I had a dream about Dogen last night.
This isn’t meant to be a resounding critique of Tricycle, but y’all know how much I like beating up on them. I’ll get it over it. This is, after all, a new era of unity and embracing those with whom we differ. Or something.
If people used language with more specificity, if they were saying what they actually meant, I would get up on this soap box far less frequently.
It goes without saying that for the better part of the past decade, we’ve been telling two disparate stories about ourselves: America is the greatest country on earth, and to question that fundamental assumption is akin to high treason; and the potential of America-as-a-work-in-progress is a great social experiment, but our country’s being run by folks whose moral and intellectual predispositions are at best lacking, at worst downright vile.
This isn’t exactly a speaking engagement or event, but I wanted to let my readers (and listeners) know that “season two” of the DharmaRealm podcast will officially begin on Friday, February 6th. In the first episode of the new year, Harry and I get a little personal and discuss our own background and experiences with […]
I have three, at the very least, reservations (at the very most out-and-out critiques) of the whole “Buddhism isn’t a religion” or “spirituality is better than religion” trope that we come across these days in these United States.
But I think we need to understand that anger, that being offended, that being ruffled or riled, is okay. “Offended” is, at the end of the day, an emotion. It is essentially no different than “happy” or “in love” or “light-hearted” or “sad” or “jealous” or, dare I say it, “enlightened.” And this knee-jerk reaction against being offended isn’t any more “Buddhist” than a calm or equanimous reaction. In fact, when you judge “offended” or “self-rightous” as “bad” and “calm” or “letting it go” as “good,” isn’t that nothing more than discriminative thinking?
We have a skylight in our bedroom, directly above my head. Last night, around a quarter to eleven, there appeared two helicopters, loud, and blinking lights into the darkened room. This morning, I found out why: the Oakland Police had corralled a good number of people to arrest them in front of the Paramount Theater, about six blocks from our house.
In case you hadn’t heard, in reaction to the shooting of an unarmed twenty-two-year-old father in BART station, local residents went from peaceful protest to violence yesterday.
I was still living in Los Angeles in 1992 when the Rodney King riots engulfed the Southland. I’m having some eerie flashbacks here. Does nothing ever change? Do we never learn from our past?