Contemporary nomenclature has seized on a kind fo pop sense of the word "tribe" for this but that's too narrow and too parochial. The "problem" is that community does _in fact_ impinge on one's privacy and autonomy because community creates constraints, expectations, and provides some form of standard. This is a very good thing when it promotes character --- we see the world, we act to help a world greater than ourselves encouraged and rewarded for that effort. Community gives us a chance to find our courage, to act out of good character, to tell us that it's okay to succeed and to fail. And it is in that latter matter that community can fail us terribly: community can punish, shame, or dictate when it needs to hold a more complex role that accommodates, adapts, and welcomes even as it creates boundaries and values.

Third, communities need to form provenance, a sense of the values that endure and to do that communities need institutions. But I thought we left institutional religion? We did because they impinged on point one, our conscience, our autonomy, and on point two, as community becomes more coercive than it does supportive and constructive. But what we have learned from Trump is that communities need institutional values and that those values are fragile, precarious, and must be supported by real efforts. What institutions provide, like it or not, is a greater accountability and responsibility. Who among us here actually KEEPS COMPLETE TRACK of, say, your daily bank account. Sure, you have an eye on it but it is the bank that does the math. It provides an institutional reliability and when institutions fail us, like Wells Fargo or FB with its privacy invasions, we are particularly angry. We want institutions and we should be vigilant and wary of them too, but we have to admit their value if we are going to be _civilized_ and take this being human seriously.

Fourth, we want stuff that religions do well. Religions give us myth, ritual, art, music, dance, storytellers, poets, and nearly all of the real content of symbolic thinking and feeling. Did you have a wedding ceremony? Don't all of us here know that we don't want to live without the myths and poetry of life? Religion does this well because when it is done well (rarely) it knows that we need artistry and indirectness in order to become more adept at thinking and feeling.

So that's the sermon-y part of this sermon. The rest below is something of a repeat and a revision of a post that was buried in a reply I wrote this morning. It's sort of a summary of the points I made above.

We need more than ourselves when the tests of character emerge. We need each other to help and just to be there. When we know we care about others and what others will think and say and do, then we are truthfully more likely to rise to the tests of character. Lemme put it simply. I don't want to let you, all of you, down. You inspire me to be good and to do good. Your trust and company, your decency and examples, make me a better a person because I want to be as good as you are, I want to do what I can to help you. That sounds maudlin, soporific but I'll be damned, it's true.

Next, we need the community as something _like_ an _institution_, much like the FBI needs its culture and atmosphere of "rule of law" to be better than partisan and try to be fair. That has not always happened and Trump wants to destroy our faith in every institution to take all the power, as does every two-bit authoritarian huckster guru charlatan fraud. The alternative is that we have each other in an ethos, an atmosphere of collective accountability. I feel that with our Rajanaka "community," most of which exists apart or just virtually. WE make something that helps all of us, even when we are not physically together.  We try to become an example of what communities and institutions can be: honest efforts to be human together with values.  We don't always succeed, each of us fails and has all the usual human foibles.  We try and it's done us all some good.

It sounds corny or overstated and it might make you worry, but I say, don't worry, in the age of Trump what we have further learned is that Rajanaka is something like an "institution" because we have 20+ years together of trying to keep it real, keep each other cared for, holding us together to do good work and realize what we want as free individuals. We support each others' dreams as a collective. That is what I mean by an "institution" and in the Trump age we need this more than ever. That "vigilance" that I speak of in the list of matters--- that is what we are doing and what we continue to do when we take care to respect and honor the community's needs _and_ don't forget to take care of our individual lives, hopes, dreams and all.

Friday, April 6, 2018

Bad Religion, Bad Politics, and Good People

No one familiar with "yoga traditions" should have any reservations about just how close "guru" is to fascism. There is no sense in which the word "guru" is used that is not authoritarian even if your guru is love or yourself or some other warm and fuzzy feeling. We _want_ some authority over ourselves and admitting just how little we have or how precarious, fragile, and determined we must be to "hold the world together" is no small matter (in Skt., loka-samgraha, cf. Bhagavadgita, 2.20-23).

All of us have some part of us, some need to _feel_ saved from _something_. So even if you are the "guru within" and so somehow save yourself ("my guru is kindness", pick your soporific), it's still a call to command and resolve the human condition. The usual fatuous and grandiose claims about how it's up to you come quickly and the next thing you know we're asocial introverts ("go inside") or messianic do-gooders ("be the change you seek").

Since we are incapable of saving ourselves because there is no such salvation (it matters not what it's salvation _from_), we turn to the idea that _someone_ or _something_ (like "oneness" or "love") to do the impossible. What we don't really relish is the more sobering truth that all we really have are our wits, each other, and this complicated, risky, and painful mortal life. Don't mistake me, there's plenty of joy to be had, it's just that it's of temporal varieties. All we can really do is get up each day until we can't, hold ourselves together, and do what we can for others. When salvation-needs are projected onto politics it's all the more dangerous. Our salvation-desire from pain, from poverty, from unhappiness, from loss, from the ordinary, inescapable travail of being human is nothing new.

The "better" part of the +indefensible+ guru concept is to attribute it to an incontrovertible god who is not actually human. India has survived the real threats of guru despotism by simply having a lot of them so that everyone can have their own form of personal savior (anything will work: "love is my guru") with the result being a kind of Nash Equilibrium--- the really catastrophic political ends are defeated in advance.

But the "guru" is a con game because it takes your confidence, your need to trust and value your heart, and it uses it to satisfy its own needs or wants. There is little more insidious or useful to our human condition than the notion of "perfection." Perfection is static, atrophic, and debilitating, no matter how carefully we craft the idea or to whom we attribute it. But there's a more important point. Pursuing perfection in oneself is perfectly compatible with being wholly indifferent to others. This is true no matter how one proposes the journey ---be it "spiritual," political, or personal. To admit our own and others' imperfections may not go far enough that we are also able to admit that being human must be good enough. That "perfect" thing--- enlightenment, God, again, feel free to pick your soporific---will diminish our shared humanity because it places something above us. Above us is only sky and within us is a mortal self. To look "beyond" is tantamount to giving license to shame, guilt, and humiliation, as if those were intractable and fixed features of our character or somehow curses rather than limited assets and liabilities. There is a humanist alternative: to commit to being people of character, which may not require us to reject every notion of perfection but will demand we take a very hard look at what happens to us when we claim perfection as a truth.

Enter America's right wing and it's religious fifth column because it's all about the same needs and feelings that fuel our hopes and dreams, our desire to be saved, to be more than doing what we can:
*Albright warns us about impending American fascism and its threats (NYTimes)
*Goldberg reveals the depth of conspiracy theory on the right (NYTimes).
*Trump holds campaign rallies and it's not false that his approval ratings have indeed ticked up.

For Trump Scott Pruitt's only crime is that he has drawn attention to himself in ways that Trump reserves for himself. All the rest of the corruption, selfishness, and need for revenge, are fueled by a deep sense of entitlement and the fearless bluster that they are invulnerable to the law, rules, or any accountability. Pruitt might well be the otherwise perfect Trump appointee since he is so much like the puerile narcissist himself.

Jonathan Chait has argued that Democrats should run on corruption, that it will hurt the Republicans enough to win votes or dispirit their exurb supporters. Chait writes, “Historically, corruption — specifically, the use of power for personal gain — has played a central and even dominant role in American political discourse.” But Trump's goal is to normalize corruption, to claim that his status as leader, as guru, as savior, as "the only one who can fix it" exempts him. This is not a new claim. I'm not yet convinced that anything will penetrate the Evangelical Fifth Column's grievance based culture war and their support for their designated savior. And because those people are with him then Congress, and its current leadership, will remain silent and complicit in any corruption.

Our best hope may seem more cynical than we should tolerate: the Republicans may have to succeed in ruining the country with debt, environmental deregulation, wealth redistribution, trade policy, and war before we rid ourselves of their committed nihilism. Democrats could win the House but it's more telling that they can't or are very unlikely to win the Senate. If we think that Republicans could not pick up Senate seats we underestimate how divided America really is. So the question that remains for me is this: will there be enough of the experiment in democracy remaining once the effect of Republican failures send rural and suburban whites into further desperation and failure, or will that only lead them to pursue more authoritarianism.

Thursday, April 5, 2018

Liberty in a Transactional World

"The liberties of a people never were, nor ever will be, secure, when the transactions of their rulers may be concealed from them."
--Patrick Henry


The "transactions" of our "rulers" are just as dangerous as they have ever been, whether or not they are concealed. There's nothing about 21st century living, particularly in America, that isn't about being transacted.

You have two choices: you can live in the capitalist world in which everything about you is known, used, and manipulated for profit by _someone_ without your consent or knowledge or you can retreat into the wild off the grid. There's no compromise because the forces of capitalism keep us all tied to our requisite rice bowl needs. You need rice in your bowl and there's no other way to get it.

You still have liberty insofar as that is defined by how you choose to participate in the surveillance society that at once protects you and loots you. You don't get to make this deal by yourself or on your terms. Click the box. You have to just to survive.

You didn't think that your information _wasn't_ going to be used to sell something, manipulate, or invade your privacy, did you? You didn't think that law or ethics would stop those who seek profit or are willing to do _anything_ to you, did you? The "revelation" that FB doesn't even know who has your information or even how they got it is not news. That people will use anything they can about you to sell, to steal, to hurt, or send you happy birthday greetings? Come now.

The alternative is nothing. No amount of security or privacy is going to make your information safe or private. My paltry income taxes have been hacked for the past five years. My credit card info is routinely stolen. I try to fix it and move on. Could this "ruin" my life somehow? Of course it can, no matter how hard I try to do the "right" thing or be a good person. Because the alternative to being used by "the system" is to be cut off. You are alone. Do you need a phone, electricity, or a job? If you are lucky enough to need none of those things because you are Grizzly Adams or because you live "off the grid" then I envy you.

In the meantime, just cope, be vigilant, keep close to your friends, trust people you know and others when you have to, and remember that, as the Rajanaka always reminds us, the villains in our stories out number the divines by matrices. Nothing about life is safe, private, or without terror just a moment away and it never has been. What's different is that it's now impossible to live without that being a global matter. Stay in the game and learn to play well because "leaving" or rejecting the system is a complete fiction. Character, truth, intelligence, and vigilance are your best assets as much as they are your vulnerabilities.  Feel free now to move about the cabin.  There's really no other place to go.

Monday, April 2, 2018

The Easter Yantra, Or How Do You Get There From Here

"Is this heaven?"
"No, it's Iowa."

Let's first remind ourselves that the machine that has made us is what we make of ourselves. In the worlds of horology, creating a machine--- a watch, a timepiece that can follow the phases of the moon, the day of the week and month, offer the equation of time, or any other sort of measurement adds what are called "complications." The world is a complicated place, no doubt. What we measure just as vitally are our commitments of the human heart to look for meaning.

īśvaraḥ sarva-bhūtānāḿ
hṛd-deśe ’rjuna tiṣṭhati
bhrāmayan sarva-bhūtāni
yantrārūḍhāni māyayā

--- Bhagavad Gita 18.61

"The Empowered One abides in the heart of all beings, Arjuna, turning all beings by taking their measure, as if mounted on a machine."

In other words, "If you build it, he will come."

I am particularly interested in orderly disorder and how that encodes itself in the world, particularly in ways that we humans try to locate ourselves in fields of māyā. That is, how we invent life's meaning by creating significant measurements that keep us aligned with nature, culture, and our own need for order.

Just to imagine that these sorts of problems have meaning is to put things in human perspectives, which are but grains of sand scattered on the desert of time itself. So all of this is, how shall we say? Of relative interest? 

Here is an exercise in māyā that might puzzle Srinivasa Ramanujan. It was just Easter and April Fool's Day and the first Sunday in more than a month that I was able to spend at home. I'm pretty sure that last week I was in Iowa.  It all got me thinking about the calculation of the Easter holiday since like all "moveable feasts" it, umm, moves. But just how does it move and how might we move with it? I have a deep, morbid fascination with all the ways humans calculate time. After all, my favorite gods _are_ Time: Kālī and Mahākālā, Kālāsamhāra Bhairava, Krsna, et.al. We can talk about them more.

Since we all live in the ordinary fiction of the 24 hour day with little regard for the Equation of Time, which is what I like to call "real time", we are always living in some or another _more convenient_ invention than in _actual reality_. That is the very core of the Rajanaka notion of māyā. Māyā is the illusion that allows us to live in the world.  This is because adjusting to reality is just too hard, too complex for our naturally and culturally selected bodies and minds. In other words, we _need_ ways to measure (māyā) the world that further our abilities to cope, to comprehend, and to collude with the imagination.  Put yet again, māyā is the ability to collude with our powers of imagination but not suffer the illusion that we control a world which we never fully comprehend.

We are wholly incapable of living with the _real_ complexity of the real world, which is why we need to make a measure that works for everyday needs. That measure is called māyā. For example, only four times a year is the clock actually touching the hour that coincides with ellipsis of the earth's orbit around the sun. We just pretend there are 24 hours _every_ day because we have to. Like I said, that's called māyā. Now back to Easter, which is much more complicated than the equation of time problem.

The basics of Easter are simple enough. Easter falls on the first Sunday after the first full moon of Spring (that is, the first full moon after the spring equinox). This practically speaking means that it falls somewhere between March 22 and April 25. Considering leap years we need a correction every 100 and 400 years, which of course are predictable periodicities. But to find Easter nowadays is more than it looks, and that's because of Pope Gregory XIII. Stay with me here...

According to the previous Julian calendar the full cycle of full moon dates followed a 19 year cycle. This is called the Metonic cycle, which consists of 235 lunar months. A fully cycle of the Julian calendar is 76 years, so after four Metonic cycles (19 x 4 = 76) a full leap year cycle is also completed. This means that Easter dates repeat on the Julian calendar every 536 years. According to an article by Ian Stewart ---not to be mistaken for the famous fifth Rolling Stone, the blues pianist who played the classic songs that Nicky Hopkins didn't--- the mathematical principle is that, "532 is the lowest common multiple of 76 (the Julian calendar’s cycle) and 7 (the cycle of days in the week)." (see Scientific American 2001). But the Julian calendar did not correct for the actual time of the earth's orbit around the sun vis a vis the number of days in the calendar, so it eventually fell out of sync with the seasons. Back to Pope Gregory. Umm, that's Gregorty the XIIIth, if you are still reading and still counting.

Greg was the cat who made the day after Thursday, October 5th 1582, Friday October 15th. Nice work if you can get it. Not everyone was thrilled. Follow the money, umm, the rent, but let's not go to that part of the story. What happened is that Easter had to change too. Now it gets very complicated indeed. Still interested?

Each year is assigned a number called the Epact. The Epact is the age of the Moon on January 1, and that number could be anywhere from 1 to 29. Each year is assigned a letter corresponding to the date of the first Sunday in January, thus A thru G, and these are called the "Dominical Letters." Leap Years get two of these plus the Epact for that year, plus the so-called Golden number, which is where you are in the Metonic cycle. And THIS is what you must FIRST know to calculate the date of Easter. Why?

There is more māyā involved. The so-called ecclesiastical moon and actual equinox must be aligned to the astronomical dates. This means periodic adjustments have to be made which make the actual calculation much that much more complicated. If you REALLY wanna know go here: http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/05480b.htm. You will learn about the length of lunations, a lot about how the Athenian astronomer Meton in 432 BCE discovered the 235 lunations, just what is meant by an "embolismic month" as well as the cycle of epacts, the metonic cycle inaccuracy, and just how to get to Easter all the way to 3099 CE provided you have the epact correct. Got that?

So why is this such a brilliant example of māyā? Well first, let's start with the fact that the astronomical events are not the same as what The Church considers. To wit, The Church (always THE Church, mind you) considers March 21 the fixed date of the spring equinox. In fact, the date of the astronomical equinox is not the same one year after the next, it varies. Second, the astronomical full moon doesn't _always_ correspond to the ecclesiastical full moon.

This means we need algorithms, which will mean employment for mathematicians. That's been going on since Gregory XIII shook up the calendar and, in fact, way before that. Karl Friedrich Gauss, perhaps the greatest mathematician of the 19th century, developed his algorithm in 1800. In The Art Of Computer Programming, Donald Knuth reminds us that the use of mathematics once had a lot to do with religion. He writes, "There are many indications that the sole important application of arithmetic in Europe in the Middle Ages was the calculation of the date of Easter." (N.B., Knuth also coined the term "surreal numbers" to describe John Conway's discovery of a set of numbers larger than infinity. Now that's cool.)

The Church calls the method for calculating the Easter date a "computus." Gauss's algorithm works and I'd bet that plenty of coders could write the program nowadays. AND if you really want to see the coolest YANTRA ever and ever, there is an astronomical clock in the Strasbourg cathedral in Alsace. This was completed in 1843, designed by one Jean-Baptiste Schwilgué and has a _mechanical_ computus. That yantra, as it were, requires a lot of gears and a great deal of māyā to lead us to the correct date of Easter. But like all great devices that lead us to the heart, it is an invention of human genius created with devotion, by the power of love, and with a great deal of skill.

*All glories and reference goodness to Hodinkee for their article on the Patek Philippe Caliber 89 that provided a good bit of the data for this faux lucubration. The Vatican website helped too.

Saturday, March 31, 2018

Reeling, Roaring, and Meditating on the Staggering Truth that Confounds the Heart


We all need respite, an interregnum from the maelstrom of banalities that can reduce life to tasks. For those who meditate or are given to the inner life there's temptation to allow that introversion become its own reward. Be that as it may, we must return to common place virtues and qualities, no matter how keen we are to refine the intellect or make our way to peace within.

In Rajanaka, my teacher's tradition, we speak of Rudra, the Howling, Bleeding, Weeping Lord becoming the elegant form of the self-possessed Dancer. The "dance," elegant and urbane, is also swaying, tremulous, a deeply disturbed expression of an unfinished reality. This we call "tandava." Some like their gods perfect. We prefer ours more like we imagine ourselves: tipsy with laughter but keen not to lapse into bitterness or contempt. It's always a good time to come to the tandava, to the "dance" that comes with the breath and your own heart beating.


The Sanskrit word "tandava" is likely not Sanskrit in origin but Proto-Dravidian (that'd be very, very old Tamil and its ilk). "Tunlangku" is likely the borrowed term that becomes "tandava," and that word comes much closer to the sense of Rudra's transformation from dangerous sky-goer to the clothed-in-consciousness "enemy-burner" who dances as much for himself and his beloved as he does to make a universe. He is the Storm and here we are, living beings, come "into the wild" with little more than our wits, the imperative to act, and each other. That's all good news, because if we can take care of each other, then the wilderness won't seem quite so lonely. It will still be wild, and no matter our best efforts at civilization, we're not likely to end well. But let's not forsake civilization either.  When we give up on the accomplishments of human creativity we lose the power to make a difference.

Life confounds the heart because we can wish for what remains unfinished or appears irrevocably broken. But it is in the pieces that remain, extra and missing, that lie the next great engagement. That is our yoga: to manifest withstanding the anarchy and forsaking the indulgence to quit. Life may be unruly but that is no excuse for giving in to a snarling disarray when instead we can make beauty from chaos--- if only we are willing to sway and sing, to dance and see each again anew.

This isn't some new or novel exercise. Let me quote my Boss, "bad attitude's a power greater than death," and ain't that the truth. Every song turns dust into gold. Now, I was reading this morning and came across an old speech from Theodore Roosevelt. Just how I got there is itself a story but I'll spare you that and go right for the goods. TR sounded a lot like one of the tandavas, perhaps too self-assured but that is also the mistake we make about Shiva and the one Shiva makes about himself. His voice sounds incongruous and anachronistic to our modern ear but captures some spirit of our argument, so let's not quarrel too much about his need for swarthy manliness and instead cull the seed, winnow the chaff, make a lucubration for a more fruitful future. He's worth quoting at length:

"To conquer the wilderness means to wrest victory from the same hostile forces with which mankind struggled on the immemorial infancy of our race. The primaeval conditions must be met by the primaeval qualities which are incompatible with the retention of much that has been painfully acquired by humanity as through the ages it has striven upward toward civilization. In conditions so primitive there can be but a primitive culture. ...There is little use for the being whose tepid soul knows nothing of great and generous emotion, of the high pride, the stern belief, the lofty enthusiasm, of the men who quell the storm and ride the thunder. Well for these men if they succeed; well also, though not so well, if they fail, given only that they have nobly ventured, and have put forth all their heart and strength."

The women of #metoo and the young souls from Parkland come to mind when I read this passage, and perhaps we can be indulgent enough to permit Roosevelt his prolepsis and take something more from the message. We live in tempestuous, blustering, and murky times when we can't always tell right from wrong, when we'll need more courage than we ever thought we had just to steady ourselves in the ordinary virtues. Let's not disparage that ordinariness, that ability to withstand and stay standing when the boisterous, fatuous inanity that rages around us threatens our sanity and every fiber of patience we possess. We need each other more than ever and we need to keep ourselves prepared to ride the thunder. That's what Rudra would do.

Don't be afraid to sway or grieve, to let the waters pour out of you when the world seems desiccating and your neighbors ---or your relatives--- feel like unrecognizable strangers. Burn with those tears, let the contradiction hold you rather than paralyze choices, and be that person of "twists and turns" that comes home at last. Odysseus knew the power of the Sirens and however maddening we must also listen to their songs. If you stay tied to the post in the midst of our own sacrificial fire then the gods will bring the demons to the feast and everyone will partake.

"No refinement of life, no delicacy of taste, no material progress, no sordid heaping up riches, no sensuous development of art and literature, can in any way compensate for the loss of the great fundamental virtues..." We are at no loss anymore than we are in a surfeit of truth that withstands the efforts of honest revision. These virtues and efforts to learn together are no trivial matter when we know the world burns. We can turn inside too, even if we can't stay there, and allow ourselves the strength to hold together. You have reason in every breath to love life because it is about more than the necessary quiet moment--- it is as much about reeling and roaring.

Wednesday, February 21, 2018

Accessing the New Non-Dualism: The Sacred and Why Our Lives May Depend On It

It is not a little ironic that the majority of yoga traditions share with traditional forms of Christianity the ethos of the spiritual-is-not-material. The fraudulent “Prosperity Gospel” types notwithstanding, let us not forget that early Christianity not only abjured the world and Caesar’s materialism, it was quite sure that The End was near. ‘Seems we’re still waiting (look busy).

But in the meantime remember that the call to poverty, simplicity, and non-attachment can in certain yoga traditions go just as far as the End of the Worlders, it can mean a downright aversion to life itself. (You have to do third level chart asana to get that word “abhiniveśa” not to mean something like “disdain” or “aversion” to life. Really.) So since at least Vivekananda ---no friend to asana practitioners, by the way--- there’s been a consistent yoga meme that a “true” spiritual life diminishes our interests in material acquisition, attenuates our desires, and brings us closer to [name your goal here] when we are less interested in “things.”

To make a little irony a lot more irony, modern postural yoga better known around here as Aisle 9a where you find it in the local grocery store (I kid you not…), is all about the body, wellness, cool tights and mats and stuff, and apparently smoothies too. Lord knows, you’re not supposed to aver your embodiment but care of it--- all the while looking for some kind of honest relief from the maelstrom, maybe even buy yourself a mattress from Rodney. (Bless him, my calling him out here I mean to express a pure sense of envy and acquisitive admiration…) Yogis seem conflicted over things until they realize that they can’t actually live without them.

Your yoga hasn’t made any of that getting along with stuff easier on you because it's working from the subliminal cultural ethos of our ol’Protestant ethic and that pesky spirit of capitalism. Who knew capitalism had spirit? Weber? We ephemeral temporal beings have a helluva’ time talking about our temporal needs much less our desires, much less those kinds of desires that speak to things we don’t absolutelypositively-reallyreally say we need. 

 Guilt follows us around like a ten minute ASPCA commercial. But nonetheless we persist, laden as we are with bodies that wear clothes, are stuck at 98.6 degrees and so workin’ that complicated comfort thing known as homeostasis, getting a bit warmer or cooler all the time. We still having to get around the world as we age, procreate, get sick, die, and mostly dissimulate further and further about being material selves. Since we don’t survive death, we invent ways to say we do.

Well, I have had just about enough of this disavowal of “stuff.” You may want some next spiritual garage sale or to make your bourgeoisie case for even less Scandinavian furniture and more Zen walls but I got news for ya’: you are a material being, stuff matters, and we need to read this stuff memo far more carefully before we go and recycle it. We are not just our thoughts and feelings. We are not less material and somehow just ethereal. However limited, mortal, and conditioned we are, you are here right now, never less a churnin’urn of burnin’funk and I gots news for you, you wouldn’t want it any other way. At least not anytime soon. So get with stuff. Get that you like it, need it, want it, and must deal with it.

Now all of this is to say that stuff actually can be the cause of our problems, even if you were just thinking that I was going to tell you otherwise. So fear not, I don’t have a problem with stuff, until I do. I have a serious problem with the kinds of stuff that make other people’s lives miserable. I call that stuff, profane stuff. And this spiritual thing is about getting with the sacred. Where I live lawn darts are illegal because people can get hurt, especially children. Lawn darts are profane. Guns too. But guns are more than readily available things, they are a right, and so by my sacred criteria even more of a thing, not less.

That too is part of the problem: guns are not treated enough like other things or, to put it plainly, as plain things. Guns in America are somehow your right, no matter what thing they are, and rights are sacred. That means that rights are things we protect and claim provide special purpose and meaning. Rights protect our freedoms by limiting certain kinds of access. That’s at least some of the important issue here in America and our problem. In other places decidedly more sane and no less material or stuff-ly, guns are things that, like lawn darts, are either illegal or, like Sudafed, something you have to have a reason to buy if, you know, you’re looking to do some real damage.

But in America, guns are your Constitutional Right, a fact writ so large into our consciousness that it warrants Capital Letters. We not only fetish our guns, we really, really fetish our rights. That’s not a terrible thing or wrong thing. It’s a sacred thing. And while rights are mere propositions, virtual things that exist in our heads in ways that are only secondarily in our bodies, they take us to the issues that make things sacred, or not. The guns are real and rights are sacred, let’s be clear. It’s not at all clear than everyone still believes that our rights to guns should be sacred. For the time being, let that one slide. We need to make a more important point.

When it comes to things, what we call “the sacred” is both the thing and it is access to the thing. To possess a thing is to have access. Materially speaking, this is the veritable meaning of a difference without a distinction. The things we call “sacred” require privileged access and particular kinds of restrictions, limitations, and values. Otherwise they are nothing but profanity. When a right is unrestricted is it no longer sacred, by definition; rather it is the profane itself, divorced from things and from access to things.

Don’t mistake me, I’m not saying that guns are sacred. I am saying we view our rights to be sacred, and that sacred is about access to things. In fact, I want to say that our rights are especially meaningful when they are connected to material things and so speak to the sacred, to our accessing things. The point is simple: let’s not separate our thoughts from our things, let’s not separate the ideas we deem valuable from the material world in which we live. 

We can even propose this to be our entirely new definition of “non-dualism”: the kind that insists that thoughts and feelings must not be separated from bodies, things, and the…ummm, you know, the real world. Further, our non-duality is better fathomed NOT as oneness but as a world of manyness: the things of the world, like our thoughts and feelings, are plural, diverse, complex, and often so necessarily confusing. So much more the reason we need a concept of the sacred that identifies things with access and our access to things as sacred.

We will not be made less complicated by our new non-dualism though life did, in fact, just get a wee bit simpler. You see, we can now take the indissolvable relationship we really have between thoughts and feelings and things in the world more seriously. We don’t get to say that how we feel is somehow independent of things anymore than we claim that things burden our thinking and feeling. We’re now of this world in everyway. If we want the sacred, that is, a spiritual life with things and thoughts and feelings, then we are going to have to create meaningful points of access. Access, we already know, leads us back to things.

As we witness America's failing leadership and test our collective character, we're heartened by the resolve and candor, the decency and determination of teenagers. They know what needs to be done. Hand it to young millenials to know that the virtual world is real, that their feelings and thoughts involve their relationship to real things in the world, like guns and locks and doors and crazy people. They understand there are serious issues of mental health and moral decency. But, more importantly, they are attuned to a world of material facts and the consequences of access, corruption, and ethical denial. They are mad as hell and they mean to make a difference because they know that our rights are profane if there is no burden of access to the things of the world. Too much access not only renders the sacred meaningless: it renders things promiscuous, usually downright dangerous and wrong. That too is what we mean by “profane.” Their ferocity and spirit is our gateway to the sacred, if we too have the willingness to take mortal thought and the material world as seriously they do, if we are willing to make spirit and matter inextricable from one another.

So let's first be clear here about our feelings: anger, outrage, and passion can indeed be allies. What _might_ be different this time is that there is enough of all of these feelings to animate voters and provoke change. What we need to change involves things, not just ideas, thoughts, and feelings. Lemme put this as plainly as I can: It's the guns, stupid. What we must manage is access. As these young people have said time and again now, the change we must demand is not limited to feelings and thoughts and ideas about freedom. We can’t be free unless we decide too that our points of access to things either free us or burden us further.

The NRA and the vast majority of Republicans have supported and advanced _unrestricted_ access to guns because, as Senator Lankford of OK put it again, for them it's not the guns but the person behind the gun. Ironically, the Party most committed to pecuniary material profit, to a pure economics of greed is the one claiming our situation is purely a matter of soul. The thing, the gun doesn’t matter because that too is not a thing at all. It is truly a right. Their dualism is complete. The person is nothing but a responsibility, the gun is a right, thus the gun cannot be the problem because, well, it's only sort of a thing at all.  Leave to a Republican to make the case that the material world is nothing but spirit.

Listening to Lankford drove me further into apoplexy and asperity. I could feel it all the way down to my spleen, wherever exactly that is. And I also tell myself that in a democracy we make room for dissonance, for irreconcilable differences of opinion, for rancorous, even repugnant values we cannot abide. But the issue before us is not just rights or feelings or freedom as if these were not about things. To separate the two is the true false dualism. That dualism is the NRA’s religion. It has infected the souls of living, material beings. We must not succumb to their dualism.

Our opponents say that when we control our feelings, when we become responsible for our thoughts, then the gun is not the problem. This is an irrefutable argument. Or is it? What if we understand that things-in-the-world and access-to-things are just as real, in fact inseparable from feelings. Is there any care you have that doesn’t mean a thing?

We don’t need to be mentally ill to use a gun for nefarious or self-destructive purposes. We need access to realize our thoughts and feelings. In our new non-dualism that access, that thing, that gun can’t be separated from our thoughts and feelings, no matter what sorts we have. What I can and cannot access in the material world may in truth bring the world more sacred truth. Our lives may depend on that. The sacred surely does.

Wednesday, January 31, 2018

Art, the Artist, Truth, and the Liar: Finding the Space of In-Between

I have been unburdened by fear of "the boss" for many years now and have tried to use that power and privilege to pay it forward. Tenured University professors can do some good in the world by standing with the less powerful and doing their level best to speak the truth. When someone with my privilege violates a basic moral code of decency or uses power for far less noble ends then the foundations of trust as well as the very notion of honest standards are undermined. When we know there is no equality then where is equity? We don't, in truth, want equality since that would reduce everything to sameness. We want equity, and that is value judgment of fairness. And what is that?

We must revise systems that confer privilege but create inequities of opportunity. But no matter how that privilege has been won it should remain contentious and conflicting for us: how to separate or distinguish the work from the worker, the message from the messenger, the art from the artist, the truth from the one delivering it who may be in so many other respects a liar. We're going to have to create a field for that possibility and a method for occupying such a field with integrity and seriousness.

The list of failed human beings ---failed by hypocrisy, deed, the grave disparity between what they may have accomplished and how they live or lived will include all of us. Let's rid ourselves of the immaculate saint or, worse, the attribution of moral superiority itself. I can think of few more insidious beliefs than the attribution of saintliness to yet another one among us. This is not to cast everyone so much the sinner as it is to say that to fail is to be human ---and that the greatest things ever accomplished came through the alleyways and down the main thoroughfares of failure.

It is particularly disheartening, of course, when moral failure particularly taints an object of great value ---Picasso as a person, Picasso's art. Chuck Close is the latest in the list of reprovables whose work is now the subject of censure and even removal from public galleries. The ethics police may have done their job, the Law and Order franchise produces its justice but when the outcome means that we no longer have the art, the work, the creation of value because the artist or creator is deeply flawed, then perhaps we have lost more than we have gained. It's impossible to separate the creation from its creator so instead we must learn to live in the field that exists between them--- at the boundaries and in the middle, all at once.

It is no small matter that Jefferson was a slave holder, a liar, and by nearly any standard of our age a rapist ---and that he wrote (most of) the immortal words of the American Declaration. What are we without those words and ideals? What are we with the shadow of Jefferson, if we are wise enough to take that seriously too? And there are no immortal words without those shadows. Lincoln too came too slowly to the abolitionist's moral clarity but would have America reached any new birth of freedom in the form of the 13th Amendment had he been less morally corrupt? Might not the inexcusable scourge remained even longer had he not charted a course of corrupted pragmatism? Let us add that he seemed adroitly aware of his corruption and hypocrisy. How that must have troubled his heart, no? I try to imagine what it was like to bear that burden of lies and moral corruption when the pursuit of decency and truth was so troubled, so incomplete and fraught with irreconcilable facts.

If we are unable to distinguish the value of the art, the value of the work, or even the truth that is so important to us _in_ the work from their deeply flawed human creators, what is left? How do we deal with this? What would the museums and library shelves of the world look like if every hypocrite or moral failure were purged? It's easier somehow to castigate the political where corruption can be understood as part of the job description. 'Tis messy business this being human.

So what do we do when our teachers fail us and the teachings remain valuable? The inevitable "it is great but..." conversation begins, of course, and how is that helpful when there is no possible righting of the situation?

This is why Rajanaka tells the stories of the gods and demons the way we do, where Shiva and Parvati and the lot of them do indeed disappoint, fail, and reveal their own shadows, regrets, and awkward remediations. They can't fix themselves either, nor are they redeemed by something else like karma or liberation or innate perfection however much the traditions would prefer this sort of bypass. And indeed everyone wants a pass, no one wants to believe that the immaculate or the perfect or at least the fixable and the learnable will not carry the day. What is god but a fixation on the impossible that we must claim for ourselves, for better and for worse.

But the greatness of the myths is that we can be sure that when Shiva or Hanuman or even Rama screws up, then takes the error to heart, and works with the process that they will screw it up _again_. However much is learned from a mistake, it's usually made again or then some other one. Imperfection knows no end and perfection has no beginning. I find some strange consolation in such imperfect gods because the perfect has proven that much more unhelpful.

So what next?

Rajanaka's teaching was Appa's first teaching to me: "If you like, you can come back tomorrow..." And so it was every single day we sat together. Sure, there were prospects for improvement and even genuine transformation, relief, rectification, and lessons well-learned. But the task was more than learning from mistakes or admitting that we are always in perpetual conflict between our ideals and our manifestation. Rajanaka teaches that the space of incongruity, the field that appears because of the irresolvable and inevitable recurrence of disconnection is the field of yoga, the field of connection. In other words, it is to inhabit that field of alterity where the conflict will necessarily define the field itself that makes us consider what we can do and who we want to be. To return to that dissimilarity between who we want to be and who we are: day after day and in story after story, that is what we need to do. Our effort is the process that sees the inevitable disconnection as a resource of deeper connection.

What must Jefferson have had to do to have endured, denied, addressed or refused to when he took the seat of his own heart? I struggle to imagine his inner pain and I wonder if it hurt so much that he had to deny it just to survive himself. How do any of us _live with ourselves_ when the struggle is real no matter how honestly or dishonestly we are living the truth within this space of incongruity and dissonance? In Rajanaka the "midline" opens and expands not only to drive us towards a greater sense of value but to compel us to occupy the place of our true dissonance, our always unfinished business of holding the world together (what is called loka-samgraha in Sanskrit). If we are not actually struggling and if this project of the midline's volatility is not our daily bread, we are likely not casting enough light on the shadow or being honest enough to the pursuit of virtue.

That place where we don't live up to what we could be is a moving target; it's never the same even for a moment, no matter how much of the same feelings seem to reoccupy that same space again and again. Feelings like fear, regret, jealous, shame, all of which are so challenging to treat as assets rather then mere liabilities. To engage that disproportion and asymmetry, to pause and gain sight of it, to create some perspective, and try to see just a bit more clearly what will never come fully into focus, we call that sarpa-drshti, or the "serpent vision." We are at once that serpent and we are its hamsa, it's nature adversarial predator. Put mythically, we're both snakes and birds, and there's more there to consider.

It is (a)ham is "I" and "sa" is "that", what is unseen is both the beginning ("a" the unseen first letter that is the first Sanskrit letter) and it is the object of our reflections, it is "that" (sah). If that was a bit confusing that's my fault. Suffice it to say, we are the creator and destroyer of all of the selves we need to see the next, the broken, or missing self. But that we must do. The tools are mythology and poetry, science and ritual, bodies, minds, and hearts engaged. The key to the yoga of such an engagement is just that: stay engaged, let the next story come, return again to the field that holds the disparities that confuse and challenge you.

I want to know everyday how it feels to hold together a world that cannot help but break again so it can continue to move and create light that invariably makes shadow because I want to burn more brightly. There will be no art then without failure or flaw; no poetry that ascends that does not fall; no truth that remains pure if what we want is to grow the truth. Moving like the serpent means we can learn to go _anywhere_. Learning the stillness of the serpent allows us to find the field of movement where nothing is immune to the outrageous fortunes that define the mortal condition. More soon, much more.

Monday, January 22, 2018

Phantom Memories: Hoarding, Archiving, and More about Darshan


I collect memories, among other things. Pretty much nearly all things. I don't have a problem with "things." I openly admit to liking "nice things" though I often doubt my adhikāra to have them. I might be unqualified for some nice things ---either because I know I can't afford them or because I will certain stain that white t-shirt the day I wear it. I might also be making you already uncomfortable with "things" and "keeping" but there are lots of ways to live and love. Tolerance isn't about liking what someone else does, it's about dealing with it.

When I mention something like keeping a this or that, my wife Susan coughs uncomfortably and whispers, "Hoarder..." She has a point. It's hard for me to part with things that matter to me. A _lot_ matters to me. Things, little things, seemingly inconsequential things, memory things and material things are often ways I keep track. Of course, lots of folks purge or take up Zen or act out their inner Protestant unconsciously because it's so very American to do that ---that part of you that thinks everything must go, throw it out, buy only Scandinavian or Shaker furniture, eat raw, leave no trace, no things.

Renunciate yogas have always been the most popular in the West--- Vedanta, most Buddhisms--- precisely because they are shadow forms of our collective Protestant past. We are being told without our consent that possession is a problem to solve. Let me make this more uncomfortable: I think of most interpretations of "Kashmir Shaivism" and "Tantra" as shadow consolations for trying to stay in the world with things but telling yourself that things aren't really things at all. I'm not buying it. Things matter because we too are thing in the world. If you want to reduce that to your consciousness, go ahead. You're still in the business of collecting so long as you are alive. What in the world matters to you? What do you want to want? Those are question swe can ask and revisit, and collect. How _you_ answer that question is what I think _your_ yoga is about. If you want less, go for it. Collect your selves as you see fit.

I call this empty-is-better view the murti-free existence and, personally, I want nothing to do with it. I have 330 Million gods, goddesses, demons, and demigods, at the very least. Everyday there are more. I'm also sentimental to the core and as I get older even a bit nostalgic. I'm wary of nostalgia in ways I am not of sentiment. Sentiments are pretty much all we got. The best part of nostalgia is that it invokes a certain kind of pain and lamentation into the mix of loss and the past. I'm good with that. I'm not trying to "get over" my losses. I know I have room for those too. I'm not looking to "go back" so much as "make room." There's always more room. More mind, more feeling, more soul, more music, more art, more memories.

So I keep things, usually as memories. Ticket stubs, notes and postcards, I rip off the color codes on the bottom of cereal boxes that I really like ---the color codes, not the cereal. It's a good thing we have a barn. I give a lot of stuff away and even sell stuff. Meh. It's about the memories and the people and the gods. Oftentimes giving away things is the best part of having them. Give away the good stuff, not the left overs. That's a fine teaching of a god called Ucchista Ganapati, another story.

Like I said, rarely do I have the thought that I want to "go back" to some way anything was before. That strikes me as a simple violation of the arrow of time and my deep distaste for wishing for a world that can't be and the fact that there are no do overs or take backs. This is at the heart of the paradox to embrace too. Time waits for no one, says Rishi Mick, and we need to move forward to learn from mistakes and continue to grow. There's just too much that I haven't yet collected that I need to get to. I haven't read all of that French Lit that I love or every last word of every Platonic dialogue or every single line of 99,000 lines of Mahabharata in Sanskrit. I'm working on it. I got _more_ stuff to collect every single day.

For those of you who think this isn't "yogic" or "spiritual", I would merely respond that your tastes for abnegation and renunciation do not, in fact, describe the whole of "yoga traditions." I'm still collecting darshan ---see that piece I wrote from the other day---and there's _no end to that_. There's only _more_ darshan. Seeing, being seen, repeat. You'll have the rest of eternity for oneness aka being dead.

Darshan isn't a check list; it's about how there isn't really one of anything. If there were only one then you wouldn't experience anything you could call experience. I leave that to mystics, I'm not interested. But I do think you collect lots of ones. Darshan is not "I've been to that temple, seen that god..." It's not a trip, it's pilgrimage: go, see, return, repeat. It's not a check list or a bucket list. It's the idea that doing it again--- what "it" is for you--- is what makes you human.

Darshan is how you collect your body, mind, your soul and drive into one moment for just a moment. Repeat. Recurse. Let that moment be an invitation to the next moment when one thing only matters to you. Then let go and let all the rest matter to you--- because that's a normal life--- and you'll be ready for darshan again because there's nothing more uncomfortable than having to rewrite a memory that insists on bringing the all of you to the experience.

Samadhi with your eyes open is not supposed to be a permanent state or a one time happening. It's supposed to be all the forms of time, the punctiliar, linear, repetitive, and recursive: these being the four simplest ways to talk about the experience of embodying time. But that's another story. Experiences to collect should be things that you love and that cause movement, jostling inside, often causing some real discomfort or awakening of a shadow. We can't learn unless we are willing to be moved and that includes in ways that upset the entire apple cart of being. That process doesn't guarantee we will learn but learning doesn't happen without it just sayin' yo.

So the other day, Susan and I, inveterate homebodies, extroverted introverts, and vice-versas, went to see the new Daniel Day-Lewis movie, Phantom Thread. I would watch Day-Lewis read the back of his morning cereal box and find that interesting, so the movie as plot, etc., could matter less to me. Day-Lewis darshan is a story and a moment unto itself. But it could have been a really horrible movie it wouldn't have mattered because it was also just a thing we did, a memory. I didn't keep the receipt from the fast food joint that provided our repast afterwards, that being a step too far. What exactly is a step too far? Good question. Actually walking out of the theatre I apparently dropped the ticket stub and a kind person stopped me to ask if I'd dropped something. Right next to a trash can. I said thank you and put the stub in my pocket.

When we got home I took the ticket stub and I put it in a _second_ copy (or is it a third?) of Fagles' Odyssey translation. Maybe someday I will open that book again, long after I've forgotten about leaving it there, and I will remember the day, the date, the movie, the weather, life. Phantom threads of memory are darshan of another kind. Whoever gets all of these books after I'm gone is going to find a lot of stuff inside them.


Thursday, January 18, 2018

Pilgrimage to India: Darshan, and the Practice of Living All In and As If

It’s been forty years since I first traveled to India.  I went first as a student, as a pilgrim knowing almost nothing, as a seeker of the heart looking for what I knew not.  I’ve gone back now more than thirty times over that period, sometimes for stints counted in years, and I hope to go back again and again, every time the opportunity appears.  For the past fifteen years or so I have led pilgrimage for others to join in the practice of darshan and immerse in the richness of the culture. 

I ask the people who come on our pilgrimages if they are willing to act “as if” they are Hindus.  That’s not phony.  There’s nothing fake about it, nothing pretend.  Rather “as if” is a way of being when you are trying to make sense of who you are, what you could be, and what the world is offering and expecting.  “As if” may be a way of learning, it can be a form of serious and sincere participation, and it can also be a form of protest.  In America right now, I think we must continue to act “as if” we are the nation we say we want to be, we say we can be, we aspire to be.  Being an American is a prolonged study in “as if” and to be American is, as I will explain, much like being a Hindu pilgrim.  You’re going to need to contemplate who you are in “as if” terms if you are to create any real integrity.  To be American in the age of Trump we’re going to need more “as if” before we sort out further what more it means.  I think “as if” really means we are doing all we can knowing that there is more to do.

I’m home again now, ready to start a new semester teaching and learning.  I still love being a college professor, I mean, if you have to have a job.  I’ve been more than lucky and all I can really say about this good fortune in life is that I try to understand privilege and opportunity.  I came to know what I wanted as a young man and I’ve never stopped wanting the same thing ---with all of my being.  That’s not the only way to live a meaningful life, for sure.  But it’s been quite the ride.  India is not +everything+ to me because I want even more than that.  Whatever your life’s passion, I hope you have hundreds of passions that ignite you, things you love and can’t stop doing or wanting.  Life’s no zero sum game.  We just run out of time.

But what I know about myself is that I have never wanted anything more than I want India.  And I want everything that India has offered, more still, and I mean to give back.  That’s crucial to me but that’s also not anyone’s business but mine.  What we can share with others , makes all the difference in life.

We just returned from India and had a wonderful time, albeit arduous and tiring as it was fun and enlivening. It's been many years now for our Rajanaka pilgrimage, and this pilgrimage is precisely what we do. No yoga asana or spas or beaches for us.  We meet people, go to temples for the practice of darshan, meet people, go to temples for the practice of darshan.  Repeat.  (More in a moment about darshan.)  We are keen to go in traditional dress observing the most traditional protocols, avoiding some of the larger, more touristy monuments for those Hindu temples that are true south Indian pilgrimage centers. Our goal is darshan and people are darshan too because everything is a "seeing" and being seen experience: everything is darshan until the very moment of darshan in the temple. This warrants some explanation.


It’s important to pause here for a few words about "darshan," which literally means "seeing" and being seen. The practice of darshan arrests the mind into singular focus, places the body in often uncomfortable positions (spoon up, lean in…), and it compels the heart to race into a kind of fury, chaos, and wonder that is difficult to explain but from doing it, and doing it, as it were, "properly." Think of it this way: our whole cognitive and somatic being allocates our attentions, regulates and assigns meaning to our environments, in terms of both inside and outside awareness.  We are, as William James and James Joyce understood, have millions and millions of conversations, conscious and subconscious and unconscious, all at once.  This is what it is to be a living human being and our task is to participate as fully as we can.
We are meant to experience millions of impressions at once, organize them and be organized by them so that we can act and react.

Now enter a place where the mind and the senses are hyperactivated and put on full alert, full throttle, pedal to the metal-- like a Hindu temple. Taking in all of that information (and _everything_ we experience about the world, about ourselves, in fact everything is "information"), now turn that process to _one_ particular focus and goal--- this would be the sanctum of the temple where resides the image, the mūrti, the solid body material form of the deity. Look at the god in the temple, watch for the lamp, pay attention wholly, fully, completely. What happens? Well, hear me say, "Look! Peer in!! Lean in!!" I may even guide you closer.  And then with a host of other small instructions we urge you to keep your attention just for a moment.  Of course, that's not all: there are other millions of small matters of names and birth stars and the touching this and that, and also _not_ touching this and that. This hand, not that hand.  It can be a lot for those unfamiliar. And that is part of the point. You take 330 million feelings, ideas, sensations, and actions and instead of turning inside _only_ to "shut down" the myriad feelings and "distractions", you allow them _all_ to re-focus on that one moment when the lamps wave before the image.

Darshan is meditation, "single-focused consciousness" or samadhi but _with both eyes open_, and it is with the whole body---usually trembling or in some awkward, uncomfortable position--- with the mind reeling in a whirlwind, and all the senses on fire.  Darshan does not mean to calm the storm but rather find the eye of the hurricane and stay in its midst: darshan does not halt the storm so much as create the eerie strangeness that is its center.  Stay in that center even though you can’t .  Stay “as if” you are wholly present when being present is more than you can fathom and can be.

"Samadhi with your eyes open," is what my teacher called darshan. For traditionalist Hindus it is a rather familiar as a practice but what it can do to anyone who takes it seriously provides a rich intellectual, complex emotional, physical, social, cultural, spiritual transaction. After all, you must have the ardor to make the visit and come "properly." For us that means that women wear traditional saris and men wear dhotis wrapped south Indian style.  We make that happen, hopefully with minimal hassle or effort.  Virtuosity is making the difficult look easy, and that’s our goal.  For us there is no compromise, and it can all be _a lot_ to ask of people but you get expert help.  That’s what we all need, a little help from our friends.

We've learned to do this pilgrimage with people who have no experience and no idea what to do. We teach them, they trust us, they bring open minds and hearts, they are gracious and wonderful in their assent--- and we never, ever, ever tell you what to believe or to think or to feel. Our focus is on our ortho-praxy, our "correct actions" so that you don't need to have any paticular orthodoxy.  Belief is in the doing.  I will know you not only by what you say but by what you really do.  Just do this practice "properly" ---and we will show you how--- come on this often very challenging journey and _see what happens_. Our goal is to make it just comfortable _enough_ so that you can enjoying learning--- and real learning is neither comfortable nor completely safe.  Life needs to be safe _enough_ and that is no small matter.  Honestly, I think we are good at that because our leaders have the experience, the decency, and real affection for those who try. Our folks get with the “as if” because they come to learn that that is how you arrive at who you want to be. You may love this practice or may be just a one off experience for you. But it _will_ change you, and that's no small thing.

A bit more.  Is this pilgrimage a "Hindu" practice? Of course it is. It's been described as "full frontal Hinduism," and we make no bones about that. But Hindus have never demanded more from you than your full participation ---and no one ever asks you what you believe or tests your faith. It's do as we do, act in all the “as if-s”,  and see what happens. Do as the people do and participate with them in their ardor, their passion, and their remarkable culture. The key is the ardor---the tapas, the care for the genuine effort it takes to participate fully in the journey with culture and social terms fully in place. (Keep this idea in mind, we’re going to return to it.) There are lots of ways to visit India but we mean to go “all in” and we know how to do that along with the “as if.” You can come along. This can be an experience for you, if you want to make that journey.  You will need to be “all in” and “as if” at the same time.  This is crucial.

In every place we visit I wish you could hear, as I do, the ambient conversations in the Tamil language. People are not only surprised that a group of westerners (we have had many folks of south Asian origins on our pilgrimages) come _as we do._ The women are the stars, of course, because their perfectly wrapped, beautiful saris are _always_ complimented and always noticed positively. Tamils are delighted, proud, and, dare I say, impressed at the effort, the care, the honor done to them. For our part, let's be clear, we do our best to be deeply respectful _and_ to leave behind everywhere we go our gratitude to the local people, especially those less fortunate.  We commit to the culture and we mean to offer something back.

We who organize and lead the trip take care of that, you as a pilgrim get to focus on having an experience of culture, of the people who want to meet you and share a few words or a picture, of yourself. Sure, there’s a lot more to explain than this but darshan has been my life's passion and at the heart of my professional interests too--- to explain, to share, to describe Hindu ways, ideas, images, culture. Darshan is an experience of “all in” and “as if” and there is nothing quite like paradox to churn one’s innermost being.  What is better in life than to invite others to share in your passion? To get someone to care, even for a moment, about what moves your heart and inspires your mind? I mean to stack up obsessions and interests, where each deserves a room in a mansion made of complex desires, whole hearted dedications, and unyielding intensities. It's a privilege to share the things one loves most in life. It's really that simple.


Now all of this was something of a prelude to two points that are far less comfortable but strike me as important.

First, on this last pilgrimage we made a point of going to several places that have serious entry restrictions. There is a sign at the entry to the sanctums that says in no uncertain terms, "No tourists," or sometimes "Hindus Only" beyond this point. We do not come as tourists. We come as Hindus. We are all in and as if Hindus, just like everyone else. There is no racial, linguistic, religious test for being "Hindu". There is no conversation, no attestation, and neither caste nor birth is justification for exclusion. To "be" Hindu is in this case to come +for the practice of darshan+ and to come _properly_, willfully, knowingly for that practice. What you believe is your own business. What you seek is what everyone else is also doing and there is no litmus test but orthopraxy, acting properly and aiming to practice darshan. I am happy to say now that years of practice, honoring local custom, and treating people with deep respect has won us our place.

People see us and recognize us in India. We are well-known as a group throughout south India and we are, dare I say, truly liked and respected.  I never forget how grateful I am to the people and to those who have come with us and made this possible.  Like I said, it’s been more than 15 years for our trip and 40 plus years for me personally.  We talk to local authorities, befriend the priests and temple leadership, talk to local people as much as we can on the streets and in the temples, we explain that we have come for darshan and that we mean to do it right, and we have now in every case been granted access and entry.  This is not because we have come once or twice.  This is because we have come year after year, we have made ourselves known, and even when having been rejected before, we accepted the local decision with quiet dignity, promising to return and try again.  We never argue; we don’t need to. We come as pilgrims and I am happy to say that we were wholly accepted everywhere we went, with truly open arms.  Our dress, our manner, our effort will not change. 

When you are asking for something that is meaningful and important to the local people, to the culture, and it can be hard to accept their choices when things don’t go your way.  But we are so grateful for India’s generosity and hospitality and the Tamil people have offered us everything.  We are guests, but so is everyone else in the temple.  We are “foreigners” and so sometimes clumsy or inept but we come with open hearts and pay close attention to what is expected and required.  We want our pilgrims to feel the welcome and the wonder that we who lead the way feel inside ourselves.  It works.  It works because Indian people have been so very, very kind, inclusive, and generous to us.  “Hindus only” really means that if you come with your heart’s desire, perfectly willing to accept the rules and expectations of culture and authority, you may well get your heart’s desire. It’s not a guarantee, it’s just a process of all in and as if.

This takes me to my second point, which is to say a few words about inclusion and exclusion, about how doing what is right confers on us a sense of being, of belonging, of participating fully.  You can skip this, if you’ve had enough but I think it’s important.

America is in the midst of an ugly, disturbing, and very real politics of exclusion and unwelcoming.  Everyday we read of deportations and threatened deportations of hundreds and thousands of people who have lived here for years and years, many of whom have had no experience of any other country.   We read of whole families with American born children sent “back”; we read of shameless bigotry thinly veiled in this new “immigration policy.”  I am horrified, ashamed, and I want to be bewildered but there is really no time for that.  We must understand what we are doing and what we want.  We must act.  Are we really willing to become the people that exclude?

You know, there are days when I feel like we should just give back the Statue of Liberty because apparently we just don’t mean it anymore.  You know the important part, "Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.” 

Now I am no immigrant to India but I am certainly tired and yearning to breathe her air and be among her people.  I am a guest who has been made to feel welcome.  I know it can be difficult for folks to accept foreigners anywhere in the world and I have felt the sting and felt the grief of exclusion.  But I have accepted those terms as simply part of the story and I don’t resent or attempt to control others’ choices.  It’s a complicated matter for some but, you know, we are people and we can win each other’s hearts if we are honest and decent and, dare I say, caring and compassionate.  This is a lesson I have learned thousands of times in India.  And here at home. 

America is not about any one religion, language, or ethnicity.  I have written a lot about this lately but I want to say that just returning from India again, there is a point to be made about inclusion, about feeling welcomed, and about what it means to be allowed to participate. 

If we say that America is our list of immortal, wonderfully contradictory ideals and values, we would have to admit too our hypocrisies, failures, and shadows.  That’s been an important subject too of late.  But what if, just for a moment, we leave aside the complexities and incongruities that appear when we ask who we say we are, who we say we want to be, and what we actually do.  What if we are all in and act as if. 

If for a moment we can say that being an American is a doing, a practice rather than a belief or conviction, then we are reframe our current situation too with some different insight.  You see, I just came from a place where conviction or belief is in truth less a matter of public discussion than behavior and doing.  Being “Hindu” in a temple, as I argued above, is acting with seriousness and sincerity, abiding by the rules, taking up the practices that we share with others.  No one asks what you believe even if they notice that you are different. 

Well, how about that?  How about the fact that people when they enter America they are entering a kind of sanctum of all in and as if, all with some kind of decorum and awareness.  The matter of the law is paramount, but there is more than that: there is the all in and as if.  We abide and in our laws there is a great deal of freedom about those matters of decorum too.  We Americans are not bound by any single decorum but that we do not violate the law; our ideal is to be equal under the law.  Of course, that does not really happen--- that there is bias, prejudice, injustice, and failure must not be understated.  But let me make the point: to be an American is to be here and to be living under the law.  To be an American is an all in and as if proposition.  That there are people not living as citizens or as legal immigrants is a matter we should take seriously.   Every society has rules and needs them.  So we’re going to have to do what is good and right because there are human lives, real people involved.

But the point is simple: when you are living here you are effectively an American when you are all in and acting as if.  When you recognize the law and live within the decorum that the law provides--- you have rights, freedoms, and choices--- then you are effectively an all in and as if American.  “Law abiding” does not mean that everything you do is legal because, well, let’s be honest about that.  You didn’t speed today in your car?  Not even a little?  You report every single dime of taxable income?  Right.  I thought so. 

But people, people cannot be illegal; they cannot be illegitimate even if they are not wholly sanctioned by the law as we currently have written it.  People are always all in and what we want to know is where is the the rest of their as if.   So we are going to need to change the law, clearly, so that we can accept that being an American is living here under the terms of a complex social and political contract.  Again, I want to emphasize that our social contract is not any one’s idea or cultural reference, much less ethnicity or language.  Our social contract is made with freedom and with the ways we live and express ourselves within the context of our rules. 

And this is the parallel I wanted to make about our being Hindu pilgrims in India.  What makes us “Hindu” is that when we are in India we abide, we care, we live as far as possible as pilgrims, we go all in.  We are all guests on this earth, and some of us are really trying to get along and treat each other with respect and care.  We’re all going to need some as if, just to be honest.  So too when you live in America you are a guest here living under the terms of our collective efforts.  When you are unwelcomed, excluded, and told to leave, that you cannot enter again, well, that is a feeling and a fact that dehumanizes us, reduces us.  That cannot be allowed to be America. 

My Hindu friends in India have taught me time and again the difference here.  They have allowed me to be as if so that I can go all in.  They have invited me to be all in so that I can live as if and be human for it.  I have been excluded and accepted their terms but I have also been graciously, warmly included because I have come to love them, their place, the culture that I wish to share and hold dear.  And when people are here in America, I hope to extend that same feeling to them.  I mean to treat them as if they are Americans because that “as if” is really quite good enough when it means you are being offered the chance to participate.  We’ll sort out the rest, and we need to.  But the lessons of inclusion, participation, and caring decency must come first.  The rest may be details and we’ll need to attend to them too.  If you’re here, I mean to welcome you first as if and then we’ll sort it out the all in.  Thank you, India, again for the life lessons.