Saturday, July 14, 2018

Fire and Ice


I woke this morning thinking of the famous nine lines from Robert Frost that most of you will recognize.

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Of course I was thinking about a world on fire and far too much melting ice. I was thinking about an America that I can no longer recognize but for the ways hopes and dreams are under siege. And I was taking it all personally because the actuarial tables suggest that under ordinary circumstances I can expect about 7,655 more days as a sentient being.

As a student of yoga I think it's always the best and worst of times. The world is always coming to some or another end, so Frost's Armageddon is nothing unusual, at least not to anyone who spends his days thinking about Nataraja's dance. I think that's pretty much all I think about, one way or another, though that metaphor may not reach as far into your experience. There are any number of ways of talking about this but every end is a beginning, a next and a more.

How we feature ourselves in a world that is always fire and ice is what Rajanaka call "yoga."

We are all obsessive beings because that is the only way to continue living. There is no "moderation" but by the imposition of a narrative that addresses the needs and consequences of our thoughts and actions.

Life is in a contest to sustain a mean that is always in crisis, always under assault, always demanding and answering to the proximate circumstances of the given. We humans are 98.6 degree creatures and the smallest variant puts us in immediate danger. Rather ironically, our homeostasis produces opportunities to act in ways that may not support our future but that too is part of our human story. We aren't really naturally adept at producing "goodness" except for the ways crisis becomes more relevant. Other living creatures seem to have more reliable instincts for survival while we have a greater concern for what is possible.

To address our needs and desires, that is, to meet the mean of sustainability, we don't seek the mean but instead seek the boundaries. In other words, to create sustainability (the mean of homeostasis) we're going to use methods of fire and ice, we're going to need to participate in creating _some_ crisis to address the crisis at hand. We measure out those things giving priority and finding ways to ameliorate what would otherwise overtake us. This is the part of adulthood that reveals how inept and competent we can be: we're inside systems, worlds of information that we don't control and to which we are subject. How we attend and what we can do depends on more than our bodies and wits though it depends on those too.

We act _engaging_ the issues of living, whether those are past, current, or future. Such engagement with ourselves Rajanaka calls "yoga."  By "yoga" we don't mean we will do things effectively or somehow for our "good," but we do suggest we could do everything better if we are able to apply ourselves more attentively. We're not alone in the world and we can't always help ourselves.

What you want becomes our question because there's always something to want. Desire is not merely a problem we continually solve---and desire surely isn't something we can really ever aver---but rather desire being what we are places demands on us to answer to it. We will become a form of our desires, for better and worse. We don't always answer in ways that promote our self-welfare or that of others, but we are capable to the limits of circumstances. Just what constitutes "better" from worse is no small matter, for that is the issue with which any competent yoga must contend. What we eat, how we live, what we do with our bodies, minds, and emotions becomes the definition of a life lived in whatever "yoga" or engagement defines us.

Rajanaka begins with a simple premise: crisis is the ordinary state of affairs constantly being addressed both consciously and unconsciously. We are never beings without needs or wants. We are always beings in search of meeting those needs and wants. We are resourceful beings because we want to survive, nay, to flourish, and so to have needs and wants met, whether or not we are advancing our welfare personall, in the relationships we require, or under the circumstance in which we find ourselves.

We seek relief from crisis in every breath and naturally driven by those stresses, we're looking for methods, intentions, understandings, and actions that we can use. We call all of those things "yoga" too.

We're complex insofar as our desire to flourish is not some addendum to survival as such, it is part of our nature. We want pleasure but there's no necessity to aver pain unless pain defines itself as an aversion. We're more likely to assume patterns that lead us from moment to moment whenever those kinds of behavior suit us---water flows down and so human beings take paths to resist less even if those paths create more problems or fail to address the crisis effectively. But what we want will not only define us, it will invite us to create a life of desires met, filled and unfulfilled. What we do about that will make all the difference.

Friday, July 13, 2018

Right as Rain


Rajanaka, Right as Rain
The Rest is Someone Else's Yoga


You may know all of this but so what. I may not give a hoot about my past or future lives---and even less about "liberation"--- but that doesn't mean I'm past repeating myself. None of us are. That's the point. Here's some simple Rajanaka for a Friday.

Yesterday's post featured a picture of shower cap boxes from Indian hotels---the singular common feature I have discovered. ALL hotels give you a shower cap. The _real_ reason is that you have come back as rain. And that's it, just as rain, less literally, more metaphorically. Let me explain.

I'm working on the Camps right now, particularly East, and other things, like finishing the Gita commentary are on simmer. What I love best about Rajanaka is how it dispatches certain claims or matters that otherwise dominate the conversations of yoga---that is, all traditions Hindu, Buddhist, Jain, even Sikh. So here is a bit of why Rajanaka is not quite like everyone else I can think of but is more like where things came from or, at least, with early Vedic worlds that invented the word "yoga."

To wit, Rajanaka gives no hoots nor pays much attention to two issues that, in some way or another, dominate all of the worlds of all other yogas: (1)recurrent death and (2) its end, its solution, which is better known as "realization," awakening, perfection, liberation, etc. Just how Rajanaka dispatches these is a bit nuanced but, um, not really. The result is an honest assessment: Rajanaka is close to complete heresy within all ordinary yoga contexts because it seizes (and stops) at Vedic goals. "Vedic" does not mean what Vedantins say in this case: Vedic means live, prosper if you can, die, repeat but without _really_ knowing you are repeating, just in the process of life...so live now, do good, and don't fuss for eternity.

First, about this whole samsara thing. Vedic worlds don't use this term and are not concerned as are the later traditions. To wit, everyone that lives dies and everything that is living came from life and so from death. How much _persists_ from death in the process is something most other traditions are keen to discuss---hence they wonder aloud about who you have been and who you will become, where you are going from _this_ birth forward. Rajanaka does not spend much time on those kinds of contemplations.

In the Veda you came from families, you die and go to the ancestors, and if you are lucky the living remember you (because that's a nice thing) and what happens next is that you literally return as rain. Put simply, does the rain know itself? So neither do you, you are the rain returning as rain, isn't that enough? Why do you think you have to be someone? You came from memories, you make memories, you become a memory---but largely it's about what you can do now, with this body and life, and the rest is just recurrence that makes _now_. So while others spend quite a bit of time using the ideas of the past and your post-death prospects to inform this life, Rajanaka spends its time on living now and leaving (most of) the rest to eternity. Indian texts use past births and future births to motivate, cajole, inform, invite, and direct the current birth. Rajanaka is less interested in this process as a source of psychological motivation. Materially this is a more interesting topic than ever given what we know (and do not yet) about the units of recurrence aka DNA.

Second, what happens at deaths past and present into the future is usually informed by claims of extrication, excision from the process, extinguishing the process itself (this is the literal meaning of "nirvana.") Rajanaka ignores this and so upsets the _reasons_ for yoga that others posit. To wit, _why_ are we enjoined to do all this stuff that, say, Patanjali says we should do to ourselves regarding the body, arresting thought, what we should think and think about? Well, it is for his kaivalya (only-ness) of the "experience" of an eternal self (atman) that is a feature of the eternity itself that is the changeless Purusha. Why does Shankara tell us we should study, we should fathom the "true knowledge" of the Veda? It's not to figure out how to grow rice or even get children to behave: it's to tell adults that they are immortal. Why does Kashmir Shaivism want us to see ourselves as Shiva? So that we can be ecstatic in our unconditioned Self that is invulnerable to the changes that are merely material comings and goings. Why do the god-lovers (bhaktas) go on pilgrimage? To obtain liberation and prosperity from the god's grace. In other words, all of these yoga traditions have some or another religious goal---and are explicit about how this goal informs what they tell us we should do everyday with our bodies, minds, thoughts, and relationships. Rajanaka keeps many of the practices---we like to do many of the things these traditions tell us will "liberate" us---for the sake of living a better life here and now. These practices improve living rather than advance us towards or result in liberation.

Thus, the Rajanaka hat. Rajanaka is not directed towards any such religious goals, that is, goals about _solving_ the human condition and arriving at some "real" finality. Rajanaka likes living, thinks it a strange blessing and an interesting chance, and focuses on living well---whatever that means. Rajanaka doesn't use any such ultimate goals---or any goals that are not merely conditional forms of living conditionally, mortally---to provide motivation or prospects.

To wit, Rajanaka is only about living a mortal life with wellness and prosperity in affirmation of all of its conditions. Rather than solve those conditions (i.e., end suffering, claim immunity, etc.), Rajanaka embraces our conditions---and without claiming there is anything more or further to gain. Live long, prosper, and it's really up to you to decide what "prosper" means. This is why Rajanaka is not so much a "Hindu" yoga as it is a kind of throw back to the Vedic life, which only hinted at death and rebirth (who can resist?) and had no notion of an unconditional goal or immortal relief. Live, love, die, rise as smoke, come back as rain. That's it.

Wednesday, July 11, 2018

America's Delusion about Religion

"Delusions are fixed beliefs that are not amenable to change in light of conflicting evidence. Their content may include a variety of themes (e.g. persecutory, referential, somatic, religious, grandiose).[…] Delusions are deemed bizarre if they are clearly implausible and not understandable to same-culture peers and do not derive from ordinary life experiences. […] The distinction between a delusion and a strongly held idea is sometimes difficult to make and depends in part on the degree of conviction with which the belief is held despite clear or reasonable contradictory evidence regarding its veracity." --DSM V.

It appears that most people _really need_ degrees of delusion just to make it through the day. Life presents far too threatening a story.  So we calm ourselves with whatever we need.  We tell stories about the supernatural because naturally the facts are just too hard.  To start with the facts---at least as far as we know them---and move forward is too stressful. Best to ignore and then just deal later? Well, that's a default to being religious all the time: put it on when you need it? We cope, that's what humans do. So what's "bizarre" isn't that a given delusion "is held despite clear or reasonable contradictory evidence."  What's bizarre is that we all seem to agree that if we call that delusion someone's "religion" that it gets a pass, that we're not allowed to call it bizarre or delusional.

Nowhere else in the civilized world does religion occupy the same privileged political place as it does in America. "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof..." How does this confer power to religious beliefs that others do not share? The real danger of Kavanaugh and our "conservative" justices is how they will allow religion to inform the law, that is, what we are supposed to share, not merely keep as our private delusion.

Let's be clear.
Wrap up your favorite superstition or claim to ethical superiority, impose it on others, call it "religion" and it's demanded that we "respect" it. But that's not quite right, as Flying Spaghetti Monsters demonstrate. Your particular superstition has to be validated by a mass delusion, not merely your own and if millions cower in obedience then it can change the course of society. Religion is merely cult with a mob, much like dialect is to language---if you only have a few dozen agreeing with your mass delusion then you're a cult. Otherwise, put on the magic underwear and expect others to take you seriously.

Thursday, July 5, 2018

Fact and Metaphors, When Your Religion Is Your Metaphor and When it is Not

As I work through again---for the 330 millionth time---the Gita and a host of traditional commentaries I am reminded how history and culture determines meaning and the complexities of conversation. When you have a lifetime of study, particularly the languages, you're always asking that very human question: What do they mean? If this is what it says, _how_ do they mean it?
I was also reading about certain Christianities  yesterday and their particular needs and claims. Later in the day I engaged a very Catholic friend of mine, educated, serious, and still very Catholic. By that I mean she said to me, "What if I told you I take these beliefs seriously? That He _really did_ rise from the dead? And the rest of it." I did my level best to keep that Spock eyebrow from rising to the point of "...fascinating," which was Spock's way of saying, "you gotta be kiddin' me." So what _is_ literalism? What is metaphor when claims are treated as facts? Fascinating.

Yesterday I wrote a piece, not wholly well-received, in which I argued that everyone---whether they admit to it or not, and however they try to deny it---has a "religion." I wasn't arguing for any traditional religious identity but only that religion is the duck in the duck test: it's whatever makes you waddle, quack, wear feathers (think it could be golf: your yoga lifestyle, and even Cuban heeled boots---and I'm not even kidding. Well mostly not.) If you have deep feelings tied to values and convictions, likely too you have community, then I'm ready to call _that_ your religion. But it still raises the question, how does your religion _work_ for you, that is, how does it tell its truths. We call claim the feeling and the experience of _truth_ but what we think truths are depends on how we think they operate, how they _work_.

Let make this point in a simple, contestable binary: we _treat_ truths as if they are facts OR as if they are metaphors. Facts don't need to stay true, they can be revised by better facts, but so long as we feel, operate with them as if they are facts, then we measure them by the results we want, we experiment with them to test them against other facts. Think of "facts" as the shortest distance between you and what others should agree to. For example, it takes the principles and facts of quantum physics to make your cell phone work because its signal _really does_ go through walls. We may also deliberately resort to metaphor---we could also call that indirect thinking or what my teacher used to call "the long way around" in contrast to facts. In this case the thing in question (person, place, thing, the noun) is symbolic and functions to tell a story. A myth then is at its best when we know that it is a lie told in the service of a deeper truth, that is, when we know it's not functioning like a fact. I've lectured on this obsessively for the past 20+ years of Rajanaka in public and since ever as a religion professor in the quiet confines of the classroom, so I think you got the point.

When I say "metaphor," I might as well be saying "myth," but not in the usual pejorative sense that we nowadays use the word "myth," because I mean it is a gateway to an experience of truth, deeper truth, which means that ideas, images, and relationships have consequences. What we think and feel _matters_ to us and it will guide how we act towards nature, society, each others, and how we treat ourselves. Facts matter. Where are those separated children? Myths matter. Justice is blind. Again, I think we're not confused about the difference this difference makes but we are not clear about what's fact and what's myth.

Yesterday I also wrote a piece about how I have more than one religion. At last count, at least three. I would regard myself a Hindu but that's in light of the fact that on February 9th 1964 at 8:12pm the Beatles appeared on Ed Sullivan, opening their set with All My Loving, and I found my true religion. It is rock n' roll. And I'm not kidding. I said I had a third religion but I'm conflicted. (That was a joke.) I wrote that rambling paragraph about the religion of rock n' roll to make a point, and it wasn't about my tastes in music or lifestyle passions. I wanted to look like, talk like, think like, write music like, _be_ all FOUR Beatles, but that too isn't my point.

My point is that here in the 21st century it's hard to impossible to take much about religion as fact. (Fact as defined above.) Jesus rose from the dead. Krishna manifested his cosmic form. Moses talked to the bush. God spoke through the Prophet. You get the idea. Science is real because facts do their job. That truth may be incomplete, unfinished, even _untrue_ because it is found out to be incorrect or just wrong or we were lied to, but that is not the same as metaphor---and you know it. So are these claims _both_ fact and metaphor? My Spock eyebrow raises and if you say "yes," then I must say "fascinating," because I must take you at your word.

People _really do_ believe things that you, in your own heart and mind, think are _not facts_ but rather myths that guide their lives (somehow, to some degree). So we must take, say, evangelical Christians at their word _and_ we don't have to condemn any beliefs that don't impact by imposing on others. Putatively, there is room in the world for not-facts, or to put it bluntly, falsities, things that are not factually true but aren't necessarily a menace. Metaphors can menace too but only if people turn them into behaviors that become delusional fantasies in the world. Dressing up as Spock isn't a problem for me unless you think you're really mind melding with me. Then I think you've gone a step too far.

When I wrote that Rock n' Roll is my religion I was putting myself in good company. No less than Stevie Van Zandt makes the same claim, and I think for many of the same reasons. But I have a few other points.

In the 21st century your religion is about metaphors and symbols because otherwise it's factual nonsense, or most of it. You can live _by_ factual nonsense and it can guide you morally and practically to live a worthwhile life, one that doesn't even hurt others. Go for it, if that's what you want. The rules of 21st century facts _still apply_ no matter one's literal religious fantasies or what they do for you.

Hitchens, Dawkins, and others always maintain that people who believe factual nonsense are always dangerous and prone to sticking others with the consequences of their beliefs, especially politically.  But is this always true?  I would largely agree with them because beliefs do have consequences. Think about the current battle for the open Supreme Court seat. But it's still possible to have religious beliefs taken to be fact that aren't so imposing or interventionist in others' lives. If you can keep your fantasies---literal or metaphorical--- less intrusive, I'd be grateful.

My religion not only contains metaphors and uses facts (like February 9th 1964) it _is_ metaphor. When religion _is_ not about metaphors but is metaphor that's a whole'nother story. Rock n' roll is metaphor--- it is filled with stories, myths, rituals, and players about freedom, rebellion, love, peace, fury, beauty, loss, death, cars, sex, you got it. My religion needs to be metaphor because I have facts, and particularly science, for other things I need. Religion you need too for a life lived as you love it. Science is not its enemy unless your religion claims facts. Science and religion work find together so long as you try keep a naga's worth of space (that's as much room as a snake needs to move) between them and then work that seam, keep that naga moving. Ha! Metaphor never ceases because we're going to need it to explain facts. And vice-versa. Hold that paradox. Carry on.

Love your life and all of your metaphors will be keys to your "salvation" even if there is, well, factually speaking, no salvation. So while you are loving life on this mortal road to death, find the way you like to really live. That will involve making what you do---say, yoga, rock n' roll, political activism, golf, going to sci fi conventions, really anything you really really care about---your religion. And you can have as many religions as you like because metaphors, unlike facts, don't demand that others take you as seriously as you take your metaphors.

Monday, June 11, 2018

About the Things You Love, What Desires Are Your Nature?

It’s okay to love things you love almost as much as people. You may think you don’t need poetry until you need it. Then nothing else will do and for a moment it will be poetry that you love. This is not the same thing as being in love with poetry and that’s more where I’m going with this.



In each of us there are things that we don’t reach into out of human necessity but that we crave, we want, we desire because you can’t tell your story without them. Of course, Mandela taught us we can live without every kind of thing we love if we learn to love what we know is true. There’s so much courage and wisdom in that that few but Buddhas will grasp its mystery. Such courage born of depravation should not be the rule, only the indispensable exception. Let us return the subject to being merely mortal rather than wish the travails of sainthood upon ourselves.

You know what you love and if you don’t have something, I’d bet you do but might be shy to say it because some will think that loving what you love takes away from loving people. That zero sum view won’t ever go away so I think you can’t worry if you are misunderstood. You’ll know the things you love when you do you don’t imagine what it would be like to live without them but instead spend your life living in them. Notice the plural here. Some folks have a singular, others have a hobby for everyone in the room, as McCarthy puts it.

So we don’t have to have but one passion because things don’t demand that so we need not demand that of things. "Things" here don't need to be material objects, they can human inventions like poetry, music, it really just means what you love. I'm not interested in the elitist bit either, I mean, it could be something others think is frivolous or silly. The point is that you care.

What we learn from the most dedicated and talented is that they too often have more than one love and loves they will not surrender, not ever, because then they just wouldn’t be at all without them. There may come a day when I can’t ride the bike, do the grammar, or play the music but there will never be the day when those things aren’t what I am really doing. What's going on inside me isn't just what you see anymore than it's what going on inside you. Except that you're going to it with what you love too.

I tell you about mine here not to suggest what you should love. That’s either too personal—and who am I to tell you to love something because I do—or it’s too much a part of woven cultural identity, like food. Bourdain taught us that to accept another’s food is to accept them. These are teachings we must all try to fathom, even make true in our lives.

 But there’s still more to love that we do not share so much as we choose for ourselves, because there’s always room for more. And that means things that you love that don’t make their demand on others so much as they do on you.

Of course, these things too will make demands on those you love because they have to live with how you tell your story. We can only hope to be loved that much because once we are in the world of “mine” that is something we can share _with_ but not something we will abandon if told. Even those we love will find that hard to tolerate. We can love things to addiction or worse because it's never easy to know when to stop when you're in love.

I frame the issue for myself in personal terms because that makes the point that these may not be your loves, and obviously not important to you. But there’s something that’s important to you that isn’t your loved ones or your community or culture, even your food or what you want in sex. I hope your list is long. Mine is but those who know me easily see what’s made me and made my list. YMMV is always good advice. I take mine in wheels, words and music because I have largely failed at other things I wish I were better at doing, which would make me love them more. It really is harder to love something that you can't do well-enough to tolerate your own doing. Like swimming or beets or something.

All this rumination started this morning when I asked myself a stupid question. Well, if not stupid then one that I find obvious and don't expect you find necessary. When you put yourself together you'll see that the first question here is not nearly as good or as important as the second question. Here's my two.

Why is Sanskrit is like rock n’ roll? Because who wouldn’t do this if they could? And because not everyone can. Or at least not like Mick and Keith. But don’t let that stop you. I think that's the point of this whole exercise. Don't let anything stop you from loving your life. Especially you. And if others find reason to comment or offer their doubts, listen closely and decide what to do next. There's room to retreat a few paces back just like there's room to plow forward. Take stock of the earth you're plowing but keep plowing.

If what you love is yours then sometimes you may not know why you're doing it and nonetheless you'll keep on. It's not always up to you. The slope steepens to obsession and addiction and the host of other shadows that can overcome you, so the task is to know yourself as the Bard, and so be true. None of this is easy but then it wouldn't be you.

Remember Rilke who never tires of telling you to be you.
“All things consist of carrying to term and then giving birth. To allow the completion of every impression, every germ of a feeling deep within, in darkness, beyond words, in the realm of instinct unattainable by logic, to await humbly and patiently the hour of the descent of a new clarity: that alone is to live one’s art, in the realm of understanding as in that of creativity.”

Friday, May 11, 2018

Years Measured in Mahabharatas

I taught the Mahabharata in seminar this past semester. I teach it every year in bits or parts. Sometimes I go all in, like this past semester. There was only one assigned book. Volumes and volumes of Mahabharata. It's a quixotic, romantic, futile task that invariably fails to do what you planned or imagined. Just the way I like it. You come out of the Epic the way you enter it: always more not less lost at sea, with more never fewer irreconcilable conflicts of interest, more made by karma and making karma than any effort to renounce could create. But because you can't get it "right" doesn't mean you'll only get it wrong.

That is the wonder of the Epic's Vastness, a word so important in Sanskrit lore that it warrants the capital offense and perfectly describes the joy and frustration of living a life measured in Mahabharatas. To live with the Vastness you have to want to be made of it, with and without your consent. Wherever you are in the Mahabharata will be enough if you are not in a hurry to be anywhere else. In that sense, it's the gateway to self and more selves, it's India and right here, home, it's that ocean of consciousness that we are privileged to experience as living souls until we return to more ocean.

In preparation for papers students come to meet with me on several occasions to prepare, discuss, and review. They had to have an interest, a clue, that's all, then we'll figure out how to sip the ocean from a clay cup. The alternative of drowning is to be prevented at all costs--- and I'm there to make sure that doesn't happen. You're never safe when you're at sea and in a life measured in Mahabharatas, you're never not at sea. Two students in particular had the temerity to ask a bit more about my relationship to the work, the job, the subject, both prefacing their questions with a fair humility. They were really asking about themselves, so I answered a bit more than is my usual want.

As a policy my college professor self evades these sorts of personal questions because it is not my job to talk about me or my relationship with India. There's nothing the public media won't reveal. But I don't talk much about it and the reason for this is simple. If I reveal myself students will be less inclined to speak from their own hearts and minds, fearing that they may offend or displease me. They have come to college to find their own voices, and I am there to facilitate, not to determine. They are in their own ocean and I may guide the way and provide some safe harbor, but it not for me to decide their destinations or command their obedience.

With Rajanaka I have had the privilege to reveal more than I ever do at college. My regret is I think we would all learn more together ---and have so much more fun---if we could really figure out how to spend more time learning with each other, more closely, more deeply. We _need_ more time if we're going to grow in the learning. I try at once to give you honest scholarship _and_ opinion because I believe you will take what you like and leave the rest, as you should. There are no litmus tests, no requirements, not even a suggestion of dogma though it's plain that most of you understand after these many years that I'm not shy to comment on most anything, sometimes with better or less informed ideas. I try not to spoil a Rajanaka by going too, too far off our shared India markers. (No, Douglas will not drown us in political vitriol just because he can do that on Facebook. I have actually had hosts assure their students of this...though I am less sure they are confident I will provide.)

For these two college students I tried to reach a bit further. They are both from India, not Americans of the south Asia diaspora. They both grew up and went to school in India, having just come to the States for college. And they were both, how shall we say it? Taken away by what we did in our Mahabharata class. By that I mean a process of close reading, very critical interpretation, and a careful application to our lives as such. We had some overview and I left most of that to them. We covered almost nothing in comparison to what is there. How could you? But they'd never heard anything like this at home, and how could they? Not even the most learned folks in India spend much time doing this sort of work and it is _work_, it is not something that comes merely from culture or assimilation or from just being one is knowing one.

We are all born with code, and process, and develop lenses that determine our visionary possibilities. But we also acquire and create lenses that shape awareness and cultivate selves. We are made and we make, but it's never a simple or symmetrical process. The complexity and asymmetry is always individual. We each learn how to learn and those kinds of skills are not easy to acquire for anyone. These factors will decide how you learn a subject, an anything you can learn.

Well and good, they replied, but how is it that you (meaning me) know _so_ much about India? I again replied that foremost it was my job, my profession, I _learned_ and paid my dues. Provenance is a word they needed to learn about. They pressed again because it seemed to them clear--- I give them courage points for calling me out--- that it is all rather obviously far more than my profession.

My reply then went something like this.
I am not _from_ India. But I am wholly _of_ India.
This means that _everything_, positively everything at every moment of waking, dreaming, and dreamlessness in my experience is filtered through India, both there and here, outside and inside, in life, in books, in imagination and worldly being. It took me a long time to understand more about the depths of that personal complexity, the complications and confusions that necessarily appear--- what Appa called living in many worlds, and how we each bring our limitations and possibilities. But our limitations create boundaries that allow, indeed force the need for some recognition of every larger circumstance. We all do this, it's what it means to evolve a self in the course of a life. How we do this, well, that will make all the difference.

We are all the sum of _all_ of our experiences, much of that hidden in shadow and the unconscious, and more still that comes through the complexities of a life we create and that creates us. India _made_ me because I was lucky enough to step in as a young man, meet people who welcomed me, then loved me, and spend a life of what I call now "having never left." When did you go to India first? That's a question I can answer factually though I'm pretty sure that the mythic answer cuts more deeply. But when did I leave? I never left. I couldn't leave if I wanted to. India made me and if that's a bit unusual for a kid from Jersey---another place I left but never left--- what I can say for certain about my job is that it's an honest and sometimes challenging profession. It's also true that I have willfully, self-consciously made it a point in life that my profession would not make me, at least insofar as I have a say in the matter.

Lucky me, I am no longer much "of" the academy though I'm pretty sure I can fake it convincingly on demand. Sometimes. And that difference provides all the difference I need to keep boundaries clear and safe enough, if not entirely honest. I am professional enough to have earned my place, and accept the consequence of being less professionally ambitious. The academy wants from me something I have not offered it for more than 20 years now. This is another feature of a privileged life. It costs me too. Svaha.

But India is _how_ I live because I cannot live without it. The work as such--- the Sanskrit, the reading, the talking--- is _not_ my reason to live, because I don't need a reason. When you really love something you really don't always love it. You may say "today I am going to do this" but what else would you do? Who else could you be? How you _feel_ about it, on a given day or in a particular moment? That's far more complex than saying, "I love what I do." I don't always. Thank goodness for that. Life doesn't make you love everything, even what you are or what you do, not all the time. I couldn't stand that.

All of this, I told these two students, is for better and worse. You are in the process of seeing through your own lens with greater effort---and of acquiring and being made by forces you don't wholly control. Who you want to be is not entirely up to you. It never is. Who you choose to become is a different kind of question. While that too is not solely up to you, it's because nothing in life you create can you create alone. There is always more story than you can learn. There is always more worth telling again and more still you'll never get to.
"So life is like Mahabharata, Professor?"
"Just so."

Monday, May 7, 2018

The Inverted Shadow and the Power of Tapas

Lying is like “cultural appropriation”: everyone does it, everyone needs to do it because borrowing, stealing, and imitating is as old as humanity and has led to all sorts of valuable things. When we know what we are doing when we are lying we can make necessary amends ---like give credit where it is due or share the wealth or just be honest about lying.

The irony of truth telling should not be lost on us. We need the truth as badly as we need to lie because things aren’t always true to be good and not every bad is just bad. When we tell the truth we use the light to understand the darkness. When we lie we create darkness that may help but always hurts--- or at the very least admits the greater vulnerability that always accompanies light and shadow.

What we need to contend with light and dark the great playwright Kalidasa calls “the measure of truth in matters in which there is doubt.” At stake is how we measure and at least as much awareness about the differences we need to notice and acknowledge. To wit, we are always judging the value of things, ideas, and actions, which is why being “non-judgmental” at best means “acknowledging one’s bias” because never for a moment are we actually not-judging. Even “it makes no difference to me” is a judgment. When you come to actual non-judgment you’re going to need help tying your shoes and all sorts of other stuff.

The inverse of lying is not just truth: reality is more complex, less binary. The inverse of lying is sometimes more correctly trust. When we trust we make ourselves vulnerable to others’ choices, we accept their intentions; we may applaud or be compelled to forgive their actions as a consequence. Our trusts can be compromised and betrayed. We can use trust as a self-delusion or to satisfy an emotional need; we can simply be mistaken and acknowledge that a trust broken was a rational error of judgment. We can be conned because we trust. In fact, without trust we can’t be conned because we’ve relinquished all confidence in others.  That, I submit, is a sad state of affairs that no one should have to suffer.

So it is not merely a matter of truth or lying, it is a matter of who and how we trust--- in ourselves, in others, in the process of trust-making and the consequences of trust-failure. It’s important to be vulnerable to what happens because we trust, because we need to trust. That kind of vulnerability I call the “inverted shadow.”

For definition’s sake let’s call the shadow everything hidden from us and everything we hide. It is filled with unknowns and regrets, uncontrolled consequences, faults and things for which we are not the least bit culpable. The shadow holds what we don’t know and all that is uncomfortable, often painful, difficult to admit, sometimes impossible to recognize without help and the complex emotional and critical means of self-inquiry. But the inverted shadow is the recognition that we not only must come to a deeper appreciation of our “hiddens” but that we must put ourselves in further peril for the unwanted consequences that come with the pursuit of light. When we trust we "pursue" the light, with all of its consequences.

When we trust we nurture the light, we burn more brightly, and we can be burned. But we can neither illumine nor burn brightly if we do not risk being burned. It’s more than just being willing to accept the consequences of disappointments and losses. The inverted shadow is actually putting one’s self in peril because there is no trust that cannot fail. With that trust we take the measure of the shadow that gives us a far better appreciation of the value that comes with illumination.

In Rajanaka I was taught to live in the fire that both illuminates and burns. The truth may illumine but it always burns. Sometimes being "burnt" is the price of living in the fire. Burn brightly, Appa would say, and know that when you do, you will sometimes suffer for what the light creates as shadows. This is what Appa meant when he used the Sanskrit word “tapas.” And so the more brightly we burn, the more shadow we will cast. The choice to live with value is a choice that burns with truth and illumines the lies we tell.

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.